So callous, so cold, colors expose
The death of life as we know it
The death of mirth in us let go


Frank opened his eyes slowly. It took him a while to realize what had just happened and the worst part was that he couldn’t recognize his surroundings. One thing he knew for sure – it definitely wasn’t a desert. Where was he then? He tried to look around, but none of his muscles moved. Was he even alive? And more importantly; if he wasn’t - were the others gone as well?
Maybe that’s how it really felt to be dead…

You just lay there in the lifeless and rotting body, aware of the maggots eating out the flesh that used to be your own and yet knowing that you can’t do a single thing to get them out. It’s like remaining conscious while your body’s in coma… for eternity.

Maybe it was the purgatory… ‘Cause it definitely didn’t feel like heaven. No, heaven is supposed to be a land of milk and honey. Not literally, of course, but still it should be something nice and cozy. And this… this wasn’t nice at all.

His contemplating was interrupted abruptly as an angel-like figure appeared in front of his face. It had to be a holy being – he thought - with its penetrating hazel eyes and perfectly ruffled, black hair. Frank bit his lip and hesitated for few moments.

“Am I… dead?” he asked. It just seemed like the right thing to say in this unusual situation.

And then the angel did the most unexpected thing possible. It – or rather he, as Frank realized – laughed. Although it wasn’t like this mocking and scornful kind of snicker that Joel or other of his teammates often used. It was something different. It sounded like an honest sign of amusement, and Frank had to admit that it made him cheer up a bit.

“Well… unfortunately, you’re not.”

The angel might be right, he thought. Dead men weren’t supposed to feel pain. And he wasn’t just in pain. It felt like he’d kissed a fucking freight train… Every inch of his body ached as if it had been punctured with billions of miniature razorblades and he hasn’t even tried to move yet.

“Why is it unfortunately?” Frank swallowed hard. His mouth felt almost too dry, as if it was still filled with sand.

“Because it would be much… much easier for us both if you were” the other answered and his expression saddened suddenly. Frank furrowed his browns. Who was this guy? Because he most likely wasn’t an actual angel after all…

Frank wanted to say something or perhaps ask what did the other mean by “easier”, but the door had opened sharply and someone entered the room. A young boy with fairy tanned skin came in and put what looked like a quite large, ceramic bowl on the floor. The other man – the one which Frank had accidently mistaken with an angel – sat back in the farthest corner and said something quietly in a foreign language. It definitely sounded like some kind of an Arabic dialect, thought Frank.

Taking the opportunity, the young Private looked around and for the first time since the awakening he was able to fully see where he was. The room was small and dark, for there were neither windows nor any other light sources except for one, massive door. The walls and floor were made of thick, yellowish bricks. There were no furniture as well.

With surprise he noticed that both his bulletproof vest and T-shirt were gone, along with his whole equipment. And right then Frank realized something, what made his slightly cheered up mood disappear for good…

He waited anxiously for the boy to leave and turned to the other man with nervousness audible in his voice.

“Where are the others?” he asked, his tone cold and firm. He wasn’t joking around anymore.

“Well… they’re not here, so I assume they’re all probably dead by now.”

“What? What did you do? You bastard!” Frank shouted in anger. He should’ve…. He must defend his brothers.

“Listen carefully. I’m not the bad guy here” the other hissed through the gritted teeth in a tone that made the young man flinch “and I recommend you to shut that fucking mouth of yours, unless you want the real bad guys to hear us and come here and then, I can assure you, it won’t be nice at all”

Frank thought that he probably was right. He didn’t look Arabian with his inhumanely pale skin and hazel eyes. Despite, his accent was too nasal and way too American for someone from the Middle East. Yet Frank was still pissed off.

He wanted to sit up, but has changed his mind momentarily as a sudden, sharp pain pierced through this chest. It felt as if all of his ribs were cracking into pieces. He winced and gasped in pain, but in no time started regretting this as well. It seemed like with each hasty movement of his ribcage the ache was becoming more and more unbearable.

