Freedom Day

Chapter 17 - "Out of Time"

...

"Mmmf! Hgmmmfghhf!"

A steady stream of cold water continued to pour onto Ethan's face. His grunts of pain were muffled by the damp towel covering his mouth, eyes, and nose. He was drowning, but everything was black. The icy liquid mixed with his blood intermittently, like daggers cutting deep, and it touched his battered body rather freely. It seeped into the various cuts, gashes, and lesions that dotted his unprotected flesh. He struggled to wring himself free from the chair he was sitting on, but his strength failed him. His hands were bound tight. His feet felt dead. His eyes wallowed in complete darkness, accentuating his helpless suffering. His captors made damn sure that each moment was agony; inching him ever closer to death but keeping him alive as much as possible.

"Mmmgfhhf! MGMMMMFHH!"

"Keep it goin' bro...", he heard one man spoke. "...keep going..."

Waterboarding. This rather crude form of 'enhanced interrogation' was meant to mimic the feeling of drowning, an art perfected by the CIA that earned Guantanamo its infamy. Done right, the captive would usually confess to anything, acquiesce to any demand. A small misstep would result to death via asphyxiation. The whole thing screamed of Emily's handiwork, but alas, she was not present in the room. At least as far as he knew; she could be watching his misery from a one-way mirror somewhere or from a video camera mounted up high, as she was wont to do. That was how she worked on her prisoners. That was how she wanted to torture Mohandes, all those months ago. It felt like distant memory...

Or she could've just left Ethan to rot and die; that much was also certain. He didn't know anything anymore. He didn't know her, as much as he thought he did.

*beep!*

"...That's it. Turn it off."

The stopwatch marked a pause to his suffering, allowing him to catch his breath. With a forceful pull, the masked interrogator removed the damp piece of cloth covering Ethan's face, letting his eyes bathe in the bright lights of the metallic room, even for a while. A water hose dangled above him, dripping its last few ounces. The prisoner gagged and coughed, trying in vain to force out the water that seeped into his orifices. He took in as much air he could, as he knew that they would suffocate him again a little later. At the same time, he mustered whatever scrap of inner strength he had left, to remain firm in the face of extreme adversity. He had been at the enemy's mercy for so long. The temptation to give up was that much nearer, even if it was only by a small amount.

Not helping his resolve Ethan's his ignorance of time: it could've been a day or two since the White Masks have captured him. At the back of his mind, there was a faint plea for mercy, anything to stop the torture. He was human, after all, and everyone had a breaking point. But there were no two ways of going about his current situation; even if he cooperated, there would be no reprieve for him today. Or tomorrow. The terrorists might be good at inflicting pain, but they would never get what they want. He simply didn't have the knowledge that they sought. And if even he did, they sure as hell wouldn't be getting it without a fight.

Even after they've smashed his right leg into a bloody pulp.

"Had enough yet, pal?", the interrogator yanked his head, the white ballistics mask had completely hidden his features.

The prisoner looked on with weak, but defiant eyes. He would keeping holding back for as much as he could. Rather than spill the beans like these brutes wanted, he repeated a mantra, which he had been reciting since the tortures began.

"Mallory, Ethan James. 678452056."

*Smack!*

Insolence was repaid by a punch to the left temple, rattling his head for a bit. As usual, he refused to give in. Ethan found it easy to defy his foes if he simply let his rage simmer. Traitors, the lot of them; the White Masks were on a whole different level of insidiousness. These scum fancied themselves as heroes, fighting to change the world, 'for the good of America' or whatever shit their twisted ideology dictated. They wore masks that earned their namesake to confuse and frighten anyone who would dare try to stop them. The need for deception was pathetic enough, the lengths they were willing to go through their mission only made them worse. Those poor souls in Bartlett were an 'unfortunate, but necessary sacrifice', using Emily's own words... that was more reason to vilify these people as monsters, unworthy of submission.