Walt could not see anything. Not, of course, that it would actually hinder him by much, but it was still an inconvenience. He had no problems with darkness - in fact, many a time it had helped him - but in this particular situation, strapped to a chair in a room (no sounds, cold air, dry; most likely a bunker), being blindfolded was not a welcome thing. A metallic clang alerted Walt to the door opening. So it was a metal door, possibly heavy, given all the chances. He didn't hear anyone approaching the room, which was something very notable (perhaps the room is sound-proof?). Soon, footsteps sounded nearby and told him that someone is now standing a few paces ahead of him.
"Who are you?"
The voice was calm, almost husky, and definitely male. Walt's brow furrowed as he tried to recognise the voice, but to no avail. It was new, but it had a peculiar accent that sounded like that of someone he knew.
"I could've asked the same question," Walt muttered in return. Not the most soothing answer, certainly, but there was no way he would just submit to being held hostage like this.
A sharp, barking laugh. "You can call me Leo." There was an inherent arrogance in the voice that told him Leo wasn't his real name. "And, now. Who are you? Who sent you?"
Walt tilted his head slightly to one side. "Walter Gilliat," he said at last. He figured that if he gave some trivial information, the man might be coaxed into (inadvertently or otherwise) revealing some information on his own. At least by now he had been recognised as either Australian or southern London, most likely the former, by his accent.
"Your name, or who sent you?" So the man was getting irritated. Short fuse.
"My name," Walt replied. He waited and waited for another answer, until it finally came.
"Did you come here of your own accord, or did someone send you?" There was, by now, a small flicking noise. It made Walt a bit uneasy, since it reminded him strongly of how straight-razors sound, but he was determined to keep his cool.
"Truth be said, I didn't come here. You brought me." By now, his blindfold had begun to slip (apparently, who-ever tied it was not very thorough with the job), and Walt could see very faintly from the bottom edge of it. He saw no more than what seemed to be his interrogator's brown trousers, but he was certain that more is yet to come.
"Lying," Leo said, "will get you nowhere." And the man bent down, not enough for Walt to see his face, but enough for him to note a white shirt and a large necklace with a pendant in the shape of a capital omega dangling on it. While his eyes could tell no more, his nerves could tell that the interrogator was rolling up his left sleeve. So, he was about to find information in a stronger method. Serums? Unlikely. Walt considered the flicking noise, and made up his mind: slices.
A sensation of searing pain cut his thoughts short. Walt let out a small cry. By tilting his head to the left, he could see a pool of scarlet slowly seeping on his shirt and dripping down the (metal, old) chair. Then, upon realising what had happened, he made a violent sputter of a laugh and turned to where he knew his interrogator was.
"You know, Leo, we can do this all day. I'm not speaking."
A short pause. "Then, let's do it all day."
Glossary of La Reinaisms
Aheheh: onomatopoeia for a chuckle, esp. a mischievous one
Hurm: onomatopoeia for thinking; a standard reply when all else fails
Spam: an all-purpose word
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