"How could I be so damn careless?" Irina thought to herself. On what had been her first assignment -- a relatively simple one -- she had gotten caught by the occupying forces. One of their troops, apparently dressed as a civilian, had seen her attempting to plant the small incendiary device. He radioed for backup, and before she knew it, she was surrounded.

Now she found herself hooded and handcuffed, riding in a military transport to some unknown destination. She felt sick to her stomach. She didn't have a clue what they were going to do to her, but suspected she'd be executed as a rebel.

The ride plodded on for what seemed like hours. Her arms were getting sore from being pulled behind her back, and breathing underneath the thick hood was difficult, to say the least.

Finally, the vehicle came to a rest and she heard the engine turn off. The door opened and moments later, she felt a rough hand pull her by the arm. Unable to see or pose any meaningful resistance, she complied and followed. Her feet plodded along a short concrete path before she heard a heavy door open. By the sudden increase in temperature, she guessed that she was now indoors. She was shoved along for a few more steps, then brought to a stop.

"Who is she?" droned a nasaly female voice.

"Irina Shumeyko," said a man, who Irina recognized as the one who had cuffed and hooded her. "Twenty-six years old. Lives alone in a lower class apartment complex. No record of arrest. Records show that she has worked as a waitress in various restaurants for the last ten years." Attempting to conceal her identity was impossible; the ID chips that had been injected into anyone born within the last half-century told them everything they needed to know.

"We picked her up attempting to place a small incendiary device," the man said. "One of our agents saw her -- says it looked like a pretty amateurish job. She probably hadn't done anything like it before."

"All right, take her in for processing," the female voice said. "Put her in 59H when you're finished." Irina heard a few items being passed back and forth between the two before she was tugged along once again. A few more sets of heavy-sounding doors opened and closed before they came to a stop.

The hood was suddenly lifted from Irina's head -- she was blinded by the light in the room, but it felt good to breathe again. The room was plain and bare, save for a large desk behind which sat a middle-aged soldier. Two guards stood on duty.

"All right, we'll take her from here," said the man behind the desk. The soldier who had arrested Irina turned around and departed.

"Shumeyko, was it?" the man behind the desk said. He sounded surprisingly polite for a prison officer. "All right. We're going to uncuff your hands and search you. Bear in mind that this will be a strip search -- rebels tend to be very good at concealing weapons and contraband. If you don't resist, it won't be that bad."

Irina felt a chill come over her. She was overly self-conscious about her body and had certainly never been seen naked by three strangers... much less hostile ones. One of the two guards in the room walked behind her and removed her handcuffs, much to Irina's relief. She took the opportunity to stretch her arms and rub her wrists.

"Now, I need you to stand in the middle of the room and undress," the man behind the desk said. His tone turned a little harsher. "If you refuse to comply, the guards will do the job for you."

Irina looked at the floor as she moped into the middle of the room. She bent down and began untying her shoes as slowly as possible, trying her best to delay the humiliation.

"We have a pretty steady flow of prisoners to process, so we'd appreciate it if you hurried up," the man behind the desk snapped coldly. Irina glanced up at him with a look of nervousness, and noticed that the two guards in the room were pointing their weapons directly at her.

Irina worked a little quicker -- she slipped off her shoes and socks and kicked them out in front of her. She removed her sweater and tossed it on the floor, followed by the cotton shirt she wore underneath. She proceeded to unbuckle her belt and slip off her jeans. Now standing in her bra and underwear, she paused.

"All of it," the man snapped. "Oh, and the jewelry, too." Irina plucked out the earrings she wore and tossed them onto the floor into the pile, followed by the necklace and ring she always wore. Realizing that there was no more postponing of the inevitable, she unfastened her bra and tossed it on the floor. While covering her chest with her left arm, she then used her right arm to wiggle her underwear off, before sticking her right hand in front of her crotch.

"Hands on your head," the man behind the desk snarled, his tone becoming harsher by the second. "Please. It's not like we've never seen a pair of tits come through here." The two guards chuckled. Irina, shivering from nervousness and cold, put her hands on top of her head. Her pink nipples stood out hard from her smallish breasts.

One of the guards, clearly having done this many times before, grabbed her pile of clothes and placed them on the desk. He then returned to Irina and walked in a circle around her as he looked her over. Irina thought that would be the worst of it until he suddenly approached and individually lifted up her small breasts. Entirely pointless, as there wasn't a whole lot to 'lift up' -- Irina suspected the guard had ulterior motives. He then squatted down and put a hand on one of her disproportionately large hips and inspected between her legs, from her inner thigh to her untrimmed bush. He circled behind her and spread her ass cheeks, peering inside.

"She's clean," the guard said. The man behind the desk nodded and he escorted Irina, still entirely naked, through another door into a small room containing an open shower stall and a small table containing what looked like a tool box.

"All right, I'm going to cuff you again for a moment," the guard said. He turned Irina around and roughly cuffed her hands behind her back again. Irina heard him rummaging through the box for a moment. "Okay, now stand still." Afraid of what the consequences might be, Irina obeyed. She felt him pulling her wavy, raven hair out into a bunch and then heard a few quick *snips* -- he was giving her a rough haircut. A few more quick snips and he put the scissors back in the box. Irina couldn't see herself, but imagined it was probably the shortest (and worst) haircut she'd ever received. The guard unfastened her handcuffs again.

"Okay, now clean yourself off," barked the guard. Irina walked towards the stall and turned on the knob. Hot water -- almost unbearably hot -- sprayed down on her. Facing away from the guard the entire time, she rubbed herself down with the nasty-looking bar of soap that was provided for her use. She finished, and the guard tossed her a towel that she used to dry herself off.

"Tsk tsk... give the towel back," said the guard with an evil-looking grin. Irina was attempting to wrap the towel around herself to hide her nudity. With a look of shame, she returned to the guard and handed him the towel. He grinned and gave her an intentionally cruel look as he looked her milky skin over from head to toe. "Not the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen, but you're a cute one. Heh..." Irina felt sick to her stomach, being looked over like a piece of meat

The guard shoved her a one-piece orange jumpsuit. No bra or underwear, but Irina didn't complain. The sooner she covered herself up, the better. She slipped into it and zipped up.

"Let's get you to your cell," said the guard. "Let's move." He opened a door that led to a dimly-lit hallway -- on each side of the hallway were metal doors with a tiny little grate towards the top -- prison cells, she assumed.

The guard walked her down the hall, opened her cell and shoved her inside, before slamming the door. "Good night," he said in an ominous tone as he slammed the door. "You'll be taken tomorrow to interrogation."

Irina looked at her cell -- a nasty metal toilet and a metal bench without a matress that was presumably supposed to serve as a bed. She curled herself up and fell asleep crying, wondering how she got herself into such a mess.

Irina woke to the sound of her cell door opening with a creak.  There was a guard standing in the doorway, looking down  over her.  "Morning already...?" Irina found herself mumbling.  A metal bench wasn't the most comfortable place to sleep.  She had woken up several times the night before and her back was now very stiff.

"Afraid so," the guard said plainly.  He approached the still-prone Irina with a pair of handcuffs, which he quickly snapped about her wrists.  "Let's get up."  He yanked her up by her arms.  Once she was standing, he produced a hood of the same type that was used during her transportation to the prison.  She tried to squirm her head away, but he placed it over her head and secured it tightly.  Grabbing her by the arm, she led her out of the cell.

