Location Unknown – Date Unknown

"Where are they?!"

Before Jan could attempt any answer, the torturer's fist had met his jaw. The torturer stepped back and shook his hand, splattering the blood from his cheek all over the stained floor.

"This can all end now, Assassin. You can end it. All you need to do is tell us where your accomplices are in Berlin," said the officer, repeating the same line he's repeated over and over again in the last few months. In typical Templar fashion, the one doing the dirty work is the brute with no brains, with his sleeves pulled up to his elbows, his fingers caked with dried blood – Jan's blood – and sweat pouring down his face. The officer meanwhile is decked in full Nazi gear: peaked cap, dark grey trench coat, red armband, and all. Jan responded the same way he had always responded.

He gathered it up as much as he could in his mouth, and then spit the blood onto the floor. A bit of it got on the officer's shoes. Another miss, he thought. He'd missed more than he'd hit the mark, but his aim's getting better. The officer looked down at his shoe with a mixture of disgust and disappointment, Jan's favourites.

"A pity that all of you Assassins are such barbaric animals." He said no more and turned towards the torturer. "Make sure he's still breathing before you put him back into his cell." Without a parting word, the officer left the room. Under his swelling eyelids, Jan could just see the adjutant bending down to wipe his shoes clean with a clean, white piece of cloth.

What always followed the officer's exit was a barrage of punches, kicks, and hits with an assortment of tools. Sometimes, Jan would even end up on the floor, still tied to the chair that fell down along with him as the brute would kick him in the stomach endlessly. He never could remember well what happened towards the end. Half the time, he passed out. The other half, he was barely holding on, feeling that he was on the edge of death itself. But always, he survived.

Someone else would come in the room, bandage and stitch him up as best he could, and then they'd drag him back to his cell. Every morning, the door would open, and they would leave him stale bread and a glass of water. But in between breakfast – which was the only food he ever got – and the moments when he had to relieve himself with the bucket in the corner of the room, there was nothing to do. Early on, he exercised each day. He needed to keep his body fit for whenever it was that he could leave, but as time went on his body became weaker and weaker, and he felt he had no energy to lift himself up from the hard bed.

Did Kevin make it? He kept wondering to himself. They'd failed to go directly west towards Berlin. Instead, they had been forced to venture further south and into Silesia before hopefully turning back northwestwards towards Berlin. But the Nazis were hot on their pursuit every step of the way and had finally caught up to them. The details had become fuzzy, but he could just barely remember giving the bag to Kevin before holding off the Nazis for a day and a half before he was captured. On his knees, flanked by armed soldiers with an officer staring down at him, he thought he was going to die then and there. That might've been better, he thought. After all, instead they'd brought him here – wherever here is – and given him months and months of pain and suffering.

Where is Kevin now? Did he make it to Berlin? How is the war? Has Poland completely fallen by now? Has Hitler had his way? Jan feared escaping as much as he feared staying. He was afraid that when he got out, it would not be the same world that he had been taken from. Maybe, he didn't even need to know. Maybe, he should just die there. After all, it's been months, and no one's come for him. He didn't blame them either. The Assassins were already weak. There was nothing that they could've done. Better to try and end the regime than rescue him.

At times, a fever would take hold of him. These sleepless nights were the worst, as he felt constantly cold, but he would be drenched in sweat. The clothes he wore were uncomfortable. They had given him a shirt and a pair of trousers on arrival, and he was still wearing them now. But what was worst were the dreams. In those dreams, he would relive that night of broken glass, and see his father killed in front of his eyes once again. Yet there was nothing he could do. But there was one marked difference. Instead of the words he had said, in the dream his father only said, "It was your fault. If you had just listened to me and stayed at home, none of this would've happened. Do you understand what means Jan? You killed me. You killed me."

Then Jan would jolt awake, tears streaming down his face, the fever still raging hot, his body still cold and wet with sweat. At times like these, he'd think dying is better than this.

One day, he was awoken by the sound of the metal door of the next cell opening. He held his breath and listened closely.

"Go in," said a guard. But there was no movement. Then, a kick. "Are you deaf? Did you hear what I said? Get the hell in there."

Whoever it was spit. A few punches and kicks followed before the door was locked. But before the guards left, the new prisoner started cursing them.

"You act all high and mighty now, but by the end of the war, you'll be begging on your knees for mercy, you rotten bunch of krauts," he shouted. But it wasn't in German, but rather English. There was no mistake. The person in the cell next to him was British. But why's there a Briton here? Had Britain joined the war? Or was he some sort of volunteer fighting for Poland? He could even be a British Assassin…

He went to the wall separating their cells. His muscles and joints all ached as he did, but he forced himself. There was a hole between in the wall. It was really small. At a glance, you wouldn't even realise it. But Jan had been in this room for months. He went there and sat next to it, hoping that his whisper would be enough to get the Briton's attention. He took in a deep breath, gathering all the knowledge of English that was in his head, and started to speak.

"Psst…"

"Who's there?!" the Briton shouted. At this, the guard came and banged on his door, telling him to shut up.

