Yes, it's That Scene. And it's a spoiler - don't read unless you want the big revelation of the game spelled out.
The dialogue is taken directly from the game. "Amnesia: The Dark Descent" belongs to Frictional Games. No copyright infringement intended.
There is something covering his face, a rough cloth that bears a foreboding stench of fear and sweat. It presses down over his mouth and nose, making it hard to breathe.
That is the first thing he becomes aware of as he wakes up.
The other thing is the cold stone beneath his back. He believes it to be stone – it seems familiar.
"You have to do it," a voice speaks above his head. An old man's voice, strong and deep and emotionless.
That voice – that voice is the voice of the Devil! Suddenly, he knows, he knows what is happening. He can remember it all too clearly now, the cold stone cells, the noises in the darkness, the, the screaming, and that voice…
"You have to cut the flesh."
Then there is another voice. This voice is younger; breathless – scared or excited, he can't tell. He can barely hear what the young man is saying, only a murmur of jumbled words.
There is a soft metallic sound. Something that sounds like laughter. Maybe it is only in his head. His body tenses up; he can't help it. Something…
Something is happening. Something bad.
The words start seeping in through his hazy mind. …cut the flesh… and he realizes what they are talking about.
"Do it, Daniel," the older man says. "Kill him. Save yourself."
The younger man breathes nervously. He did not imagine the laughter; it is there. The laughter of a man at the very end of a diminishing line.
"Alexander," the young man half-speaks, half-laughs, "you must let me be. I have to concentrate."
The young man leans closer – he can feel him above him like a ghost, hot, feverish breathing against his exposed skin. He can't see him through the cloth, but he knows his face, thin, pale and veiled like a death mask. He has seen him before, outside the cells. Oh, the cells, the cells, he remembers the cells. All that terror. Those tiny, cramped rooms, the screams from all the other prisoners constantly echoing through the hallways – the young man standing by the bars, looking at him with dull, dead eyes. He knows it's the same man, even though he has never heard him speak before.
He remembers more: he was taken here, to the castle; dragged through the night by things without faces, and down into the cells. They never told him why; nobody ever told him why, even though he screamed for them to answer. But he understands now.
He understands.
And all the memories disappear as the cold steel touches his skin and cuts, cuts the flesh. He can feel it slicing through his guts. It hurts. The pain is beyond anything he has ever felt. He can feel it inside him, and he tries to scream as it cuts him apart, but the cloth over his mouth muffles every sound he makes. He is thinking that he might choke, and he hopes for it, hoping to choke, to lose his mind if it would take the pain away. But he can still hear the voices, so clear despite being so far away. The young man is singing, his voice tinted with madness, "Paint the man, cut the lines, cut the flesh, watch the blood spill…"
And it's his flesh, it's his blood, he can feel it spill, he can hear it, oh God, Lord of Heaven, stop this, don't let them do this. Please, I'm innocent, please, I didn't do anything. The young man laughs, mocking him, and the mantra continues, "Paint the man, cut the lines, paint the man, cut the lines", like a church hymn, Hell's bells chiming. The voice sounds so human, but how could any human do this…
"Please!" He can't even feel pain any more. It's slipping away with his blood, dripping on the stone and the floor, accompanied by the young man's singing giggles. "Please…" The world is fading; there is nothing left but darkness, and it's waiting for him. He can hear the young man's lullaby, softly guiding him into the valley of death.
"Hush, hush… now you sleep…"