Irina's bare feet were stubbed against the concrete floor more than once as he tugged her around several corners and through a few metal doors.  After clumsily descending a long flight of stone stairs, Irina was brought through two more metal doors before the guard brought her to a stop.  He let her go, and she heard him turn to leave, slamming a door behind him.

"H... hello?"  Irina asked, wondering if she was alone.  Her question was answered as her handcuffs were unfastened and her hood was abruptly pulled off.  She found herself standing in a room, perhaps ten feet on a side.  The floor was bare concrete, and the walls were made of ageing cinder blocks.  The left wall contained a mirror -- presumably a one-way mirror that allowed viewers from the other side of the wall to witness the interrogation.  In the back of the room were two metal cabinets and a chest; immediately before her was a wooden table behind which a middle-aged military man sat.

"Please, Shumeyko, have a seat," the man said as he pointed towards a chair on her side of the table.  Irina apprehensively walked towards the table and sat down.  She noticed that there were two armed guards in the room -- the one who removed her handcuffs and hood, and another who stood against the door.

"You should know that you are potentially in quite a bit of trouble," the interrogator said sternly.  "Attempting to injure or kill our soldiers is taken care of most harshly."  He pulled out a tablet computer and began to use it as he spoke.  "But you know... you are a nice girl -- no criminal record, steady employment.  I don't know how you got tangled up in the rebellion.  But if you are cooperative, we might be able to work something out.  So why don't you be helpful and tell me everything you know."

Irina's mind raced.  She hadn't ever been prepared for an interrogation.  Was he telling the truth?  She couldn't betray her newly made friends among the rebels after getting caught on her first assignment.  Their lives would be on her hands if they were caught!  But how could they be so amateurish, sending her so unprepared on a potentially dangerous mission?  She concluded that she would try her hand at a lie.  After all, it's not like it was something they could disprove.

"I wasn't doing anything," Irina said as calmly as possible.  "I was walking to the store and I saw that, umm, thing laying on the side of the road.  I was curious to see what it was, so I bent down to get a closer look and before I knew it, I was swarmed by guards!"

"Interesting story," the interrogator said in a totally unemotional voice.  "But tell me, how do you explain this?"  He tilted his tablet computer towards her and she was presented with a color picture of her reaching into her handbag.  He pressed a button, and there was another picture of her taking the incendiary device out of the handbag.  Another picture -- her planting it on the ground.  A fourth picture -- her trying to arm the thing.

How could she have been that careless?  Was she that obvious that the undercover soldier picked her out before she even planted the device?  Why did she get tangled up into this?  She had no idea what she was doing!  The interrogator stared at her, waiting for an answer.

"Those picture are out of order," Irina said, rambling off what came to her head.  She knew it sounded idiotic before she even completed the sentence.  "I saw the device on the ground, and I was trying to take it with me -- it looked dangerous.  You know?  I wanted to take it to the authorities."

"Nice try," the interrogator said, his neutral face turning into a sharp frown.  "But I'm not that stupid.  Not only were these photographs timestamped, but the soldiers who arrested you said that they found the device on the ground and armed when they arrested you.  Explain that?"

"All right!  All right!"  Irina exploded, sweat starting to form on her brow.  "I was planting it, all right!"  She still couldn't let him know who her associates were.  "I bought the components, you know, black market, and made it!"

"Is that so?" the interrogator said, his face returning to a more neutral look.  "Where'd you learn to make the device?  Who'd you buy it from?  What ingredients were in it?"

"No, no, I bought the device pre-assembled," Irina shot back.  "You misunderstood me.  I can give you a description of the guy I bought it from if you like, or you can match him up in a database or whatever, you know?"

"Your story isn't convincing me," the interrogator said, his face turning into a frown once more.  "Not only can you not make your excuses consistent, but they are also painfully amateurish.  Now are you going to cooperate, or are we going to have to make things a little more unpleasant?"

"I swear, I'm telling the truth!" Irina cried.  "I don't know what I can say to make you believe me!"

"I think we'll be able to get you to give us a compelling enough explanation," the interrogator said.  He looked past Irina towards the back of the room and drummed his middle finger on the table three times.  On cue, the two guards in the room holstered their weapons and walked towards Irina, taking positions on either side of her.

"What do you want me to say!?" pleaded Irina.  "I told you, I'll let you know what this guy looked like, and where I found him!"  The interrogator remained silent as the guards pulled her to her feet and knocked her chair out of the way.  One of the guards grabbed her firmly on the shoulders while the other one made his way to the zipper on her jumpsuit.  Irina realize what they were going to do and tried to get away, but the first guard's grip was too strong.  The second guard zipped open the front of her orange prison uniform, exposing her flesh to the navel.  The first then ripped the garment off her arms and quickly pulled it down to her ankles.  Other than the orange jumpsuit now bundled around her feet, Irina was once again stripped completely naked in front of hostile agents.

"Stop this!"  Irina tried to struggle and kick as one of the guards wrapped his thick arms around her and tried to hold her in place.  "What are you monsters doing?!"  The second guard walked to a panel on the wall and flipped a switch.  Irina heard the turning of a crank and saw a pair of manacles, attached to a chain, dangle down from the ceiling.  The guard released his grip and pulled her right arm up into the mancle, closing it tightly around her wrist.  He then did the same with her left arm.  Irina stood with her hands above her head, unable to cover herself at all.

The second guard flipped the switch again and Irina felt herself pulled off her feet as the chain retracted into the ceiling.  Once her feet were a good foot off the floor, the cranking stopped and she hung from the ceiling, swinging slightly.

"You can't do this to me!" Irina said, as she choked back tears that were starting to well up in her eyes.  "This is against international treaties!  I demand to speak with your superior!"

"My superior is right behind that wall," the interrogator said as he pointed towards the one-way mirror.  "If he had a problem, he'd stop me, I'm sure.  And for your information, girl, the treaties are only valid if your country signs them.  You really should follow the news a little closer -- we withdrew from those treaties nearly a decade ago.  Relics of a more idealistic time."  He stood up and walked towards her.

"I'll admit that I've seen a lot better," the interrogator said, circling her writhing body.  "But you are going to be a welcome change of pace from the men and the butch types that we normally get in here.  And if you're as much of an amateur as your pathetic responses implied, we're going to have a lot of fun with you."

Irina couldn't help but break out crying.

The interrogator wasn't sure whether to feel pity or amusement.  He would have expected his prisoner, stripped and hanging from the ceiling by her wrists, to feel uncomfortable and apprehensive.  But he hadn't even laid a finger on her and she was already sobbing.  Of all the rebels who had come through here, he had never seen such an... amateur.  Most told more convincing stories, and the ones who didn't usually put up a bit of an arrogant attitude in the face of their impending torment.  Not this one.  This was the behavior he usually saw in the civilians who were mistakenly brought in from time to time.  Except she was certainly no civilian -- they had photographic and eyewitness evidence to the contrary.

True, Irina was scared.  Horrified would be a more accurate description.  She had never experienced humiliation remotely close to this, and it was certain that she was going to shortly feel pain worse than anything she had felt in her life.  But behind the tears, her mind was spinning with a plan to get back at these bastards who had managed to take her without a fight.  While her gang of rebels hadn't prepared her for humiliation and torture, they had provided her with one possible way to get back at the occupiers in the event that she got caught.

