[This chapter may contain, Sexual Assault and Aggravated sexual assault, Reader discretion is advised.]
When Kwon Taekjoo opened his eyes again, his body was swinging uncontrollably, jerking from side to side against his will.
He kicked his legs, trying to steady himself, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't find solid ground.
His toes barely brushed the floor before he
lost his balance once again, swinging violently.
His whole body twisted, painfully straining
his bound arms.
"...Ugh!"
He was hanging by his wrists, cuffed to a metal bar above his head.
Every movement of his limbs caused the cuffs to scrape against the bar, making a sharp, grating noise.
The air carried a metallic, almost bloody stench.
Dark red stains marred the tiled floor below him.
In the haze of his blurred consciousness, his instincts screamed that he needed to get out of this place—now.
His head kept drooping, but he forced himself to hold it up, inspecting his surroundings.
The darkness overhead loomed like it was about to collapse and swallow him whole.
He had no idea how long he had been here, where he was, or how he had ended up in this state.
Kwon Taekjoo lowered his head, squeezing his eyes shut before reopening them.
His blurred vision sharpened slightly, and the room around him slowly came into focus.
Unlike the rough, concrete-lined cell he had first woken up in, this room was covered in tiles.
There was no window to the outside, and the entrance was a thick iron door with no
openings.
The smell of sewage permeated the air, confirming he was likely in some kind of
underground facility.
Kwon Taekjoo was in a back room that seemed well soundproofed.
On the other hand, that meant any noise from within would echo intensely, amplifying the terror for anyone trapped
inside.
On one side of the room, there was a bathtub and a sink; on the other, a desk and a steel chair.
The desk held various odd tools:
pliers, hammers, and hooks. Judging by everything he had observed in the room, Kwon Taekjoo figured he was in a torture chamber disguised as an interrogation room.
"Are you awake?"
After a long silence, Kwon Taekjoo finally looked forward, where Ahmad and Omar sat next to each other, sharing a cigarette.
Ahmad gave a sly grin and stood up.
His shadow stretched to twice his size, creeping along the wall until it merged with Kwon Taekjoo's.
Suddenly, he grabbed Kwon Taekjoo by the chin.
"Well? Do you like it? You seemed to want to keep a lot of secrets from us, so I brought you somewhere a bit more... private."
Ahmad leaned in close, the tip of his cigarette grazing the tiny hairs on Kwon Taekjoo's cheek.
A faint, acrid smell of burnt hair filled the air.
"I'm going to have a great time with you tonight. You see, people end up sharing all their secrets with friends. Who knows? Maybe if we get close enough tonight, you'll start spilling your little secrets too,"
Ahmad taunted, abruptly releasing his chin.
Even that small motion sent Kwon Taekjoo's immobilized body swinging in the air.
His cuffs clanged against the metal bar, and the shrill sound reverberated throughout the interrogation room.
Kwon Taekjoo stifled a groan of pain, glaring fiercely at Ahmad standing before him.
It was as if he would tear him apart if only his wrists were freed from the cuffs.
Ahmad savored the fiery look in his eyes and began fiddling with the tools on the desk that Kwon Taekjoo had noticed earlier.
"Don't be so afraid. This will be a lot more fun than you think. Of course, if you're willing to cooperate, things might get a lot more... boring,"
he threatened in a sinister tone.
Usually, by this point, most prisoners would desperately start begging for forgiveness or, at the very least, trying to prove their innocence.
No matter how tough they acted, eventually, everyone crumbled under total isolation.
But Kwon Taekjoo refused to back down.
In fact, the more he was cornered, the stronger his defiance and hostility seemed to grow.
It was clear he was different from any other prisoner Ahmad had encountered.
Either he was used to such suffering from repeated exposure, or he had undergone rigorous training that made him unbreakable, even in the face of extreme fear.
Ahmad's bored expression shifted to one of renewed curiosity and the desire to see just how far he could push Kwon Taekjoo.
