Every day was exactly the same: the same routine, the same torture. Johanna began keeping track of time by the water drops on her head, once the drip had returned. Peeta continued to scream at the same time every day, at the same minute and same second on the dot. Every day, they would come in, hook up the electrodes, turn on the water, and repeat the interrogation. Every time, Johanna would say the same exact thing: no. She wouldn't tell them anything. Not with every convulsion, not with every time her veins turned into circuitry. Not even after she passed out from electricity.

One thing did change, and that was that they began 'bathing' Johanna. After she'd lost consciousness from too much electricity or too much drowning, they'd wake her up. Johanna would regain consciousness in a tub filled with icy, freezing water that numbed her skin, took the feeling away from her body, but only before bringing its own form of chilling agony. Sometimes, they'd strip her down while doing this, and though it lacked abuse of a sexual nature, the humiliating aspect of it was all but invisible. All of this, only to be returned to the routine of empty questions and shocking. She hated it. She hated bathing. She hated water, she hated the Capitol, and above all, she hated Snow.

Every day, at the same time, at the same moments, all of these events would transpire. Johanna even felt a slight advantage when she realized that she could keep track of time in this disconcerting, screwed-up way. It gave her a feeling of power; or, perhaps she'd just grown so used to being powerless that she wanted so desperately to know something about what happened on a daily basis. There were no clocks, after all, and she had to had something to do. Something to hold onto.

When Snow wasn't interrogating Johanna, he was busy with Peeta. Johanna could still hear Snow, of course, but it was clear that he was addressing Peeta. Messing with his memories, telling him about how Katniss was the evil one. How Katniss was the one who lied and deceived.

Peeta grew more volatile each day. It had been… around multiple weeks since their imprisonment, and though Johanna had spent a considerable portion of that time away from him, his gradual change was as real as ever. When they were first locked up, Peeta was afraid, and Johanna was the one filled with rage. Now, it seemed to be quite the opposite. Not to say that Johanna wasn't angry, but she was more so the human embodiment of dread and anticipation of upcoming torture. Of course, she was afraid, and perhaps Peeta was too, but his viciousness overshadowed any terror. What were once terrorized, miserable sobs were now dangerous screams and other shouts indicative of lashing out. Peeta's comforting words toward Johanna had become ranting about Katniss, had become attempts at convincing Johanna that Katniss was the one responsible for all of the pain, suffering, and death.

Peeta didn't know what was real, and after the electricity that ate away at so many of her own memories, Johanna wasn't that far behind.

The electricity left an everlasting pain. Even when she wasn't being directly tortured, her body perpetually ached. She felt the electrocutions, even when they weren't there. She felt her lungs pause, her breathing cease, at the mere thought of water. How the hell was she going to handle this? What was she going to be like when she came out of the Capitol, if she ever did? What if the pain didn't go away, even after her open wounds and oozing scabs healed? After growing so used to dysfunction, would she ever know what living a functional life was like?

There was no way of telling.

For now, though, she remained in this hell, this constant pain.

Aside from her own method of keeping track of things in her own, secluded little way, Johanna had no means of telling what went on outside. She couldn't help but wonder, again, though. How was Annie lasting? Was she still alive? Were any of the rebels still alive? Considering the fact that the President still interrogated her, she got the feeling that they were. He wouldn't have wanted to know, if they were already dead.

Perhaps there still was hope, as long as Johanna kept everything from him.

One day, however, after all of the repetition that caused everything to become a miserable blur, things changed.

It started with Johanna's door sliding open, and the sight of Larimar, once again. Her visits had been seldom in comparison to the way they'd been when Johanna had first been imprisoned, though she still regarded the woman with the utmost disdain.

"Johanna," the woman's voice came, sending a chill down Johanna's spine. "It's been a while. How have you been?"

Of course, there was no way in hell Johanna would let her fear show now. Even as her heart seemed to sink through her chest and disappear into some sort of void of fright and hatred. Even though her body trembled whenever she was spoken to nowadays. No one had to know how afraid she was. "Ugh," she groaned, rolling her eyes and lolling her head forward. "I've never liked seeing you. You know that, right?" She took in a deep breath, pushing it out in a way that was most uncomfortable. "What are you going to do, Larimar? Are you going to shock some more answers out of me?" Her tone was mocking. She didn't know why she would continue to endanger herself with this sort of talk. "Oh, right, that doesn't work, and it never has. Does that hurt your feelings?"

