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Young Horace was shoved into an unknown room, mouth gagged, eyes blind folded, hands tied, and ears muffled. He was screaming, though his voice was muffled by the gag that was cloth. His captors merely laughed at him and kicked him again, then he heard a steel door slam shut.

"Jesus Christ, where the hell am I?"

He thought, trying to get up, but the ropes prevented him from doing so. The sound of laughter died away, his feet kicked around until he realized he couldn't support himself. He simply laid there on the cold, hard surface with his bareback exposed. It looked like they were kind enough to only leave him his pants on, nothing else.

His long, red hair pooled around his head as he rolled on to his back to face up. Struggling won't help, says Cisco, if you're caught, you're dead. The gag didn't help him at all when he wanted to take deep breaths from his mouth, his nostrils flared in anger

"They're going to kill me....no, they won't...ever...."

Again, he fought against the ropes, only to succeed in straining his muscles. He panted, not knowing how to get out of this and eventually concluded that there was no way out. But that didn't stop him.

"Sh.it....I....I was at camp....then I got ambushed while scouting....don't tell me it was the fu.cking Koreans...."

His eyes shifted around, though the blindfold kept his world dark, not even a single dot or ray can penetrate the cloth.

The events to his mind was vague, all he saw was blurs and then the sound of murmurs, even the gunshots were muffled. Nothing could be recollected to his mind for some reason, though he had quite a strong memory. His back and legs ached from the beating he received from whoever captured him, especially when he strained his muscles, the nerves would send pulses to his mind to stop the pressure.

"Ah....you...you're Horace, ho?"

The voice sounded familiar, it was his own, except, only higher pitched.

"...yeah, who the hell are you?"

"No one..."

"Well, get me out..."

"....until the next time we talk..."

It was strange to hear the voice, it gave him comfort, though it sounded like it was a man's voice. Horace strained his ears to hear it again, but nothing was spoken.

"Christ...I think I'm hearing things..."

After an hour of struggling in the dark, his mind began to slip from reality and enter his own mental state of where things can happen. Good things. Bad things. It happens, all of it. He failed to see color, though all his other senses were working flawlessly. The feeling of somebody poking his shoulder made him jump in surprise, though he reacted by lashing out with his head twisting around.