"You've got some resilience, I'll give you that. I'm going to have to break through that first if we're going to have a productive conversation."
Ahmad picked up a sharp blade, scraping it against a thick piece of leather.
"You don't know your name, your age, not even your nationality? So, what then? Are you saying your entire memory vanished? Funny how people with secrets always seem to conveniently forget things when it's to their advantage,"
he remarked, turning to face Kwon Taekjoo.
Despite the gleaming edge of the blade, Kwon Taekjoo didn't flinch.
He simply kept silent, holding his breath.
"I've searched everywhere, but I can't find any record of your entry into the country. When, where, and how could a rat like you have infiltrated? I've thought it over again and again, and there's only one conclusion I can come to. One that explains why you keep claiming you don't know your name or where you came from."
Ahmad seemed convinced of some definite conclusion.
Kwon Taekjoo had a hard time guessing what that might be.
He couldn't remember anything—not even his name, his job, or where he lived.
Every time he tried to recall something, his mind clouded over, like he was lost in a thick fog.
"You bastard, you were part of the terrorist attack, weren't you?"
"Terrorist attack?"
"Oh, now you're going to pretend you didn't know about that?"
Ahmad sneered.
Even though Kwon Taekjoo had no idea who he was, where he came from, or why he was on the run, he knew the city was in a state of emergency from frantic news reports about a terrorist attack.
But he had never considered he might be involved in the incident.
Was Ahmad implying that he was?
Kwon Taekjoo began searching through his memories.
The first thing he recalled was waking up sprawled on the side of a road.
For some reason, he was severely injured and could barely move.
Driven purely by survival instincts, he had managed to hide in a nearby apartment complex.
That was all he remembered before passing out.
The next time he opened his eyes, he was in a hospital.
He'd jolted awake in shock, only for the medical staff to rush over and inject him with a sedative.
He hadn't lasted long before slipping into a deep sleep.
When he woke again, he was here, in what seemed like a Facility for criminals.
A place outside the reach of the law or human rights.
Based on everything he had learned, it was clear they suspected he was a terrorist.
"You have a mouth, so use it. If you're innocent, why were you lurking around the site of the explosions? Your identity is still unknown. You were armed with a gun and attacked the police!"
Ahmad suddenly shouted at him.
His deafening voice echoed through the entire detention center.
To anyone far off, it must have sounded like the roar of a savage beast.
"Answer me. Who sent you here?"
Ahmad pressed the sharp blade under Kwon Taekjoo's chin.
One wrong move, and it would slice his skin.
Yet the more Ahmad threatened him, the more calmly Kwon Taekjoo pieced the situation together.
From Ahmad's aggressively pointed questions, it seemed he had no idea who Kwon Taekjoo really was.
The fact that they couldn't verify his identity through fingerprints or records of his entry into the country suggested that Kwon Taekjoo had somehow infiltrated unnoticed.
It made sense that they would accuse him of being a terrorist since he had been
found severely injured near the attack site and had been pursued by the police soon after.
The only problem was that he couldn't remember anything related to the incident.
It was as if someone had detonated a bomb inside his mind, blowing everything to pieces.
For now, all he could discern about himself was that his senses were razor-sharp, his body responded with speed and agility when under attack, he had a high tolerance for pain, and he spoke several languages fluently.
But what kind of person was he?
And what had brought him to this country?
"Ah, you're a stubborn little bastard. Looks like words aren't enough to get through to
you, huh?"
As Ahmad's twisted, mocking voice reached his ears, something slid across his neck.
The blade pressed against his throat had finally cut his skin.
Blood trickled down Kwon Taekjoo's
collarbone, soaking his prison uniform.
A satisfied grin spread across Ahmad's face as he held the blade threateningly to Kwon Taekjoo's skin, slowly trailing it down toward his chest.
Ahmad locked eyes with Kwon Taekjoo, provoking a tense standoff before suddenly slashing downward.
With a few swift movements, Kwon Taekjoo's shirt was torn in two, and his pants and underwear shredded.
