A/N: Lots of thanks to my beta The Wishyles! All remaining mistakes are mine!
Written on the occasion of the 50th anniversary of amnesty international.
A short story about torture
McKay sat on the stone floor of his cell and watched goose bumps form on his arms. He wasn't cold even though his guards had taken away all his things except his t-shirt and his trousers. He was shivering because he had more than just a vague inkling about what to expect and Atlantis didn't know where he was.
His guards were a group of self-proclaimed Wraith-destroyers. They didn't show mercy and targeted Wraith-worshippers with pitiless severity.
McKay didn't know why they had captured him. Maybe a rumour, maybe someone had seen him with Todd and his companions? Maybe his name was mentioned in an interrogation? He didn't know. But he knew what they wanted from him. They wanted a confession and names of Wraith-worshippers. They were giving him time to think before carrying out their threats of torture, despite his pleas that he was not a Wraith-worshipper.
He had no sense of time but he must have sat in his cell for a couple of hours imagining the most horrible torture scenarios. When the door opened he jumped. Two soldiers with batons entered the cell. Getting beaten was only one method he had imagined.
"Get up." It had overtones of "or else…". For a split second he thought about resisting. But it wouldn't be any use. And anyway, he was far too scared. He stood up expecting a blow at any moment. Would they hit him in the stomach first? Or on the back? In the hollows of his knees?
The blow didn't come.
"Come." He followed the soldiers along a hallway. "What…" He was chokeing with fear. He tried asking what he had to expect, but he couldn't get the words out. The soldiers looked at him briefly before guiding him down a stairway to the next floor where they brought him to a small room.
The only light in the room was from a guttering, sooty candle on a crude table, next to a generator which had cables leading to a chair in the middle of the room. Electricity. He hadn't thought about electricity.
A man was preparing the generator. He turned to McKay, "Take a seat, please." He was mocking McKay with fake politeness.
When McKay hesitated, a soldier pushed him towards the chair. Paralyzed with fear, he didn't fight back and sat down. The soldiers fastened straps to his body fixing him to the chair. First around the hips, then around the chest. Above the elbow they bound his arms to the chair's back. His wrists were bound to the armrests. The straps were padded, so he wouldn't bruise. The man examined the bonds with satisfaction. "You know, Dr McKay, we found this small toy," he pointed at the chair and the generator, "during one of our forays. It makes our work a lot easier."
The man now personally attached the cables to McKay's lower arms before going back to the generator. He turned it on and a humming noise filled the room. There was no current generated yet, but McKay knew that would change soon.
"A confession and names, there's nothing else we want, Dr McKay."
"I'm not a Wraith-worshipper! And I don't know any Wraith-worshippers!" McKay yelled desperately.
The man fine-tuned a control and laid a finger on a switch. McKay closed his eyes. All of a sudden severe pain ran through his body. He cried out, writhing, and pulling at his bindings. The pain diminished quickly; the interrogator had pushed the switch for only a short moment. A short electric shock, but enough to leave the scientist gasping for breath. More electric shocks followed, increasing in length and intensity.
After several hours McKay knew he had to finish the ordeal. They wanted a confession? They could have it! They wanted names? He would give them names!
"Stop, please." His voice was so quiet and hoarse, the interrogating soldier didn't hear it. More electric shocks followed, and he was no longer able to articulate any words. The next shock sent him into unconsciousness.
Moonlight swas shining into his cell when he came to. Next to him was a jug of water which he drank eagerly. His throat was rough and dry and the water did him good. He laid down again and stared at the ceiling. Then he laughed, not quite hysterical. They had had him. He would have confessed to anything they accused him of, given them any names. And they hadn't even noticed.
He was still laughing or maybe crying, he no longer knew. The pain of the torture prevented any lucid thoughts. That's why he had been about to give them the first names that came to his mind. Sheppard. Ronon. Teyla. At the thought of his near betrayal, he broke down totally feeling deeply ashamed.
After he calmed down he looked at his arms, searching for signs of burns. But he couldn't make them out in the pale moonlight. At that moment he wished they had beaten him up. Blood stains, bruises, broken bones. Obvious signs of torture. But this? He imagined getting back to Atlantis and trying to justify his betrayal. What could he show? Nothing except non-existing electric burns.
He wasn't able to sleep, tossing and turning restlessly. It was morning when he heard gun fire and screams. That had to be Atlantis! Then a shot from Ronon's blaster hit the cell door and Ronon rushed in, "He's here!" Without wasting time, the warrior grabbed McKay's arm and dragged him out, along the hallways, to a puddle jumper outside the building, flanked by Sheppard, Teyla and a team of Marines.
Sheppard started the jumper, but the moment they were out of shooting distance he left the controls to a Marine and went to McKay who sat in the back of the jumper, "You OK? We thought the worst."
The scientist looked at his arms. Even now, in the daylight, he couldn't see any burns. No proof of the torture. No excuse for almost committing a betrayal.
Quietly McKay murmured, "Yeah, been lucky this time." He meant that the Wraith-destroyers had had no chance to interrogate him again. But he knew that his team would interpret his statement differently. He would let them go on believing that nothing had happened to him.