Whatever this is, it feels nasty.
Aman felt weak. He stared at the door, waiting for it to open. It never did not the whole day. The room was cold, cramp and well smell disgusting as hell.
He wondered why they didn't just kill him. Why keep him alive and locked in this hell? Some kind sick joke or well to be honest Aman don't know anymore. He don't know anymore what to expect.
He turned around. At least he wasn't completely alone. There was someone else in the room.
"Hey... what's your name? Oh, that's a nice name," Aman muttered, exhausted. "So, we're both stuck in this cramped space, huh?"
He looked at his position again. Not only was he locked in a filthy, freezing room, but he was restrained in a stress position. His arms were chained behind him, stretched outward just far enough that he could still kneel. But the pain was constant, pulsing like fire in his shoulders.
"I wish they'd interrogate me already or something. At least then there might be an end to this pain. You ask how? Well, maybe if I told them what they wanted, they'd stop this."
Aman glanced at the figure next to him.
"You're lucky you're not in this position like me," he said.
His new companion didn't respond. Silent as ever. Probably his new friend just feel unwell.
"You know... you smell a bit nasty," Aman chuckled weakly. "I guess they don't let anyone bathe here, huh? Bit much, isn't it?"
He sighed, looking at the dirt caked floor. Then, suddenly, the door creaked open.
A soldier stepped in. "Here's your food."
He placed a tray on a small chair and slid it close to Aman's face. The cuffs remained on.
"Eat."
Aman looked at the tray and then at the soldier. "Just one tray? You don't expect me to share this, do you? What about him?" Aman gestured with a tilt of his head.
The soldier glanced to the corner of the room and froze. There was nothing but a rotting corpse.
Maggots crawled through what remained.
"He's on restricted food," the soldier muttered uneasily, trying to maintain composure. But his face betrayed a flicker of horror as he realized Aman had been talking to a corpse.
Without another word, the soldier backed out and closed the door.
Aman took a bite. The tray was close enough for him to lean forward and eat without using his hands. He chewed slowly.
No water.
He paused. "Oi! Where's the water?!" he shouted. No reply.
He had no idea how long he'd been here. Hours? Days? Time blurred when every moment felt the same. Same pain, same light a flickering lamp barely strong enough to illuminate the room.
...
The next day or what he assumed was the next day the door opened again.
The soldier returned with food.
"Please... can you not close the door?" Aman whimpered. "It's dark and cold in here. It hurts. I can't keep sitting like this..."
Suddenly, Aman broke down crying. Genuine, ugly sobbing.
The soldier froze. He hadn't expected this.
He'd read a report about Aman, but it had been vague. Just another teenage suspect. No known affiliations. No history. Just... Aman.
But now, seeing him like this, broken, trembling, and alone, something shifted in the soldier.
He hesitated. Was this any better than the Japanese camps?
Was this what made them different?
Watching Aman teeter on the edge of madness made him uneasy.
"Hey... hey... Stop. Alright? Just... stop crying," he said quietly. "I'm going to take the cuffs off, okay? But please don't do anything stupid. Understand?"
Aman nodded rapidly, desperation all over his face.
"Thank you! I promise, I won't!"
The chains came off.
Aman slowly rotated his arms, stretching out the aching muscles. The pain was sharp, but the relief that followed was almost euphoric. His joints cracked. He breathed in deeply.
"Can I ask something?" Aman said.
The soldier nodded, cautious.
"Are you a soldier? Or did I mistake you for one? Maybe you're police?"
"I'm police."
"Oh. That's... nice to hear."
The man stood to leave. "But you still have to stay in he" he didn't even had chance to finish his sentences and Aman lunges on him.
Aman moved.
Suddenly. Swiftly.
The officer tried to resist, reaching for his pistol, but Aman lunged with all the fury he'd buried. His hands found the man's throat. A desperate, primal struggle.
The room echoed with the sounds of a scuffle. Gasping. Scraping.
And then...
Silence.
Aman stood, panting.
The officer lay on the floor, bleeding from his neck. Blood pooled beneath him, soaking into the dirt.
Aman wiped his mouth. Metallic.
"That tastes like iron..." he muttered. Disgusted, he shoved his fingers into his mouth until they hit his throat. He gagged, then puked.
"Ugh... I don't want someone else's blood in my mouth. That's disgusting."
He stepped over the corpse, picked up the pistol, and tucked it into his waistband.
He closed the door behind him.
Silence in the hallway.
No one else nearby.
He moved forward. Slow. Careful. Every sound made him twitch.
He prayed the exit was close.
He had to get out.
He had to find the real KMM members. The ones who weren't informants. The ones who actually wanted something more than this madness.
Aman walked down the corridor.
His legs ached. His muscles burned. But he walked.
And in his mind, one thought echoed, surreal and disturbing:
"Huh... I really bit someone's neck, didn't I?"