“Whoa, easy there…” the man tried to calm him down, yet didn’t move from where he was sitting. “If I were you, I wouldn’t even try to move for a while.”

“Why does it hurt so much?” he panted, still confused from the unexpected attack.

The man said nothing and moved closer instead, taking the ceramic bowl with him. He touched Frank’s chest carefully and exanimated it for few moments before taking his hand away and making the other wince in process.

“They’re most likely bruised. But that’s good news. At least they’re not broken. Although they should be. After being almost shot down with an RPG, you’re lucky not to have all of your bones in pieces... Better drink it.” Frank looked at the content of the bowl. Milk. He shook his head frantically. No, there was no way he could do it… “Alright, do what you want. But that’s all we got for today.”

Frank moved away from the bowl as much as his ribs would let him and closed his eyes.

So they were dead. He hazily remembered Paul falling down to the ground with large, bleeding shot wound in his head. He surely didn’t survive. Poor guy... He wasn’t even a soldier… And what about the others? Joel and Sergeant Dawson… Were they dead as well? Probably yes, and if not – they will in no time. Frank cringed at the thought and felt tears starting to form in the corners of his eyes. No, he couldn’t cry. Not in front of a stranger…

“I’m Frank” he started, trying to distract himself somehow. “And you? What’s your name?”

“It doesn’t matter” the other answered harshly, his mood changing suddenly “It’s not a fucking scouting camp.”

“But…”

“I said, it doesn’t matter.”

Frank groaned with irritation. Why was this guy so goddamn stubborn? It was just a name. Nothing more. It’s not like he wanted to know all of his secrets. Supposedly they were on the same boat, yet the other man kept his guard up all the time. Since the very beginning he seemed to act… weirdly, and it was becoming more and more frustrating.

“Oh, come on… It’s just…”

“Shut up” the man hushed him harshly and stilled, listening out in a way that a predator would await its victim. “Have you heard it?”

The young man’s heart stopped. What if it was them and they decided to come…

“Heard wha…”

Frank never had a chance to finish as the door opened and four armed and dangerously looking men came in. One of them carried steel, heavy-looking chair and a leather briefcase. They were talking to each other in this familiar Arabic dialect. Even though Frank had spent a fair amount of time in the Middle East, he couldn’t understand anything beyond few, rather unimportant phrases. “…data…”, “…resistance…”, “…blood…” It sounds like trouble, he thought.

“How are you doing, gentlemen” asked one of them in English, though his thick accent deceived his foreign origins. He looked somewhat different from the others. With he’s diligently combed hair and elegant white shirt he could’ve been easily mistaken with an European businessman. “Agent Way, have you changed your mind yet?”

Way – so that was his name… But… agent?

“I thought you learnt your lesson” said Agent Way with a scornful smirk plastered to his face. How could he act so conceitedly in front of their captors? Had he lost his mind...? “You can do whatever you want, but you’ll never make me do it.”

“Oh, we’ll see… we’ll see…”

One of them put the metal chair down and started to screw its legs into the hinges hidden on the floor. The well-dressed one, who obviously was their leader remained unoccupied, while the other two started to approach now scared for his life Frank. He had tried to fight at first, but considering his bruised ribs and overall exhaustion it was worthless.

He groaned and yelped in pain, but it was pretty much all he could do as the two with easiness put… or rather thrown him onto the chair with unnecessary strength and started to tie leather straps around his wrists and ankles, efficiently restraining him from moving.

Frank’s heart was pounding as fast as a train and it seemed that if nothing changes it might - sooner or later - derail. He hated to be immobilized like this. It felt like the walls were crumbling down on him and he couldn’t do a single thing about this. It made him claustrophobic. His breath fastened and he started hyperventilating.

“Wha… What are you doing?”

