PT 52: A Quick Escalation

An hour later, you’ve been proved right about the lack of sleep. As soon as the sirens die down you’re hauled out of bed and dragged before the officer in charge of what has turned out to be a not very effective military prison facility. From what you can gather, the last anyone saw of Sarah she was whizzing her way over the forest to the East in a light craft she managed to steal after knocking out a small swathe of guards.

The officer, named Surnow, seem to think you know something about that.

“Tell us where she is,” Officer Surnow demands. She’s a wiry looking woman with hair scraped back into a tight bun. She has scowl lines all over her face, as if she’s been pissed off for decades, and there’s something mean in her eyes. You instinctively hate her.

“I don’t know,” you answer tiredly for the umpteenth time. “Sarah does whatever she wants. She doesn’t tell me before she does it. I barely know her. Ask Terra. She knows.”

“They were plotting before the escape was made. I heard them,” the guard says. “She’s lying.”

“Do you know what the penalty for lying is?” The scowling officer snaps the question at you.

You shake your head, exhausted. Sarah is the one who escaped, but you’re the one being interrogated. The guard takes you by the arm and pushes you down into a hard chair. She’s big and she’s burly and you’re no match for her strength. Not like Sarah would be. Sarah could have laid her out in an instant. You’re stuck with your ass hitting hard wood.

“You’re not leaving here until you tell us the truth,” she hisses, her hand scrunching the fabric at the back of your uniform. “We’ll keep you here day and night if we have to. And we have ways of making people tell us what we want to know.”

“Just ask Terra!” You repeat yourself, frustrated that they’re not listening.

“You and your accomplice staged a breakout and theft in our base. Your commanding officer has no jurisdiction here,” Surnow grinds out. “You answer to me, understand?”

“Answer her!” The guard gives you a shake.

“Yes, I understand,” you say. “But I don’t know anything.”

“You better start talking,” Surnow snarls. “Or it’s going to get painful for you. You’re fresh out of the academy, so you don’t know what you’re in for. It’s all demerits and extra PT there. We handle things differently in the fort. Show her, Guard Grisham.”

The guard releases your shirt long enough to stride across the room, open a cupboard door and take out a long thick piece of bamboo like cane. It’s about 1/2 an inch wide and a couple of feet long. It looks nasty.

“I’ve made elite soldiers twice your size cry with this,” the guard says, smacking it against her palm. It makes an unpleasantly sharp sound across her meaty hand. “I promise you, you couldn’t stand one stroke. So start talking.”

What do you do?

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