Before commencing the act of making those deceitful scamming phone calls, I was filled with a considerable amount of confidence. Truly, during the three - day training sessions, I was undeniably one of the most focused individuals among the group.
However, after making thirteen consecutive phone calls in succession, reality struck me with the force of a mighty and merciless blow, like a colossal stick hitting me hard. Out of those thirteen calls that I made, five people simply hung up on me without hesitation, as if they couldn't bear to be associated with the call for even a second. Three of them were so enraged that they hurled curses at me over the phone, their angry voices filled with vitriol. The remaining four were skeptical, their tones laced with suspicion and caution.
Among the two people who remained on the line after these initial responses, one had the acumen to immediately penetrate through my guise as a scammer. The other, while initially taken in by my words, did not actually proceed to transfer the money as I had instructed them to.
I compelled myself to exercise patience and refrain from acting in haste. With great determination, I marked the result of the last phone call, knowing that it held significance in my current desperate situation.
"If I fail to deceive the last four people as well, I will be compelled to devise alternative strategies," I thought to myself, a sense of foreboding creeping over me.
I stared with a grim and somber expression at the last four names that I had meticulously screened out from the list. At that moment, a profound sense of lack of confidence washed over me like a tidal wave. If these last four people remained impervious to my attempts at deception, in order to survive this nightmare, I would be left with no option but to turn back and set my sights on those individuals whom I had marked with special notations - the elderly, pregnant women, and migrant workers from rural areas.
It was not that I had lost all sense of morality and was willing to target these vulnerable groups with a heartless and cruel intent. The simple and harsh truth was that I had no other viable alternative. If these people were to fall victim to the scam and lose their hard - earned money, they would be devastated, perhaps crying out in despair. But if I were to fail in this assessment, the consequences that awaited me were far more horrifying - having my kidneys forcibly removed and being bled like an animal.
I had already reached the limit of what I could do by screening out the elderly, pregnant women, and others on the list in advance and relegating them to the end of my list of targets. It was a meager attempt at holding on to the last shreds of my humanity in this hellish environment.
Just as I picked up the landline phone once again, my fingers poised to dial the number of the next unfortunate target, a shrill and ear - piercing scream suddenly rent the air. The scream emanated from the workstation not too far to the left of my position. The suddenness and intensity of the sound startled me to such an extent that my hand, which was in the process of dialing, trembled violently. In my momentary shock, I even pressed the wrong numbers on the keypad.
"What on earth is going on?" I wondered, my heart pounding in my chest with a mixture of fear and curiosity.
Subconsciously, I ceased my dialing motion and turned my head with a jerk to look in the direction of the sound - towards the left. As soon as I turned my head, I witnessed a truly horrifying sight. A despicable scumbag from northern Myanmar was savagely attacking a fellow trainee of my batch. With a single, powerful swing of an iron rod, he knocked the young man to the ground with brute force.
The young man who was being beaten was approximately of my age. He wore glasses, which gave him an air of gentleness. He had always been rather quiet and reserved, not one to engage in much conversation. In fact, I had not formed a particularly strong impression of him in the short time we had been together, and as a result, I couldn't even recall his name at this crucial moment.
"You fucking bastard! I think you've got a death wish, daring to secretly call the police when you thought you could get away with it!" The scumbag from northern Myanmar bellowed with rage, his eyes bulging with fury as he glared at the young man with glasses lying on the ground. Without a moment's pause, he raised the rod once again and brought it crashing down on the young man's head with even greater force.
This second blow was even more brutal than the first. The young man with glasses immediately began to bleed profusely, the crimson liquid gushing out from his head wounds. He lay there on the ground, completely motionless, as if all life had been drained from him in an instant. It was blatantly obvious that the scumbag from northern Myanmar, who was supposed to be in charge of invigilating us, was consumed by an uncontrollable and extreme anger. He was beating the young man with glasses with the clear intention of killing him, showing no mercy or restraint.
Just when I was convinced that the young man with glasses was on the verge of losing his life under this merciless assault, the scumbag from northern Myanmar, in a display of further brutality, raised the rod yet again. With a savage grunt, he brought it down with all his might on the young man's right hand. The impact was so severe that the resulting sound of bones breaking was sharp and clear, cutting through the air like a knife. Even though I was three workstations away from the scene of the violence, the sound reached my ears with a horrifying clarity, making me shiver with dread.
