The Old City

0.23: The Interrogation Part 1

Seneca's Apartment, June 26th, 10059 just before midnight

Marcus kicked everybody out, for he did not want them to see to see this part.

"It's just you and me now," he whispered in the soldier's ear. Still blindfolded, the subdued man shivered, cold and dreadful. Marcus untied the gag and the man coughed furiously, trying to catch his breath.

"What the Hell do you want?"

That accent is from the south, not from Magnar proper, Marcus realized. He's a vassal soldier.

"I am not telling you shit," spat the man, hitting Marcus on the boot.

"I wouldn't expect you to. Not yet. You have too much pride, for you have been tasked with a glorious and imperative mission." A glimmer of recognition in the man's eye told Marcus he was on the right track. "I'm a bit of a patriot myself. I was born and raised Soranian. I love this shithole more than anything. And that is why I can recognize in you a fellow man of his country. And that is why you should understand what a man might do to protect his homeland. He'd do terrible things."

A droplet of sweat materialized atop the soldier's brow.

"You would be better off killing me. I will not talk."

"That's what they all said. Hell, that's what I said. You see, weeks before the ceasefire was announced my ship got captured. It was an embarrassment really: we were the only galleon in the Armada of Soran to fall in the war. Well there I was, sinkin' in the ocean when a couple of your mates dragged me up. I kept it shut all the way till we hit port and all the way till we returned to their encampment. Then the real fun began. They tried all sorts of shit on me – kept me locked in a box half full of seawater, starved me, they ripped off my toenails, and cut out a piece of my ear – and still I did not talk.

"I didn't say a word till we got to the camp, then they threw me in a cell so deep underground it had never known the warmth of the sun. I, too, soon forgot it. I'll never know how long I spent down there but when they dragged me out, I'm ashamed to say I told them everything. It was too late of course. I was a lowly sailor and the war was already drawn. But each word brought me one more moment of sunlight, so I told them anything they wanted to know."

Marcus heard the man's pulse accelerate while he'd spoken. Fear dripped off him like sweat now but he maintained a determined look.

"I wanted you to know this because, havin' been where you are, I would not wish it on anyone. And while I would prefer not to use the things I learned in that cave, I can't let my friends take this burden. This falls to me alone, since I dragged them into this fight. I won't ask your forgiveness. If by some miracle, you manage to survive and escape, come and find me again. We could have a proper duel rather than this sick game of pain."

With a sorrowful look, the ex-soldier began his horrible work.

***

Hours later, Marcus stepped out of Seneca's bedroom, the makeshift prison for the soldier named Ryke, fists raw with fresh blood and heaving from the exercise. His hair was patted down with sweat, disheveled and raggedly brushed out of his face. He walked to Seneca's kitchen and rinsed off, shaking his head all the while.

"He is not gonna break."

"But you said everybody breaks," Seneca recalled.

Marcus just stared at the ground and Angelica understood: a bit of violence, sure, but Marcus could not perform the gut-wrenching, atrocities that would destroy this man. Angelica found some small solace in this, knowing her old friend had not so lost himself that the cruelest things seemed tolerable to him.