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The interrogations continued day and night. What began as simple questions soon escalated into violence. It was as expected.
"Your colleagues have already spoken. They've told us everything, both real and false, and we'll know more about this."
The interrogator spoke like this, trying to instill distrust in his colleagues, and at times even trying to persuade him. Each time, Heiner responded cynically.
“You’re lying.”
"Lie?"
The interrogator laughed bitterly.
“Why do you think I’m lying?”
“They already opened their mouths... but they’re not saying what information it is, haha.”
“Is there any reason to tell you any more information than the Marquis Dietrich’s bastards?”
Heiner's expression cracked slightly. They knew who was behind it. Someone had really spoken out... or... no, it couldn't be ruled out that the whistleblower already knew everything in the first place.
So who the hell is the informer?
Heiner tried to think clearly, but it didn't work. Just staying conscious was a struggle.
The interrogator questioned him about this and that, and if he did not get the answers he wanted, he hit him on the head or slapped him on the cheek.
The violence was far less severe than the beatings he'd endured from the guards, but the humiliation was even greater. The interrogators were toying with his mind, making it impossible for him to think clearly.
The interrogator peppered Heiner with questions without pause, and every time Heiner answered, he would nitpick and refute his answers.
Yet, the reason Heiner didn't confess anything was that he was still loyal to Padania—and because he hadn't given up hope yet.
Jackson wasn't caught. He was a capable man, and he would surely come up with some solution. Or he could have asked the Marquis for help.
Even from the Marquis's perspective, keeping the agents in the Labor Party's interrogation room would have been unsettling. It might have been better if they were all dead, but there was no telling what secrets they might leak if they were still alive.
So Heiner figured a prisoner exchange would soon take place, or a follow-up force would arrive. He just had to hold out until then.
“Yes, then let’s try this.”
The interrogator pushed up his glasses and spoke with a feigned benevolence.
"I promise to stop interrogating you and spare your life. In return, you'll give me some plausible information... It doesn't have to be classified... Something that only you and your colleagues would know. Then go tell your colleagues this."
“...”
"I'm sorry. I already told you everything. If we keep holding on like this, we'll just be tortured or die. Let's just tell everyone."
The interrogator tilted his head, his eyes shining, as if to say, "This is a good suggestion." A moment of silence followed.
A laugh escaped Heiner's torn lips.
"Ha."
“...”
“Ha, haha, ha! Haha!”
“...Are you laughing?”
“Ha, ha... Hey, what do you think is the difference between that and me revealing all the secrets with my own mouth...?”
It seems that the interrogator thought that he had lost his senses after the harsh interrogation and torture.
"You party members are just uneducated, lowly brats... Your brains are all lowly. You've never had any camaraderie, have you? You've been begging for a living, haven't you?"
In reality, those words were meant to be slander, but to the interrogators who did not know his identity, they sounded like nothing more than an insult.
Heiner spat on the desk and said,
"Go to the factory and turn on the spinning machines. Judging by the way you wear your clothes, your technology seems far inferior to Padania's."
After those words, an eerie silence followed. Heiner stared at the interrogator with a faint smile.
In fact, he couldn't deny that he was momentarily shaken by the interrogator's suggestion.
I'll spare your life. It was a very tempting offer. At least to him, it was more tempting than the offer to stop the interrogation.
Heiner didn't want to die. He hadn't lived this long, struggling to survive, just to die here. He had to live. He had to return alive.
He couldn't die like this, without being able to say a word to her.
The reason he refused to accept the interrogator's offer was similar to his own. They had no intention of keeping him alive anyway.
Even if he returned alive, having revealed the secret, he would be eliminated by the Marquis. Keeping his mouth shut and waiting for rescue was his only way to survive.
"...Okay."
After a long silence, the interrogator opened his mouth.
“Is that so?”
Heiner met his snake-like eyes without reply. The interrogator called loudly to the guard. The guard immediately entered the interrogation room and stood up.
“Let this kid stand up.”
The guard saluted and roughly pulled Heiner to his feet. Heiner stumbled, his legs unsteady. The two men staggered together.
Finally, another guard joined in. They lifted Heiner's hands together and then handcuffed him. It was a classic torture position.
The interrogator walked slowly toward Heiner. He tapped his thigh with his club, then lifted it to Heiner's shoulder.
Puck!
Heiner groaned and twisted his upper body. But his arms were tied, preventing him from moving properly. A dull, heavy pain surged through his shoulders.
“You cheeky brat.”
Puck!
“You don’t know the topic.”
Puck!
“Who is who?”
Puck!
Clubs flew everywhere. His body, swollen, bruised, and bruised, was extremely vulnerable to the violence. Heiner was struck without even being able to scream properly.
The interrogator, who had been beating him for a long time, gasped for breath and threw down the club. Heiner slumped, his barely closed eyelids fluttering. Blood dripped from his mouth.
