Lee was running through the words in his head. Thank you for being my friend... Whatever it was, whether it was some learned spy tactic or sincere, Lee wasn't entirely, fully sure. The expression in his eyes seemed more than real, the cold hatred and questioning sliding away to make way for confusion, perhaps a warm look. Did he remember something? Lee didn't know. How strongly was his memory erased? How had it been erased at all?

A coughing scream brought him out of his thoughts and Lee studied the man. He was hanging from the ceiling by the wrists, his skin around the rope raw and bleeding. A plate was attached to the ground below him, keeping his ankles in place as one of the torturers hit him with a whip tipped with a sharp steel topper that cut the skin. The American---he appeared to be in his mid thirties---screamed again, but this time it resembled a ragged, hoarse 'No!' Lee shook his head. "Again. Five lashes. If he doesn't speak, acid treatment. Start below the waist."

"No, God I'll tell you, God! Don't, s-s-stop..." The man twitched hard, lowering his head. "Look... Th-the...there's a movement... m-movement to the... to the... e-east... Troop of... s-s-seventy. T-they... they're... sweeping..."

"Sweeping?" Lee demanded.

"The... border. They... they're... c-coming... this way."

Lee nodded. "You. Spread word in the compound. And if he's lying, give him an acid bath until he dies."

The American gasped, but Lee didn't stick around to hear if he spoke. He slammed the door behind him, stalking down the hall. The smell in the torture rooms was repulsive, but he'd gotten used to it. The smell made it even more uncomfortable for the prisoners, and the torturers wore masks to take away from the smell. Halfway down the hall, Lee sighed, sagging a little. Harming people was, in itself, torture. Torture he had managed to insulate himself from feeling.