The light above is dim, and somehow still manages to blind his sensitive eyes. He shakes his head in hopes to stop his world from spinning, to shake the blur off his vision, but none of it is really helping.
The walls are made of thick brick stone, radiating off deep coldness. He hears water running somewhere, faint screams bouncing off the hard walls. The location is run down, but there is no reason for it to be in shape. This place serves one purpose only, and it does so pretty well.
When Pierson had been captured, they started beating him up with everything they had. All of it in an effort to squeeze information out of him. The war changing information he knew he possessed.
But Pierson's loyalties are set in stone. It's true that his country had been merciless countless times, it had betrayed and hurt him more than he has fingers on both hands. But there's not a single chance in hell he'll betray his brothers in arms. His men. The young boys he had trained to survive.
"The insignia on your shoulder."
His head lifts with great effort, blood dripping from his chin. Despite all, he manages to throw a sinister look at the man infront of him. The Kraut wears his Schutzstaffel uniform proud, colours and batches of all kind decorating his barrel chest.
He has a different feeling to him than the other soldiers. Pierson doesn't need to know his rank to understand. The way he speaks, cold and insensible, there's not a trace of humanity left in him. Despite his hatred for men like him, he wonders how one comes to be like this. If these people are simply born evil or taught to be.
"You're a Technical Sergeant, if I'm not mistaken. You should possess information that is of great value to us."
"And what gave you the idea I am going to talk, asshole?"
The Kraut next to the officer punches Pierson hard in the gut and he doubles over,- as much as he can, tied to a chair. He's beginning to feel heavy numbness from the hourlong beating. Fog clouds his mind. His world spins.
𝐏𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜. If they think any of this could make him talk, they're dead wrong. Years of war had taught him what real pain feels like. Nothing of this could compare to the sacrifices he'd made. None of this comes close to the pain of losing your own men.