Trying to shut out the prisoner's annoying sobs, the interrogator walked to one of the cabinets in the back of the room and filled a hypodermic needle from a small container.  Displaying it casually in front of him, he walked back towards the dangling woman.

"What are you gonna do to me!?" Irina cried upon seeing him advance with the needle.  "I didn't hurt anyone, I'm not a killer!  Please don't do this!  Just let me go!"

"You say that now," the interrogator said while trying to keep his cool.  "But half a day ago, you were willing to send my countrymen to their painful deaths with a white phosphorus-based weapon.  Who's to say that if we let you go, you wouldn't go out, get a little better-trained, and try again?  I know you don't want to hear it, but we're not going to let you go any time in the foreseeable future."

More wails from the prisoner.  It was getting old to the interrogator.  But the assurance that she would never be a free woman again hardened Irina's resolve to carry out her plan.

"Anyway, back to the matter at hand," the interrogator said as he held up the needle.  "This needle contains what people in my line of business refer to as a pain amplifier.  Without getting too technical, it will fool your brain into thinking I'm dealing much worse injury to you than I really am.  It will make getting answers out of you a little bit easier."

Above Irina's continued sobs, he walked behind her and injected the chemical into her bare left buttock.  He returned to the cabinets in the back of the room.  "I'll let that settle in a bit while I get ready."  As he rummaged through the cabinets, Irina slowly felt the pain in her arms growing a bit harsher.  It felt as if her body weight was slowly and inexplicably increasing, causing more and more weight to hang from the manacles that bound her.  She winced and let out a small groan.

"Feeling it?" the interrogator asked as he turned back towards Irina.  In one hand, he was holding a cylindrical device that looked much like a flashlight.  In the other, he carried pliers as well as a piece of thick rope, maybe a foot long, that was knotted in several places along its length.  "I'm sure it's almost reached its full potency.  So tell me, are you going to let me know who you're working for?"  He walked directly in front of Irina's dangling body and set his implements on the table.  Even though she was suspended half a foot from the ground, he stood eye-to-eye with her.

Irina didn't answer.  She had to appear reluctant to give up any information at first.

"Giving me the silent treatment now?  Tsk tsk... you've been given ample opportunity to assist us."

The man wound back his arm and delivered a slap across Irina's cheek that landed with a loud smacking noise.  Irina let out a startled yelp, but held her tongue otherwise.  He delivered a harder blow to her other cheek.  Irina winced in pain.  Two slaps across the face and she was already reeling.  Irina saw the interrogator wind a third time, and it looked like he smacked her about as hard as he could.  It felt almost like she had been hit with a wooden plank.  She yelped and cringed in agony -- her vision blurred for a moment.  If a slap on the face felt this bad, how would she cope with whatever he had in store for her?

"Still not talking?"  The interrogator balled his hand into a fist and delivered a nasty blow to Irina's stomach.  Another yelp and a few choked coughs from the prisoner.  He slugged her a few more times in the stomach and then jabbed her in the ribs a few times.  Between fits of coughing, her breathing had become rapid and shallow... but she wasn't offering any information.  Yet.  He smashed his fist into her jaw, eliciting a loud cry but little else.  She rested her chin against her chest, continuing to breathe rapidly.  A few beads of sweat were starting to form on her brow, but she wasn't offering anything.  Time to turn things up a bit.

Wordlessly, the interrogator reached behind him for the knotted piece of rope and abruptly swung it, striking the prisoner's left breast.  She let out a sharp scream -- looks like they were getting somewhere.  Relentlessly, he swung it again and again, aiming for her left nipple each time.  More screams, but no confession.  She was holding out a bit better than he thought, but he sensed they were getting close.  Her rapid breathing was mixed with sobs, and sweat was starting to glisten across her entire body.

He put the rope down on the table and picked up the pliers.  He tauntingly held them up in front of her face, watching her eyes bulge with fear.  Without hesitation he opened them, positioned them over her bruised left nipple, and squeezed tightly.

That seemed to be doing the trick.  The wailing was loud and constant.  The interrogator twisted and pulled the pliers a bit, eliciting more tortured screams.

"Stop, stop stop!" Irina cried.  The pain was unbearable.  "You're gonna tear it off!  Stop!"  He didn't stop -- he looked up into her eyes without remorse.

"You know what you can do to make it stop," the interrogator said.

Irina couldn't take it any more.  Betweed tears, she offered a street address where her collaborators were known to hide.

"Now we're getting somewhere," the man said.  He released the pliers, bringing a sigh of relief from the prisoner.  He walked to his tablet computer and punched in the address she had just mentioned.  "It looks like this used to be a flower shop.  Are you sure about that?"

"I swear, I swear to God," Irina said between labored breaths.  "There's an old refrigerator in the back that was once used to store flowers.  There's a hatch inside that leads to a small storage cellar -- the hatch is probably covered by some decomposing flowers that you'll have to push aside.  They keep a base of operations down there."

"All right," the interrogator said.  "What about names?  You have any names to offer?"

Irina shook her head.  "First-name basis only... I can let you know if you want -- Natalya, another Irina -- Josep, Antoli... those are the ones I met.  Please, please just stop hurting me!"

"That will hopefully suffice.  Guards, take her back to her cell.  I'll let my superiors know this information."  The interrogator looked up to Irina.  "If your information is deemed helpful, a tribunal will hopefully go easy on you."

The guards lowered Irina to the floor, zipped her jumpsuit back up on her, then re-cuffed and hooded her.  They led Irina back up the stairs and through the twisting hallways before arriving back at her cell, where they un-hooded and un-cuffed her before tossing her back inside.  Irina was left with a small plate of food and some water -- the first she had in nearly a day.

** LATER THAT NIGHT **

The platoon descended upon the old flower shop in cover of darkness.  With silent expertise, they broke inside and crept towards the back.  True to Irina's word, there was a flower cooler strewn with rotten flowers.  One of the platoon members pulled out a small scanner.

"I'm picking up three ID chips from down below... it looks like their first names match the intel we received."

The platoon leader brushed some flowers out of the way, revealing a small hatch in the floor.

"I hear voices underneath it," he whispered.  "Let's move in."  The platoon leader readied his weapon and pulled the door open.

When the hatch opened, an armed trigger was pulled.  The flower shop and the entire platoon were vaporized in a massive explosion that consumed the unused cellar which contained little more than three fake ID chips, a stereo playing an endless loop of hushed voices, and a very nasty booby trap.

Hours later, Irina's sleep was interrupted in the very early morning by her cell door swinging open.  As her eyes adjusted to the light streaming through the door, she saw a soldier standing above her.

"I bet you thought that was really clever, pretending to be an innocent and inexperienced rebel in order to lure us into a trap," the guard said with a look of rage on his face. 

"I don't know what you're talking about," Irina said.  "I gave the man the best information that I knew.  Had they moved on?"

"I think you know what happened," the guard growled.

"Afraid not," Irina said nonchalantly.  "I told you everything I know, what more do you want from me?"

With a roar, the guard pulled out his steel baton and smashed Irina across her backside.  She screamed in pain and darted across the room.  There wasn't much of a place to hide.  The guard delivered another crushing blow with his baton across her back.  She screamed and rolled up in a ball, trying to shield herself as best as she could from her attacker.

