DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN ANYTHING.
Warning: This is really long. Most ppart is a bit humorous torture, but the rest would be okay- I think. No guarantees. R and R! This actually took an effort.
I clenched my eyes and my body momentarily goes rigid under the pain as they sent the electric shock through my chair. Gritting my teeth so hard I thought it was going to be an eternity before they eventually stopped. My mind went dull, tired and it screamed for me to succumb to the approach of these monsters. But even I fought with it. I fought with myself.
Tough as nails. Tougher than most and the best of my class was what they heard. My former General and commanding officer once told me with a pat behind my back and a grin on his face that I wasn't a failure, I was one of the best soldiers they have in their arsenal. Often, I wouldn't agree, but that didn't stop me from accepting the compliments none the less.
"Waldo, I think she really doesn't know how to speak Americano." The small, scruffy man in the corner pipes up, shifting his weight as he leans into the wooden table. He was small, he didn't participate in the torture, and therefore I disliked him least. "Besides, her flag doesn't even look like the Westerners."
"Shut up and get back to watching the corner idiot. You know she came in with those vile Americans. Surely she knows English." Waldo, a bald man says, although there was a hint of worry in his voice. As if catching me take notice of the exchange, he grins, his teeth an assorted mismatch of black and yellow. "I think she does understand."
As if it weren't torture enough, I wanted to say to his face, but my vow of silence would've been broken.
I've been here for three antagonizing days, ever since the squad I was assigned with raided a high rated drug dealing and human trafficking joint in the Middle East. Pretty easy compared to what those guys have done in the past. But as soon as we got into the building, the mission just went down hill. I took a promise I'd never speak. The flag of my home country was stitched into my arm, and therefore, somehow, I knew it would help me. So far, it only allowed me to be the last one alive in my squad of six.
As if to rub it in his face for all the things he'd done, I leaned towards him. "Me no hablo Americano."
Waldo got so mad that he turned red and I almost laughed at his face. Almost, since his only way of letting off steam was making me a human punching bag.
He throws his fist fast at me that I had no time to react. Maybe because my hands are tied helped with that too. Pain surges in my abdomen, a little too close to my ribs for comfort. From the way he'd already kicked me multiple times, I'm sure I've got bruised to broken ribs. Anymore, I'll be dead.
Fuck it. With him and his horrid appearance, I'm definitely dying.
Waldo takes one look at me. From perspective, I must look like a fish, panting and gapping for air looking pathetic. He strides away from me and I just hoped it was away for good only to be disappointed.
He brought his friend over. And it wasn't just his friend, but it was the friend he took my team's lives with. Easy trigger happy fingers placing a bullet after another in their heads. They looked like watermelons back on the base after the encounter.
"Ah, so you know this." He says, and teasingly pops the magazine out just to slide it back in. "Isn't she just adorable?"
I cock my head to the side and bit into the side of my mouth before a sarcastic retort could come out, as I have did for days now.
"Now," the Golden Eagle was poised to my head, probably with the safety off and ready to blast my brains out. "talk."
I wanted to shut up. I didn't want to talk, because when I do, I knew there was no stopping me from revealing intel, uncovering names leading to high officials and probably even resulting to the deaths of many. Besides, when I don't, he'll be taking a picture of me, probably decapitated and then fax it to the nearest military base.
I thought of my dad. My mom wasn't really supportive about me in the military, but dad wanted me to follow my dreams. So far, my dreams lead me to my death, but I knew the job I wanted. My dad knows it too. But it doesn't really leave a good impression when you know in your last days the only news your family gets was you were taken hostage. Probably tortured, raped, and the usual horrifying things before death by a firing squad.
"I'll give you three seconds. One.. Two…"
"Alright, you got me Sherlock."
The man grins from ear to ear, the gruesome image probably engraved in my mind. He straightens up and removes the gun from my head. "So you do speak."
"So your teeth are Halloween decors."
