When he returned to his office, Lee stepped toward his desk and leaned on it, pressing his hands onto the cool top. The way Dustin looked at him didn't place a doubt in his mind: He didn't recognize Lee. To Dustin Lee was just another Chinese, like the others no doubt thought of Dustin as just another American. He couldn't stand the thought of harming Dustin, or giving the order to make it happen. Thinking about him on any of Lee's remade torture devices sent his stomach flopping, and Lee growled, swallowing quickly. Torture physical and mental was a common enough thing, and Lee had managed to handle it by detaching himself from the reality. It was why everyone in the nearby compound feared him as they did---he didn't twitch when someone screamed, didn't look away when they were whipped or stretched, made to stand on ice or hot coals, run to exhaustion. His cold exterior cracked, though. He could feel it, as if it were on him. A crack forming right over his chest, and he put a hand there as if mending it.

Once they had been so close. Had they promised to keep in touch? Now Lee couldn't remember. He pinched the bridge of his nose, cringing. Now he was more torn than ever. He didn't exactly like harming people directly or indirectly, but he was the best at it. He didn't like fighting against the Americans when all they wanted was to be left alone. Sighing angrily, Lee thought back to Dustin. Did he not recognize his old friend because Lee had changed so much? Did he look more... evil? He growled, coughing and leaning against his desk as the door opened again. "Sir, are you well?" The guard seemed concerned.

"Why is everyone asking me this?" Lee demanded, slamming his fist on the desktop. The guard flinched, but stepped in a little more.

"Well, you seem very stressed, and not at all well---"

"I seem stressed? In the midst of a war, manning these prisoners and spies and forcing confessions and information out of them, passing their cells each day to watch their emaciated, dehydrated, wounded bodies twitch in cramped cells as the screams of their friends echo through pipes to wrack their psyche? Stressed? Of course I am, you damn fool! Are you stressed?" The man nodded. "Then it's very safe to say I am as well. I want you to leave that spy alone for the next week, are we clear? With rationed food and water he'll eventually grow... weak." Lee turned, sitting heavily in his chair and dismissed the man with a wave of his hand. When the door was closed, Lee sighed and cradled his head in his hands. The guilt was beginning to set in already. Dustin didn't remember him, but Lee certainly remembered Dustin. Maybe he would recognize his name... But Lee doubted it, despite possibly being the only man with a Chinese-based name and a Russian-based surname.