The baton came down with another crack across the top of Irina's skull.  Everything went black.

Irina groggigly awoke to utter blackness.  Was she blinded from the repeated blows to her head?  She moved her hand to touch her throbbing skull, but found herself unable -- she realized that her arms were bound above her head with what felt like metal cuffs, and her feet were not touching the ground.

It was cold and she felt a draft on her skin.  Irina realized that, sometime during her unconsciousness, she had been stripped naked -- yet again.  Was that the third time in her short ordeal?  Hopefully nobody did anything... improper... to her while she was unconscious.

As Irina returned to full consciousness, she realized that there was nothing wrong with her sight; she was blindfolded.  Because of the totally enveloping darkness, she suspected that the room was dark, but she couldn't be sure.

"Hello?"  Irina called out to the darkness.  Utter silence.  This didn't seem to be an interrogation -- they were interested only in punishing her for what she did.  She dreaded whatever they might have had in store for her.

Irina hung, suspended by her arms, for what seemed like hours.  Maybe days.  She tried counting seconds, but kept losing track.  She was getting hungry and thirsty.  The manacles were really digging into her wrists and her arms grew sore.  How long were they going to keep her here?  Were they going to hang her there until she died?  She was getting really cold, but there was little she could do besides rub her legs together to generate a little heat.

Then, with absolutely no warning, she heard a shrill creaking noise coming from the ceiling.  Moments later, she was sprayed with jets of water from above.  It wasn't warm by any stretch of the imagination -- rather, it felt as cold as a glass of ice water.

Irina shrieked and twisted, trying to escape the jets of water, but it was hopeless.  Water was pouring down on her no matter how far she tried to swing around in her restraints, freezing her thoroughly.  Irina tried pulling her legs up against her bare belly to hold in a little warmth, but found that she didn't have the strength to do it for more than a few minutes at a time.

"Please stop!  I'm begging you!"  Irina, on the verge of tears, cried out to the darkness.  Much to her surprise, the jets of water shortly stopped.  Shivering furiously in her restraints, Irina shouted thanks to anyone who might have been listening.

Her thanks were short-lived.  Not a minute later, a mechanical whirring started up and Irina felt herself blasted on all sides with supercooled air.  They weren't trying to dry her -- they were freezing her!

"Help... help!"  Irina cried.  She was now shivering violently by now, almost to the part of convulsions.  "I... I didn't mean to do anything!  Please, I'll talk, I swear!"  Her words went unanswered.  The freezing air continued to blast her.  Irina's teeth were chattering furiously as she continued to shake against her control.  Any attempts at keeping warm were entirely futile.  She couldn't escape the cold.

The mere feeling of cold was followed with a searing pain.  It started in the tips of her fingers and toes, but slowly, almost imperceptively, crept towards her hands and feet and up her arms and legs.  Irina was wailing and sobbing, pleading periodically for the pain to end.

"Just kill me, just kill me!" she cried, flailing continually against the restraints.  "Make it stop!"  As time went on, she found resistance against her bonds became harder and harder.  Her metabolism was slowing, sapping her strength and her energy.  She was eventually reduced to a mild twitch and chattering of her teeth as time wore on.

After the excrutiating pain wore on for what seemed like hours -- even though it was well under one hour -- Irina's consciousness started to fade and she found herself just... falling asleep.

---

"Well, Irina, you have our modern medical advances to thank for your continued existence," a voice boomed.  Irina opened her eyes drowsily.  Still fully nude, she was almost entirely submerged in a warm bath.  Her wrists and ankles were restrained to rails on either side of the tub with restraints long enough to allow her limbs to remain fully underwater, where she wanted to remain.  She noticed that an intravenous needle was in her hand, pumping something into her system.  Several sensors were stuck to her arms, legs, and torso.

"It looks like you pissed someone off real good," said the man.  He was some sort of army officer, standing above the tub and looking at her with disdain.  "Their treatment induced stage three hypothermia -- you were clinically dead for a short period of time.  Were it not for the miracles of modern medicine, you'd be gone for good."

Irina was too exhausted to fully understand the magnitude of her situation.  She noticed that the ends of her limbs were a pale blue -- she was still in some degree of, she surmised.  All she knew was that she didn't want to get out of the warm bath.

"We don't want to kill you just yet, of course," the officer continued.  "You really screwed us over with your earlier 'confession', and this time we're going to get a real confession out of you, believe me.  It's just a matter of how much discomfort you want to experience."

The officer dropped a single ice cube into the warm bath, right between Irina's legs.  He laughed as it melted away.

"Do you understand me?" the officer said with a smirk.

Irina, too weak to talk, nodded weakly.  A single tear ran down her cheek.

The next few days were an utter blur for Irina.  Although modern medicine was capable of bringing back her organ functions without any permanent damage, the recovery period took time.  At some point she was moved from the warm bath into an infirmary bed, where she was covered in warm blankets.  Being a high value prisoner, though, she was never released from the handcuffs that bound her to the bed rails at all times.

As she finally regained awareness, she began to struggle against her bonds.  She entertained thoughts that her whole ordeal might be a long and realistic nightmare, but reality sank in every time another attendant came in to deliver another all-to-real injection of medicine.

She had been fully conscious for around 48 hours when a uniformed military officer -- the first she had seen since briefly waking up in the bathtub days ago -- entered the room.

"Prisoner Shumeyko," the officer barked as he pulled a chair up to the bedside and sat down.  "Looks like you've recovered nicely."  Irina silently looked at him with hatred in her eyes.

"I'm sure you've realized that we are quite serious about getting information from you," the officer continued.  "You can comply with us if you choose, but refusal to do so may result in more harsh interrogation methods."  This elicited a visible cringe from Irina, much to the officer's satisfaction.  "I should also note that a continued lack of cooperation will almost certainly lead to a harshening of your sentence -- which I assure you will already be severe given your responsibility for the deaths of an entire platoon of our servicemen."

Irina remained silent.

"You will shortly be removed directly to an interrogation room," the military officer said.  "Time is short for us."  With that, he stood up and briskly left the room.

A very distressed Irina twitched nervously in the bed for another fifteen minutes when two soldiers and an orderly arrived in the room.  The orderly carried a neatly-folded orange jumpsuit in her hands.

"I am going to remove your IV and monitors, then I am going to unlock your handcuffs," the orderly said blandly.  "At that point, you will stand up and put on this outfit.  Any attempts at hostility will not be tolerated."

Irina wasn't feeling rebellious at the moment, so she laid silently as the orderly removed sensors stuck to her limbs and pulled the needle from her arm.  The orderly then produced a key and unlocked the handcuffs that bound both Irina's wrists and ankles to the guardrails on the bed.

Rather bluntly, the orderly pulled all of the sheets off of Irina, revealing her fully naked body to everyone in the room.  She then lowered one of the bed's rails and placed the folded jumpsuit on the bed.

Irina was quick to stand up and expose only her backside to the guards as she put on the one-piece jumpsuit and quickly zipped it up.  No reason to give them any satisfaction at this point.  She turned around and the orderly slapped handcuffs on her wrists again, and gestured her towards the guards.

One of the guards placed a hood over her head; Irina realized that she had absolutely no idea where she was in relation to the prison's entrance, her cell, the freezer-like room she had experienced days before, or the interrogation chamber she was subjected to previously.