The man in the corner sniggers and I turn to look at him. "You got a name squirrel?"
He opens his mouth to answer, but big bad Waldo cuts him off with a look. "So, soldier, what's your name?"
"Amanda Jessica Armani Sanchez Alfredo Gaga Chloie." I smirked at him. But the dark side of my mind wondered that what if, just only if, I had pushed him too far. "Junior."
The man in the corner laughs again. And again, I turned to him. "You like that, huh?"
The man nervously takes a small nod.
"Shut up Juan." Waldo says, cursing in his weird native tongue. In an instant, squirrel- or now known as Juan- remains deadly silent. "What is your name or I'll electrocute you."
"Is that a threat? I bet you found it funny right?" I said to him, putting as much venom in my voice as possible. "Then I can tell you a joke. When I get out of here, I swear to God above that you will wish your ass isn't permanently connected to your throat and your-"
I pushed too far. Electricity shoots to my spine, the familiar pain easing into my system. I don't thrash, I flinch around like a rag doll on strings, but I don't scream.
"You're killing her!" Juan shouts from the corner and the pain stops. I like Juan already.
"This ain't dreamland Juan. And this shit's real. She's going to tell me who her superiors are. She will, being pressured in pain, kicked around or- I don't fucking care! Now shut up and I'll kill you!"
Someone woke up in the wrong side of the bed today.
"Now, who are you?"
"Fucking Tinkerbelle."
BANG!
Something hits the floor hard, and Juan, bathed in his own blood, lies on the floor. Dead.
"Now, who the hell are you? You don't have a dog tag. Your patch is- it's not from any of the forces that are attacking my men. You don't look foreign from this land but your accent isn't ours. So who the hell are you?"
I take one look at him and I could feel the loathing in my own eyes. He killed his friend without a second glance. Maybe it was the fact that I liked the kid that I felt a pang of guilt in my gut when he died. I wanted to curse him to eternal damnation. I wanted to shove him off a cliff. I wanted his death.
But I knew he was toying with me.
"So that's what brains looks like."
"You fucking asshole!" Waldo raised his hand to slap me and I closed my eyes, waiting for the pain, but it never did come. Instead, the door behind him opened and another man appeared.
Tall, lean and virtually uncaring was my first impression. He walks into the room and with a flick of a hand, makes Waldo move to the side. Although he was clearly smaller than the other, this man radiated of authority.
"Dead? So fast? His mother's not going to like that." The man says, nudging Juan with the tip of his boot. His sleek voice wasn't as accented as Waldo and Juan has, but there was that certain twang in his voice all of these bastard had.
"They always die on the third day." Waldo spits out his frustration.
The man takes his time surveying the blood stained walls of the room. But eventually, his gaze lands on me. Cold and hard brown eyes stare into my own.
"Still not talking?"
"Oh, she talks alright. She just doesn't understand that we'll keep her in here till she dies."
"I think we could change that." The man casually walks to me, never breaking eye contact and never showing any signs of mercy. He bends to his knees, making me look down to him. When I look at those eyes, those eyes that remind me of snakes, a cold blooded killer, it sends a shiver down my spine and like a rodent, panicked out of my wits.
He pats his pant pockets on both sides, and later pulls out a knife in one of them. I remember that knife specifically. It was the knife one of my teammates loved so badly. Now blood stained, it looked eerie and horrifying, and the certain aura of peace it had was replaced with blood lust. I eyed it carefully as the man skillfully twirls it in his hands, silently praying he'd slip and somehow cuts his throat in the process.
"Hello darling. We're going to have a lot of fun today. But first, we'll have to have a name." He says. "I'll start, okay? I'm Frank."
I didn't reply. Frank cocked his head to the side, and grinned an angelic smile I knew I couldn't trust.
"Now now, don't be like that." Frank says, pushing the knife to the bottom of my jaw. It wasn't hard enough to draw blood, but it made my heart panic and I hiss. "Now, let's do it again, shall we? Hello, what's your name?"
