As I walked forward, my gun held in front of me, the emaciated cloth-covered man in my ear approved.

He had been with me since I had left home, replacing the lesser hallucinations of rats that always ran across my feet and bit my ankles. Their squeaks sounded like cracking bones and sometimes screaming children. Their departure only solidified the belief that what I was doing was my correct path and a sign that the restlessness would finally end.

I had never felt the need to tell anyone about my delusions, as they were very infrequent. My daily life had not been hindered, and when the cloth-covered man did show up, I sometimes felt his presence comforting. I knew he was an apparition of my creation; he was a part of myself, if you will. That's how I grew to accept him. He came when I was in the field, so I knew he was the part of me that thirsted for battle and an escape from the monotony of life. I had taken to calling him the priest, as his robes and often folded hands gave that impression, if more morbose.

We were on a reconnaissance mission to observe how occupied this zone was by the enemy. Three other soldiers were with me, and the sergeant was in my ear. The other four privates were with him. The night was dark as we walked through bushes on an elevated hill above a quiet town.

We had separated in different directions an hour before to cover more ground. We weren't far from base camp, and our mission was objectively simple.

Despite the relative calmness of the task, my heart was racing as the sand shifted beneath my feet. The rustle against dry desert leaves spiked my tension, even if the noise was from my own feet. Something about this night felt different. I had done this a hundred times, yet my nerves were like a baby deer in front of its first predator.

I felt like I was the one being hunted.

The night turned to day, and I went flying through the air. It made my ears ring, creating a throbbing pulse against my skull that sent blood trickling down my neck. My vision flew as I tried to make sense of the sudden burst of action. I could recognize a grenade attack, but where had they come from? How did they know? Why didn't the sergeant warn us? He had eyes on our position and should have seen the approaching attackers.

I rolled through the sand, shoulder twisting painfully as I came to a stop. After a few moments, I drunkenly propped myself up on my good arm, trying to look for the others through the lack of sound and my shaking vision. Unfortunately, my efforts did not last long as something abruptly hit my temple, and I fell into darkness.

***

I woke to unfamiliar surroundings. Both my shoulders now ached, tied painfully behind my back as I breathed in the dust and mold from the floor. My inhales were loud in my ears, and I was relieved my hearing loss had not been permanent.

The light in this room was dim; only a tiny window in the corner let a sliver of sunlight trickle in. Blinking my eyes rapidly, I took in my situation. I did not know who had taken me or what had happened to my fellow soldiers. Answers would not come from my knowledge, so I let those questions leave me. I would only waste time speculating.

My ankles were also tied, and my boots were gone. All my weapons had been taken, along with my uniform jacket. My t-shirt was drenched in sweat, the small room insulating the desert heat to an extreme degree.

I strained against my ties to see if there was any give. However, all I earned from my struggles were rope burns and bleeding wrists. The restraints were tied too tightly to budge an inch, enough to start cutting off my circulation while I had remained dead to the world.

My pulse pounded in my neck as multiple footsteps alerted me to approaching visitors. I was, presumably, in an enemy camp, and I had no idea what awaited me. Helplessness ate at me, and my useless state caused my teeth to grind in an unforgiving rhythm as the door to my cell opened.

Three men stared down at me, and I stared back. The frontmost man rapidly spoke to the others in a language I recognized as native to Afghanistan. I had picked up phrases here and there during my service, but I had never taken the time to thoroughly learn Pashto. The double unknown put me on edge even more as the two moved forward and cut the rope binding my feet.

Against my will, two men hooked onto one of my elbows, dragging me up. I stumbled as my legs buckled, blood rushing to them far too quickly. Given the light coming through the window and how I reacted to standing, I guessed I had been tied for most of the night and morning. More time passed out meant more things happening that I knew nothing about. The lack of information and sudden awakening in enemy territory was at the forefront of my brain, a throb that made focusing on where I stepped a challenge.

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I was half-dragged down a hallway, the first man's broad back filling up most of my vision. I had no view ahead.

The priest was not present, and he hadn't appeared last night. Had my hindbrain known what would transpire? My trepidation had been apparent, and his lack of presence should have hinted at what would inevitably be a failure. He had only ever quietly reveled in my success. Perhaps I should have followed my instincts and told the sergeant my fears. I quickly brushed away that thought. It had already happened, and regret had no place in my pool of emotion. I could only accept what had happened and endure what was to come.

I will never accept defeat, and the mission comes before my life.

