The Survivor of the 27

Chapter twenty seven

  I hear three bangs against the door, making my jolt up. I quickly grab my shemagh and wrap it around my face. Once it's on Hassan opens the door and walks in.

  "Good morning. Do you know what day it is?" He asks me.

  "No general Hassan," I reply.

  "Today we will be testing your training and durability. In other words we're going to put you through hell and see if you can climb out of it. Or if you will fall deeper," he says with a vicious grin. This will be fun.

  "Here, throw this on," he says, tossing me clothes. Black cargo pants, and a black long sleeve Under Armour shirt. Instead of leaving though, he waits there.

  "Go on. Get dressed," he says with a smirk. But not having any choice, I slip off my shirt and pants. I can see him smiling and looking at me with lust. This part scares me. I've never seen that look in him before. Nonetheless though, I get dressed.

  After seven hours of non-stop fighting, I'm finally done. It started out with just simple hand to hand combat, then to severe obstacle courses. Then to see how long I could go without spilling information. Which I thought I already showed them. Then to a fifty verse me fight. I had my swords and they had their guns. Let's just say that no one came out of the fight alive except for me. Who came out without a single hair out of place.

"Very good, my soldier. You will be the story that parents tell their children at night. You will be the face of the Looloo," Hassan says, pleased with me.

  "Now, if you follow me. We have some patching up to do," he says.

  I end up following him to the hospital wing. The moment I enter the room, my head is filled with so many memories. I take a deep breath and suppress all the memories. It doesn't matter any more. I walk into the room and see that there's that iconic metal table in the middle of the room.

  "Have a seat," Hassan says. I do as he says. I start to feel scared and I can feel myself start to shake.

  "You look nervous, Khor Khoreh," Hassan comments.

  "No sir," I lie. I push down my feelings. I need to do better.

  "Good," he smiles.

  About a minute later a doctor comes into the room. This time though, instead of feeling scared I feel semi better. So to speak. The doctor that walks in is a woman, she has long, lavish brown hair. She's short. She stands at about 5'1, without the heels which give her three extra inches. She has a lovely olive skin tone and bright hazel eyes. She weighs about 118 pounds. I watch her put on her white lab coat. She walks over to the counter and opens up a drawer.

  I watch her grab out a drippy bag and fill it up with water. She then pulls out a big container filled with a white powdery substance. What is that? I watch her shake the bag and the white substance dissolves. She grabs a needle and a tube and hooks it up to the drippy bag.

  "Can you take off your shirt?" The lady asks in Persian. I do as she says and lift the shirt up over my head. She covers her mouth with her hands and says something that I can't quite understand.

  She looks over to Hassan and he gives her a look of keep going. He has her neck too. She's forced into this. He most likely has her kid or other family members.

  She grabs the bag and takes my arm. I look to where her eyes are and see that they're on my torso, it's the long one. The scratch mark, from the top of my torso to the end.

  Hassan clears his throat, and she gets back on task. She grabs the needle and puts it in my arm. She grabs a pole and hangs the drippy bag on that. Hassan then walks in front of me.