He was emaciated, sick and so very tired. It was hardly miraculous, that the Cong didn't care. They continued to torture him long after he had nothing more to give them.
He'd known their intent when they brought the bucket of tar to his cell...was far too weak to resist.
Through a veil of pain, he watched the blade rise and fall. He saw the blood spurt and knew his choice...tar or death. They could not break him. They could not stomp out the last spark of life within him so easily. He plunged his arm into the bucket.