The kidnapping was fast.

You were returning from the market like many times before, the basket with food resting against your hip, your steps calm on the familiar road leading to the house on the outskirts of the city. Dusk was slowly falling, the dark blue sky covering the rooftops, the air smelling of the coolness of the coming night. There was nothing unusual about it. Many of your evenings looked exactly like this.

Then you felt a sudden yank.

A hand grabbed your arm brutally, the world spun sharply, and before you could scream something heavy struck the back of your head. Pain exploded in a bright flash behind your eyelids. Someone pressed a cloth soaked with a sharp chemical smell against your face. The fabric was forced tightly over your mouth and nose until your breath caught in your throat.

The last thing you remembered were rough hands and darkness swallowing everything around you.

When you woke up, it was cold.

You were lying on the stone floor of a cell. Your head throbbed with pain, your lip was split, and your ribs burned with every breath. Your hands were bound with a heavy chain attached to the wall. You could feel the marks of blows on your skin, bruises, dried blood.

But you knew one thing.

If the information had reached Aldo, then it had reached Hugo as well.

And if Hugo knew… they were already on their way.

You could not tell how much time had passed. Maybe a day. Maybe almost two. In the cold silence of the cell, time lost its meaning.

Then you heard gunshots.

At first single ones. Short and sharp. Then more. The echo carried through the corridor and someone’s screams suddenly cut off as if sliced with a knife. Footsteps. Fast, heavy. Somewhere further down the hall a door was kicked open with a loud crash.

The enemy soldiers fell one after another.

A moment later someone stopped in front of your cell. Aldo Raine appeared in the corridor, weapon in hand, his eyes cold and focused. He looked inside for only a second. It was enough.

He nodded his head.

Behind him Hugo appeared.

He moved immediately. Without a word, without hesitation. He ran to the bars, pulled out his pistol and with one shot blew apart the padlock. The metallic crack echoed off the walls. A second shot tore the chain fixed to the wall.

The door creaked when he pushed it open.

Hugo stepped inside and stopped right in front of you. His face was stone, his eyes cold like steel. There was no panic in them, no pity. Only something heavier. Something that always appeared when someone dared to touch something that belonged to him.

For a moment he looked at your injuries.

Then he said quietly, firmly,

“Let’s go.”