As the guards led her through myriad hallways, elevators, and stairwells, Irina stubbed her toes repeatedly.  Her legs felt very weak and she was having coordination difficulties.  Probably intentional that they'd carry her off to interrogation in an already-weakened state.

The guards led her down a long, familiar flight of stone stairs followed by two metal doors.  Once inside, they removed her handcuffs.  Still blindfolded, her arms were pulled above her head and secured in manacles dangling from the ceiling.  With a mechanical grinding sound, the manacles retracted towards the ceiling and lifted her completely off the floor.

If the hood wasn't on her face, her captors would see Irina on the verge of tears.  The last time she was in this situation, she was given a sound beating and her left nipple was crushed with a pair of pliers.  Thinking about the experience made her want to vomit.

Then, abruptly, she felt her jumpsuit being torn off with what must have been a knife or a pair of scissors.  She screamed and tried to squirm away, but the second guard held her in place while the first finished the job.  In short order, she found herself helpless and naked aside from the hood.  Maybe it was her nervousness, but breathing in the hood suddenly felt a lot more difficult.

"Welcome back," said a stern voice.  Irina immediately recognized him as the interrogator who had elicited a false confession from her last time.

"Get away from me, you monster!"  Irina screamed.  She flailed her legs hopelessly, but hit only air.  In response, she felt a guard grab her legs and quickly bind her legs together with a pair of cuffs.  She tried continuing to struggle, but it was worthless.

"I'm not going to play nice this time," the interrogator said.  "So... whenever you feel like talking, please let me know."

As soon as Irina processed the man's words, she was hit with a painful jolt centered on her right nipple.  It lasted no longer than a second, but elicited a loud scream.

"This is a shock baton, prisoner," the interrogator said.  "Unfortunately for you, it's a bit stronger than the variety police use to subjugate fugitives."  The cold metal was pressed against her flesh again and another painful jolt seared across the center of Irina's breast.  She screamed, howled, and spat and tried to twist away, but it was futile.  The man continued to apply the shock to her nipple.

Without saying a word, the interrogator moved to her left nipple and applied the shock liberally.  Irina cursed him as the pain raged across her sensitive spots, but tried her best to block thoughts of confession out of her mind.

"Still not talking?"  The interrogator withdrew the baton from Irina's severely reddened flesh.  "I'm surprised... but you'll give in eventually.  If you do it now, you'll save yourself trouble."

Irina felt the man slowly and lightly ran a finger from between her dangling breasts down her belly.  He lingered at her navel for a moment, and then continued moving down between her legs.

"Please don't..." Irina muttered.  "Please leave me with that amount of dignity..." The man ignored her and stuck two fingers roughly into her vagina, wiggling them harshly about.  Irina couldn't help but elicit a slight moan.  Nobody had touched her there in over a year, when her husband was sent to the front lines of the war.  He was chewed up by so much shrapnel that the army had to cremate his remains before presenting them to her.

"Enjoying that, are you?" the interrogator said with a gleeful tone.  He positioned his thumb to gently massage her clitoris.  Irina whimpered as the tears began to run profusely down her cheeks.

"You sick fuck," she muttered.  "Rot in hell!"  The man abruptly withdrew his fingers and wiped them across her stomach, causing Irina to breathe a quiet sigh of relief.

"I wasn't trying to do you a favor," the interrogator said.  "It's just a fact that wet surfaces tend to conduct electricity a little better than dry ones."  With that, he jammed the shock baton directly between her labia and activated it.  After some ungodly screams from Irina, she vomited behind her black hood and began gasping.

"Get her hood off!" the interrogator said, momentarily shutting off the shock baton.  One of the guards pulled the hood off and wiped the vomit from her face with a cloth.  Irina's vision was blurred as she looked down with contempt at the man kneeling between her legs.

The man looked up at her, grinned, and re-engated the shock baton.  Resistance was hopeless -- she had nowhere to move, she couldn't fight back.  As her most delicate parts were seared with the baton, she howled.  Before long, she urinated uncontrollably, getting a significant amount on the interrogator's head.

He looked up with visible annoyance at a sobbing, but still-defiant Irina.  Between cries, she muttered curses and insults.

"Let's ratchet things up a little more," the interrogator said.  As he re-engaged the baton, the two guards picked up knotted ropes laying on a nearby table.  One started to violently flagellate her back, while the other brutally concentrated on her breasts and stomach.

The continued pain racking her body was quickly taking a toll on Irina's consciousness.  Her vision was becoming blurrier by the second and she knew that they wouldn't stop.  If she passed out, they'd revive her.  If she gave them false information, they'd find out and figure out a way to make things worse for her.  She had no choice.

"STOP!" she screamed, trembling.  "Stop!  I'll confess, I swear!"  Within a moment, the guards stopped with the beating and the interrogator turned off the baton and stood up to meet her face-to-face.

"You realize that another lie will make things worse?" the man said.  He threateningly held the baton within inches from one of her eyes.  Irina nodded.  The man retrieved a small tablet computer and hovered in front of her.  "I need names.  Ranks.  Locations.  Plots that you're aware of."

Irina's breathing normalized and she nodded.  "I... I need you to promise that I won't be executed.  I don't... I don't want to die."

"Very well," the man said.  "I'll tell them of your conditions."

Irina nodded and began to spout what she knew -- leaders, grunts, facial descriptions, meeting locations, and plots that had been in the works when she set out for her mission.  The interrogator quickly recorded everything she had to say.

"I swear to you, that's all I know," Irina said in a defeated tone.  "Can I please go back to my cell now?  Can I please have some clothes?"

The man nodded.  "We'll take you upstairs... I'm afraid we don't have any extra jumpsuits here, however."  Irina nodded silently.

One of the guards flipped a switch on the wall, causing Irina to be lowered to the ground.  They removed the restraings binding her ankles, then replaced the manacles holding her hands above her head with handcuffs.

They replaced her hood and tightened it about her head, then marched her out.

Irina felt strange and somewhat awkward walking about blindfolded, naked, and restrained... but at least she was out of the torture and going back to her cell for the time being.  Would her friends ever forgive her?  Probably not.

After walking through various corridors, her escorts paused and removed her hood.  She adjusted to the light and saw that was standing before a solid metal cell door, much like the one she had been held in before.  It would feel great to lie down and hopefully be left alone for some time.

One of the guards opened the door.  Irina's eyes bulged -- it was no regular cell.  It appeared to be a holding cell for male prisoners, who sat around on benches and cots.  All wearing orange jumpsuits, many appeared to be quite rough around the edges.

"Meet the preprocessing center for male non-political prisoners," the guard said with a disgusting smirk.  He called out into the cell: "I have a little present for you guys!"

The prisoners roared at seeing the attractive naked woman at their cell door.  As Irina screamed curses and pleas at the top of her lungs, the guard shoved her inside and locked the thick door behind her.

Irina fell flat onto her stomach.  Still handcuffed, she had trouble getting up.  As members from the lecherous mob approached, she tried in vein to scoot into a corner.

Outside the cell, the two guards turned back towards the interrogator.

"Didn't let us have any fun with her first?" the first guard complained, half-joking.

"She is responsible for the deaths of an entire platoon.  I'm convinced that these thugs will do a much better job punishing her for that than you could, Corporal."  The interrogator smirked.  "Besides, you're a professional soldier... you're above that kind of behavior, aren't you?"

