He stared into the bright light of the camera and into the lens, hoping that someone back home would recognize him. Someone would raise an uproar for his release or rescue. Pathetic and scared was never a look he had cultivated in his time as a man, but exceptions could be made for this kind of situation.

His hands and feet were bound with ropes as he sat on his knees in front of the red blinking light of the camera. He was beaten, sore, and sick with dysentery from the crap they had fed him. How long had it been? Days? Only hours? No way to know in that perpetual daylight of fluorescent captivity.

His captors behind him stood armed with assault rifles and dressed head to toe in black coverings to hide their identities. A black flag covered in Arabic lettering and strange symbols hung on the wall. They read their demands angrily from a written text.

He screamed in terror and pain, hoping to be rescued at the last minute like a Hollywood movie. Hope died as he heard his voice coming from an opened throat.