Three weeks… Three awful weeks locked up in this smelly room. It is a dreadful way of quitting smoking.

Yesterday, I heard a little disturbance by my cell’s door. For a few seconds I imagined Corporal Malloy and an US Marine squad storming through the metal door, coming to rescue me. But my wishful thinking was short lived, when two of Dr. Ivanov’s guards yanked me out of my cell with no explanation. Plotting ten different ways to knock them cold, I suddenly realized that escaping was an impossible task. Armed with “AI Tactical Rifles”, the guards kept an attentive eye on me, as we walked towards a tiled room at the end of a hall. - Good afternoon Mr. Harris! - said a familiar voice from inside the room. I lifted my head to find Dr. Johnson standing a few feet away from me. - How are you enjoying our accommodations? Getting enough rest? - said the Doctor sarcastically. My emotional seams were beginning to tear. I cursed myself for letting the situation go this far. One of the guards nudged me in the back, the rifle muzzle digging in hard. - You think you’re funny, Doctor. But the joke will be on you when I put my hands around your neck…traitor! - I said angrily. The Doctor smiled. He nodded to the guards. Dropping their rifles, the sentries held my arms behind my back. I struggled a bit, trying to become free, but it was useless. Before I could say another word, Dr. Johnson’s fist pounded my stomach, leaving me breathless. - This one is for nosing around, and this one is for being such a stubborn prick! - said the Doctor striking me again, this time harder than before. Gasping for air, I stood up. The guards now held my arms tighter. If I was to make a move, I would first leap on the shorter guard to my left, seize the guy’s weapon, shoot him point-blank, and using the man’s body for cover, make the second guard my next target…followed, at last, by the cruel Doctor. Sounded like a plan, but I doubted I could pull it off. As I imagined my escape plans, Dr Johnson put on his left glove. I was still wobbly from the first two punches. Before I could regain strength, the Doctor threw several punches on my face. I could taste blood in my mouth; salty and warm against the tip of my tongue. I ignored the pain and tried to stick to my agenda: stay alive and get the hell out of here. But my legs gave up and I hit the floor hard. Using the moment, the doctor hit me again, this time using his left knee. I almost blacked-out. Strong arms lifted my torso by my arm pits, and the doctor stroked my face again. I was done. I couldn’t move my legs, my arms. I crawled up, which made my head throb even more. I ran my hands across my face and through my hair. I felt a few bruises, but my teeth seemed to be in place. I brought my hands back and looked: more blood. Trembling, I reached for the nearest wall looking for support. Again, Dr. Johnson delivered another blow to my aching body: his pointy shoes now prodding my rib cage. The doctor could’ve killed me right there…but he was too sadistic to do so. Instead, he nodded at the guards and walked away. - See you next week, Corporal! - said the Doctor while walking towards the hallway. Somewhat relieved, I sat up by the wall and looked at the guards through spots in my eyes. I tried to get up by bracing the wall behind me. Still dizzy, I attempted a foolish attack at the guards but my legs didn’t respond to my commands. I stumbled a few feet, and again, I hit the floor this time for good. I finally blacked-out. I have no idea how long I stayed there, laying on the cold floor. When I regained conscience, I noticed someone kneeling by my side. I looked up, spots still in my eyes, my head throbbing badly. And there she was: so beautiful that I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She grabbed my head tenderly and inspected the cuts on my face. From her coat pocket she pulled out a cotton ball and proceeded to clean up my bleeding gashes. She constantly looked over her shoulders towards the guards’ position. I was so hazy from the beating, I couldn’t even think of one complete sentence to say. She checked my ribs for broken bones and found none. From another pocket she pulled out some bandages and dressed my cuts. Unexpectedly, she got really close to me and whispered: - I’m not with the bad guys…- as she furtively handed me a pocket knife, away from the guards’ eyes. - Time will come for us, use it wisely…- she whispered again as I stashed the knife in my pants. She then got up. I felt the guards behind me. I tried to stand on my feet but the pain kept me from moving. At that point resistance was hopeless: I was being dragged back to my cell. - Is this what I’m bound to? Weekly beatings by Dr. Johnson? - I thought to myself as the guards slammed my cell’s door shut. From the tiny window I could still see her. She sure is beautiful.