Her expression hardened instantly. She quickly got up from the chair and walked with heavy steps toward Nunes. The air grew heavy with her proximity. Without warning, she grabbed the knife still lodged in his thigh and pulled it out with force, making him scream in sharp agony. With the same knife, she pressed the cold blade against his neck, almost cutting him.
"The password. Now." Her eyes widened, a glint of wild fury in them.
"Stop... I-I'll tell you, damn it!" Nunes was on the verge of tears from fear and pain, his body rigid.
She stared at him with intense hatred, her face almost touching his. He could feel the hot, angry air coming from her nose through the balaclava's fabric, a metallic and bittersweet scent of blood hanging in the air.
"Just... just don't hit me, please." He looked at her, his eyes radiating fear, his voice a whisper.
...
"If I'm not mistaken, it's 'Password12345'." She frowned, and he realized. "Seriously, that's the actual password. The first letter is capitalized." He nodded his head frantically, desperate to be believed.
She continued to stare at him, her eyes fixed. Then she stood up and walked to the computer, taking the knife with her. The pain in Nunes's thigh was throbbing. Blood flowed from the gash in his skin like a broken pipe. It was him, not the wound, that felt beyond repair.
The insurgent typed the password. It was wrong. She turned to him, her expression dead serious.
"You're trying to die, aren't you?" Her eyes widened slightly again, and a shiver ran down Nunes's spine.
"No, no, please, but I'm serious, that's the password, ma'am!" He looked at her, scared and confused, his voice choked.
She kept looking at him and got up from the chair with her knife, taking a step.
"NO, PLEASE!" He started to scream and cry, fear and hysteria taking over. "I'M SERIOUS, PLEASE!!!"
She continued to approach him with slow, decisive steps, knife in hand.
"Wait. Wait... try it with a lowercase 'p', please!" He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling fear and a thread of hope.
She rolled her eyes and went back to the chair, a sigh of impatience escaping her.
In a state of apparent lethargy, the girl inserted the password one more time. Her gaze returned to him, carrying an undecipherable emotion. Was it approval? Or the opposite, disapproval? The uncertainty was inescapable. Meanwhile, Nunes's heart beat frantically, as if he were on the verge of a heart attack at any moment, a wild drum in his chest.
And then he looked at her. Again, she was sitting, focused on the computer.
She was like a child who had longed for a video game their whole life and now finally had one. Her hands, covered in black leather gloves, carried traces of his blood, which subtly intertwined with the keyboard keys, a macabre trail painting her chipped nail a unique reddish-black.
Never before had he experienced such a feeling of humiliation and helplessness. The three months he had spent in the police force had brought the most terrible experiences he could have foreseen, but nothing compared to this. Weakened and feeling absolutely powerless, he decided to express himself, despite his self-esteem being in pieces:
"Ma'am..."
She didn't look.
"It... it hurts a lot." He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the despair of the situation weighing on him, hot tears streaming down his face.
...only the sound of the keyboard, the low hum of the cooling system, and the distant splash of water lightly hitting the hull outside.
"Please..." The phrase came out in a choke, accompanied by a sobbing, hoarse cry, like that of a child abandoned in a too-dark place. "He-help me, please, it h-hurts s-so much..."
He cried like someone who had nothing left. No dignity, no pretense. Just pain. His breath caught in his chest, the sobs exploding uncontrollably, echoing through the cabin in a cruel and childish rhythm.
She remained there, impassive, not moving a muscle. Her body, still before the screen, resembled a robotic mechanism. It was the same feeling as being in front of a stone animal, or perhaps... being the animal himself. Because he groaned, felt cold, hunger, pain. But no one heard him. No one answered.
He wasn't human. He was a silent scream, a drowned plea.
"I'm sorry... really... I didn't mean to call you a whore... Rui must've ex-explained it wrong to you..."
He squeezed his eyes shut, sobs racking his body.
"It was a j-joke... I was just messing around with my friend... I d-don't think you're a whore, ma'am... really... sorry for calling you a bitch back th-then! I was pissed... you understand?! HELP ME! I'M BURNING IN PAIN, DAMN IT!!!"
And within that horrible situation, he tried his best to convey what he felt to her, even if she didn't care, even if her indifference was sharper than any knife. He, naively, wanted to believe she could help him, just as his grandmother had always helped when he needed her, a small light of hope amid the torment.