"Bite me."
The metal sunk to my chin and made an arc to my cheek. I screamed and moaned in pain and agony as he expertly cuts a wound into my flesh.
"Trixie Reyes." I pant as he takes a lock of hair away from the path of the blade. I felt stupid, I felt manipulated and I felt dirty. I didn't deserve being shipped off here if I could cave into torture so easily.
They trusted me with what I've got. A good soldier from a 2nd world country wasn't just considered into the joined military operations. So it felt as if I've failed not only my superiors, I failed people. I failed myself.
"Wasn't it so easy?"
I looked at him with absolute hatred from what he'd done, what he'd managed to achieve. The scent of rusty iron nails made me nauseous, but I clenched me teeth hard to stop the bile in my stomach to churn and turn up unexpectedly. Frank turns to Waldo with an 'I told you so' look on his face, victory shinning in his eyes.
"See? You just have to be…persuasive."
It felt like I could've been in their odd little torture room forever and I'll never know when the screaming of the person would stop until realizing it was my own. The way they expertly shake my mentality makes me wonder if I'd ever be the same again. It felt like the world was burning you out of your existence and you just cant help but wonder why you'd resist.
I wonder if I'm going mad. Maybe I had. Maybe I will. But for now, nothing, not even life's meaning could distract me from them breaking bones, teasing prickly pins under my nails or let the blade of a knife hover above my skin. To surrender and just snap, just drift into a world of darkness and dreams surreal tested my will to survive. I deny it for now. It was only a matter of time when I'll be deranged, pushed to the limit by these monsters and driven into insanity.
So when the time came, and a small errand boy came in and whispered something into Frank's ear, I was barely awake. Sweat was already dripping to the floor mangled with the red coloring of blood. The salt in them stung my wounds, but nothing could ever be as painful as being inside this hell hole. My hands were raw from straining the bonds behind my back and just simply lay limp, not bothering to find a way out of the cuffs they made out of thick rope.
Waldo was sniggering something in his language I didn't even care to comprehend. His voice was thick with joy, a sadistic kind of joy that brings me altogether thinking if he's even human.
Frank was calmer. Deathly calm. Even not looking at their faces and moping in my own world filled with hatred, I could feel his presence is as steady as it would ever be. And in my own twisted way, I'd only wish I'd be the one to break that sense of serenity off his face. Off his bones. Off his life…
The three men exchange several lines for a while. I'd rather be dreaming by then. So when I was rudely shaken awake, my eyes were wide with surprise.
"Sleeping? We aren't done with you yet, Trixie." Waldo says, sinking a knife to my upper arm that made me flinch.
"Quit it asshole, we've got all the time in the world tomorrow." Frank says from the corner. Waldo sighs and takes the blade away- thankfully. Even though it didn't draw blood, it left a deep mark on my arm. "Take her back to the cellar."
Waldo takes a look at him from the corner of his eyes. "With the new guys?"
But Frank seemed too preoccupied to give a verbal response. By the way Waldo stands up in full length and unbinds me from the chair; somehow, Frank gave the answer. Waldo pulls me to my aching feet, and I stumble around while he grips me by the hands.
"Attempt to escape, and I'll break off every bone in your body." He whispers in my ear and I roll my eyes. As if he hadn't already. Besides, me shuffling to my feet didn't seem like I'll be kicking his ass as we walked that two minute expedition.
Waldo roughly shoves me into my 'room', taking his time on gripping my hands before letting me fall face first on the hard stone floor.
Later on, I hugged my legs, trying to keep in as much warmth I have as I could muster. I hate the Middle East was all I could think off as the cold night's wind flew into my room. You die of the heat in the morning and freeze to death in the night. The last stink of decaying flesh flew out with a passing gust of breeze, and for that I was a little bit grateful. My body ached in a million points, but by this line of clothing they placed me in made the stone's lack of heat make the aches go numb.