The mantra repeated as we entered a large room, one that was completely empty. Rough hands shoved me down to my knees, and they cracked painfully on the cement. I looked around, hoping for any information. But the swirling dust and bare concrete only gave off an air of desperation. Two men held their rifles, pointing right at my head, and I heard another step behind me, merciless steel making its presence known.

I knelt for what felt like hours. My body ached from the recent attack and forceful sleep, and my head drooped from my stiff neck. Watching my sweat fall like tears, I became entranced in the steady drip. The moisture barely hit the ground before evaporating in the heat.

Heavier footsteps approached, and I looked up to watch a big man stop before me. A thick beard accompanied a shaved head, and I watched as his lips twisted into a terrible impression of a smile. It did not reach his dark eyes. Holding my stare, he crossed his hands behind his back. I could tell he enjoyed looking down at me, his firing squad ready to blow my brains open.

"Welcome!" The man's voice boomed in my still-recovering ears, echoing off the walls. I winced as the ringing started up again. "I hope you have been treated well?"

He had a thick accent, and it only magnified his mockery of our situation. I didn't bother answering his rhetorical question.

"Good, good. Now, let us get to the fun part." Gesturing to the man standing behind me, he followed his orders and hauled me up. I was led to a corner of the parking garage-like room, where a desk and two chairs waited. I was pushed down into one chair, my watchdog tying down my legs. Then, walking off to the side, he assumed position, and the waiting began again. The dull walls were my only scenery.

The bald man eyed me slyly when he finally approached, pulling a dirty cloth out of his pocket to wipe his hands. Meeting his gaze, I watched his eyes squint at me before he sat across the table.

"Name," he stated instead of asking.

"Cain Miller." The scratch of a pen came from one of the men behind me.

He hummed, rubbing his hands together before holding his right out to one of his subordinates. "Let's get started then."

Pliers were placed into his hands, along with a small hedge clipper and several tools that tapered into thin points. I could only gaze at them and contemplate the inevitable. My hands were released from behind me and placed on the table. No time was given to me to appreciate the stretch in my sore shoulders and wince at the needles in my hands.

The man leaned in covertly like he was about to share a secret. "Are you excited?" I stayed silent, sitting straight in my chair. Otherwise, I would yell and rage and get myself killed.

I wanted to say something but knew I couldn't.

The man looked disappointed. "I guess you don't want to waste time."

He grabbed my wrist, and the grimy, coarse hand made me flinch unbiddenly.

That piercing stare dug into my soul for just a moment, and then he shook his head. No more questions were asked.

He took the needle-like tool and abruptly shoved it under my nail. A compulsory grunt left me, and he wiggled it in time with my sounds of distress. Flashes of pain shot up my arm, making it convulse.

The pain seemed to go on and on as he ripped my nails off and dug sharp points into my skin. I could only watch as my blood slowly seeped from one wound, then turned into a furious jet as I lost another nail. The red was fascinating as it covered my dirty skin and the old table. It was almost shocking when my hand's burning nerves suddenly quieted.

I shifted my dazed eyes to look back at my abuser.

Through the blurry scene, I held his gaze. His eyebrows furrowed, and his top lip curled, the first sign of any negative emotion on his ugly face. I wanted to spit on it and regretted not doing so when I'd had the chance.

His chair screeched against the floor as he stood abruptly, walking away.

"Take him back." His voice rang through the room, and his dogs quickly followed the orders.

As I was dragged back to my cell, watching blood drip a trail on the floor, I only thought of how pointless this had been. The man's only purpose seemed to inflict pain. I had no idea what he wanted if that wasn't the case.

The radio silence from the sergeant was still confusing, and I wondered if he had left us on orders from higher up or to save his own ass. Otherwise, he hadn't seen the insurgents sneak up on us, and I wasn't sure how that could happen. A seemingly ordinary mission had turned bad so, so quickly.

I was shoved back into my cell, hands tied in front this time. Blood from my hands sluggishly soaked my pants as I slid down the wall to sit.

Closing my eyes, I tried to soothe the dull ache in my head. There was no telling what our captors had planned for me next, so I chose not to think about it.

The location of the others still filled the forefront of my brain. Were they all dead? Wishing they were in this building seemed wrong, but it would be better than dying from last night's attack.

They let me use a crude bathroom later in the day and gave me a flask of dirty water to drink from. As I watched the light fade from my window, I could only think how surreal this all felt. About thirty-six hours ago, I was back at camp with no idea of what was to come.