"Right, above having some fun with her and throwing her to a mob," the second soldier said.  "Hey, what was that before about sparing her the death sentence?  I didn't know you had that kind of influence on the military tribunals."

"I don't," said the interrogator with a sly smile.

Days like this made Maria Kaberov really hate her job.  She had been one of the prison's night supervisors before the invasion.  While the occupiers let her keep her job, they cordoned off over half the facility for their own uses.  Other than the fact that it overcrowded her cells, it was a mostly tolerable arrangement; they mostly kept out of her business so long as she kept out of theirs.

She had heard stories about harsh interrogations going on in the other side of the prison.  Honestly, she didn't care; most people wouldn't, either.  The occupation had surprisingly popular support after the initial shock had worn off.  The civilians found that, for the most part, life was better after their corrupt and ineffectual government was deposed.  The terrorists operating under the guise of a popular "rebellion" were disliked by most; they got in the way of making life normal again.

Despite her lack of sympathy for the movement, Maria was furious to learn that three soldiers simply dumped a totally unclothed female prisoner into the general holding room for men who hadn't yet been assigned a cell.  While many of the inmates were petty criminals, there were more than a handful of violent types held inside.  She heard that several of the prisoners violated and beat her until she passed out -- then continued to get their fix.  By the time the news filtered up to her office, the young woman had been in there for over an hour.

With a contingent of six civilian prison guards and a pair of paramedics, Maria marched angrily from her office down to the holding cell.  Her men were ordered to retrieve the woman using all necessary force, after which point they'd try to take care of her without letting the military establishment know.

She unlocked the door and the guards barged in, screaming for the prisoners to herd into the far corner.  Those who disobeyed were efficiently met with the business end of a heavy baton until they retreated.  The guards announced that all inmates who were seen on videotape participating in the assault would have rape, assault and battery charges filed against them.  Among complaints from several of the prisoners, the guards hauled Irina out of the room.

"Son of a bitch!" said the senior paramedic as the guards laid the unconscious female prisoner on the stretcher he brought with him.  She was a mess: nasty welts crossed her entire torso, front and back.  Her wrists were raw from the application of cuffs.  Blisters were forming around both of her nipples.  She was oozing a nasty mixture of blood and other bodily fluids from every orifice, and she had a variety of other wounds across her body, including what looked like attempted strangulation marks around her throat.  The paramedic checked her vital signs; she was, somewhat surprisingly, still alive.

"I'll take her to the sick ward," he said.  The two paramedics hurredly pushed the stretcher down the hall.  Maria dismissed the six guards and rushed after stretcher.

Upon arriving in the infirmary, the paramedics got the attention of a doctor and a few nurses.  Fortunately, it was a slow night.  Irina was given a massive dose of antibiotics and antiviral drugs, along with a hormonal birth control injection.  The crew scrubbed the bloody, sticky mess from her body and applied a soothing cream to Irina's cuts and bruises.  The nastiest of her wounds were carefully bandaged.  Finally, she was hooked up to a nutrient IV drip before being pushed into a private room.  She was covered with a hospital gown and a blanket; her room was locked from the outside as a precaution.

Irina slept through the night and following morning.  She was only awakened by a loud argument outside her room.  She opened her eyes wearily after hearing the uproar.  After a few moments, her door flew open and slammed loudly against the wall.  Outside her room, she saw several uniformed military men in a screaming match with a handful of civilian guards.  An officer stood to the side of the commotion, standing behind a handcuffed woman who looked to be in her mid-30s.

After several more minutes, more soldiers appeared and convinced the guards to leave.  One of the soldiers stormed in the room, yanked the IV from Irina's arm, and pulled her out of bed.

"Let me go!" screamed Irina.  "I gave you what you wanted!"  The soldier pushed her from the room and held her face-to-face with the handcuffed woman, who was clearly trying to hold back tears.

"Was this murderous bitch really worth it, Kaberov?" barked the officer who stood beside Maria.  He turned to Irina.  "You can thank this former prison supervisor for your recent hospitable treatment.  Unfortunately for her, aiding an enemy of the state is tantamount to treason."

"You know that's rubbish, Major," said Maria, who was slightly trembling.  "You have no jurisdiction to dump a military prisoner into a civilian section of this prison.  That's the way we've agreed to handle things, and that's the way it's been done.  I was merely trying to clean up *my* section of this facility."

"We'll see how a tribunal views your actions," said the Major with a smile.  "In the meantime, I've been approved to arrest you and hold you in the military section of this prison until your trial."

"Stop it!" screamed Irina.  "I didn't ask her for help!  She was just trying to be a decent human being, you pigs!  Let her go!"

"Take the terrorist back to her cell and process the traitor accordingly," said the Major.  He turned on his heel and departed down the hall.

The two women were quickly hooded and handcuffed, then led their separate ways.  Yet again, Irina found herself marched blindly down the endless hallways before they reached her cell.  She was shoved inside; her escort followed her in and removed her hood.

"Let's make this quick," said the guard.  He unfastened her handcuffs and brutally ripped the hospital gown from her body.  He handed her yet another orange jumpsuit.  Irina, grateful for the gift of some dignity, hurredly put it on.

"The Major called for some extra security," said the guard.  He grabbed a length of short chain that was bolted to one corner of the room; at the other end was a heavy cuff.  He bent down and fastened it snugly about one of Irina's bare ankles.  She entertained thoughts of kicking him while he was down, but she knew there were other guards nearby who would make her regret it.  The guard departed and left Irina in her austere cell.  The chain connecting her ankle to the wall was long enough to allow her to lay down on her "bed" -- which was basically a metal slab -- and use the toilet.  She wasn't able to get near the door, however, which was obviously the intended result.

While Irina slept fitfully, the army was putting the intelligence she provided to good use.  After finding some of the facilities she described empty, they struck pay dirt: Over a dozen rebels hiding in an ancient bomb shelter in the backyard of an abandoned lot.  A firefight ensued in which several soldiers were injured, but fourteen rebels were killed.  Only two surrendered -- a beautiful dark-skinned immigrant by the name of Komal Oruganti and a somewhat homely young woman named Sasha Tchaun.  In a short amount of time, they found themselves hooded, cuffed, and in the back of a transport headed towards the same facility that held their former comrade, Irina Shumeyko.

The interrogators had made short work of Sasha, one of the two women captured alive in the raid carried out on information provided by Irina Shumeyko.  The mere suggestion of a harsh interrogation caused her to break down and provide a sizeable amount of information to her captors -- much of which was validated by files and notes seized during the operation.  She also admitted her role as an associate in a number of rebel attacks, claims that were also backed up by information they had obtained.  Her tearful confession was recorded on video and archived for evidence at her eventual tribunal.

Komal, the other young woman seized in the raid, was not so easy.  Captured files, corroborated with Sasha's information, indicated that she was second in command of the cell they had infiltrated.  As such, she certainly had lots of information about collaborating rebel groups -- she just wasn't talking.

The interrogation proceeded in a similar fashion to Irina's -- the guards forcibly stripped her, suspended her by the wrists, and tormented her body with beatings, electric shocks, and to an extent with pliers.  The interrogators were strictly forbidden from mutilating prisoners, breaking limbs, or leaving any permanent wounds: If a prisoner had to be released after being mistakenly arrested, there could be no lasting physical evidence of abuse.

