"Who do you work for?" The man's fist made contact with his face.
Ferb's head snapped to the left Ferb's clouded brain provided the name Amar for his current abuser and it reminded him that it was time to use his Russian accent.
"Vhy should I tell you?" Ferb spat the blood collecting in his mouth onto Amar's shoes. Amar jumped back, but not before the red glob landed on his black leather boot. Ferb's head was slammed against the wall, but he couldn't hide the smile on his face as his vision left him.
Ferb was on a mission for the Organization Without a Cool Acronym in Iraq. The OWCA was working with the US Marines gathering information on smaller terrorist groups so that the Marines could focus on Al-Qaida. The OWCA would normally use animals for jobs like this, but this particular group had learned from other groups to distrust any animal that was not native to the Middle East. That is why Ferb was called on to gather information. His ability to pick up languages and accents made him the perfect spy. He could pass as a native speaker within a few months of learning the language. This skill usually meant he didn't get caught, this time it meant his captors had no idea who he was.
Ferb awoke cold and wet; someone had decided that he had slept enough and thrown a bucket of cold water on him. Ferb also suspected that they were hoping he would cry out without thinking and they would at least know where he was from, but years of silent communication had taught Ferb to remain silent when surprised. As Ferb's eyes finally focused, he discovered that things had gotten worse. He was no longer lying on the floor but had been chained to the ceiling and his toes barely touched the floor. Great, what new hell is this? He couldn't see the man who had thrown the water on him, but based on the fact that it was mainly his back that was wet, the man was most likely standing behind him. Water continued to run down his pant leg and drip onto the floor. His shirt had disappeared while he was blacked out.
"Are you going to tell me who you are working for?" a man asked, from behind his back as Ferb had expected.
Ferb remained silent. He still believed that the less he talked, the better: he was less likely to make a mistake that way.
"Are you sure you do not wish to talk?" The man said as a crack echoed in the small room.
Ferb swallowed but still did not say a word.
"Very well," the man said, and then the first blow landed.
Ferb was expecting the lash but it still hurt like hell. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose to control the pain and waited for the next swing. Ferb's body jerked as the next blow cracked against his back, but still he did not cry out. Ten times the whip fell onto his exposed skin, and Ferb didn't make a sound.
"I am sure you think you are strong, but I should tell you that everyone sings for me eventually and you will be no different."
"Go to hell," Ferb said as he tried to breath through the pain.
"Very well." The lashes started again.