I don't know how long this went on until the police arrived. One of them grabbed my hand. I tried to get up the first time, and I got up the second time. The beating stopped, and voices chanted, "Don't protect this heretic," "This cursed man deserves to be killed," "This infidel atheist." I walked with the police, bearing many bruises on my face and pain in my stomach and back. I walked with slow, sluggish steps, unable to support my body normally. The shouts accompanied us, threatening and intimidating, but they gradually faded. As soon as we reached Tahrir Square, their voices faded from the airwaves. No one walked behind us except a young man wearing a keffiyeh with a front turban. He was the young man who threw himself on top of me and endured the blows for me. He was pleading with the crowd to have mercy on me, shouting at the top of his voice, "You killed him!"