I threw my head back, not caring when I banged it to the wall and black spots danced in my vision. I'm better off dead, but I had to fight. The heavy weight of knowing you'll die tomorrow, or the day after hung heavy on my shoulders. I didn't want to cry, but eventually, stray tears fell from my eyes and all I could do was stop my nose from running because I knew I could catch a cold. The room, barely even two of me standing side by side with arms outstretched seemed to have it's own rancid scent of piss and rats and was already messing with my senses, but whatever I had in my stomach better stay there if I didn't want to starve.
Dawn was already breaking. And here was I, moping around like an idiot when I could be wonder woman out in the field. Somehow, I wonder what my status would be. KIA? MIA? Maybe, they haven't given up on me yet, would they?
What's the use? I'm just a replaceable soldier. The odds would've been mine if I've got another nationality than mine.
Who am I? It was hard to wrap around my head that the fact Second Lieutenant Trixie Reyes, Force Recon Battalion, 61st Recon team under the command of General Luna is merely reduced to a captive girl, squirming in the darkness.
If only they saw me now.
Hours were passed in silence. I was over thinking again, something I admit would get me killed in the future. If I had another future than what I have now that is. I cradle my legs closer to me than before, trying not to imagine the day that awaits me. Maybe, somehow, I'd die soon and end this.
Suddenly, the door bursts open and splinters flew into different directions. The familiar ringing of a breaching charge filling the room and I placed my head between my knees, closing my eyes and praying no debris fly my way.
Boots hit the stone floor and there were shuffling all around. Gingerly, I took a peak. Three men were inside the room. Probably more outside.
"Hold your fire." Someone says. A body kneels down on one knee next to me and I looked up to see a man with a mohawk look at me.
"Alpha Team Three?" He asks, and slowly, I nod my head, wondering how they would know my squadron. I curse myself inwardly when I realize, with their darkened uniforms and the patches on their arms, they were from the base. "Identification?"
"None." I shook my head in realization that hiding your dog tags in your boots was both a blessing and a curse. I pursed my lips. The captain looks at me, a bit hesitant, but he still helps as he checks me for injuries. When he pats my knee, I jerked the other up in reflex and something fell. My pocket, I suppose.
"A patch. AFP?" He asks.
"Armed Forces of the Philippines." I nod.
The captain nods his head. "Captain MacTavish. Good thing you kept this." He says, reaching a hand and pointing his ACR down. I took it and my eye twitches when he tugs on it. "You're rescue's here." He chuckles, his thick accent making it hard to hear if I weren't concentrating.
"Where're the others?" Someone asks, his voice faint. They probably had earpieces. They didn't have to strain their ears when listening past the wind like me.
"Dead." I croaked out, my voice scratchy and I realized that I was thirsty. "Yesterday."
"Bloody hell. Shepherd's not gonna like that." He says, shaking his head. MacTavish swings my arm across his shoulders and I awkwardly lean against him. I never realized I was so small until I got to this side of the world. They were like freaking trees compared to my 5'5".
After stumbling, I ended up with my arm around his waist, hand clinging to his vest and his arm above my shoulder for support. His body odor wasn't unbearable, but it wasn't something you'll wish to smell.
We took several steps first, baby steps. It was then I realized we had to go slow when pain shoots to my knee when I jog. MacTavish offers to carry me, and I deny him. When you still could walk, walk right? But I felt guilty slowing down this group.
"Roach, take point. Charlie one-oh-one, going to the LZ. We got the captives. What's your status?" There was the distinct crackle of static and I wished I had a radio too. "Alright. And..er..ma'am?"
"2nd lieutenant Trixie. Trixie Reyes." I say, knowing his look asked me of my name.
"Reyes?" He ask, a curious eyebrow arching and I shook my head.
"Import."
"Oh, right." He sends orders into his com and looks at me again. "Can you still shoot?"
"Still functional sir."
"Aye. Let's get out of here then."