I woke slowly, instinctively fighting the tranquilizer still keeping my system sedated, until I finally managed to keep my eyes open for more than a few seconds at a time. When I did finally come to, I instantly wished I hadn't; I was in an honest-to-God cell installed in someone's cellar. The large room was chill and damp despite the summer warmth I knew was still outside, and the sensation of cold was only amplified by the grey cinder blocks and rough cement floor that made up the house's foundation. The only light came from a single bulb hanging from the ceiling. Though the room itself was fairly large, my corner was sectioned off by floor-to-ceiling steel bars and a padlock that looked like it would give a Halliburton security case a run for it's money. There was no bed or blankets of any kind, and only a large bucket in the corner, which I could guess the purpose of from the roll of toilet paper beside it. Outside the cage was a garden hose and a long wooden bench, both situated in the center of the room. I grimaced; how very Silence of the Lambs of him.

I sat there on the concrete for a long time, though how much time actually passed, I didn't know. Finally, though, the door to the basement opened enough for Dr. Goswami to stick his head in and see I was awake. He smiled warmly as he trotted down the stairs. I just glared, "I'm surprised you're not chanting 'It puts the lotion on its skin or else it gets the hose again.'"

He clicked his tongue at me. "Your American movies are quite inventive, I must give you that. But no, it's not your skin that I need from you. It's your mind."

So that was why I was still alive. "Quit speaking in riddles. It's not as mysterious and intimidating as you think."

He pursed his lips. "I need you to design something that will render your device inactive."

My laugh was humorless. "And why would I do that?" I gestured at the hose. "You think a little water is going to make me sabotage everything I've worked for?"

Dark eyes narrowed. "I think you're going to help me rectify the atrocities you've committed against mankind."

"And if I don't?"

"In a former life, I was Mussad, Dr. Ramsey," he said levelly, turning to leave. "I have other means to persuade you." The door swung shut behind him, and I was once again on my own.

I closed my eyes and rested my forehead against the bars. He was a former member of the most elite and ruthless intelligence agency on the planet. I knew then that I didn't have a chance in hell of making it out of here alive; I was way too much of a liability to let go, and outsmarting him enough to escape would be impossible.

Three days, I told myself firmly. Three days and the device goes live. Three days and so many people will have it that it will be too late.

0o0o0o0o0o0

I clenched my fists when I heard the basement door swing open. Three pairs of footsteps approached, but I stalwartly refused to turn around, focusing solely on the wall ahead of me. "Are you ready to work, Dr. Ramsey?"

I stayed silent. We'd been through this routine so many times in the last seven hours that I knew talking wouldn't prevent what came next. He would not be reasoned with; in his mind, the only function of my device was to forcibly strip powers from every Special, and he would be heralded as a savior when he finally killed me, but I was only allowed to die after I created something to render my device useless.

"Still unwilling to cooperate, I see. Gentlemen, if you will." The cage door swung open, and two pairs of footsteps approached, but I waited until they were within arms reach before I swung out. My fist connected with one man's face, and my elbow caught the other man's throat on the backswing. I wasn't quick enough, however. The first one recovered quickly and grabbed my hair, yanking my head back at a painful angle that instantly subdued me because I couldn't shift my weight.

It was ridiculous how easily they restrained me then, grabbing my arms to frog march me to the wooden bench and zip-tying me to it so that I lay prone. Dr. Goswami frowned in irritation at me. "I'm very much tiring of this. Why don't you just make this easier on yourself?"

I spat up at him, nailing him in the face. He sighed and nodded at the men, who proceeded to put a towel over my face. I knew what was coming next, but was powerless to stop it. I tensed instinctively as the hose turned on, and then water was pouring on my face.

I thrashed violently against my restraints as I choked, lost in the sensation of drowning.

0o0o0o0o0o0

Waterboarding is a form of torture that can cause extreme pain, lung damage, brain damage from oxygen deprivation, injuries such as broken bones from struggling against restraints, psychological trauma, and death, my brain recited from a long-ago read article whose origins I couldn't remember.

I lay on the cold cement ground, staring at the ceiling without really seeing it. There was a very dull sense of victory, but I clung to it. I had made it. The device had officially hit the international market. Any Special could get the help they needed now as hospitals around the world could prescribe and tailor the devices to their patients using common electrodes and the computer program we had designed and released over the summer. Three nights had passed – I knew because Dr. Goswami would remain away for 8 consecutive hours at a time – and I had lasted until it was too late for him to interfere with the project. It was finished. Dr. Goswami and the nameless men he was working with must have heard the news, because they hadn't come down in almost a day. I supposed they had decided to leave me here to die of starvation and dehydration. At least they weren't torturing me anymore.

No one had come to save me.

Though every night I cried for Gabriel, for someone to find me, I knew it was useless. Steven had handed me the only piece of paper with the address and I strongly doubted Dr. Goswami was stupid enough to use his own phone to place the call. There was nothing tying me to this random house in the suburbs, no reason for anyone to think I was here.

Still, there was the tiniest ray of hope that I could never quite squash, a quiet stubborn voice in my head that told me Gabriel was coming, that he would find me and I just needed to hold on. And that little seed of hope was evil, because it gave me thoughts about him. It told me that we would get married after he rescued me, and we would live the white picket fence dream and have a gaggle of kids with normal names like Tom and Mike and Stephanie, instead of stupid names like Hero and Leonidas. We would get a dog and a cat, and maybe pony, because we would have daughters and screw it, Gabriel could literally make gold. In these dreams, I even clung to the unrealistic hope that the baby inside me was still alive even after the torture and sleep deprivation and lack of food or water and what I was nearly positive was a broken wrist from fighting the restraints.

The dreams made me feel better for a little while at a time, a short reprieve from this nightmare that was slowly killing me, so I didn't bother to chide myself for being illogical. They were the only thing keeping my heart beating.