Becker sensed more than saw the movements in the dark, the telltale sounds of boots against concrete and the way the shadows shifted just slightly.
"Back again, huh?" His voice was slightly slurred, very raspy but still as angrily defiant as before. He attempted to glare at the darkness, even as his eyes refused to completely focus. The words aimed at him mostly washed over him, his exhausted ears only picking up a couple of parts here and there. Like 'talked'. And 'before'.
"So which one were you, then?" Becker started to laugh before it became a hacking cough. "Burn boy or the cutting one? Because really, you Taliban bastards all start to blur into each other after a while." Always coming in, always asking the same questions, over and over and over again, just with the slightest variations in techniques to keep things interesting. Becker knew that so far he'd had it relatively easy. Cuts and bruises and burns that would heal, even if traces of scars would remain. Well, heal assuming he was ever freed from this hellhole and that was incredibly unlikely. But hey, at least he still had all his limbs. And teeth. He liked his teeth. And that thought sent him off into another coughing laugh again.
"Doesn't matter anyway, I'm not telling you a damn thing. So why don't we get onto whatever entertainment you've got in store for me today, hm?"