[Since the blow to the back of his head Alfred has been struggling with his sense of time, this was made all the much harder when the squatters who attacked him had started in with their torture. It had started with stripping him of all his valuables and clothes and then progressed to full on beatings; they had whipped him, burned parts of him with a hot poker and of course beat him with their fists and any blunt objects they had on hand.

It wasn't his first time enduring torture, he had been part of SAS for ten years and was one of the best but that didn't mean he didn't feel pain. He felt it very much.

But he had a place to go, a place in the back of his mind where he could hunker down and wait, hope and pray for it to end. It's this place he slowly comes out of when he hears the choked cry of Jorge as his body falls down onto the floor, landing next to Alfred. One dead eye looking at him as if to say 'well would you look at this, this wasn't supposed to happen.'

He blinks, his left eye swollen basically shut and slowly turns his head, hearing the tendons in his neck creak as he looks up to see Oswald standing there. His face is paler than usual, his eye blazing in the dark with a sort of beautiful brutal beauty.]

.....oswald. [He croaks, his voice barely there and he forces himself to swallow before trying again.]

...sir? ...is that you?