It was a morning like any other since Paul's capture.
He woke with dark circles under his eyes, ate whatever scraps the guards had tossed his way, and scanned for any chance to escape.
There was none.
Paul walked to the corner of his cell and picked up a small stone from the floor. Pressing it against the wall, he carved another line into the rough surface.
Number ten, he thought. He wasn't even sure anymore, with no sunlight reaching the cell, he could only rely on his sleep cycles to keep track of time.
He returned to his bunk and tossed the stone back into the corner with a dull clatter. His gaze drifted over his body, still wrapped in loose, dirty bandages that looked ready to fall apart at any moment.
The wounds beneath had mostly healed. With a single motion, Paul tore the bandages off, revealing his bare body. Though he'd lost some of his former strength since the crash, the lean muscle, the lines of his abdomen, and the volume of his shoulders still showed through.
"Hmmm... Will you answer today, or are you ready for some fun? Because I finally am."
Paul lifted his head, looking at the same face that had asked question after question, yet received no answer from him.
"Alfredo, you look even worse than me," Paul said, sitting down on the cold floor, making himself comfortable.
"That smug look will finally vanish," Alfredo said, his voice rising with anticipation. He turned his head to the side, motioning with his fingers. "You too, come here, let's get our friend into my laboratory."
Two guards came running quickly, saluting Alfredo.
"Open it," he ordered, looking at them.
The bigger one pulled out a large metal key, inserting it into the heavy lock. He rotated it a few times before the mechanism clicked. The other pushed the door open, the metal scraping harshly against the stone floor.
They stepped in carefully. One of the two motioned toward the wall. "Go! Stand up! Hands behind your back!"
Paul gave them a short look before slowly rising, stretching, and moving toward the wall.
The two men approached cautiously. The smaller one reached out his arm to grab Paul.
Then, suddenly, Paul spun around, seizing the approaching man by the wrist and arm. Before either of them could react, Paul threw all his strength into twisting the man's arm.
The man, caught off guard, lost his balance and was thrown hard against the wall, head first.
The taller guard finally reacted, reaching for his gun, but before he could raise it, Paul lunged at him, trying to grab the weapon.
A desperate struggle for the gun erupted, both men giving everything they had.
Paul threw a quick knee strike, but the man blocked it with his hand and answered with a brutal headbutt.
For a moment everything went blurry, but Paul managed to collect himself, grabbing the pistol again and twisting it to the side just as the man fired. The bullet grazed past him, only a hair's breadth away.
Paul eyes widend but his jaw tightend. He threw himself at the guard again.
The sudden recovery caught the man off guard. Paul managed to grab the gun and pull it away yet the force lunged the gun away to the opposite corner of cell.
Paul turned, wanting to grab it, yet the guard lunged at him again.
The man swung wildly in panic, but Paul ducked under the punch and retaliated instantly. His fist connected hard, sending the guard staggering backward until he fell on his butt.
"Come on! Where are you?! GUARDS!" Paul heard Alfredo's screams for the first time since the struggle and he wasn't the only one.
A squad of guards came sprinting down the hallway.
Alfredo retreated further from the cell, seeking cover behind the incoming men. "Don't use your guns! I need him alive!"
Paul dashed toward the door, but the first group of guards was faster, blocking the entrance.
There was a brief moment of silence before the men lunged toward Paul, their fists raised.
Paul cursed silently, yet his spirit wasn't broken.
The first guard swung for Paul's face, but Paul blocked with his left arm and countered with a sharp uppercut.
Two more guards threw themselves at him, one aiming for his hip, the other reaching for his neck.
Paul dodged the first, but the second managed to grab his collar, pulling him down to the ground. A violent struggle broke out between them. Paul managed to gain the upper hand, pinning the guard beneath him and landing a punch square on the man's nose. It burst with blood, but before he could get back up, another guard slammed into him, forcing him down again.
Paul fought to free himself, he turned, pushed, even bit, but more and more men threw themselves onto him, each one holding a part of him down, their foreheads soon slick with sweat.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, Paul saw Alfredo smiling deviously, holding a syringe in his hand.
Paul shook his head desperately, struggling even harder to free himself, but nothing worked.
He began screaming, spit beginning to collect on the ground: "ALFREDO! YOU BASTARD! SON OF A BITCH! YOU—"
His screams grew quieter until they suddenly stopped.
Alfredo smiled awkwardly, pulling the syringe out of Paul's neck.
Darkness.
Once again, the familiar darkness.
Paul knew what would follow.
Light.
He squinted, his eyes burning as the brightness forced them open. He tried to turn his head, but his arms were in the way.
As his vision adjusted, he slowly opened his eyes wider. He couldn't move, so he looked around as much as he could.
He was suspended upright in the air, his arms tied to the ceiling, his feet dangling just above the ground.
He was in the center of another small room. The walls were littered with blood, and even the ground beneath him still bore streaks of crimson.
His eyes widened in horror. He knew what was about to come.
Then they fell on one man: Alfredo. He was leaning leisurely against the wall beside him.
"Finally awake, Princess?" he asked, polishing the knife in his hand.
"Let's not make it harder than it has to be." Alfredo walked over, stopping a meter away from Paul, looking him straight in the eyes. "I'll start easy. What's your name and military rank?"
Paul stared at him for a long moment, noticing the annoyed look in Alfredo's eyes becoming more visible, before finally speaking. "My military rank, what's that?… never heard of it."
Alfredo laughed, though the sound never reached his eyes. He looked to the ground, then to the side, placing the knife on a nearby table. His hands slid over the various tools he had arranged there, stopping on something long: a whip.
"I've changed my mind. A knife is far too lenient for you."
Then, lightning-fast, he grabbed the whip, raised his arm, and lunged it at Paul's torso.
The hit echoed through the room.
Paul's torso tensed, and he clenched his teeth, a loud, suppressed groan escaping.
"How about it? Did you regain some of your memories after that?" Alfredo asked, twirling the whip in satisfaction. "Or would you like to answer a different question?"
"How many soldiers did the Legion bring to Spain?" Alfredo asked expectantly, his gaze fixed on Paul, who kept his head down.
Finally, Paul lifted his head and met Alfredo's eyes. "Condor Legion… never heard of it."
Alfredo's fury flared. He swung again… and again…again and again. The sound of leather striking flesh rang out repeatedly, tens, countless times. Screams followed, filled with agony and desperation.
"Hah… hah," Alfredo panted, sweat dripping down his forehead, yet he looked satisfied. His eyes wandered to the whip still in his hand, now slick with blood. Crimson-colored droplets already stained the floor around him.
Then he looked back at Paul, his torso and back bloody, countless deep whip marks embedded in his flesh, fresh blood dripping down to replace the old, dried stains.
"How about it?" A triumphant smile spread across his tired face. He opened his mouth, this time even more confident. "New round, new question. Tell me, how many Panzer I did the Condor Legion bring to Spain?"
Paul's head remained slumped, his breath ragged. The pain was too overwhelming; his torso and back burned with a fire unlike anything he had felt in either of his lives.
He thought about giving up, about quitting, about answering, yet he couldn't bring himself to do it. Every inch of muscle in his body fought desperately against it.
Yet Paul opened his mouth, lips so dry they were cracked. He didn't raise his head; he just laughed, a sound so unsettling that even Alfredo froze, unsure how anyone could laugh in such a situation.
Then — Paul slowly lifted his head, meeting Alfredo's gaze with eyes full of hatred. "Panzer I… never heard of it."
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