A man was lying on the ground, covered in grime and blood, clothes had been tattered and hair ragged. His face was pale and his body twisted and turned on the ground from this way and that. Over ten men were standing in front of him as he laid on the ground, kicking and cursing and spitting on him continuously.
At every knock and thump, the man let out a hair-prickling screech that would send a chill through anyone's spine.
"Have you decided yet?" a middle-aged man said with a cold voice.
"I-I don't have the thi-thing you-you want." The man spoke, and with every word the blood gushed out of his mouth, his lips twitched and his body shivered, maybe in fear, or maybe in pain.
"Heh?" the middle-aged man chuckled at his reply. "I wonder how long you will be able to endure the torture." He waddled down and held his face in his right hand and then jerked it away. "Bring it out." He spat towards one of the men behind him.