In the army, fearing death is a weakness that they can’t allow. You have to be out on the front lines, facing death at every step. And if you fear it, it will only get you faster.

That’s what you told yourself, as the interrogator landed another sharp blow to your temple. Your vision swam, flickering from the impact as the man in front of you repeated his questions.

“Who do you work for? And where the Fuck are your team? You’d better spit it out, Bitch, or you’ll be missing more than just your fingers.” The man spat, gripping you harshly by the hair. When you made no reply, he snarled, hands wrapping around your throat as he squeezed.

The other enemy soldier in the room spoke in another language, sounding panicked as the man holding you by the throat tightened his grip to the point of strangling you- but his grip never loosened.

snap

The cracking of your windpipe under the force of the man’s hands was quiet, but it sounded like a gunshot as you slacked. The man let go immediately, stepping back with wide eyes while the other soldier was now ranting in another language, and they started to converse in panicked whispers.

…except… you were still conscious.

The pain hurt like a bitch, but after a moment of laying slack, a strangled noise of agony slipped from you, and you shifted. This caused both men to snap their head over to you, the one treat had ‘killed’ you swearing loudly before rushing to the door. They had no idea how you’d survived- neither did you, but when he went to open the old steel door, there was another figure right there. The lack of oxygen thanks to your now-shattered windpipe blurred your vision, passing out under the noise of the two men exclaiming, then silence.

—

When you came to, you were still in the chair, but your throat hurt less- and there was a new man sitting across from you. The mangled bodies of your captors lay off to the side. When you lifted your eyes, you were met with an intense stare, the new man’s brown gaze piercing into your soul as he just… sat there.