The ripped fabric fell to the ground, leaving him instantly stripped of every thread.
He was practically abandoned in this barbaric place, completely naked and
deprived of his freedom—a situation that would break anyone's spirit.
In that regard, Ahmad was well-practiced in the art of torture.
He knew exactly how to push his victims to the point of submission.
Ahmad slowly let his gaze roam over Kwon Taekjoo's exposed body, on display like meat at a butcher's shop.
Suddenly, he flashed a smile and shot him a leering look, unrestraine.
"What do we have here? One look at your tits and anyone would think you were a girl. If I squeeze them, will milk come out?"
Suddenly, he grabbed Kwon Taekjoo's chest, squeezing it hard before releasing.
He even gave it a loud slap, making the flesh bounce with a certain pliability.
A red handprint appeared on Kwon Taekjoo's smooth skin.
Behind them, Omar laughed indecently.
It was clear they used this kind of degradation on other prisoners too, breaking them down with shame and humiliation until they got the answers they wanted.
Ahmad stared directly at Kwon Taekjoo with a satisfied smile, unwavering even in the face of the blatant abuse he inflicted.
He gave a slow nod, as if daring him to maintain his defiant stance.
Then, grabbing Kwon Taekjoo's face with both hands, he forced his mouth open and
inspected it thoroughly—from the roof of his mouth to the sides of his cheeks, and even the back of his throat.
He lifted Kwon Taekjoo's tongue with his thumb, feeling beneath it in case he had hidden anything there.
But there was nothing unusual for Ahmad to find, not even a suicide pill that spies or
terrorists might sometimes carry.
After carefully checking both ears as well, Ahmad shot a sharp look at Omar, who quickly stepped forward, fastening a leather strap around Kwon Taekjoo's waist and securing it to the metal bar overhead.
Kwon Taekjoo's lower body swung upward, his ass pointing high.
Omar slowly circled him from behind, grabbing his buttocks and pulling them apart.
Kwon Taekjoo clenched his jaw, as if he were nearing the limit of his tolerance.
"Do you know how dangerous a reckless person can be? They use every hole in their body as storage, not realizing the damage it'll do to them later. At least the idiots who shove drugs up their ass and die during transport leave intact bodies. But those who try to smuggle bombs or gold ingots the wrong way end up with their guts torn apart, looking absolutely horrendous. I have no reason to be gentle when I pull that crap out of those
thieves."
After his long rant, Ahmad suddenly spat into Kwon Taekjoo's asshole with a loud, wet sound, then thrust his thumb inward, probing his inner walls.
Kwon Taekjoo's jaw clenched tightly, a rough grinding sound escaping through his firmly pressed lips.
"Shit... "
"Hm? Now you feel like talking?"
Hearing his curse from under his breath, Ahmad cracked a smirk, beginning to thrust his finger in and out insistently.
Kwon Taekjoo's abdomen contracted at the strange intrusion and his hole tightened around Ahmad's finger.
Ahmad let out a loud laugh at the sight of her reaction.
"Look at it. Just a few thrusts and you're already taking it like a slut. How many people have you been fucking?"
Ahmad was about to push his finger even deeper into Kwon Taekjoo when Omar suddenly noticed something.
"Sir, what's this?"
he asked, pointing to the inside of Kwon Taekjoo's thigh, where something was etched into his skin.
"What does it say?"
"I couldn't tell you. Looks like Cyrillic script."
"Cyrillic script? You mean the kind they use in Russia?"
"Yes."
"What the hell? Does that mean this bastard is from Russia?"
"I don't know, sir, but it wouldn't hurt to be cautious."
The two whispered to each other, exchanging uneasy glances toward Kwon Taekjoo.
If he was indeed part of the Russian delegation attending the summit, then everything—his presence near the terror attack site, his capture while severely injured, and the weapon found in his possession—would no longer seem suspicious.
The only issue was that, as someone
officially invited to the country, there should have been records of his identity and entry.