"Ma'am... there's a m-medicine box on the t-table next to you, please, put s-something on my leg, or it'll get infected, it's r-really bad..."
She seemed to inhale deeply—she looked at him almost with a sidelong glance, showing an air of superiority that made him feel even smaller.
"Please... p-please..." He squeezed his eyes shut in pain, the plea almost a lament.
Could someone so inhuman really exist? Maybe she didn't have a heart, but it was inconceivable to Nunes's logic that she would let him die.
With a deep breath, she rose from the chair. The medicine drawer opened with a soft creak, and she carefully selected what might bring him relief.
The insurgent came very close to him and placed the medical supplies on the ground. She looked at him, a subtle nod indicating for him to stretch out his leg.
"Thanks..." He smiled shyly with dry lips, his voice a whisper of relief. "Seriously, much appreciated."
She saw the gash in his leg, the exposed flesh oozing blood, and said softly, almost relishing it:
"It's going to need stitches."
Hearing her say it with such delight felt like a gunshot to the face—a cruel slap.
"You know how to stitch?" He kept his eyes fixed on hers, searching for an answer on her covered face.
"Mm-hmm." She nodded, a sidelong glance, not looking him directly in the face.
"Okay..." He looked away at his wound, waiting for her to touch it, his body already bracing for the pain.
And indeed... the pain was unbearable. But, somehow, he didn't hate her that much. As she stitched his leg, the sound of the needle piercing his skin was a hammer in his mind. He groaned in pain, gritting his teeth, cold sweat dripping down his forehead.
"Gnnnh..."
"Stop being such a baby, haven't you ever had stitches before?" She narrowed her eyes, angry, her voice sharp.
"No," he replied in a melancholic, almost childish tone.
She looked at him, for the first time seeming truly human, a flash of something softer in her eyes.
"It's almost done, relax." She gave a very faint smile with her lips, hidden behind the balaclava, but Nunes noticed it, a small crack in her mask.
"Did you really need to stab me for the camera?"
"Hm, what do you think?" She ignored his gaze, focusing back on the wound, indifference returning. "You called me a bitch, didn't you? Cowardly torturer, pothead..."
"I know! I know... I messed up, okay? You could've taken it easier on me... that's all I'm saying."
"And why would I do something milder with someone I have zero empathy for?" She looked back at him, her voice laden with cutting coldness.
"Okay... Just thanks for this." He looked away, shy, a mix of gratitude and resentment.
"Stop thanking me, I'm not doing you a favor, you fool." She rolled her eyes, a hint of impatience.
She finished stitching and applied corticosteroid ointments to it. Nunes ended up insisting on morphine.
"Ma'am..."
"Hm?" She looked at him as if he were her annoying younger brother, a wider hidden smile on her lips behind the balaclava.
"Can you give me some morphine? It'll help with the pain."
"Pfft, come on, Nunes! That's silly." She shook her head, serious, the balaclava's inexpressive face.
"She still remembers my name…" The thought floated in Nunes's mind, a small spark of connection amidst the pain.
"Oh... please." He made a pained face, his features contorted by pleading and pain.
She rolled her eyes, but agreed.
"Where is it?"
"It's in the small box, didn't you see?"
"Nah-uh," she replied with a tired look, her voice slurred.
"Then... grab it for me, seriously."
"Okay, but stop talking in diminutives, it's annoying." She rested her hand on his shoulder, trying to seem intimidating, but the touch, though brief and firm, surprised Nunes.
"Okay." He laughed, a faint sound.
The woman got up and went to the medicine box. She took out a syringe with liquid inside and showed it to him, as if asking if that was it.
"Yes! That's it, do you know how to apply it?"
"Yeah..." She rolled her eyes, boredom evident.
"Okay, I'll trust you then!" He smiled, a flash of genuine hope in his eyes.
She came to him and injected the morphine. He looked at her with a hint of hope, his mind clouded by pain, but curiosity rising.
"So... did you hear me when I was talking to you? I was serious about that."
She looked at him, a unique, quick, almost inaudible laugh escaping her.
"You didn't hear me?" He became disheartened, hope draining as quickly as it appeared.