"It hurts a lot more than my feelings, you know," Larimar glared at Johanna, though she seemed to regain her aloof composure after a moment of bitterness. "Anyhow, I think you'll be pleased to know that we've developed a much more efficient method of getting answers from you. You'll actually be the first to test it out, for this exact purpose. Truly an honor, is it not?"

Johanna pretended to ignore the daunting words. "No offense–well, actually, full offense, but if I weren't strapped down to this chair, I'd punch you in the neck."

"I'll keep that in mind," Larimar deadpanned, her lips turning upward into a tight and strained smile. "and, I'll be seeing you soon. The President is rather eager to see how this effective method is."

After another unnerving stare directed toward Johanna, Larimar parted ways, quite recklessly slamming the door of the cell.

Johanna waited. Aside from the sounds of Peeta's labored breaths and the occasional distant sobbing, there was a disturbing hush that occupied the room.

Might as well make some sort of conversation, right?

"Hey, Peeta," Johanna's voice was soft when she spoke up, cautious as not to stir up something awful within her neighbor. He was unpredictable now, and she didn't know when he'd lash out next. "Can we talk?"

Peeta's response came almost instantly. "About what?"

"I don't know," a sigh escaped Johanna's dry lips, "anything. I just need a distraction. Have any stories to tell? Anything nice about your life, any good memories?"

"Not exactly," Peeta grumbled through the vent. "Memories aren't my strong suit as of late. Not to rain on your parade, but…"

Johanna interrupted him, impatiently. "Don't talk about rain. Forget it." She didn't want to associate herself with anything related to water, not even something so simple as a figure of speech. Clearly, trying to get a distraction form someone as equally miserable as herself was pointless.

"We don't have to stop there," came Peeta's suggestion, "I mean, there are some things about my life that aren't depressing or completely vague."

"Like?"

"Have I ever told you about my painting?" Peeta asked.

"I've heard about your talent with a brush," Johanna replied, "but I don't think I know the full extent of it. What kind of things do you paint?"

"All sorts of things," Peeta explained, "things related to the Games, people I knew, sceneries… that sort of thing."

Johanna tried to picture something other than the four walls of a torture cell, tried to picture a world outside, anything. A small, thoughtful noise escaped her. "Sound nice. I bet you're good."

"I guess so. I mean, I enjoy doing it, though I haven't exactly had the opportunity lately."

"Right," Johanna nodded her head. "Neat that you're into painting, though. I've never been much of an artist, myself. Well, aside from woodcarvings."

Peeta's tone of voice seemed to have growing curiosity behind it. "You do woodcarvings?"

There was a hint of pride when Johanna replied; well, false pride, really, considering she'd been stripped of all her pride. "Damn right. I've always enjoyed working with wood. It's a good distraction, good way to keep myself busy. That was sort of my thing, after my Games." It was one thing she didn't hate to do; give her a knife and a block of wood, or any type of wood, for that matter, and she'd go to town on it. She… hadn't really talked about that sort of thing in a while, come to think about it. All recent conversations had been,understandably, gloomy. The thought of carving a middle finger and mailing it to Snow brought a smile to her face, however. "I also worked on a little bit of carpentry, too. Made some furniture here and there. Wooden stuff, like everything else in Seven, I suppose."

"I'd like to see that someday," responded Peeta.

"Tell you what," Johanna said, "when we get the hell out of here and I get my hands on some wood, I'll make something just for you. Just to commemorate our dandy little friendship."

"Sounds like a deal."

The door to Johanna's cell opened again, snapping her attention away from Peeta and directly toward the door. Her heart began to pound, and she felt a wave of anxiety wash over her as she saw the figures entering the room. Larimar, followed by the man who'd regularly administered her electroshocks, entered the room. There was something in his hands, some sort of smaller machine, not quite the size of the ones behind her. Johanna felt herself freeze, silent as she watched in horror as the man set up the device, attaching wires to her trembling body and hooking up the usual electrodes soon afterward.

"What is…" Johanna barely got the question out before receiving a slap to the face. A distressed noise escaped her, flinching as she heard a small humming sound, the unidentifiable machine starting up. She took in a shaky breath, mumbling an insult toward her assailant under her breath.

