Turncoat: Turncoat Trilogy Book 1

Chapter 1

The stark grey walls of the interrogation room should have been covered in frost; I couldn’t see how they weren’t. The cold permeated the entire room. I began thinking of the other people who sat in this chair before me, the war criminals, the Axis military officers, the murderers. They probably put someone in here, turned the temperature down ten degrees and let them sit. How many of those criminals broke because of the temperature alone? With what I’d done, was I one of those people? Was I a war criminal, a murderer?

I fidgeted in the seat a little, wondering when my captors…no, that wasn’t the right word. Calling them my captors said I didn’t come here of my own free will. Rescuers? No, that implied that they actually had some kind of substantial hand in getting me to where I was now. Defenders? Closer, but still didn’t seem to describe them properly. Hosts? Yeah, that summed them up pretty well right now. My hosts, yes, that was the right phrase. How long were they going to let me sit here alone? Probably another tactic they employed to make people talk, leave them alone for a long time, let their thoughts run wild.

How long had I been in here? My gaze shifted from the table in front of me to my wrist interface sitting just to the right. The time sat frozen like it had for the last who knows how long. A red ‘x’ covered the dynamic symbol that displayed signal strength. They were jamming incoming wireless signals and the chances were high that they would be blocking any outgoing signals as well. That just made sense; they couldn’t allow transmissions from inside an interrogation room. Otherwise, any hacker worth their salt could enter the room and mess everything up.

I brought my knee into my chest. My chin found the divot between the metal plates, the artificial muscles and the synthetic nerves that made up my leg below mid-thigh. My arms crossed at the wrist as my fingers wrapped around the metal of my foot. My faded, mud spattered, scuffed black leather boots sat on the floor next to the chair. Some of the leather pieces all but worn through and ready to fall off. My eyes traced the edges of the brunt skin on my arms. The dark edges outlined cherry red skin near the point of blistering. The burnt plastic smell of explosives wafted off my skin, irritating my nose.

Time passed slowly, slower than it should have gone. The minutes became hours which might have become days, I was not entirely sure anymore. For whatever reason, I couldn’t grow accustomed to the cold. Goose bumps covered what little unburnt skin I had left. I thought they were still turning the temperature down. Was that my breath clouding in the air? Yes, I think it is. It was not doing that a minute ago, or was it an hour?

I scanned the room once more, my gaze landing on the grey door next to the large black window on the wall. My hosts were probably behind that pane of glass, watching me with interest. I allowed my foot to slide from the chair and crossed my arms on the table. I rested my head on my arms so I could see the door. My eyelids grew heavy as I waited.

The silence of the room made the soft click of the lock on the door eight times louder than it should have been. I sat up as the door opened and a man walked in. He wore a military uniform but the stuff in his hands held my attention: a bottle of water and a blanket. He set them down on the table between us and took a seat.

“Hello,” he said.

I nodded. Could I trust this man? His entire being radiated confidence and authority. The way he held himself gave me the impression he owned the place: his chin raised, shoulders back, back straight, lips pursed in a thin line. All the traits of a man who held authority, demanded respect and knew that everyone below him would give it without hesitation. For all I knew, he did own the place, or was in charge of it at the very least. Despite this outward show of power and confidence, his green eyes were like that of a father. They looked gentle and kind but at the same time, fiercely protective.