The beautiful, brown-skinned woman was certainly not immune to the pain.  She screamed and howled as much as any prisoner, but instead of providing information she responded with insults, taunts, and spitting in the face of her tomentors.

The interrogator began to feel as if he was wasting his time, and opted to approach the captive in a more indirect way.  With the help of his assistants, he pulled out the iron horse: A hollow, triangular shaped length of metal elevated some four feet off the ground with sturdy wooden legs.  The men hoisted Komal off the ground and centered her on the point of the metal.  Using a pair of shackles dangling from the ceiling, they bound Komal's hands behind her back and retracted the shackles, raising her arms into an uncomfortable position and forcing her to lean forward.  Komal groaned as all of her body weight pressed down upon her crotch, which rested on the narrow blade of metal.  To make matterss worse, the guards shackled her ankles with a spreader bar; from the spreader bar they hung a fifty-pound weight, adding to the force pressing between her labia.

"We'll check up on you a bit later," said the interrogator.  He and the guards left the interrogation room, leaving Komal in silent agony.  The seconds felt like hours as they passed by.  Sweat began to glisten on every inch of her body.  The pressure caused her vaginal fluids to flow for a time, but after awhile she dried out and the disconfort grew.  Was that a trickle of blood she saw?  Komal's breathing grew quicker and more shallow as the pain and discomfort became mind-numbing.  What was she going to do?  They knew she had information.  Would they ever give up, or would they torture her until she confessed... or died?

The door finally swung open and the interrogator came back in.  "Looks like you're having a grand old time!" he said.  "Are you ready to talk yet?"  Komal was silent.

"Oh, now, no reason to give me the silent treatment," the man said as he walked towards his prisoner.  "You just need to tell me what you know, and this will all end."

"I told you before, I don't know anything," grunted the dazed Komal.  "I was kept out of the loop..."

"I might entertain thoughts of believing that," said the interrogator.  "Unfortunately, your friend Sasha provided us with a decent amount of information, and based on everything we've found out, you were more 'in the know' than her in your little cell."

"What the hell did you do to Sasha?" barked Komal between breaths.  "I swear, if you laid a finger on her..."

"I assure you, we didn't hurt her one bit.  She gave us lots of information, and quite easily," said the interrogator.  "Now, what are you threatening to do if we hurt her?  You're not exactly in a position to be making demands."  As he spoke those words, he wrapped his hands around Komal's perfectly rounded breasts and gently rolled her dark nipples between his fingers.  "You seem to forget that you are in no position to stop us from doing anyting to you."  Komal, outraged at the indignity, mustered up the saliva to spit in the man's eyes.  Angrily, the man opened a cabinet in the back of the room and returned with a device consisting of two pieces of plywood, connected with large bolts.

"I figured you'd appreciate a bit of pleasure among all the pain you're in," the interrogator said with a grin.  "I guess I was wrong.  This is what we call a breast crusher, and I'm sure you can imagine what it's for."  As Komal struggled uselessly, the man fitted the device over her dangling breasts and tightened it until her breasts were painfully squeezed between the two pieces of plywood.  She tried her best to suppress any emotion, but her face clearly showed a painful reaction.

"I'll leave you with one more gift before I leave again," the man said.  He hung another fifty-poind weight between Komal's legs, making the pressure even more unbearable.  Komal let out a quiet, drawn-out whimper.  "A few more weights and I think you'll be damaged for life... you might want to talk soon."

The man left her again.  The pain in her wrists, her shoulders, her breasts, her crotch... it was almost too much to bear.  Could things get any worse?

Her question was answered but a few minutes later when the door to the room opened yet again.  The interrogator entered the room, followed by two guards -- between them, they were dragging Sasha, who was crying and screaming beneath a hood that obscured her vision.

"You wouldn't!" screamed Komal.  Sasha, at age twenty, was the youngest in their organization; Komal had served as a bit of a mentor to her.  While eager to help, she had always been soft -- Komal couldn't envision her in this sort of situation.  The guards ripped the hood from Sasha's head, and her eyes bulged at seeing her friend naked and suspented on the devilish contratpion.

"No!" shrieked Sasha, struggling against the guards' grip.  "Let her GO!"  One of the guards gave her a firm slap in the face, knocking her off balance.  The other pinned her against the wall while he tore off her jumpsuit, leaving it in a crumpled heap on the floor.  Sasha began to sob, trying to cover herself with her hands, but one of the guards grabbed her by her short-cropped hair, banged her head against the stone wall, and threw her to the floor.

Komal screamed in protest.  "Don't hurt her!  She told you what she knew!  She has NOTHING to do with this!"  With her weakened voice, her screams were nearly drowned out by Sasha's incoherent sobs for mercy.  The guards, indifferent to the pleas, began kicking Sasha with their thick-toed boots as she curled up in a ball, trying to protect her sensitive front side.  As this happened, the interrogator retrieved a thick length of chain from the wall and with a furious look in his face cracked it like a whip at the young woman, tearing flesh and leaving nasty-looking wounds across Sasha's body.

Komal could take the pain they inflicted to her, but this was too much.

"Leave her alone!" she cried between tears at seeing her friend in so much pain.  "I'll tell you everything I know!"

Komal tried to provide the most vague information as possible.  The interrogator scribbled on his handheld computer as she fed him a stories of aborted plots, names of rebels who had recently died, false information that would be nearly impossible to confirm, and mostly irrelevant truths.

Her breathing had become quite strained by this point as the pain became more unbearable by the minute.  "I told you what I know... can you please let me down?"  In response, the interrogator walked to Komal and unscrewed the breast crusher.  The return of circulation to her breasts burned and she winced a bit as the interrogator removed the weighted bar that connected her shackled ankles.  Komal breathed a sigh of relief.

The interrogator then released the binds on her wrists.  Just as Komal brought her hands in front of her to take the pressure off of her most sensitive areas, he gave her a firm shove; she fell off the back of the horse and smacked her head on the hard floor.

"You two are going to wait here until I see that some of your information checks out," the interrogator says.  The guards assisting him pulled the two naked women to the side of the room, where several shackles were fixed to the wall with chains.  Both Komal and Sasha had one of their ankles placed in a shackle, limiting their range of movement to a few feet.

"You two might want to get some rest," the interrogator said.  "Especially if the information you gave me turns out to be false.  The girl who told us about your hiding place tried that, and she certainly regrets it now."  He flipped off the lights in the room and slammed the door shut.

Komal immediately leaned over to her side and grasped her crotch, which was still hurting like hell.  She felt a bit of blood on her fingers, and held her hands tight in a feeble attempt to stop the bleeding and the pain.  Sasha curled up into a ball, weeping softly.

"We aborted the plot to bomb the finance ministry months ago!" whispered Sasha with anger in her voice.  "And the Rykovs were killed last week!  Have you forgotten?  Or are you trying to get us killed?"

"Wake up Sasha," grunted Komal.  "You... me... we're irrelevant.  We're probably dead anyway.  You think they're going to set a few so-called terrorists free anytime soon... or ever?  We're probably going to hang, no matter how cooperative we are.  But our movement... it has to continue!"

"I'd prefer hanging over this!" said Sasha.  "We can go relatively peacefully or we can be tortured to a bloody pulp.  Seems like you prefer the latter!"

