The air was cold... Where was he? Memories ran through his head slowly as if halted at the bends and turns of his mind for inspection before being allowed to pass. A car, the sound of an engine, the radio; "How about that card game tonight John?", "I don't want to take your money Kennan," "Well I doub-" "INCOMMING!"; An explosion... pain. "Was sollen wir mit dem amerikanischen zu tun?"; "Warum war er hier? Nehmen Sie ihn zum Arzt." Light. Bright light, the smell of rubbing alcohol, a woman's voice, "Patient Anzeichen einer Besserung zeigt, Doktor, er sollte in der Lage, in wenigen Tagen zu sprechen." Rope. Being tied tight, he could feel it. Was he remembering or feeling? He glanced down and saw thick worn rope tied around his wrists, double knotted, and anchored to the chair. When he tried to move his head he felt more rope holding it in place along his forehead. The last thing he noticed was the blood slowly streaming down his chest and a shadow in the corner of his own personal hell.
"Where am I?" He rhasped out. No response. "Who are you?" John took a breath and attempted to speed up his mind. He needed to distinguish what he was feeling now from what he felt in the past. "Why am I here, where's Kennan?" Still no response save for a minor movement from the shadow in the corner. He strained against his bonds, testing them, seeing if they were solid. John had no movement at all.
"Ah, herr John," began a thickly German voice from the shadows, "You are in Germany." A lighter's flame errupted from the shadows and illuminated the face of his captor. For someone John determined to be a villian his face was surprisingly pristine. "I am Pattrik Vashenfeldt and you are here for no other reason than that you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Kennan, we assume is dead." Pattrik paused a moment for John to process what he was telling him before finishing his speech with dramatic flair, "I tell you this only because I want you to know 'zat I mean you no harm. As long as you tell us what we want to know, you will be spared great suffering."
From where he sat John couldn't see much except for the light of the flame go out as Pattrik lit his cigarette. He guessed that he was alone and judged that his wounds were not inflicted by the man talking to him. As his restraints were too tightly held John ventured to stretch out in a different manner. "What happened to me?" Silence lasted for what seemed a full minute. John was resolute in remaining quiet himself. He knew that Pattrik had heard him and Pattrik knew that John was testing his new relationship
"Herr John, you were riding in a car with the Spider. Your injuries are collateral damage, we hope." Pattrik stepped out into the light so and leveled his eyes with John by coming down onto his haunches. "We hope your injuries are collateral damage becuase the other three members of the car are dead as a result of the explosion and it would be a shame for three innocent men to die instead of two." Pattrik rose from his lowered stance and moved out of the light towards John's back. John heard a series of knocks on wood and assumed it to be a code to open the door.
"Pattrik!" John said sharply. His lungs rattled with pain. Perhaps he was not as well as he thought he felt? "What is the Spider?"
"Acht, herr John. The Spider is the greatest undercover agent in all of the world. Pray that it died so that you may be free to leave."
And with that, the door opened, then closed, and John was alone in hell.
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