“Don’t talk” he hissed as captor’s hand slapped hard across his cheek, leaving the stinging sensation and most likely madly red mark. “Now, Mr. Way – there are two options. Either you finally start talking and give us the address or… we’ll show our young friend here the brand new dimension of pain.”

As if to clarify his word, the captor opened the mysterious briefcase and took out something sharp and shiny. Frank’s eyes went wide. A dagger. It looked like one of those military switchblades – designed to inflict pain and harm people. He looked at the man with pleading eyes. He had to agree… But, come on… what kind of a monster one would be to disagree to such an ultimatum and – indirectly, but still – make another person suffer…

Agent Way looked and the blade and then again at the captor. Frank observed with horror as he smirked and snickered at the armed men, not even bothering to look at the terrified Private tied helplessly to the solid, metal chair.

"Torturing me didn't work out so you decided to find... someone else? What a brilliant idea" he sounded amused, although it wasn't even similar to the one from their first conversation earlier that day. It was different - more sarcastic and... cruel. "Go ahead. You honestly thought I would care enough to... You obviously have no idea who you are dealing with..."

Even when the captor didn't answer, you still could feel the tension hanging in the air. Moving almost agonizingly slowly he put on white, rubber gloves - alike ones the medic would wear and stepped behind the chair. Swallowing against the lump forming in his throat was all Frank managed to do before a hand had been put over his mouth in a firm grip.

He tried to focus on something else... to slow down the heart sledgehammering in his ribcage somehow, but none of it worked. He remembered all of those movies when the main character was put into alike situation and no matter what always managed to keep his cool. But unfortunately it was reality and right then he wasn't just scared anymore - he was panicking. Each breath came shallow and trembling and the fact that his nostrils were filled with the overwhelming scent of latex didn't help at all.

The coldness of metal blade right below his left collarbone made him shiver. He tried to struggle and squirm away from the touch, but the tight restrains around his limbs and the captor's grip did they job pretty well.

"Last chance... No? What a shame..."

A muffled shriek escaped Frank's lips as the dagger was pressed harshly against his tender flesh, breaking it easily and making a thin stream of warm blood drip from within. In a slow and merciless motion the blade retraced its previous path, digging further, but not deep enough to harm any of the organs. He looked at the Agent Way; begging, but the other stood there immovably, staring blankly into the nothingness.

Without giving him a slightest chance to rest, the captor's hand moved down and repeated the whole process. And then again and again..., with each cut the pain becoming more excruciating... Frank felt hopeless. All of his nerves screamed. He hoped... no, he prayed for his own demise to come soon and end this inhumane mixture of agony and humiliation.

"Have anything to say to your new friend, boy?" the captor whispered sickly, taking his hands away from Frank's chest and mouth.

"P-please... just... make them s-stop... please..." he begged.
His face was wet with tears, but he didn't care anymore. There was no dignity left in him. No pride, no faith... only desperate need for all this to end. He hoped that the other would give up and have mercy on him, but the help never came. He just stood there; so calm and so callous and Frank abhorred him for that.

"Why..." it was all he managed to ask.

And then it all started again...

The pain... the blood... the coldness of metal and the disgusting scent of rubber...

Frank could feel his old self vanish; irretrievably. The pain was still there, but it didn’t seem to bother him anymore. He was gone. He had died, even though his body remained alive. There was no Frank anymore. A lifeless and empty shell was all that he was now. And he wasn’t sure if it was reversible…

He barely noticed as the men undid the restrains, threw him onto the cold, hard ground and then left, closing the massive door behind them. He was almost sure that he heard a quiet and pitiful “sorry”, but it might’ve been only his imagination as well. Despite, it didn’t really matter, for in no time the world around him disappeared and was replaced with the blissful oblivion…

Notes

So... this is the second chapter of my story. I hope you all enjoyed it... There's more to come. I don't want to spoil anything, but... let's say I haven't forgotten 'bout the others...

Reviews would be appreciated;)