"This is a device to determine whether or not you're telling the truth. For the purpose of insurance. It will administer an electric shock when you either lie, or take too long to answer. The less you obey, the greater each shock will be. Is that understood?"

Johanna didn't answer. Larimar repeated herself, voice raised to greater volumes this time, "Is that understood?"

Swallowing the lump in her throat and fighting back tears, Johanna managed a response, quiet and terror-filled. "Y… yes, understood."

She had absolutely no idea how she'd do this, how she'd manage to get through this without being fried to death. There was no way she'd let Snow, or anyone working for the Capitol, know about the rebellion.

What other option did she have? Could she get past this machine? Could she convince them that she was truly without a single clue of what the revolution meant?

Perhaps she'd just have to try.

"So, Jo," Larimar began, placing a hand on Johanna's arm. When Johanna attempted to jerk her arm free, Larimar only tightened her grip, eliciting another whimper from the tortured Victor. "How many of you were in on this rebellion? Clearly, you weren't the only Victor… Tribute in the Quarter Quell, focusing on getting Katniss out alive. Tell me, who else was involved?"

Johanna chewed at her bottom lip nervously, afraid to take too long with her answer. "Um," she murmured, her breaths speeding up as she anxiously anticipated what would soon come. "I… don't know."

SHOCK.

The sudden hit of electricity to her body drew a scream from her lips, causing her muscles to tense and her face to contort into something displaying clear agony.

"So, you clearly do know," Larimar taunted, running her hand down Johanna's arm, raking her claw-like fingernails over the colorfully bruised skin that was covered in all sorts of scabs and abrasions. "Who was it? How about we start with names? How about, say… your fellow Victor who seems to have disappeared as of late? The one from Twelve. Haymitch, is it?"

"What about him?" Johanna couldn't stop her voice from sounding more like a hurt whine than a steady question.

"Was he involved in the rebellion?"

There was silence on Johanna's side. If she said yes, they'd know too much. If she said no, they'd know she was lying, and she'd just get electrocuted again. Well, it seemed she'd be fucked in either scenario. So, she bared her teeth, red from sore and bleeding gums, tears spilling from her eyes. "I'm not telling you." This time, as she anticipated, the electrocution was more powerful, much longer lasting than the previous one. Johanna's response to the pain was equally as audible and agonized as her previous.

"Johanna, you're looking awfully hungry," a finger traced over Johanna's chest, where the thing that could barely be considered clothing clung to her perspiring skin, where her ribs were sticking out so prominently due to malnourishment. "It's been a long time since you've eaten, hasn't it?"

The question was greeted with nothing, not a single response.

"If you just told us," Larimar drawled, shaking her head, "if you just told us what was going on with the rebellion, I could arrange a feast. One with real,gourmet Capitol food. You don't have to starve."

More silence, and a glare from Johanna. If looks could kill…

"Or, maybe something expired, or even rotting. It's not like you particularly deserve a good meal, after all of the ways you've failed to cooperate with us."

Well, looks probably could kill, but Johanna would be the one getting killed.

"You know, it can get worse than this."

Silence, and then her body was electrified, reaping tears, foaming saliva expelled, and a scream that's met with the sound of a cracked voice.

There was not much saliva. Had her mouth always been this dry?

"It can always get worse. Are you aware of this?"

There was a warm mixture of blood and spit, perhaps even some bile seeping from between her cracking lips. No words, though. The glare persisted.

"We could see how you get along with boiling water, instead. Perhaps we'd even electrify the water, while we're at it."

Larimar didn't stop talking. Fucking hell, she never stopped talking. Her voice was worse than nails on a chalkboard. Snow really needed to get that little lapdog of his put down.

"You're not accomplishing anything by staying quiet."

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up shut up shut up SHUT UP, the word ECHOES endlessly in Johanna's mind and she would scream it if she could, if she had the energy within her, if she wasn't frozen with fear and rage and a horrifying amalgamation of inconsolable feelings. Her thoughts were screaming at her and her glare was nearly as loud as the screams – well, if looks could scream.

Of course, Peeta had joined in on the screaming, not too long ago. Johanna barely even noticed anymore. His screams stood out as much as boring wallpaper, as she was so used to them by now.

"Johanna." Larimar stared her in the eye, now. "Don't you want to see your home again? Don't you want to live? Don't you want to know what it feels like to have the sun shining against your skin? The feeling of freedom?"

