I woke up in a panic.
Water was dripping down my face some of it made its way into my mouth.
I gasped. My throat was dry. My tongue felt heavy.
I tried to move… but I couldn't.
My limbs were stiff, and my chest rose and fell with difficulty.
I looked around quickly.
A faint light came through a small opening in the ceiling.
Cold, cracked stone walls.
The smell of mold was suffocating, mixed with old dampness.
My hands were shackled above my head with rusted chains. My feet were bound to the wall.
The cold bit deep, and the floor was damp.
Then I heard footsteps.
Soft… steady.
They weren't in a rush, but they were heading straight toward me.
A figure emerged from the shadows.
Tall, walking with deliberate steps.
Wearing a long black coat that brushed the wet floor.
His face was covered by a dark mask, showing only a pair of gray eyes fixed on me.
He stood silently in front of me for a few seconds, watching.
Then he spoke, calm and without hesitation:
"Awake now, are we?"
His voice wasn't deep or soft… just clear.
I took a deep breath, but it didn't help.
"Who are you?" I asked.
He didn't answer.
He stepped closer only one step between us.
He lifted something small in his hand.
A key.
He looked at me in silence, then slowly turned it between his fingers.
"I thought you'd die before opening your eyes."
He leaned in, his face inches from mine.
His eyes didn't blink.
"You answered me. Good. That means your nerves are still functioning."
He reached up, inserted the key into the chain.
But he didn't free me.
He only unlocked my right hand
Then yanked it down violently.
Ah, the pain.
The crack of the joint being pulled farther than it should go.
I didn't scream.
But he noticed the tremble of my lips.
He stepped back and began pacing slowly.
"Do you remember what happened?"
I stayed silent.
He stopped walking.
"You stabbed one of my soldiers. Do you know how long I spent training him?"
No response.
Suddenly, he stepped forward and slapped me.
A single, heavy strike.
My head hit the wall behind me.
A ringing in my ears.
"Answer me."
In a hoarse voice, I said:
"Self-defense."
He laughed.
A short, cold laugh.
"As if you had the right to defend yourself. You're just a thing… a nobody; filthy, worthless, undeserving of life."
He looked at the wall for a moment, then back at me.
"Who was with you?"
I didn't reply.
He re-shackled my hand.
Then pulled out a thin knife from his coat its tip razor-sharp.
He held it up to my face and said:
"Every second of silence you think is courage… to me, it's just wasted time."
He slowly pressed the blade into my thigh.
I screamed.
"Aaaah!"
I couldn't help it.
The pain was sharp, steady, growing worse as the knife dug deeper.
I tried to move my leg, but it wouldn't respond.
The restraints kept me from pulling away.
"Ahh… stop… please…"
He pulled the knife out slowly.
Blood followed.
"Who was with you? Who cleared the path? Who helped you escape?"
I looked at him through one half-closed eye.
And said:
"A cat."
He went quiet for a moment.
Then smiled.
"So you're insane."
I neither confirmed nor denied it.
He exhaled through his nose, then turned away.
"No matter… we have time."
He opened a small door behind him.
Gestured to someone outside.
Two men entered.
Their faces were masked, like his.
One carried a stick, the other a bucket of water.
The masked man said:
"Begin."
Then he left.
Leaving the door open.
One man grabbed my shackled hands. The other gripped the chain overhead.
They hoisted my body upward.
The pull on my shoulders and joints felt like my arms were about to rip off.
Breathing became harder, pressure building in my chest.
Then they pulled my legs apart, tying them to opposite walls with rough rope.
Now I was hanging… fully stretched.
Hands above, legs spread wide.
The sounds of ropes tightening, iron creaking, and my own labored breaths.
No one spoke.
The first man stood behind me.
The second stood in front, watching.
Then… the first strike.
One lash across the back.
I didn't see the stick rise.
But the sound of leather on skin was sharp heat flared across my back.
Then the second.
Then the third.
Each hit made my muscles tighten, skin stretching taut.
The burning on my back grew worse.
I screamed from the pain.
Tears welled up in my eyes unbidden.
"Where is he?" asked the man in front of me.
I stayed silent.
The beating continued.
Strike after strike.
No words… no hesitation.
Then it stopped.
The man behind me said:
"His skin's still holding. He hasn't reached the point where he talks."
The one in front approached, grabbed my face roughly.
"Do you know how many people came through this room?"
I stared into his eyes.
"I don't care."
He slapped me.
Then said:
"Make him bleed. Blood loosens the tongue."
He stepped back.
The next hits were harsher.
Then one of them pulled out a small knife.
Quick jabs to the thigh.
Shallow cuts but painful.
I felt blood dripping.
My legs trembled.
My shoulders burned.
My eyes were closing against my will.
Still… I kept my mouth shut.
Minutes passed maybe hours.
Then I heard a new voice from the door.
Quick footsteps.
And a sharp voice saying:
"Stop! Orders from above!"
Everything halted.
The two torturers stepped back immediately.
A new figure entered.
His face wasn't covered, but his eyes were stern.
He said:
"We've been ordered to keep him alive. Don't touch him until further notice."
He pointed at them.
"Put him back in position. We don't want him dead… yet."
He walked up to me and whispered:
"Seems like someone actually cares about you… odd."
Then he turned and left.
They untied my legs and slowly lowered me.
My body collapsed to the floor.
Blood flowed from my back and thighs.
Breathing was hard.
But I was conscious.
And I knew one thing:
This wasn't over.
This… had just begun.
They all left.
The door shut.
Silence swallowed the room.
I lay on the ground… half-naked, my body trembling.
Pain everywhere.
My back was on fire.
Thighs bleeding.
I couldn't feel my shoulders.
Breathing was heavy.
My head spun.
Then… I heard a sound.
Soft… delicate… faint steps.
I turned my head with effort toward the corner.
There she was.
The black cat.
Standing atop an old table, grooming her front paw slowly.
Her eyes gleamed in the dim light, staring at me unblinking.
Then she looked down and said:
"You look like hell."
I didn't respond.
She spat on the floor and leapt down.
Walked toward me.
"I told you… don't test your limits."
She studied my face.
"But it's fine. Now you know how they treat your kind."
She crawled up next to my head and sat beside me, voice soft:
"Still alive in there?"
I mumbled hoarsely:
"Barely."
She said:
"Good. Because we're not done yet."
She paused for a moment.
Then continued:
"There's a small window at the top of the wall. Behind it is a vent that leads to the roof."
I looked at her with difficulty.
"I can't move."
She replied:
"That's why I'll free you… just one last time."
She jumped onto the table, then onto the chains.
With her claw, she pulled out a tiny metal piece and began working on the lock.
Seconds passed.
Clicks.
Then… the chain loosened.
My arms dropped to my sides, limp.
The cat said:
"You've got five minutes before they come back."
I looked up.
The window was there.
Far.
But it was the only hope.
"Will you help me?" I asked.
She replied simply:
"I'll guide you. I won't carry you."
Then she gently climbed onto my back.
"Start crawling… stay quiet. If we make a sound… we die here."
I began to crawl.
Every movement screamed in pain.
The floor was cold, damp, and my knees bled.
The cat whispered on my back:
"If you keep this pace… they'll catch us."
I whispered, broken:
"I can't move any faster…"
She said, in a strange whisper:
"I'll borrow your body."
"Huh?"
Footsteps behind the door.
"I'm doing it…"