"Shut up!" barked Komal.  "Stop being selfish... it's not about us.  It's about the billions of people who will live out better lives if we succeed.  Have you forgotten that?"

"The dead don't care about nobility and freedom," said Sasha.  "And I'd like to hear you sing this same tune tomorrow, when they're ... tearing you limb from limb."  She curled up and wept until she finally fell asleep from exhaustion.  Komal found herself uncontrollably nodding off not long after.

The interrogator watched the entire exchange thanks to the hidden video camera positioned in the chamber.  Just as he suspected.  This immigrant bitch was going to be difficult.

"I need you to find everything you know about the difficult one," he said to a subordinate.  "You have eight hours."

---

Only four hours after nodding off, the door to the chamber opened up and the bright overhead lights were turned on.  The two women groggily awoke from their slumber.

"How long have we..." muttered Sasha.

"Shut up," said the interrogator.  He nodded to the four guards that accompanied him; they quickly removed the bonds around the womens' ankles and, despite their protests and squirms, secured each of their wrists to overhead shackles that retracted into the ceiling, hosting them six inches from the floor.  They hung, perhaps ten feet away, staring at each other.  Sasha had obvious dread in her eyes, while Komal attempted to maintain an air of defiance.

"It's unfortunate, Komal, that bad things sometimes happen to good people," the interrogator sneered.  "But because of your insolence, I'm afraid that some very bad things are going to happen to your friend."  As he spoke, he pulled the cap off a syringe and injected something into Sasha's thigh.

"That was a powerful stimulant to make sure your friend is fully alert for the next few hours," the interrogator said with an indifferent tone.  Sasha's eyes bulged.  "If at any time you want to talk, tell us.  But take note: Another false confession will make things very bad for her indeed.  So... let's begin."

As soon as he finished talking, one of the guards walked up to Sasha and casually dropped his pants down to his ankles.  Her view was mostly obscured by the guard, but Komal could hear every pathetic plea and cry from Sasha as the guard repeatedly thrust into her.  Occasionally she caught a glimpse of Sasha's face, and it was filled with shame.

When the first guard finished, the second took his turn.  And the third.  And the fourth.  Already, Sasha's voice was becoming hoarse.  Komal tried to avert her eyes, but the interrogator turned her back towards the gruesome scene.  When she tried to close her eyes, he pried her eyelids open.

"I gotta give it to you," said the interrogator.  "You are one coldhearted and unsympathetic bitch, you know that?"  Komal tried to spit in his face, but missed.  I see we're wasting our time by going easy on your friend.  I guess we'll just have to ramp up quickly."  Sasha trembled in her bonds.

The interrogator grabbed a cylindrical device from a table full of gruesome instruments.  "This is a cattle prod," he said.  "It outputs three hundred thousand volts.  Very painful, so I've heard, but not deadly.  Usually."  The interrogator pushed it right against Sasha's left nipple and turned it on, holding it in place despite Sasha's squirming and tormented screams.  When he finally pulled it away, her flesh was deeply reddened.  Immediately he went to work on her right nipple, eliciting the same reaction.

"You probably know that any sort of wetness decreases the skin's resistance and increases the current," said the interrogator, looking over his shoulder towards Komal.  "I'd say your friend's... nether regions are still probably pretty wet, wouldn't you?"

Komal screamed "NO!" as loud as she could, but the interrogator coldly penetrated her with the cruel instrument.  Sasha shook vehemently all over and began dry-heaving as she screamed, her voice now extremely raspy.  When the interrogator finally stopped, she hung limply in her restraints.

"Komal... please..." muttered Sasha.  "I would never put you through this..."  Komal tried to fight back tears.  Surely they couldn't do much worse than they already had.  Quietly, she prayed that the men would put both of them out of their misery.

But it was not to be.  The man walked back to the table and returned with a device consisting of little more than a canister attached to a large nozzle.

"Kerosene blowtorch burns at two hundred and eighty degrees Celsius, Komal," the man said.  "At that temperature... well, your friend will develop third-degree burns.  It's just a matter of how many you want her to have."

He ignited the torch and approached Sasha, who tried futilely to back away from him.  Bending down, he raised the torch towards one of her thighs.  Almost immediately the flesh began to char and Sasha let out an inhuman cry.  Komal closed her eyes, but not even a second later, Sasha's cries were augmented with the interrogator letting out a high-pitched scream.

Komal opened her eyes.  It seemed that the interrogator, having grown used to the girl's docility, was not expecting her to resist.  But an unexpected and well-timed thrust of her knee knocked the blowtorch into the man's face.  He fell to the ground, the torch rolling away from him.

Two of the guards sprung into action, grabbing the interrogator by his arms and rushing him out of the room for treatment.  "MAKE HER PAY!" he bellowed as he was assisted into the hallway.  As Sasha sobbed, the two remaining guards sprung into action.

Motivated by revenge and lacking their superior's finesse, one of the guards held Sasha's legs in place while the other picked up the blowtorch and continued where the interrogator left off.  This time Sasha could do nothing to resist as the guard painfully scorched her extremities, charring patches of flesh across her arms and legs.  Komal, unable to bear the carnage, screamed that she would tell the interrogators everything they needed to know -- but they weren't interested.  Sasha's screams had turned into gasps and sobs as she lost her voice, but the stimulants ensured she remained awake.

After what seemed like an eternity -- but was only a matter of minutes in reality -- the door to the room opened once again.  A new interrogator saw the grisly scene and barked orders for the guards to immediately stop.

"Clumsy idiots!  You're gonna kill her, and we'll all catch hell for it!" the new interrogator yelled.  The guards stopped and stood at attention as Sasha's partially scorched body hung limply, whimpering.  "Good Lord... take her down, get her clothes back on... take her to the medical ward right away.  Tell 'em something, anything... just don't tell them what you were doing!"

Working quickly, the guards released Sasha's bonds and she slumped to the ground, sobbing.  They clumsily attempted to put her orange jumpsuit back on, causing her to wince as their hands inadvertently brushed her burns.  They hoisted her between the two of them and drug her limp body out of the room.

The interrogator turned his attention to Komal.  "Now... you've been real difficult, and it doesn't seem that you care about yourself or your friend.  But you *will* talk."  Komal scoffed defiantly.

The interrogator motioned a silent order to the two guards, who left the room.  A few minutes later, they returned with a third person -- still dressed in street clothes, her wrists and ankles bound with cuffs.  Komal's eyes bulged and she gasped.

"You didn't tell us you had a little sister in town," the interrogator said with a grin as 19-year old Asha, Komal's sister, was led into the room.  Upon the sight of her sister, nude, bruised, and hanging from the ceiling, Asha's jaw dropped open and she let out a cry.

"You can't do this!  She's innocent!  She had nothing to do with us!" cried Komal, squirming as tears ran down her eyes.  "Please!  You can't do anything with her!"

"I'm afraid I can," said the interrogator.  "I admit that I have no interest, but... we really want you to tell us what you know."  He turned to his guards.  "Get her ready!"

Asha yelped as the guards pushed her into the room and removed the cuffs holding her wrists and ankles together.

"Now, Asha... hopefully your sister will start talking," said the interrogator.  "If she doesn't, I'm going to have to ask you to undress.  And if you don't, my men can always do it for you."