There were tears falling, but Johanna didn't cry out, didn't whimper or sob.

"You know that can't happen if you don't give up those little secrets of yours."

Her body, though, it was shaking, and her breaths were uneven and she just couldn't stop quivering.

"Don't you want to go home? It's the only thing you really have left, isn't it? Your District, your land; you love it, don't you? What if you never see a single tree again because of this?"

She was so tired. The electricity didn't help much when it came to waking her up.

"It would all be on you, Johanna."

She recalled the lightning tree. Then, she recalled what Beetee said about that very tree, back in the arena. How it would've been destroyed, if it had been a real tree.

'You know trees better than any of us, Johanna It would've been destroyed by now, wouldn't it?'

That's what he'd said.

Trees. Lightning. Electricity. Shocks.

Johanna had something in common with the lightning tree.

Tick, tock.

"If you're not going to tell us anything, anything at all, do you realize what will happen?

Her head had been pounding all day, but it was hard to hear with the screaming: her own internal screaming, Peeta's not so internal screaming.

"You'll be useless."

It was pounding like thunder, readying itself for the next lightning strike.

"Disposable."

Or, however storms worked.

"We won't need to keep you alive anymore."

Storms seemed more relatable to Johanna than any people did.

"We could do irreversible damage to you."

In fact, she barely felt as if she were a human anymore. Clearly, no one here saw her as a person.

"Irreversible damage, Johanna."

So, Johanna spoke up again, daring to speak, daring to face the one orchestrating her torture. "You already have."

Larimar raised an eyebrow. "So, she finally speaks," she replied, running a hand through her obnoxiously bright hair. "Trust me, darling, thingscould get worse. How would you like to learn what it feels to lose each and every one of your fingers, one after another? What about a hand, or an arm? This…" she scoffed. "electrocution act is mere child's play in the wide and diverse field of torture. We could do so, so much more to you."

"I d… don't know," Johanna croaked, again gnawing her lower lip. It was only after she'd tasted blood that she'd realized how hard she'd been biting. "You've already f-fucked up… everything. You… you can only go s-so far…"

"Not true at all. There are many more methods we could use on you, Johanna. Have you ever heard of the techniques they used long before the war? Before the dark days, before Panem was even formed or recognized as a country?"

Johanna didn't reply, she just scowled at Larimar, trying to ignore the dreadful, churning feeling deep within her.

"We've recovered ancient documents on even more ancient techniques for torture - fairly recently, actually. I must admit, they're a lot more… low-tech than any of our lovely implications, much more barbaric," Larimar continued, the tone of enthusiasm in her voice serving to sicken Johanna, "but I'd love to see how they'd work on a living subject. You'd be surprised how talented those people were with things as simplistic as heated oil or metal."

"Y-you're not scaring me…" Yes, yes she was. She was instilling the deepest fear in Johanna, the kind that sickened to her core.

Strangely enough, the lie detecting machine seemed to catch that one, and a beep went off on the machine, sending another shock through her body.

Nothing felt real. Her body was a conductor, her veins like wires, her ears ringing and she was seeing stars. Part of her wanted to keep lying, to keep rebelling, because maybe the next shock would be the one to finally end her. Put her out of her misery. It would've been better than around the clock torture.

"Oh, but our little lie detector knows otherwise. See, all of this could be avoided, if you just talked to us. If you just told us what's on your mind. You're the only one preventing all of that torture. Do I really have to keep telling you all of this, though?"

Another electrocution was administered. Johanna's sight was getting blurry. She couldn't hear properly. Larimar's voice was fading away. The stronger the shocks became, the more distant the world became, the more everything blurred and faded into ambiguity.

& then another shock.

and another.

Then, nothing.


Johanna heard them talking. Her consciousness came and left as vaguely and irregularly as it could. Who was speaking, though? Words were difficult to discern, muddled, blurred if words could ever be blurred.

They weren't nearby voices. In fact. it sounded like they were outside of her cell. There was a strange muffled echo to the voices, like they were close, but divided by a wall, or perhaps walls. No familiar voices thus far.

'We … dispose of her,' one voice starts, certain words muted by the high-pitched whining sound of ringing ears.

