Warning: Graphic descriptions of waterboarding and other canon-typical violence.

Teru had been trudging along the raised bunds of the rice paddy for what felt like at least a half a kilometer, but the fields that stretched out ahead of him seemed infinite. The only light came from the stars overhead, which were shining brightly without the city's light pollution. He must have teleported all the way to Furikake Village, the agricultural municipality north of Seasoning City, near the border of Flavor Prefecture.

"Good evening, Kaijin," the voice came from directly behind him, "or should I say Hanazawa-kun?"

Teru whipped around to see a man standing a couple of bunds down, his feet dry, and his smile ominous.

"Your aura was too depleted to track until now. I only felt it for a moment, but I would know it anywhere. Do you really not recognize me?"

Teru laughed because he really hadn't until then. Final Dog had been the last target in his anti-terrorist speedrun, and by the night he confronted them, he was running on nothing but fumes and canned coffee. There had been too many auras swirling together into a rat king of raw energy for Teru to recognize one he hadn't encountered since he was ten years old.

"Well, to be entirely fair, my head was in a bucket for most of our introduction," said Teru.

Teru hadn't learned how to waterboard someone from Saturday morning anime. He had learned it the hard way, in his own cramped apartment bathroom, while a man who called himself Shiro-san asked Teru if he knew any other espers.

Shiro-san didn't believe him when he said no.

Shiro-san hadn't been part of the Fab Five or even the Seventh Division's upper echelon. He was just some unscarred member of middle-management that Teru had never seen again.

"You bailed before the Seventh Division went down, huh?" asked Teru. "Did you get fired, or did you just feel like they couldn't help you reach your full potential as a sadistic asshole?"

"I could see the writing on the wall," said Shiro-san.

"Pretty sure that was blood," said Teru, inspecting his chipped nail polish.

"The Seventh Division's leadership was too weak," said Shiro-san. "Ishiguro couldn't even put a brat like you in timeout."

Teru didn't think he could talk his way out of this one. He wasn't Reigen. He just needed to keep Shiro-san talking long enough to come up with a plan. There was no way he had enough energy for another teleport. He was pretty sure if he tried to put up a barrier right now it would be about as strong as a Pringle.

Teru had been in better shape when he was ten years old, and he'd still lost that fight.

Shiro-san had used Teru's own T-shirt and bath bucket to waterboard him. He hung Teru by his ankles with telekinesis, pulled the collar of his Sailor Moon T-shirt down (or up, from Teru's point of view) until it covered his nose, and doused his face with water.

It went up his nose. Teru let out a reflexive gasp and let in even more water. It felt like he'd inhaled hydrochloric acid instead. Everything between his nasal cavity and his lungs was searing with a pain unlike he had ever experienced.

The third time Shiro-san pulled back the T-shirt for an interrogation break, Teru had bitten down as hard as he could. Shiro-san had been using his hands, because his powers were occupied with the restraints, and he wasn't a skilled enough esper to multitask. Teru tasted blood before he had to unclench and hack it up, along with what felt like a liter of water.

Shiro-san released him. Teru lashed out with an uncoordinated blast of energy and bugged the fuck out of there, booking it to his closest bolthole. He didn't go back to his apartment for over a month.

"I seem to recall giving you some trouble too," said Teru.

Shiro-san flipped him off, and Teru saw the stump of an index finger that he had bitten in half four years ago.

He hadn't been able to eat raw carrots for years after that. Thank god for broccoli or Teru would probably have scurvy by now.

Teru laughed airily. "Final Dog's leadership doesn't seem to be much of an improvement."

Shiro-san did not laugh. He clicked his tongue in a way that suggested he had been involved in Final Dog's leadership. "Well, you know what they say: Third time's the charm."

"So that's when I'll stop you for good?"

Now he laughed. "What makes you think you'll live that long?"

So much for keeping him talking.

"I would have killed you already," said Shiro-san, "but I think you deserve to suffer a little bit first."

"Is this like a kink of yours?"

"I don't want to waste time with your government watchdog sniffing around for me," said Shiro-san. "So the question is: How to hurt you as much as possible in the least amount of time?"

Teru could already feel his heart rate ramp up at the simple implication that there might be something worse than waterboarding. He tried to mitigate the panic by taking deep breaths. While he still could.

"I think it would only be fair if you lost at least a finger," said Shiro-san. "but I know from experience that adrenaline numbs the pain, and you won't be alive long enough for it to wear off."

"Are you still hung up on that?" asked Teru. "Sorry. I thought you were jealous of the Scars."

Shiro-san snapped his fingers, or what was left of them. "I've got it! I'll tell you a story."

"Why don't we ta- Huh?"

Teru couldn't believe it. Shiro-san was actually going to do a villain monologue. Probably about his tragic backstory.

"I'm going to tell you a story about a little boy and a big organization."

Shiro san gestured when he talked, but it was always with his right hand, like he was trying to draw attention to the missing finger. It was a cheap intimidation tactic that probably worked better on someone who hadn't bitten it off.

"The organization was looking for psychics. This was before they had to keep a low profile, so they could recruit publicly. They put up flyers and went door to door, inviting people to join their noble cause. They didn't find many psychics that way, but even normies could prove useful with a little… help. One day, they knocked on the door of a very nice couple with a very naughty son."

The panic had gone, or at least it had gone somewhere far away. Everything seemed very far away, even Shiro-san, who was still talking.

"The couple didn't care much about the organization's agenda, but they were interested in its psychic training program. The couple ended up changing their minds, but by then the little boy had caught the organization's attention."

Sometimes Teru wondered how Claw found out about him, but he had always assumed it was his fault. After all, Shigeo slipped under their radar by barely using his powers. It was Teru's dependence on his powers for everything from skipping rope to making friends that had attracted the attention of the terrorists who targeted him for most of his formative years. That was what he got for showing off.

It made sense.

So did Shiro-san's story.

Shiro-san clapped his hands. "Okay! Looks like that did the trick. Goodbye, Hanazawa-kun."

Teru's feet were pulled out from under him. He tried to catch himself, but his arms were pinned tightly to his side by psychic restraints that he was still too weak to break.

He couldn't go through this again. It was still the most painful thing he had ever experienced, his second-most recurring nightmare after choking out Shigeo. Teru still couldn't shower for more than fifteen minutes without having to do some serious breathing exercises afterwards, which would have torpedoed his haircare routine if it weren't for leave-in conditioner.

Teru had attempted to replicate Shiro-san's torture technique when he helped Shigeo storm Claw's Seventh Division to save Outoto-kun.

An eye for an eye. That was what Teru told himself, but he hadn't been able to go through with it. He ended up dunking Terada's head in a bucket a couple of times, never for more than a few seconds, and never with a cloth over his face. Terada had been able to hold his breath. It was still torture, but it wasn't waterboarding.

It was, however, a much faster way to kill someone if that was the desired result.

It was also easier to keep your hands clear if they happened to be a biter.

Shiro-san lowered Teru face first into the dirty water of the rice paddy. Teru tried to turn his head, but no matter how much he craned his neck, the water still covered his mouth. This time there were no questions. There was no reprieve. The water was less than ten centimeters deep, and Teru was going to drown in it.