The ray of light blinded him as the door to the cell slowly opened. The young man blinked several times as his deep brown eyes attempted to adjust to the brightness. Normally it was so dark he couldn't even make out the stonewalls surrounding him. As his sight finally became acclimatized he recognized the massive bulk of the Overseer. The youth's wasted form stiffened as he braced himself, causing his restraints to clink softly. It seemed pointless to chain such a brittle looking creature, but the guards wouldn't take any chances with their leader's little projects.

     At first the young man hadn't noticed the tray in the massive figure's arms, though once his gaze settled upon it he needed nearly all his concentration to pull it away. Even after, the aroma of the food made his stomach growl in protest. The older man's scarred face twisted into a smile that was never meant to be warm as he watched the younger one.

     "Aren't you hungry yet?”

     He clenched his jaw, refusing to give the obvious answer – again.

      “How long has it been since you last had food?”

     Too long, far too long, but he kept his silence.

     “I guess you wouldn't have any sense of time down here, without the sun to mark the passage of days." He seemed to take pleasure in the hatred of the prisoner's stare. Setting the tray down, he continued to speak, still with the same twisted smile. Only now his voice had taken on a silky, caressing tone.

     "I could bring you back out into the sun, you could feast like a king. All you have to do is answer one question correctly for me. Who are you?"

     The prisoner stared back at the graying haired man balefully, but his thoughts were on the tray and the question.

     Food. The word sounded wondrous to him, he hadn't eaten in what seemed to be eternity.  A tattered tunic, the shade of gray that can only come from a very filthy white hung from his wasted frame, looking as if it belonged to a man nearly twice his size; a piece of cord tied around his waste was all that held his breeches up.

     His name. It was all he had left; it was his identity. If he surrendered it to this man... He shuddered to think of the consequences. Without a name he would be whatever they made him.

     But the food, oh God, he was so hungry. His head dropped so that his chin was resting on his chest. Shaggy locks of filthy brown hair fell forward, hiding the struggle upon his face.

     "I- I am David." He stammered the words. He kept his head down, eyes squeezed as tightly shut as they would go. It looked almost as if he was trying to make the situation disappear, but he was bracing his body as well, he knew what would follow. He had played this game before.

     The Overseer had dubbed it "Questions and Consequences" - a name that summed the game up in its entirety. The question was asked, you answered it correctly or you suffered the consequences. When playing, however, one had to remember that the correct answer was what the Overseer wanted to hear, and that was often not the same thing as the truth.  

     "You can't win, you do realize that?" The Overseer's voice contained a hint of amused exasperation as he lashed out.

     The full power of his backhand swing caught David across the face and he fell sprawling to the right as far as the chains would allow. The Overseer had said the same thing to him so many times, but before he had refused to believe it. He'd held on to the delusion he was strong enough to fight this, held on to the pathetic ray of hope that he could escape. Only now he realized that there had been no victory in the times when the Overseer had walked away. There were no rounds in this game; there were only intermissions. It wouldn't end until he lost.

     The question was repeated, and he gave the same answer. Only this time, there was more hesitation. The blow sent specks across his vision as he was knocked to the left. David's shoulders shook with suppressed pain and sorrow. It was only a name, only a word. He couldn't win. He couldn't fight. He was starving; he was cold. Only a word... Letters, sounds.

     It went on and on.  Left, right, left, right, straight back into the wall.  The Overseer began to vary where he struck, delivering crippling blows to David’s chest and abdomen as well.  He wanted to scream, to hurl his answer as loudly as he could into that scarred face.  But he barely had the breath left to speak.

     He barely had the will left to answer.

     His face was pulled roughly upward by the Overseer's hand under his chin. The youth's once handsome visage was only inches away from his tormentor's. Hollowed cheekbones added age to his twenty-three years, but the difference between them in age was still clear.  

     "David is weak. David hides behind a name like a shield. I can make you strong, so strong you'll never need a shield or have to hide again. Who are you?"

     "No one, nothing. I'm no one..." The words sounded as if they had been torn from him, along with the remnants of his dignity and pride.  He was now just clay in the hands of this renegade general, a madman who had broken all allegiances to further his own power.  

     He was released from the iron grip and hung from the restraints limply, not paying attention to the Overseer's exit.  His mind was still trying to comprehend what he had just done, and what it would mean.  He didn’t notice the way the door cut off all the light once more.  Didn’t notice that the guards who had freed him of his chains had not freed him of his cell.

     The tray of food still sat beside him now, moved by one of his jailers.  The scent drifted over to him, taunting and tempting.  But he no longer wanted it.  It sickened him; it was a token of his weakness, his shame.  With a roar and a final act of defiance, he hurled the tray against the wall.

     An eternity later, when the door still remained sealed, he would crawl back over to it, humbled, and consume the rotting mess.