Johanna attempted to open her eyes, look around, but was met with a half-lidded, half-conscious gaze at the walls that seemed to be covered in dark, unpleasant-looking spots of nothingness. The spots moved with her vision, showed upon the surface of her body and of the hardened chair that she was strapped to. She stared at her arm for a moment, now emaciated and covered in bruises in all shapes and sizes. There were plenty of open wounds from direct electricity; not just the 'gentle' kind with ready nodes, but of direct contact against sparking wires. She could barely remember when, or where, she'd gotten these ones. Maybe when she was around Annie in the torture room. Maybe she'd looked this way her entire life without realizing. Maybe she didn't look like anything, because none of this was even real anymore.

So difficult to tell.

The voices continue.

'What about … orders? What if … out?' another voice sounds confused,concerned? Not that it matters. Johanna's absolutely fascinated with how the dark spots in her vision meld with the bruises covering her arm. Like a work of art, but not.

' … not telling us anything. She refuses to tell us anything … rebellion.'

Oh, so they were talking about her, were they? Fucking pricks. She'd love to throw an axe right at them, make it hit all of the soft spots in their bodies.

That would've been nice.

'Talk to Coriolanus,' one of the voices said, becoming clearer now, though still rather indistinguishable. 'Let him have his say. We might not need her to learn about the Mockingjay. There are other ways.' The sudden clarity came as quickly as it left, as the voices became more distant, faded away just like everything had before. It scared Johanna, though; or, it would have, if she hadn't felt like anything less than a living corpse.

Wherever Larimar had left to, that fucked up woman had succeeded in scaring her.

Johanna didn't like the direction everything was going.


The repetition continued over the next few days. Later on in the week, it seemed that the constant torture only got worse. More icy water, and as Larimar has implied, more hot water. It seared her skin and turned her body a flushed red coloration that only became pale once ice was dumped onto her, and the aftermath was an awful complexion that just made her bruises look worse.

To think that, before this, she'd had a full head of hair and clean-looking skin…ha, that was some unbelievable bullshit if she'd ever heard any.

At one point during the interrogation, Johanna even decided to start giving them answers, but giving them entirely wrong ones. Some of it was sarcastic in nature, but whenever the interrogations lacked a lie detector, she let loose any lies she could think up. Giving them the wrong locations, making up some fictitious District Fourteen that was shoehorned somewhere into that gigantic space of land above Panem. For a while, they even believed it, giving her a break from torture and allowing her to eat a lunch of some guards' table scraps. It was humiliating, but - well, just about everything was at this point, wasn't it? Unfortunately, it hadn't taken Snow and his lackeys long to figure out that she was just making everything up.

The result was, well… If one could imagine electrocution, drowning, waterboarding, dripping ceilings, physical beatings and harsh insults getting any worse, then one might have had a clear idea of how that went down. She lost a couple of fingernails in the process, as well.

It was bad, and it only got more awful from there. There was really no point in being optimistic about Capitol imprisonment and torture.

The strange thing, though, is that after all of this seemingly never-ending torture, there did come a day that they finally decided to stop it, simply out of nowhere. There was just even more silence; well, there would have been, if not for Peeta's now entirely fucking deranged screaming next-door. But, on Johanna's end, there was silence, and she spent practically a whole day waiting for something to happen, and nothing did happen. The next day was the same; they'd just left her there, no torture implements, not even the water dripping above her onto her head.

Quiet.

Way too quiet.

Then, Larimar stormed in, out of nowhere, after so much time filled with nothingness and miserable Peeta, and she had the look upon her face that showed that she was just so entirely impatient and fed up with Johanna's so-called disobedience. Or, whatever she was about to spout. It was nothing like the calmness that she once had when they first met. The other one, the torturer whose name Johanna had never figured out, was with her.

"What?" Johanna asked, and her voice, so unused after spending so much time alone, sounded no less worse than before. "Did I do s-something to piss y-you off, again?" Her body hadn't ceased the shaking since the last round of shocks, leaving her to stutter a bit more than she wanted to.

"I've reached a decision, miss Mason," Larimar began, her tone of voice forced, "and it seems like, with the lack of cooperation, it might just be more efficient to let you die down here."

A mixture of emotions filled Johanna - confusion, shock, excitement? Oh, no, was she actually looking forward to this? No, that couldn't be right. She could barely believe her ears. "You're bullshitting me, right? …Right? Y-you've got to be."

