Lucy Chen is in the army, mirroring Tim Bradford's experience

the silent battle

Lucy lay on the floor of her cell, her body battered and broken, her spirit hanging on by a thread. The pain was constant now, a dull throb that pulsed through her with every shallow breath. Her muscles ached from the repeated beatings, and her skin was bruised and raw from the electrodes. She couldn't remember the last time she'd slept or eaten. Time had ceased to matter in this place.

The guards hadn't come for her in what felt like hours—maybe longer—but it wasn't a reprieve. It was a waiting game. They were giving her time to recover, to reflect on the agony she had endured, knowing that her body couldn't take much more.

She knew the rules of war. She had memorized the Geneva Conventions, had been trained to resist interrogation, to give nothing away. But training couldn't prepare her for the reality of it, for the endless cycle of pain and fear that slowly chipped away at her resolve.

Lucy's lips were dry and cracked, her throat sore from the screaming. She hadn't spoken in what felt like forever, her voice too weak to even mutter defiance. But her silence wasn't just because of the physical pain; it was her last line of defense. As long as she stayed silent, as long as she didn't give them the satisfaction of a single word, she could still win this battle.

A small victory in an otherwise impossible war.

But the silence also left her alone with her thoughts, and that was perhaps the cruelest torture of all. In the quiet of her cell, her mind wandered to places she didn't want to go—memories of her team, her friends, the people she cared about. She wondered if they had made it out alive, if they had escaped the ambush, or if they, too, had fallen into the hands of their captors.

She thought of Tim Bradford. Of his steady, reassuring presence. His ability to keep her grounded in even the most intense moments. She had never told him how much his mentorship had meant to her, how it had shaped her as a soldier. Now, the chances of her ever telling him felt slimmer with each passing hour.

She clenched her fists, her nails digging into the palms of her hands as she forced herself to push the thoughts away. She couldn't afford to think like that. Not now. Not while there was still a chance, however small, of escape.

Lucy was snapped out of her thoughts by the sound of the cell door creaking open. Her heart rate spiked, adrenaline flooding her system as she forced herself into a sitting position. The movement sent a fresh wave of pain through her body, but she bit down on her lip to keep from crying out. She couldn't show weakness, no matter how much it hurt.

Two guards entered the cell, their expressions as impassive as always. Behind them, the familiar figure of the officer who had overseen most of her torture sessions stepped inside, his eyes narrowing as he looked down at her.

"You're still alive," he remarked, almost as if it surprised him. "I have to admit, Sergeant, you've lasted longer than most. I admire that."

Lucy glared at him, her breath coming in shallow gasps. The officer's words meant nothing to her. She knew what was coming next—more pain, more questions, more attempts to break her.

The officer crouched down in front of her, his face inches from hers. "You know, we could stop this. All of it. You just have to give me what I want."

Lucy's jaw tightened, her eyes burning with defiance. She didn't have the energy to speak, but her silence was answer enough.

The officer's smile faded, replaced by a look of disappointment. "Still not ready to cooperate? Fine. But I wonder... how much longer can you hold out?"

He stood, turning to the guards. "Bring her."

Lucy's stomach churned as the guards grabbed her arms and hauled her to her feet. She was too weak to resist, her body too broken to fight back. All she could do was focus on putting one foot in front of the other as they dragged her down the now-familiar corridor, back to the room where she had endured countless hours of torture.

The room felt colder this time, the air heavier with anticipation. The guards shoved her into a chair, securing her arms and legs with thick leather straps. Lucy's heart pounded in her chest as the officer moved to the center of the room, standing before her with that same infuriating smile on his face.

"You know what I want, Sergeant," he said, his voice calm but laced with menace. "Tell me about the mission. Tell me what your team was really doing out there."

Lucy stared at him, her jaw clenched so tightly that it hurt. She wouldn't give him anything. She couldn't.

The officer sighed, as if disappointed by her refusal. He turned to the guard standing by the wall, giving a curt nod. The guard stepped forward, holding a syringe filled with a clear liquid.

Lucy's blood ran cold. They hadn't used drugs on her before, but she had been warned about this tactic. The drugs would lower her inhibitions, make her more susceptible to suggestion, make it harder for her to keep the information locked away. It was the final tool in their arsenal—the last step in breaking her.

The guard approached, the syringe glinting in the dim light. Lucy's mind raced, panic clawing at her insides. She had endured so much, had held out for so long, but she knew what this drug could do. It would strip away the barriers she had fought so hard to maintain, leaving her vulnerable, exposed.

She struggled against the straps, her body protesting every movement, but it was no use. The leather bindings held her firmly in place, and the guard's grip was unyielding. She could only watch as the needle pierced her skin, the cold liquid burning as it entered her veins.

The world tilted, and Lucy's vision blurred. Her head felt heavy, her thoughts sluggish as the drug took hold. She blinked, trying to focus, but everything felt distant, as if she were watching herself from somewhere far away.

The officer crouched in front of her again, his eyes gleaming with triumph. "Now, Sergeant Chen, let's try this again. Tell me about your mission."

Lucy's heart pounded in her chest, her mind fighting to stay clear. She could feel the drug working, dulling her senses, making it harder to hold on to the truth. She had to resist. She had to stay strong.

But the officer's voice was soft now, soothing, like a lullaby meant to lull her into submission. "It's okay, Lucy. You've done well. You've held out longer than anyone expected. But it's time to stop fighting. Just tell me what I need to know, and this can all be over."

Lucy's head swam, her thoughts blurring together. She could feel her resolve slipping, the drug eroding the walls she had built around her mind. She wanted to speak, wanted to tell him everything if only to make the pain stop, to make it all end.

But deep down, a small part of her remained strong. A voice, barely audible in the haze, whispered to her.

Don't give in. Don't break.

The officer's smile widened as he leaned closer, his voice a low murmur. "Tell me, Lucy. Just tell me what I want to know."

Lucy's breath hitched, her body trembling with the effort of resisting. She could feel the truth on the tip of her tongue, could feel herself teetering on the edge of surrender.

But she wasn't broken. Not yet.

With the last of her strength, Lucy clenched her jaw and shook her head.

The officer's smile vanished, replaced by a look of cold fury. He stood abruptly, turning to the guard. "Increase the dosage."

The guard nodded and prepared another syringe.

Lucy's heart raced as the world around her spun, darkness creeping in at the edges of her vision. She didn't know how much longer she could hold out, but she knew one thing for certain.

She wouldn't give up.