PAIN. ANGER. REGRET.
I felt his emotions, every single part of it, as the Red matron who personally oversaw his interrogation tortures him again and again, taking him just to the brink of oblivion only to drag him back from falling into the darkness. Green vines bound his hands and legs, splaying him wide in the air in nothing but his boxer shorts, and his body shivered as pain racked through him with each slightest movement. His screams resounded loud as the red matron did something to him for some long minutes before stopping.
I watched everything from the shadows, unable to move, speak, or even let loose of the floodgate of tears locked behind my eyes and vent the thick stifling pain which smothered me. He refused to speak despite whatever they did to him, refused to betray his friends.
An image flashed through my mind—his mind. It was his late grandmother, Iya Agba. I looked at her with familiarity like I have known her for years, feeling from