"You've just," Larimar shook her head quickly, rustling her freakishly blue hair, "you've just really pushed the limits. I've been patient with you. I've offered you so much, and I…" Well, it seemed that Johanna wasn't the only one trembling, though for Larimar it appeared to be for an entirely different reason. "I don't want to be assigned to oversee you anymore. I simply don't. You've been so disobedient, you've refused to share anythingof import. You're entirely useless, Johanna. We've already gotten what information we need on the rebellion, and it's no thanks to you."

"I pride myself on that." Johanna deadpanned, her voice lowered, staring the woman directly in the eyes.

"That's barely the point," Larimar stepped away, behind Johanna's chair, and the sound of her rustling through equipment could be heard. "Are you aware of the fact that we've bombed District Thirteen?"

"What? When-" Johanna began to ask, though she was very quickly cut off by Larimar's frustrated speech.

"They survived, Johanna. They survived, thanks to your moron of a cellmate, who warned them. Mellark? Yes, that's his name – but, we've discovered where District Thirteen is, and there is a full-blown war going on in the Districts, and, and…" she stuttered, grabbing something behind Johanna, though the object was entirely unknown until Larimar stepped in front of the chair, standing before the beaten Victor with the razor shaver in hand. "and, it's going to spread to the Capitol, and you knew this, didn't you? You knew that, by biding your time, you could only helpyour fellow rebels with their insurgence. You had to have known."

Johanna was simply wordless, trying to take in all of the information that the sadistic woman had vomited out in her direction. Bombs? Peeta had warned District Thirteen about a bombing? When had that all happened? Why was it that Johanna hadn't known about this? Everything was happening too rapidly for her to process it all. She hissed in pain as the other woman drove the razor against her head, ridding her of the stubble that had once again grown back. This time, it was much more aggressive, the painful electric motions drawing blood from certain areas of her scalp. "Fuck. C-can you slow down?"

"No! I'm not slowing down. In fact, do you know what? I'm going to turn on the electricity, and I'm going to leave it on, and you are going to sufferfor what you've done until your last breath."

"So, y-you're executing me?" Johanna stammered, "That's your solution? Does Snow even k-know about this?"

"Does it matter? Consider this a favor for the people in the Capitol. A sacrifice. You've done nothing hinder us, we'll all be better off if you're dead."

Larimar shoved the razor at the other torturer, impatiently forcing him to do the job of turning it off. "Turn up the electroshock device. Set it to a gradual increase."

She'd hoped she would go out in a bang, had she happened to die in the Capitol, but this? This wasn't a bang. This was frying to death, and again, Johanna found herself absolutely mortified. She wasn't ready to die. Not yet. Not without getting to see the trees again, not without being able to go home, not without saying goodbye to… who did she even have to say goodbye to, anymore? It didn't matter. She still wasn't ready to die, ironically going against her most recent death wishes.

Johanna clenched her jaw as the electrodes were attached to her body, multiple ones on each limbs, her head getting extra attention. "Goddamn sadist. I hope your death is violent and bloody."

"I wouldn't count on it," Larimar replied smugly.

Then, the electricity began. Slow, at first, barely even noticeable, and then it spiked, and it went higher, and Johanna felt it burn through her, taking control of her body again and making her tremor, pain in every nerve.

"Come along," she heard Larimar say, motioning toward the other torturer. "We've spent enough time in here. Let's leave our dear Johanna to her business."

Just as Johanna was about to protest, perhaps even beg for for mercy, or even just for a less horrid death, the pair left, slamming the door behind them.

The hallways echoed with the sounds of her agonized cries as the electricity slowly grew in potency, affecting her body more heavily, ripping through her being and even physically burning certain areas, places where the electrodes had been attached to poorly healed scabs. Her vision was becoming blurry again, her consciousness fading and her thoughts and memories getting seared, much like her body currently was.

It grew, and it grew, and it grew to unmeasurable amounts of pain, and she could hear Peeta's suffering right beside her, both of them screaming, and, oh, fuck, this was the end, she was going to die this way, she was going to die,she was going to die she was going to die shewasgoingtoDIE-

…Then,

darkness.

Darkness?

She was dead, wasn't she? She had to have been, as somewhere along the line, somewhere as the electricity had gotten so unbearable, it had suddenly stopped, and the lights had died out, and the sound of buzzing machines went away, and the power stopped, and-

The power. The power in the torture cells had gone out.

The electricity died instead of Johanna.