As Pirlo used one of his arms to drink tequila straight from the bottle, he kept the other extended while a unit comrade stitched a grotesque wound on his left arm without anesthesia. The wound had been the result of a treacherous attack by one of the soldiers from the white army while he was battling another soldier. They were in an improvised shelter, surrounded by ammunition boxes and basic medical equipment.
"Fucking white rats," he cursed after taking another swig of tequila.
"Pirlo, stay still, don't make this harder for me," Ariana reprimanded as she held his arm more firmly. Pirlo's continuous complaints and movements were making it difficult to stitch the wound.
"Yeah, yeah," Pirlo responded irritably, then asked in a grave tone, "Ariana, what the hell did we go to retrieve from that train? All this movement clearly wasn't just for that bastard Juan Domingo. The unit captain, along with a couple more, disappeared for a while and then came back with a box. Do you have any idea what was in that box?"
Ariana paused the stitching and looked Pirlo in the eyes.
"I don't know, and it's better not to ask. The higher-ups don't like questions, Pirlo. It's better if you don't do anything crazy."
Pirlo took another swig of tequila, flashed a mocking smile, and said playfully, "Ari, don't stop, I like what you're doing."
Ariana snorted and drove the needle even deeper into Pirlo's flesh. Hearing a cry of complaint, she smiled and replied, "I see you like it a lot."
The conversation was interrupted by the sound of footsteps. Pirlo stood up rigidly. Ariana, curious, turned around and soon stood beside Pirlo.
"Sir," they both said, while a needle with thread and blood hung from Pirlo's wound.
"I see you've been hurt, Pirlo," the unit captain commented as he observed the wound.
"It's just a scratch, nothing compared to what I did to the white rat that attacked me from a blind angle," Pirlo affirmed with a firm but playful tone.
"Ariana, leave us for a few minutes. Wait on the other side of the door," ordered the captain, focusing his eyes on Pirlo's and ignoring Ariana.
"Yes, sir," Ariana responded, heading to the door, then leaving and closing it.
"Pirlo, you left a survivor," the captain said as he approached Pirlo.
"Survivor?" Pirlo questioned in a servile but doubtful tone.
The captain extended his hand and took the needle hanging from Pirlo's arm.
"That's right," he said as he looked at it. "A passenger managed to survive."
With a violent movement, he pulled the needle, breaking the thread and causing more blood to flow. Pirlo grimaced in pain but maintained his posture and silence. The captain observed the needle, then, with a swift movement, took Pirlo's left earlobe. Pirlo remained motionless. The captain slowly pierced the earlobe with the needle while ordering, "Pirlo, make sure to correct this mistake and find out if he saw or heard anything. Gallardo is in charge of the police investigation, be careful with him. You have a week to do it."
The captain took the needle that completely pierced the earlobe and began to pull gently, stretching the skin and cartilage of the ear. Pirlo only grimaced in pain but didn't move.
"One week," the captain released the needle, turned around, and started walking towards the door. "When you're done, go to extraction point 3S," he commented while opening the door. "Ariana, keep up the good work," he said without looking at Ariana.
"Fucking bastard," Pirlo cursed as he removed the needle from his wound. "Finish quickly, Ariana, I have to go clean up... Damn."
Ariana, already back to stitching the wound, murmured softly, "Be careful, Pirlo."
"I will," Pirlo said as he took the bottle again. "It'll be quick," he commented before taking another swig of tequila.