"Dimitri, Harball, Belikov," the interrogator drawled. "We know he's your handler."
"And?" You asked, blood on your face, fire in your eyes.
"WHERE IS HE?!" the interrogator demanded, slamming his hands on the table in front of you.
"You'll never get a word out of me."
"Is that so? You're just a dog to him! Something to be used and thrown once it's broken or dead."
You stared at him. They wouldn't break you. You'd been trained to never say a word even if everything they said was cold, hard truth.
"I'll ask one more time, girly," He was leaning over the table to grab your chin. "Where is he?"
You were silent once more. He pulled out a knife and examined it.
"It'd be a shame if such a pretty face got ruined."
"I highly doubt that would happen," A bored voice said behind him.
The interrogator whipped around and came face to face with none other than your handler, Belikov.
"Dimitri," he sneered. "Long time no see buddy."
"I guess it's been a while, I sure won't see you for a long time though."
Like lightning and thunder in the middle of a storm Belikov had pulled a pistol out and shot the interrogator dead.
"Ready to go?"
"Ready as I'll ever be."