Simultaneously, the young man with glasses let out a heart - rending scream that seemed to echo throughout the entire place. The scream was filled with so much pain and terror that it was almost unbearable to hear. "Don't... don't hit me anymore. Please, for the love of God, don't hit me anymore," he pleaded, his voice choked with sobs and agony. "I'm sorry. I'll never, ever dare to call the police again. I promise," he added, his words tumbling out in a desperate attempt to make the scumbag stop.
Seeing the scumbag from northern Myanmar raise the rod once more, the young man with glasses, his face now a ghastly mask of blood, struggled to hold on to his broken right hand. The pain must have been excruciating beyond belief, but he couldn't bear any more of this torture. In a moment of complete desperation, he quickly admitted his mistake and begged for mercy, his entire body shaking with the effort of enduring the intense pain that wracked his every nerve.
Witnessing this harrowing scene unfold before my eyes, I couldn't help but sigh inwardly, a deep sense of sadness and helplessness welling up within me. Before being locked in the dreaded water dungeon, I'm certain that I, too, would have seized such an opportunity to call the police or somehow notify my family of my dire situation. But now, things were different. In this godforsaken place, admitting defeat and begging for mercy after being brutally beaten was the tragic norm for us, the so - called "piglets" who were trapped here against our will. In this infernal environment, heroes and those with a tough spirit simply did not have a chance of survival. They were quickly crushed under the weight of the violence and oppression that reigned supreme.
"Do you think that just muttering a simple 'I'm sorry' will be enough to make up for your crime?" the scumbag from northern Myanmar snarled, his eyes narrowing with a menacing glint. "You, you, and you! The three of you, come here and hold him down for me," he barked, his finger randomly pointing at the people at the three workstations to the right of the young man with glasses.
I was slightly taken aback, a jolt of shock running through me as I realized that the third person he had pointed at was none other than me. Cursing my abysmal luck under my breath, I knew that I had no choice but to steel myself and walk over slowly towards the scene of horror. I had no idea what this deranged scumbag from northern Myanmar had in store for us, but one thing was crystal clear in my mind - the young man with glasses was doomed to a fate of unspeakable misery on this day.
Under the command of the scumbag from northern Myanmar, I reluctantly placed my hands on the right leg of the young man with glasses and pressed down with all my strength. The other two individuals were tasked with restraining his left leg and left hand respectively. In the midst of this chaos, I could see the sheer terror in the eyes of the young man with glasses. His eyes were wide with fear, like those of a cornered animal facing certain death.
The scumbag from northern Myanmar then crouched down, getting up close and personal with the young man with glasses. His face was twisted with a cruel sneer as he asked in a cold, menacing tone, "Which hand did you use to call the police, you little rat?"
The young man with glasses was trembling uncontrollably from head to toe, his body shaking like a leaf in a violent storm. He was completely petrified by the situation, his mind seemingly unable to process what was happening.
"Speak up, you piece of shit!" the scumbag from northern Myanmar roared, his patience wearing thin. Seeing that the young man with glasses remained silent, he raised the rod in his hand menacingly once again, as if ready to strike another bone - shattering blow at any moment.
The young man with glasses shuddered reflexively, his body reacting to the imminent threat. In a moment of panic, he blurted out, "Left... left hand."
I couldn't help but glance at his already broken right hand from the corner of my eye, a silent curse escaping my lips as I thought to myself how stupid he was. After all, his right hand was already shattered beyond repair. Couldn't he have just said it was the right hand to perhaps avoid further harm to his remaining digits?
Although my heart went out to him in this moment of distress, I didn't dare to show the slightest sign of sympathy. I knew that any indication of weakness on my part could lead to even more severe consequences. So, I continued to press down hard on his right leg, my grip tightening with each passing second.
As soon as the scumbag from northern Myanmar had asked the question, I had already had a rough idea of what his next move would be. And sure enough, just as I had feared, he then ordered the guy who was holding down the left hand to pry open the fingers of the young man with glasses. In the meantime, he barked at another scumbag from northern Myanmar to fetch a hammer.
"Originally, I should have chopped off your entire hand without a second thought," the scumbag from northern Myanmar growled, his voice dripping with malice. "But considering that you might still be of some use to us in the future, since you'll need this hand to make phone calls and earn money for the park, I'll be 'generous' this time. I'll only break three of your fingers. I'll leave your index finger and thumb for now, so you can still hold the phone receiver, you useless piece of trash."