"Psst…"

Silence. For a moment, there was no sound. But then rustling came from the next cell. The Briton must be looking for the source of the sound. Jan kept whispering until finally, he found the hole.

"Hello?" the Briton asked furtively.

"Hello."

"Who the hell are you?" His voice was gruff and full of hostile caution. Jan thought that was normal. After all, he was speaking with a German accent.

"A prisoner like you. My name is Jan."

"The hell you want with me? And why's a German in prison?"

"Not all Germans are Nazis. I hate them. I tried to take something from them. They didn't like it, so I'm here."

"Am I supposed to just believe you like that? For all I know, you could be one of their damned spies."

"That is true. But I am not. My father was killed in Kristallnacht."

"In what?"

"Uh, crystal night? One, maybe two years ago, the Nazis attacked Jews in Germany. My father tried to help them. He was killed. Sorry, I do not speak English very well."

"I see. Guess it'll make no difference. My name's Charles."

"Ah, my brother has the same name." Jan remembered his brother, but to his horror he could not remember his face. Maybe the beatings had damaged his brain. He felt anger and terror gathering in his heart but forced it back.

"Why would a German be named Charles?"

"I meant Karl."

"Oh, that's what you meant."

"What date is it today?"

"I'm not sure, but I was captured around early August, so it must be late August or September now."

"August?" The war had started on the first of September. Why would there be a British soldier here a month before the war even started? "August 1939?"

"What? No, of course not. The war hadn't even started then. August 1940. Around a month ago."

Jan's heart sank. He had been here a year?

"1940? Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm bloody sure, what of it?"

He sighed deeply. "I was captured around October 1939."

"Good God, that's almost a year ago."

"Yes. I thought it was only a few months. But a year…"

Over the course of the next few days, the two spoke at length. At first, it was clear that Charles didn't trust him. But as time went on, he became less guarded. Jan told Charles everything he could – his family, life in Germany, his hatred for the Nazis. But he kept everything related to the Assassins and Templars a secret. Finally, Charles told him who he was.

"I'm with the Independent Companies."

"Independent Companies?"

"Yeah. Companies that don't belong to any unit. I was dropped here in Silesia to gather information. We'd heard that the Nazis were doing something in the region, and that troops and assets had gathered here. We didn't know what, so a team was sent. That being me. But it had only been two days when we were caught by a patrol and had to surrender. I don't know what became of my men, but they dragged me here."

Jan could guess what that something was. For some reason, the Templar presence in this area was heavy. The soldiers posted here were mostly regular German soldiers, but they were under the command of Templar officers. That much he knew. But what it is they're doing here; he knew less of. If he had to guess, it must have something to do with that book they found in Warsaw.

It's been almost a year. He needed to get out. The war was being fought, and he was just sitting here, half the time on the brink of death. He needed to live. What would become of his mother if he died too, only two years after father died? And he needed to find out who killed his father and slit the bastard's throat. But for the moment, there was nothing he could do.

For the next few days, they spoke at length. Mainly about the war, but sometimes about themselves. Jan told him a highly redacted and sometimes fictional retelling of his life. Charles seemed to be telling the truth about his own life, but Jan had no way of knowing that. He was born in the countryside of England and had joined the army at eighteen. When the war broke out, he volunteered to join the independent companies, which were tasked with handling special operations.

Most surprisingly, Jan heard of the Germans' invasion of Belgium, the Netherlands, Luxembourg, and even France. Just three months ago, Italy joined the war on the side of Germany as well. The Templars were having their way, and there was barely anything the Assassins could do. All fell within two months, like a wave splashing and consuming a beach.

About three days later, the door opened, and the guards took Jan back for another session of interrogation. This time, he held out better than before. The presence of another prisoner gave him hope. Hope that it wasn't over, that he could get out of here. Not that there was any way to do that right now, he knew. But just having someone there, not feeling isolated anymore was enough to give him a better grip.

But like the previous sessions, it ended with him slumped on the ground in relatively better conditions. They dragged him back to his cell, and he spent the next two days recovering before forcing himself to wake up. He dragged his aching body to the wall and sat down in the corner.

"Bloody hell, mate, what did they do to you?"

"Oh, this is normal. They've been doing this to me since I arrived." He coughed violently. He'd kill to have water right now, but he had drunk the glass empty.

"That sounds bad. Are you alright?"

"I'll live. But we need to get out of here, lieutenant." He had taken to calling him by his rank. It felt more natural than to call him Charles on account of their age difference.

"I still haven't figured out anything. The bastards have got the place well-guarded. Whatever it is they're doing here, they don't want me or anyone else to find out. Which begs the question. Why am I alive?"

"My bet is they're going to do to you the same thing they're doing to me. The only reason they're keeping me alive is to know important information I have. They must want to know what you know too."

Gunshots. Men shouting. Rushed footsteps outside their windows. Something was happening outside.

"Did you hear that?" he said to the lieutenant.

"Think Britain's got here?"

