For prompt 16: Blindfolded


Alex's day went from bad to worse when he stepped into the warehouse he was investigating — a warehouse that MI6 had assured him was empty — and immediately got four guns showed at his head.

They secured his hands behind his back and a black hood over his head and marched him down three corridors and two flights of stairs. His questions were ignored, and so were his quips, curses, and shouts. It's like Alex was insignificant cargo they were transporting. He could have been a box of old books, and it wouldn't have made a difference.

They left him tied up in a chair after deriving him of his jacket and shoes. A heavy door shut and locked behind him, then nothing. He couldn't even hear their steps retreating down the corridor. Alex knew it must mean the room was soundproof, but his neck kept tingling like they were still standing behind him, watching silently. The room smelled of wet rocks and cardboard. An old wine cellar?

He pretended to only shiver from the cold seeping from the concrete floor.

Both his arms and legs were tightly secured, and Alex knew he wouldn't be getting out of these bounds on his own. He tried anyway, of course. It's not like he had better things to do.

Breathing with the bag over his head was hard, and more than once Alex had to force his breathing to slow down or risk passing out.

When they finally showed up again, it was to stand silently in front of him and stare until he was certain he was imaging the sound of their breathing.

They answered his request for something to drink by pouring a bucket of ice water over his head. Alex kept quiet as they left, too shocked to try getting any answers before the door clanged shut once more.

He expected them to come back and hurt him at any moment, but they never did. Instead, they left him sitting alone, water dripping from his chin, staring into the darkness.

After another indeterminable amount of time, they came back and pulled the hood from his head. The person standing in front of him was tall and stocky. He was wearing a balaclava; they all were. His eyes were deep, dark blue and pitiless like an ocean trench.

Alex refused the challenge to speak first.

"Ready to talk?" Blue-eyes asked in slightly accented English. Something about the accent seemed forced; like he was trying to hide his real one.

Alex glared in answer.

"Very well."

Blue-eyes replaced the hood without another word and left the room, his friends filed silently out behind him, and Alex was alone again.

They repeated the process thrice more. Each time Blue-eyes asked if he was ready to talk, and every time Alex refused.

When this didn't work, they made loud music blare through the room until his ears rang. Alex glared at the ceiling and began belting whatever annoying earworm he could remember.

Every few hours, Blue-eyes would be back to ask his question. And every few hours, Alex refused. His throat burned from the lack of water, and he was certain that if he were to speak now, the words would come out as a croak.

"You never get tired of repeating yourself?" Alex finally croaked after Blue-eyes had rudely woken him when he passed out between them turning the music off and them entering the cellar.

The floor was swimming. He felt so tired.

Blue-eyes barely blinked. "Are you ready to talk?"

"I'm already talking."

"Who do you work for?"

Alex stayed silent this time, his throat protesting the rough treatment of forming words.

"Why were you at the warehouse?"

More silence.

"We can only let you leave if you answer."

Alex looked away and Blue-eyes left soon after.

They turned on the sprinklers next. Alex tipped his head back and opened his mouth. The water was heaven for his parched throat. Then it became the most miserable shower in history.

At Blue-eyes' next visit, Alex beat him to the word.

"Are you going to force me into a stress position next?" He displayed his teeth in a mock grin. "You can't stop at only four of the five techniques. That's not very professional."

For the first time, Blue-eyes looked sincerely surprised. He walked out without a word.

The next time the door opened, it wasn't Blue-eyes. This man was shorter, leaner, and his steel-grey eyes glinted in challenge when he pointed the gun at Alex's forehead.

"Speak." This time it wasn't a question.

Alex watched him for a long moment. "Go on," he finally said. "Shoot me."

The man didn't so much as twitch.

Alex leaned forwards, stretching his bonds to the limit. "Shoot me."

Still, the man didn't speak. His hand got a slight tremor. He didn't pull the trigger. Alex leaned back with a smirk.

"Yeah, didn't think so."

The new man left without another word. Neither the music nor the water came back on.

"Did I pass? Huh?" Alex asked. His gaze fluttered between the corners of the room. "So, did I pass?" he shouted.

The lights turned on. The next person who entered the room was Mrs Jones.

Alex laughed. The gesture was filled with more relief than he cared to admit.


Themes: enhanced interrogation techniques (no violence)

Heavily inspired by season 1 episode 2 of the TV-show