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The travel was long and exhausting. This time, I didn't get shipped overseas. After only half an hour of travel - away from the prison - they put the container on a train, and the travel began.
I didn't see any daylight for three weeks.

After crawling around inside the container, I soon found a box with some food and water. Some dehydrated food - usual army standard. It tastes awful but you know that it'll make you survive. I didn't know how long the travel would take, so I only ate a small ration every day, planning for four weeks. Four weeks are usually enough to be shipped around half the globe. I still remember the days which I spent on a freighter, getting away from the US, to Africa, ten years ago, after I had gotten home from China. The travel had taken three and a half weeks, from San Diego to Cape Town - halfway around the globe.

But the travel didn't take that long that time. The train travel was cold, but at least there was a blanket in here now. I guess the guards have realized that they have to take care of me, so I won't die. Probably they have already collected the money from all three bidders and wouldn't survive it, if they didn't keep their end of the deal: serving me to each one of them alive.

The noise from the rails was so loud that I almost couldn't get any sleep.
But I soon found a solution: the container was bigger than my cell. It allowed me to stand up, walking up and down in the darkness. I finally had some space to exercise. After a few days of walking up and down in the darkness, for hours, I started running up and down. I did it until pure exhaustion brought me to sleep.
I guess that's how blind people experience the world.
I didn't see a thing in weeks, since the container had no connection to the outside, except for a little ventilation hole, which barely let any light in.

After two and a half weeks, the train stopped for two days. I already thought I had reached my destination, but the container got transferred to a different train, and the travel started again.
I feverishly tried to find out, what that could mean. They would only lift the container off the car and put it on a different one if they were changing the rail system. From the Russian railroad system to a different one.
There was no use in trying to draw conclusions from that. Almost every country bordering Russia has a different Railroad system. Europe. India. China.

That last option left me sweat-soaked. China. Not again.

At night - or well, at the times I expected it to be night - I lay in a corner of the container, cuddled up into the blanket which really smelt awful by then, thinking about where I was headed to. Who would even pay to get me into their hands? Who were my enemies after all? I've done so many things throughout the past thirty years that there are hardly any countries that I can rule out. Well, Switzerland maybe. I haven't done anything to them... except for the two bank accounts with black money that I have there.
Eastern Europe... where I've fought wars when I was still in the Army, been there many times for the CIA and hid throughout the past few years... I'm sure that I've got many enemies there.

All these nights my thoughts have revolved around that question: who were my enemies?
And then came the day when the train stopped again, the container was loaded to a truck and two hours later somebody opened up the doors again.

I didn't know that man, had never seen him before. But my heart sank: he was obviously Chinese.

They rudely grabbed me by my arms and tore me into their building. I couldn't see it clearly, but it was somewhere, in a mountainous region. Why did I still look? Was I trying to weigh my chances, for a getaway? No way. There were too many of them. I was not in any shape to try to get away, not when they tore me out of that container and I'm not now.

They didn't speak one word.

They threw me into a cell and an hour later, a few guards came, ripped my dirty clothes off me, hosed me down with ice cold water and shaved my beard and my head. Standard hygienic measures, I guessed.

Now I'm sitting in my new cell, waiting for what is about to come. Nothing, for hours. Nothing but cold. I am tired of the journey, and tired of weakly fighting the guards who have treated me up to now. But no matter how tired I am, I can't just lie down on the tiles and sleep. The whole journey here I have prayed and hoped for the destination not to be China. Everywhere, but not there.

Awful pictures start to occupy my mind. Memories. Last time that I've been here, ten years ago, they questioned me. But now, nobody even spoke a word.
Well, it wouldn't make much sense anyway, to question me. There's nothing I know.

Is there a Chinese who has a personal grudge against me? Like Cheng? One of his friends? Superiors?
Who knows. I killed him, and I don't even regret it. But I should. Whatever he did to me, I shouldn't have killed him. I could have taken him into custody, I could have put him in front of a court. But back then, when I had the chance to do it, I was so filled with rage that I didn't think for a second.

I am a bloody murderer. I am no better than him.

Suddenly someone opens up the door.
There are four guards, two have guns, the others have tasers and cuffs ready. Aren't they overrating me? Do they really think that I could take it up with four of them, in my state?

I'll prove it to them, that they don't have to be afraid of me. I willingly let them cuff my hands, I don't even try to fight them.

They lead me down a corridor.
It looks just like the prison where I was kept ten years ago. There must be quite some of these facilities throughout the country.

There is a room on the other side of the hallway, waiting for me.
Should I try to run?
I feel the panic taking over me. Pure panic, because I have enough memories of what they will do.
I better fight them, I better try to flee, I better start screaming.
No.

I have to face it. I have to pay. I should thank them for what they are about to do.

Just a few steps away from the door, I remember one vital thing: three bidders. There were tree bidders, and the third one of them has most likely paid to get me alive. The Chinese aren't allowed to kill me.
There's no sense in begging their superior to make an end to my suffering.
Swear to god, I won't beg him. Not like I begged that Sengalan, when I finally broke.

They lead me into the room. I spot a table in the middle of the room, it almost looks like an operating room table, but with cuffs for the patients' legs and arms.

Just lie down there. It will hurt, but fighting them will only make it harder.

I really have to fight my own wish to get rough on the guards, as they unmistakably tell me to lie down on that table. They are prepared to force me, they are prepared that I'll fight them.

