He was cold and he ached and his back itched and hurt. His wrists were raw and chafed from being forced to stand all night. He was tired. Bleeding had weakened him. And crying had dehydrated him. What could he do to get away? He would not submit. He couldn't. His stomach gurgled softly, reminding him that he had not had anything to eat in a long time. Maybe this was his punishment today. He began bumping his head against the wall. It made his head ache, a pounding and throbbing hurt, but he continued to do it. Maybe that man would panick and let him go if he showed suicidal tendencies. If not, he would have to endure more torture. He had a feeling that the longer he refused, the longer his torture would become as his captor got annoyed.
"Join me Brother." He continued to pound his head against the wall, ignoring the man. Blood was already trickling from being abraded by the rough tile wall, but he was in his groove. It didn't even hurt as bad as it did earlier. He let his eyes fall closed, resting his head against the wall. He could feel the Man's presence behind him. How long until the man lost his temper?
"Ah!" Not long in fact. He cried out as his back was slapped, hard. He writhed in the chains for a moment or too as his back reopened slightly. The man's hands moved to release him, letting him fall with nothing to support him but legs that had already gone numb hours ago. He was lifted easily and dumped onto his bed, mercifully on his stomach. He heard a familiar sound and turned, seeing the man holding a lamp and a brand in his hands. He tried to crawl away, but there was nowhere for him to go. He slumped down and waited for the inevitable. "I am sorry Brother…"
All he could do was wait for the brand to be ready. It didn't take long, the brand turned red from the heat of the small flame. In the mean time, he struggled with the man. Apparently, being reduced to pants and a backless shirt was too modest. Now he was supposed to be wearing just the shirt. There was the sound of ripping fabric and the two pieces of his pants were yanked off his legs. He yelped in pain when the Man sat on his still-damaged back and grabbed the cool part of the metal.
He screamed as the smell of burning flesh filled the room, the brand pressing into his upper thigh and marking him forever. Thankfully the pain, coupled with exhaustion and bloodloss, was enough to let him pass out. He didn't know that his captor had stayed to apply medicine and perform basic first aid before leaving this time. He never felt the loving kiss applied to his bandaged head or the soft whisper, "I will be back tomorrow brother."
All he knew was that he hated that stupid Swastika burned into his leg. He hated that man who had turned his beloved baby brother into a monster. And he hated himself for not being strong enough to win against a man so much younger than himself.