“The captive “spirit” was called Arbi. He looked pitiful and humiliated. Not at all like half an hour ago. Back then Arby was proud and arrogant. With a long, blunt dagger made from a spring, he sawed through the throats of young soldiers captured at a checkpoint. Arby and his accomplices felt like masters of life, mocked the dying boys, enjoyed their agony, and made stupid jokes...”