But I don't.
I've grown wiser in the past years, I tell myself, as I lie down there. Fighting the guards won't make my life any better. There's no escape from what's coming.

They cuff my hands and my legs to that table. The lights are on, almost blinding me.

There are two cuffs on each limb, one on my wrists and one around each ankle, and one more around my upper arms and my thighs. I really can't move.
It's not like last time. Even though I don't want to think back, I have to. They used to hang me from the ceiling, on an iron chain, just so high that I could barely stand. It looks like they improved their methods in the past ten years. This room doesn't look as bloody as the one in the past.

Finally, a man comes in, carrying a suitcase. He looks like a Chinese version of agent Burke, I can see that right away. He is not here to talk. He just puts his suitcase down on a nearby table and opens it up.
I can see tens of glass tubes with different liquids in them.
He choses one and comes over to me.

For a second we look into each other's eyes. Should I try to talk to him? Hell, why not.
"Do you want me to talk?", I ask him, once again wondering how strange my voice sounds like, after not speaking for so many weeks. Talking has become even harder than walking to me.

He silently shakes his head and injects something into my arm.

BURKE. Yes, he's one like Burke. Goddamnit, this hurts so much. I've caught some of Burkes stuff once, but I instantly know that the Chinese's stuff works better.
I want to scream, but I can't.
My mouth opens up to scream, but I feel like I can't breath.
I feel like suffocating, with my mouth wide open.
The pain is everywhere. Like all my muscles decided to cramp at the same time.

It goes on like this for minutes.

I didn't even realize it at first, but that guy was watching me all the time, feeling my pulse, counting my breaths, cataloguing my body reactions.

After fifteen minutes which felt like half an eternity, the effects have worn off. There's a clock on the wall, overhead the door, one that tells me how slow time goes by when you suffer.

He gives me some more. A higher dose.

Then he gives me another dose, a smaller one this time.

An hour later, he still hasn't talked to me, not one single word. They don't want any information. Well, I don't have any information anyway. I've been in hiding and out of service. I do not have any information that they could possibly want.

I am soaked with sweat, lying here. The next time that he's repeating it, I'll try to scream. I have to find a way to let the pain out.

He comes back, but with an IV bottle, which he hangs on a stand right next to me. I watch him put the needle into my arm. The way he fixes it, it looks like it's meant to stay for a longer while.

I can't read what's written on the bottle. Chinese characters only.

As he fixes the rubber line to the needle, I already expect the worst - an IV bottle full of pain inducing drugs, but no pain sets in after the first drops reach my arm.

I've never been so glad before.
Relieved I sink back to the hard table and relax a little. Is it over already? Can't be. Have they tested some new drugs on me? No. I'm sure they could have found another prisoner, a less special and less expensive one to test their torture drugs on. These must be well-tested drugs. Some which they use frequently.

Then the guy comes back over.

He has another syringe in his hands! Damnit!
But instead of my arm, he pushes the needle through the rubber seal of the IV bottle and injects his drug into the bottle. "NO!" I have to scream now, as long as I still can. But it's of no use anyway. He's going to make me suffer for the next three hours.

The dose is way lower than before, but with each other drop that comes down from the bottle, into my arm, I can feel it a little better. The cramps. The pain. The numbness. It's hard to breathe- again. I feel like I'm suffocating. Every half minute, I manage to catch a short breath, one that keeps me conscious.

The pain gets worse, with each minute that passes by.

After twenty minutes, he once more takes my pulse, and then he leaves the room.

The bottle is still full. I can't even see any sign of it getting emptier, after twenty whole minutes.

I want to scream, but I can't- I have to use the breaths that I get to live, not to scream.

The clock runs slower than all other clocks, I am sure.
Every second feels like a day.

The drugs are also tainting my judgement. I can feel it. It's hard to breathe and it's hard to think clearly. Maybe these two things are related? Am I losing my mind, because I'm not getting enough oxygen?
Should I hold my breath and try to knock myself out?

It's not possible, I should have known better. I've tried that already, so many times, but it never works out. Breathing is a body reaction that the mind can't control. No matter how clouded my judgement already is.

After ten minutes, I hear a noise.

I turn my head and then I can see her. I am so glad.

I missed you, I breathe. Did I really speak it out loud, or was it just a thought? I haven't seen her face in weeks, ever since the guards ripped me out of my cell. But she's there now.
Unlike all the times before, when she told me that everything was alright, she looks worried now. She looks like she's crying.
Don't cry, Audrey... I will survive this, I try to tell her, and as I say it, I am not so sure what I'll even be fighting for. I don't want to be alive, I want to die right away. But I can't. I have to pay for what I've done, and I want to pay in this life. I will survive this, to be with you again, I mumble.

I better use the few breaths that I can catch to survive, and not to talk to the ghost in my head.

But I desperately want to talk to her, as long as I get the chance to see her.

Jack...

I hear her voice. The first time ever, that she calls my by my name. She looks so worried. Why can't I cheer her up?

It's okay, I try to tell her. I wonder why she's so far away. Back in my cell, in Russia, she was so close, I could feel her touch me. But now, it seems like she's six feet away, and no matter how much I want her to be closer, she doesn't come over to me.

When she's there, I can almost forget the pain.

Pain is just a concept of the human brain, a guy once told me.

She's also just a concept of my brain, I know. And right now, she's stronger than the pain.

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