His eyes kept flickering. The interrogator was giving orders to the guard, but his deafened ears couldn't hear clearly. The guard, who had left the interrogation room, soon re-entered.
A subtle heat was felt. A flame was crackling inside the large can the guard had brought.
The interrogator kept babbling. He couldn't hear clearly because of his tinnitus, but it was clear he was making sexual remarks.
He was used to that kind of insult. Those who had harassed him so terribly during his training camp days had used similar insults.
"Your friend is terrible at fighting. How did you survive until now? Did you survive by supporting him?"
“Didn’t you give it to that kid?”
A life accustomed to such humiliation. It was truly miserable. Heiner let out a sound that was neither a laugh nor a groan.
After all, he will never be able to possess something so precious. If he tries to bring something into this life, it will quickly run away...
Pain shot up his spine. His whole body felt crushed. It was such a pain that he felt like he would rather die.
Even in the midst of all this, it's funny how he doesn't want to die.
Why on earth, even though life is like this, do I want to live like this?
What on earth am I for...
Heiner blinked, his eyes wet with blood dripping from his head. The words of his instructor during torture training suddenly came to mind: Don't focus on the present. Think about something else. The distant past, the distant future.
Beep—. A constant ringing in his ears. Heiner's mind drifted away, recalling the distant past and the distant future.
Memories flashed through the darkness like fragments. The surroundings gradually brightened. Everything had passed, and in the place left behind, a dazzling white building stood tall.
Heiner gazed out from there, into the distant horizon. The tinnitus had vanished, and only the beautiful sound of the piano filled his ears.
It was that kid.
In his past, the little child grew up, just as he remembered. A dazzling beauty.
Heiner pursed his lips slightly.
Come to think of it, he'd never once said her name out loud. He mustered up the courage to say it.
Annette Rosenberg.
“Dirty male prostitute.”
The interrogator hurled curses at him as he heated an iron bar over a fire. The guards tore off Heiner's tattered and worn shirt, exposing his bruised chest.
A red-hot iron bar came close to his bare skin. He felt a searing heat. Through his cracked mouth, Heiner muttered her name like a prayer.
Annette Rosenberg.
If I ever come back alive and see you, I'll definitely talk to you. Stop hiding by the window and peeking...
I want to look into your eyes and talk to you.
A terribly hot pain sank down on his bare skin. It was a pain he had never experienced before, despite his life filled with suffering. It was a terrible, terrible pain.
Screams filled the interrogation room. The interrogators and guards chuckled as they watched him struggle.
His clenched lips split, and his fingernails dug into his palms. The smell of burning flesh wafted through his nostrils. Yet, she was still in his mind.
Ah.
You don't even know me, so why is my past and future all about you?
"Your colleagues have already spoken. They've told us everything, both real and false, and we'll know more about this."
The interrogator spoke like this, trying to instill distrust in his colleagues, and at times even trying to persuade him. Each time, Heiner responded cynically.
“You’re lying.”
"Lie?"
The interrogator laughed bitterly.
“Why do you think I’m lying?”
“They already opened their mouths... but they’re not saying what information it is, haha.”
“Is there any reason to tell you any more information than the Marquis Dietrich’s bastards?”
Heiner's expression cracked slightly. They knew who was behind it. Someone had really spoken out... or... no, it couldn't be ruled out that the whistleblower already knew everything in the first place.
So who the hell is the informer?
Heiner tried to think clearly, but it didn't work. Just staying conscious was a struggle.
The interrogator questioned him about this and that, and if he did not get the answers he wanted, he hit him on the head or slapped him on the cheek.
The violence was far less severe than the beatings he'd endured from the guards, but the humiliation was even greater. The interrogators were toying with his mind, making it impossible for him to think clearly.
The interrogator peppered Heiner with questions without pause, and every time Heiner answered, he would nitpick and refute his answers.
Yet, the reason Heiner didn't confess anything was that he was still loyal to Padania—and because he hadn't given up hope yet.
Jackson wasn't caught. He was a capable man, and he would surely come up with some solution. Or he could have asked the Marquis for help.
Even from the Marquis's perspective, keeping the agents in the Labor Party's interrogation room would have been unsettling. It might have been better if they were all dead, but there was no telling what secrets they might leak if they were still alive.
So Heiner figured a prisoner exchange would soon take place, or a follow-up force would arrive. He just had to hold out until then.
“Yes, then let’s try this.”
The interrogator pushed up his glasses and spoke with a feigned benevolence.
"I promise to stop interrogating you and spare your life. In return, you'll give me some plausible information... It doesn't have to be classified... Something that only you and your colleagues would know. Then go tell your colleagues this."
“...”
"I'm sorry. I already told you everything. If we keep holding on like this, we'll just be tortured or die. Let's just tell everyone."
The interrogator tilted his head, his eyes shining, as if to say, "This is a good suggestion." A moment of silence followed.
A laugh escaped Heiner's torn lips.
"Ha."
“...”
“Ha, haha, ha! Haha!”
“...Are you laughing?”