With these cruel words still hanging in the air, the scumbag from northern Myanmar, without a moment's hesitation, smashed the little finger of the young man with glasses with the hammer. The young man with glasses was looking on in sheer horror, his eyes wide with terror as the hammer came crashing down.
"Ah!" The young man with glasses let out an ear - splitting scream that seemed to pierce through the very fabric of the air. The pain was so intense that his body convulsed violently, his muscles straining as he struggled with all his might. His body thrashed about uncontrollably, as if trying to escape the excruciating pain that had now become his entire world.
The three of us, who were tasked with holding him down, had to summon all our strength to keep him pinned to the ground. It was an arduous task, as his struggle was fueled by the most primal of instincts - the instinct to escape from the unbearable pain.
We all know that the fingers are directly connected to the heart in a way that makes the pain of a broken finger almost unbearable. I, more than anyone else, was acutely aware of just how terrifying this kind of pain could be, having experienced my own share of torture in this hellhole.
Compared to my own ordeal, the young man with glasses was, in a strange way, still somewhat lucky. Although the scumbag from northern Myanmar in front of us was undeniably cruel in his methods and was a true brute in every sense of the word, when compared to that other scumbag Abu, his level of brutality seemed almost insignificant - like a mere drop in the vast ocean of evil that permeated this place.
Smashing a finger with a hammer, no matter how agonizing it may be, is a relatively quick act of violence. In contrast, Abu had used a small saw to saw off my toes, and that torture had lasted for what felt like an eternity - at least several long, agonizing minutes that had been seared into my memory forever.
"Two more to go," the scumbag from northern Myanmar said with a sickening smirk on his face. He then wiped the blood that had splattered on the hammer onto the body of the young man with glasses, as if using him as a mere rag. He bared his black and yellow teeth in a grotesque display, clearly taking some kind of perverse pleasure in his actions. After admiring his "handiwork" for a brief moment, he raised the hammer once again and brought it crashing down with great force on the young man's ring finger.
I couldn't help but feel a strange sense of relief, albeit a very small one, for the young man with glasses and the guy who was holding down his left hand. At least, the aim of this scumbag from northern Myanmar was relatively accurate this time. Otherwise, I shuddered to think what could have happened. I was afraid that both of their hands would have been smashed to a pulp, leaving them with even more severe and permanent injuries.
After three of the young man's fingers had been brutally smashed to a bloody mess, the scumbag with the hammer was about to order his underlings to have the young man with glasses, who had already fainted from the pain, dragged to the cell. But at this critical moment, Abu intervened and stopped them.
Abu first commanded someone to try to revive the young man with glasses. Then, he called for a doctor to come and provide some basic medical treatment to his wounds, albeit in a rather cursory manner. Only when the young man with glasses looked less like a mangled corpse and at least seemed to be in a state where he wouldn't die immediately did Abu approach him with a sinister smile on his face.
"Do you want to be dragged out right now and have your kidneys removed, be bled dry like a slaughtered animal, and then have your body turned into fertilizer?" Abu asked in a deceptively calm tone, as if he were simply asking about the weather.
The young man with glasses, still in a daze from the pain and trauma, shook his head vigorously with what little strength he had left. His instinct for survival was kicking in, even in the face of such overwhelming horror.
"Good," Abu said with a satisfied nod. "Since you don't want that to happen, then you'd better continue with the assessment. As long as you can pass the assessment, I'll have the doctor do his best to properly treat your injuries. But if you fail again, well, you know what will happen."
And so, under the so - called "merciful" care of that despicable Abu, the young man with glasses, with his head battered and bleeding, his right hand fractured, and three fingers of his left hand smashed to pieces, somehow managed to wrap the landline receiver around his head. With the only two fingers left on his left hand, he continued to make phone calls for the e - fraud assessment, his every movement a testament to the lengths one would go to in order to survive in this nightmarish place.
Even after so many years had passed, whenever I think back to that heart - wrenching scene - the young man with glasses with the landline receiver wrapped around his head, using his two remaining fingers to dial the numbers - it still remains etched in my memory with a vividness that is almost painful. This was not just e - fraud; this was a life - or - death struggle, a desperate attempt to stay alive at the cost of one's very soul, in a place where evil reigned supreme and humanity was all but forgotten.