Adam sat slumped against the wall, his uniform torn and stained, breath coming in ragged gasps. The metallic tang of blood and sweat filled the air, mingling with the musty scent of old stone. His wrists were raw from the shackles, but his eyes burned with quiet defiance as he waited, listening for footsteps in the echoing corridor.

Two masked guards haul Adam to his knees before Polkiu, who stands tall in a crisp, dark uniform, eyes cold as steel. Polkiu's voice is smooth, almost gentle, but laced with menace. "You know why you are here. Tell me what I want, and this ends quickly," he says, stepping closer, his boots echoing ominously on the concrete.

"You can do what you want. I won't betray them," Adam spits through clenched teeth, his gaze unwavering. Polkiu nods almost respectfully before signaling to the guards. The first jolt of electricity sends Adam's body arching, his scream echoing off stone, but he refuses to break.

"You are brave, soldier. But everyone has limits," Polkiu murmurs, almost admiringly, as he wipes blood from his gloves. Adam fights to keep silent, every muscle trembling. His memories flicker—sunlit fields, laughter, his comrades—shields against the agony.

"Just a name. Just one. You can rest," Polkiu whispers, almost soothing. Adam squeezes his eyes shut, his resolve crumbling under the weight of relentless pain. A tear slips down his cheek, mingling with blood, as the words finally escape him—broken, defeated.

Polkiu signals the guards to remove Adam. "It’s over," he whispers, voice barely audible. The world outside the cell continues, indifferent to the struggle within, but the echoes of Adam's resistance linger, a silent testament to an unbreakable will—until the very end.