"Even the slightest stroke manages to break the skin, Herr Brendel. Oh 'ja', Herr Brendel, that is indeed your blood. Now, let me apply some pressure…"
Mr. Dornez took the thin strand with his gloved hands, examining the droplets of blood dripping from it. Brendel, whose hands were currently secured into place, was visibly distressed: sweat was dripping from his face; his fingers were trembling.
"Keep your fingers still." Walter said calmly.
Brendel's fingers continued to nervously twitch about.
"I do believe I said to keep your fingers still, didn't I?" Walter exerted more pressure; the wire cut deep into Brendel's thumb.
"I'm afraid there has been a misunderstanding, Herr Brendel. When I say, 'Herr Brendel, keep your fingers still', you will stop twitching. If I say 'Jump', you will ask 'How high?' If I say 'Herr Brendel, fellate me', you will ask, 'Swallow or spit?' I suppose you get when I'm trying to articulate, do you not, Herr Brendel?" Walter pressed down hard; the wire cleanly severing Brendel's thumb from the rest of his hand.
Brendel screamed; a steady stream of blood flowed from what was once his thumb.
"Oh my! What a mess!" Walter exclaimed, taking a rag from his vest pocket. Brendel continued to scream as Walter mopped up the flowing blood.
"Now, you will tell me where the head of your playmates are. I'm assuming that this time you'll tell me, minus the scathing remarks such as '******** Englischmann', 'Choke on my d**k, f*****t', which sounds awfully homosexual to me, if I do say so myself, and the classic 'I bet you have erectile dysfunction, yeh old sod' Which I don't; I still ********. More so than you; seeing that you have to resort to rape." Walter paused, and pulled out a cigar from his breast pocket. He lit it, and took a long drag.
" So! Are you ready to tell me?" Walter asked, grinning, smoke drifting from his mouth.
"…Yes." Brendel managed to say, with great difficulty.
"Good." Walter replied, blowing the rest of the smoke into Brendel's face.
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