Chapter 2: Interrogation
#2 of This is War
Here's the second chapter! YAY!! I'm making progress!
Again the disclaimer. All characters are mine. Any resemblance to characters past or present is coincidental. If this wasn't your thing, you probably wouldn't be on chapter two. All else, enjoy!!
This is War
Chapter 2: Interrogation
I fell asleep after we'd exhausted all the subjects we could think of. It was a black, dreamless sleep, and it wasn't long before I was roused from it. "Get up," came a voice I instantly recognized: the doberman whose team had landed me in this mess. I blinked a few times to clear away my drowsiness and was awake in time to see Tanya being escorted away from the van. I stood up and began walking towards her, but was stopped by a furry paw on my chest.
I looked up, a question on my lips, when he said, "She's going on ahead. You may be able to join her, provided we like your answers." Grabbing the collar of my shirt, he dragged me to a cold steel chair, and sat me down roughly. My arms and legs were lashed to the chair; experimentally, I tugged at my bonds but they held. I recognized the look in his eyes; it was much the same as what I'd seen in the cop's own baby blues. Right then, I was the focus of so much hate and anger, I could swear I felt it as waves crashing down my shoulders; I knew escape was impossible.
"What is your name?" he shouted. I stared only blankly, not believing I was the source of so much hate which earned me a snarl and he back-handed me, hard. "I'll ask again. What is your name?"
"A-Alan Cross, sir," I said as meekly as I could, my mind still reeling.
"Good," a smile, at least I hoped it was, spread over his muzzle. "That's better. Maybe you'll survive the night after all." Laughing, he lightly slapped my stinking cheek; I winced slightly.
He left for a moment, but returned with another chair and sat across from me, his arms crossed over its back. "Now tell me why you were hiding Tanya."
"I wasn't hiding her," I began. "A few days ago my sister phoned me and asked if I could take her in for a few days. At the time I didn't think much of it. If I'd known she was some kind of
terrorist, I don't think I would have agreed."
The smile dropped from my captor's muzzle. "So it's all an innocent coincidence, right? Your sister asks you to take care of someone and the police just happen to target her for a hate crime?" Slowly, but steadily, he laughed. I couldn't help but smile and chuckle nervously as well, a glimmer of hope piercing the anxiety I'd been feeling since my capture. Then the laughter died suddenly; his arm lunged out, grabbing my throat and dragged me, chair and all, towards him.
"You think this is a game?" His snarling muzzle almost touching my face. "Fine then. We'll do it another way." Throwing me back into the chair, he signaled to a white-coated technician I'd noticed on the way in, who brought over a small gray box and left as quickly as he could.
Dramatically, he opened the box, showing me the syringe that lay inside. "Do you know what this is?"
Before I could answer, he was already continuing, "It's called Sensitive; a little drug the military cooked up so that humans would be able to compete with us. It never worked properly in the field, so it was delegated to other uses. You see, this little beauty enhances all of a person's senses."
Before elaborating further, he pushed the needle into one of my veins and injected me with it. Immediately, white-hot fire coursed down my arm and made it's way through my body. Thrashing about did nothing to help me and he was too far away to even bite, so I lay there, twitching, as the fire cooled down to embers. When even that was gone, everything seemed much more defined, sharper.
"Good, it's kicking in now," he smiled again. "Most people don't actually survive the injection. Those that do can keep on taking it. And that's the beauty of this drug: you become addicted after the first injection, wanting more and more of it and more often. The only problem is because of it's very nature: it enhances all of the senses. Sight, hearing, taste, smell, and touch."
With the tip of one of his claws, he lightly scratched the back of my hand. My senses focused on that one area and went into overdrive. Steel spikes were being rammed into me one after the other. I think I screamed; I probably spat and shouted at him, pleaded with him. He ignored everything and continued on as if nothing happened.
"Some of those they tested killed themselves, others merely went crazy. Imagine a single blade of grass, brushing against your ankle, and feeling your foot being torn off as the result." He chuckled. "The effect is temporary in small doses. Taken cumulatively or with larger doses, however, makes the effect almost permanent."
My hand throbbed with pain, but it was lessening now and I was able to speak, tears streaming down my face, "I-I was telling the truth."
"We'll see," he said, standing up. "We'll see."
A few hours later, though it seemed like days, I'd felt myself burned, stabbed, frozen, and smashed, each torture followed by questions and more pain. Each were more agonizing than the last. Over and over, I told them the truth, hoping for some kind of end; by that time I didn't care how. In the end, I'm not sure if I was quite sane.
It did come though, mercifully, when he savagely jabbed a needle into my arm. I'd thought, Oh no! Not again, when a cooling sensation flowed through my body. My eyes began to feel heavy and it was a struggle to sit up; I decided not to fight it and slumped in the chair. Before unconsciousness took me I heard voices, though I could barely understand them.
"Do you believe him?" one asked.
"Yes," another stated, instantly recognizable as my torturer, "If he'd been lying, he'd have told us anything we wanted to hear to end it."
"What'll we do with him now?" the first asked.
"Leave that to me," a new voice answered, one that was almost familiar to me. Before I could discern more, they moved away from me and darkness finally claimed me.