But that, too, could be explained if the Russians were deliberately keeping him off the radar for some reason.
If that was the case, they couldn't afford to handle him carelessly.
Even under the guise of standard interrogation procedures, mistreating him could become a serious breach of diplomatic protocol.
"For now, check if Russia is looking for an Asian man fitting his description."
"Yes, sir."
Following orders, Omar quickly left the interrogation room, leaving Ahmad alone with Kwon Taekjoo in the oppressive, dim space.
Ahmad examined Kwon Taekjoo's face with a perplexed expression.
"So, you're from Russia?"
He tilted his head as if struggling to believe it, even though he'd just suggested it himself.
He even clicked his tongue, clearly disappointed by this sudden turn of events.
"Well, damn it. I guess we'll have to treat you like a prince until we're sure. But don't
worry—there are still plenty of ways I can play with you without leaving a mark,"
Ahmad taunted darkly, moving back toward the tools laid out on the table.
Setting the sharp knife aside, he began searching for a substitute while continuing his monologue.
"We can't blindly trust the Russians either. Who's to say they didn't have something to do with the attack? You know how it goes—your enemies are often the ones closest to you, and it's always the people you once trusted who end up stabbing you in the back."
After finishing his words, Ahmad picked up an extendable baton and began coating it
thoroughly with petroleum jelly.
Kwon Taekjoo's eyes narrowed warily as Ahmad approached.
"What the hell are you trying to do, you filthy bastard?!"
"As I said, I'll play with you in ways that won't leave a mark,"
Ahmad whispered from behind, dragging his tongue along the side of Kwon Taekjoo's neck and across the top of his
ear.
Kwon Taekjoo's skin prickled with revulsion at the loathsome touch.
"Getting the truth out of someone is easier than you think. You just have to break them
down again and again until they finally shatter."
Ahmad roughly pushed one of Kwon Taekjoo's buttocks aside and pressed something hard against his hole.
Kwon Taekjoo immediately recognized the texture...it was his baton.
"Breaking you is going to be an easy task for me. Everyone falls apart once their pride is shattered. Tell me, when was the last time you cried?"
"...What?"
"I'll make it today."
Then Ahmad forced the baton inside him.
The tip rubbed against his entrance for a few seconds, stopped by the tight resistance, before it finally broke through and penetrated inside him.
"Aaah...!"
"When bastards like you end up here, one of two things always happens... either you die with your little secret rotting inside you, or you spill the whole truth before that. Which one will it be for you?"
"Aagh, ugh!"
The corners of Ahmad's lips curled upward as he continued to thrust the baton in and out of Kwon Taekjoo, whose knees buckled under the relentless violence that pierced and stretched his hole.
Kwon Taekjoo's fists clenched until they turned white.
Ahmad roughly slapped his tight, defiant ass, the blow causing him to momentarily relax the tension.
Seizing the opportunity, Ahmad began to ram the baton deeper into him, as if he had been waiting for this moment.
"Ugh, aagh...! Shit, ughh!"
Despite Kwon Taekjoo's efforts to stifle them, groans of pain tore out of his throat.
His body writhed, shaken by spasms, as he struggled to endure the merciless agony tormenting him.
The intense heat burned him from the inside.
And yet, in the midst of the pain, there was an eerie sense of familiarity in his body's every reaction and change, making him feel bewildered.
Had he been subjected to such torture multiple times before?
Finally, Ahmad yanked the baton away, which had been threatening to pierce a hole in his gut.
Kwon Taekjoo's body, writhing in pain, shuddered violently from the sensation.
"Aaah, haa... damn... it..."
"Well? Feel like talking now?"
"Damn it, I told you I don't know! How many damn times do I have to say it?!"
Ahmad grinned with satisfaction at his outburst of frustration.
He patted Kwon Taekjoo's cheek with the baton, now gleaming with melted petroleum jelly.
"If you don't know, I'll make sure you find out soon enough. Looks like it's going to be a very long night, don't you think?"
His words couldn't have sounded more hopeless to hear.