"I doubt it. Must be something else."

"Might be my men."

More gunshots. And then a scream. A man's.

"Lieutenant," he called with the most determination and desperation he's had ever since he got here. "This is our chance."

"It's nice that somebody's giving the bastards some trouble, but we're still stuck here, you know."

Just as he ended his sentence, they heard guards coming down the hallway. Jan closed his eyes and listened closely. Two… no, three sets of footsteps.

"Quickly, hide in the corner," Jan shouted as silently as he could.

"What?"

"Just do it, don't let them see you. This is our chance."

Jan didn't wait for a reply. He jumped up and ran towards the corner next to the door. A searing pain tore through his thigh, but he bit his lip and endured it. This was his chance. What were they doing here? If his guess was right, they came here to kill them. That means whoever's attacking them has a high chance of winning. If he could somehow link up with whoever these men were, he'd be saved.

But he was weak. If the guard came in, he could overpower one, maybe. But three? They were definitely going to be carrying their weapons. If he grabbed one from behind, he'd have to move quickly. The footsteps stopped in front of his cell. There was silence.

"Verdammt, where's he?"

"The Englishman's gone too. Could they have broken in and freed them?"

"Impossible, we're still holding them. The commander is going to be furious… Quickly, open the door."

Jan heard the key enter the lock, turn, and the hinges of the door creak noisily. He picked up the bucket and held it close to his chest. The guard entered with his rifle pointed forwards. He looked towards the left corner, the bed, and the corner with the hole. Before he could turn towards Jan, he had splashed the contents of the bucket onto the guard and hit his head with the full force of the bucket. With him staggering, Jan quickly ran behind him and got his neck in a lock. The guard outside was staring down his sights, aiming at him. But he hesitated, and in that split second of hesitation Jan pulled out the guard's knife and threw it. It landed right between his eyes, and he slumped to the ground.

The other guard fired, but the shot hit his friend right in the stomach. Jan felt the guard's body go limp and threw him onto the guard outside. The dying guard crashed into his comrade, and they fell down against the wall. Jan picked up the rifle and fired it aimlessly. Luckily, it hit the last guard right in the stomach.

"Oi, what's going on out there? Jan? You alright?"

"I'm fine," Jan shouted. He went to the first guard's corpse and pulled out the keys. The last guard was still alive, watching his blood pour out of his stomach. Jan wanted to put him out of his misery, but the lieutenant came first. He limped to the next cell and unlocked the door. The lieutenant was already standing in front of the door. For the first time, they both beheld each other's faces.

"You're a lot younger than I thought you were," the lieutenant said, smirking.

"I told you my age, didn't I?"

The lieutenant stepped out and looked at the scene. Picking up a rifle, he slowly approached the bleeding guard.

"What do we do with him?"

"He'll most likely die if we leave him. Give him a merciful end," Jan said. He could not bear to see the pain on the man's face.

"That's mighty noble of you, after what they've done to you."

The lieutenant stepped back and aimed his rifle straight at the guard's head.

"Halt!" The shout came from the end of the hallway. Another guard stood there, a submachine gun in his hand aimed directly at them. His eyes were bloodshot, and his helmet and clothes caked with dirt and dust. "Get on your knees!"

"What'd he say?" the lieutenant asked Jan as he put down his rifle.

"He said to get on our knees."

"Get on your knees now or I shoot!"

Both of them dropped what they were holding and went to their knees. But in response, the guard smirked before a cocking noise came from his submachine gun. Jan's eyes widened in realisation and he got to his feet, running towards him. But he fell midway, the pain in his thigh too much to bear any longer. He closed his eyes in resignation and said a silent prayer for his mother and brother and awaited the bullets.

But they never came. Instead, there was a gurgling sound before the body slumped forwards, falling right next to Jan. The man grasped at his neck, blood spurting out of it. Jan looked up at the doorway.

A hooded figure stood in the doorway. Lean, lithe, agile, and intimidating the figure stood. With eyes hidden under the hood's peak, the figure turned towards Jan. A blade slick with hot, red blood extended from the right wrist.

"Jan Adler?" the figure asked. It was the voice of a woman.

Author's Message

Hi! Thank you for reading all the way to chapter 3 ^^ I haven't posted in a while because life has been so busy, including a web novel writing competition I joined a few months ago. But once everything was over, I decided to continue with this again, hopefully just a little bit better than when I first started.

I've always wondered how to post something like this – a message from the author for the readers – on this site since I'm relatively new as a writer to this site (I did read a bunch years ago though). Because I want to say thank you to everyone who's been reading this, this message is what I did instead! Thank you for reading my work so far. I know it's not perfect. It has many flaws. But it makes me really happy that people are reading it, and that there are people that do really enjoy it. I hope you'll continue reading, and I hope I can continue to entertain you!

Notes

Kristallnacht – pogrom carried out against Jews by the Nazi's SA paramilitary forces, which was the setting of the prologue chapter. You can read more about it on Wikipedia.

Verdammt – "damn (it)"