“Ha, ha... Hey, what do you think is the difference between that and me revealing all the secrets with my own mouth...?”
It seems that the interrogator thought that he had lost his senses after the harsh interrogation and torture.
"You party members are just uneducated, lowly brats... Your brains are all lowly. You've never had any camaraderie, have you? You've been begging for a living, haven't you?"
In reality, those words were meant to be slander, but to the interrogators who did not know his identity, they sounded like nothing more than an insult.
Heiner spat on the desk and said,
"Go to the factory and turn on the spinning machines. Judging by the way you wear your clothes, your technology seems far inferior to Padania's."
After those words, an eerie silence followed. Heiner stared at the interrogator with a faint smile.
In fact, he couldn't deny that he was momentarily shaken by the interrogator's suggestion.
I'll spare your life. It was a very tempting offer. At least to him, it was more tempting than the offer to stop the interrogation.
Heiner didn't want to die. He hadn't lived this long, struggling to survive, just to die here. He had to live. He had to return alive.
He couldn't die like this, without being able to say a word to her.
The reason he refused to accept the interrogator's offer was similar to his own. They had no intention of keeping him alive anyway.
Even if he returned alive, having revealed the secret, he would be eliminated by the Marquis. Keeping his mouth shut and waiting for rescue was his only way to survive.
"...Okay."
After a long silence, the interrogator opened his mouth.
“Is that so?”
Heiner met his snake-like eyes without reply. The interrogator called loudly to the guard. The guard immediately entered the interrogation room and stood up.
“Let this kid stand up.”
The guard saluted and roughly pulled Heiner to his feet. Heiner stumbled, his legs unsteady. The two men staggered together.
Finally, another guard joined in. They lifted Heiner's hands together and then handcuffed him. It was a classic torture position.
The interrogator walked slowly toward Heiner. He tapped his thigh with his club, then lifted it to Heiner's shoulder.
Puck!
Heiner groaned and twisted his upper body. But his arms were tied, preventing him from moving properly. A dull, heavy pain surged through his shoulders.
“You cheeky brat.”
Puck!
“You don’t know the topic.”
Puck!
“Who is who?”
Puck!
“Trying to lecture me, you bastard!”
The interrogator, who had been beating him for a long time, gasped for breath and threw down the club. Heiner slumped, his barely closed eyelids fluttering. Blood dripped from his mouth.
His eyes kept flickering. The interrogator was giving orders to the guard, but his deafened ears couldn't hear clearly. The guard, who had left the interrogation room, soon re-entered.
A subtle heat was felt. A flame was crackling inside the large can the guard had brought.
“Filthy... Your parents were all... with the marquis like that...”
He was used to that kind of insult. Those who had harassed him so terribly during his training camp days had used similar insults.
"Your friend is terrible at fighting. How did you survive until now? Did you survive by supporting him?"
“Didn’t you give it to that kid?”
“That kid's feeding the instructor. Sausages galore, ugh.”
After all, he will never be able to possess something so precious. If he tries to bring something into this life, it will quickly run away...
Pain shot up his spine. His whole body felt crushed. It was such a pain that he felt like he would rather die.
Even in the midst of all this, it's funny how he doesn't want to die.
Why on earth, even though life is like this, do I want to live like this?
What on earth am I for...
Heiner blinked, his eyes wet with blood dripping from his head. The words of his instructor during torture training suddenly came to mind: Don't focus on the present. Think about something else. The distant past, the distant future.
Beep—. A constant ringing in his ears. Heiner's mind drifted away, recalling the distant past and the distant future.
Memories flashed through the darkness like fragments. The surroundings gradually brightened. Everything had passed, and in the place left behind, a dazzling white building stood tall.
Heiner gazed out from there, into the distant horizon. The tinnitus had vanished, and only the beautiful sound of the piano filled his ears.
It was that kid.
In his past, the little child grew up, just as he remembered. A dazzling beauty.
Heiner pursed his lips slightly.
Come to think of it, he'd never once said her name out loud. He mustered up the courage to say it.
Annette Rosenberg.
“Dirty male prostitute.”
The interrogator hurled curses at him as he heated an iron bar over a fire. The guards tore off Heiner's tattered and worn shirt, exposing his bruised chest.
A red-hot iron bar came close to his bare skin. He felt a searing heat. Through his cracked mouth, Heiner muttered her name like a prayer.
Annette Rosenberg.
If I ever come back alive and see you, I'll definitely talk to you. Stop hiding by the window and peeking...
I want to look into your eyes and talk to you.
A terribly hot pain sank down on his bare skin. It was a pain he had never experienced before, despite his life filled with suffering. It was a terrible, terrible pain.
Screams filled the interrogation room. The interrogators and guards chuckled as they watched him struggle.
His clenched lips split, and his fingernails dug into his palms. The smell of burning flesh wafted through his nostrils. Yet, she was still in his mind.
Ah.
You don't even know me, so why is my past and future all about you?
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