I hope that Allison is being taken care of. I have to believe that she is safe. Thinking about Allison makes me wonder about my parents. They were part of the reason that i agreed to do this mission. I hope my sister is okay. She is young. I hope that my family is together and safe. Some days I look back and wonder if I made the right decision running from the government. It seems that no matter how many times I escape, I end up in a worse place than I started. Thinking about my family makes me think about Tiger. There are so many things that I wish I could change. I guess the thing that nobody ever thinks about is the fact we have no way of knowing what will happen until after it has already happened. I might even be in a worse position than I already am if I had done things differently.

My stomach still feels upset and I wonder what that means for me. It must just be from the taser. There is no way that my deepest fear could be coming true. It is just simply impossible. I cannot think about this right now. If this is real, then this is very very bad.

Surely hours pass, but I have no way to tell day from night. All remains quiet for a long while. Then suddenly, it is as if a switch has been flipped and people begin to bustle in and out of the corridor, bringing all of the other ten prisoners food. I get a glimpse of what is being given to the other people. It is gloppy looking oatmeal and a cup of water. It's not like I actually expected to get food, but seeing the bustle and hearing the sound if the chewing causes lounging. It has been over a day since I ate last. I feel my stomach growl in protest, but I ignore it like every other discomfort of the last few days.

I hear someone coming down the hallway. I remain seated and ignore the man when he comes to a stop in front of my cell. I listen as another person comes down the hallway. I quickly look to see the people. It is two men that I do not recognize. They are dressed completely in black as if they are executioners. The one man has a beard, while the other man is clean-shaven. The guy with the beard speaks first.

"It's a shame that we can't torture this one. I bet she has some great information."

"You know it is illegal to torture persons under eighteen."

"I know," sighed the bearded man.

"Who are you people? Torture is illegal for everyone. It is a human right. What makes you think you can do this to people. When we get control of our country back, you will all be going to jail for a very long time."

"Oh, great. Another one of those," grumbles the second man.

"We are the Interrogators," answered the bearded man.

The bearded man places his keycard on the scanner and opens up my cell. The other man enters.

"Rise," he orders. I consider my options for a moment. I decide that there is really no reason to resist. I turn my legs so they are hanging over the edge. I put my feet on the icy cement ground and stand up. The man grips my upper arm and leads me out of the cell.

When we are standing in front of the cell in the hallway, the man pulls something over my eyes and ties it in the back. It is some rough black piece of cloth. It must be thick because cannot see the light emitted from the ceiling lights as the men lead me down the hallway. My bare feet make a slapping sound on the solid floor. I almost consider asking for something to cover myself with, but I decide against it. I hear the locks of several doors click and feel myself being led down multiple different hallways. We keep moving to wherever the men's destination is. I have never had practice keeping track of where I am while blindfolded and I doubt that I will have a chance to run out the front door, anyway. I allow the men to lead me.

I hear another lock click open and am shoved through a doorway. The door closes with a thud. Hands grip the blindfold and pull it from my face. I blink vigorously several times to become accustomed to the bright lights. There is a large metal table in the center of the room. The table has handcuffs attached to it. On one side of the table, there is a padded black chair. On the other side, there is a solid metal chair. It is noticeably lacking any kind of padding. I glance around the room and notice that only one of the black-clad men is in the room. It is the man with the salt-and-pepper beard.

I lift my head and square my shoulders. The man laughs.

"Are you stupid? Do you realize how serious this situation is?" I refuse to acknowledge his comment.

He comes close to me and I feel the hairs o my arms stand up. He reaches into his pocket and pulls something out. I can't see what it is and I will not bow my head in his presence. He lifts his hand up in front of my face. It is the shiny handcuff key. My shoulders ache from being trapped like this. A lust for freedom surges through me before I can push it down to deep inside my being.

"Listen, sweetheart," he commands, "If I let you out of these cuffs and you try to fight me, you will regret it. Do you understand me?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?" I do not want to say it. I do not want him to think he has power over me. I do not want him to think that I respect him. I want these damn cuffs off, though. Saying it is not betraying my beliefs, it is merely something I must do in order to get out of this place.

"Yes, sir." I do not whimper. I do not whisper. I most definitely do not break. I speak clearly and with forcefulness.

"Sit down." I sit down because I have no choice and because my exhaustion is wearing on me. The man walks around to the other side of the table. He sits down on the chair across from me.

"So, let's start at the beginning. Why did you run away from the officers that came to your home?"

"I am not answering any of your questions. Ever." My hands lie on the table. My right hand is resting on the top of my right hand. My composure remains intact.

"You will find that when you cooperate, this process will go much smoother."

I keep my lips sealed. I will not respond.

He abruptly stands up, sending his chair flying backward. He leans over the table, placing his face mere inches from mine. Anger flares in his eyes like a gasoline fire. I can feel his warm breath on my cheeks. It smells of garlic and tobacco. He reaches down to my hands, while at the same time still staring into my eyes. One of his calloused hands pushes my hands into the table.

"Last chance," he says with spit flying from between his cracked lips. I do not blink.

He takes a step back from the table, turning to face the door without another word. He reaches into his pocket for something. I assume it is his keycard. When he puts the object to the scanner and the door clicks open, I realize I was correct. The men whisper to each other just outside the door. I strain my hearing, but I cannot make out a single word.

The clean-shaven man steps into the room and the door closes behind him. He crosses his arms in front of his chest. Neither of us makes a sound for quite some time. I sit in the stiff chair with my hands clasped together on the table. My gaze does not stray from the man for a second, except for when I blink. The man stands still. I observe that his gaze does not deviate from me, either.

The man walks to the corner of the room. While he walks towards me, his gaze does not leave mine. I am tempted to ask him what he is doing, but I do not. His legs were probably just sore from standing in the same position for so long. When he reaches the corner he stops and looks at me. His gaze is so intense, I wonder if I am imagining this whole thing. Did I fall asleep? Did I pass out from dehydration?

I am still watching him and I think that I see his lips form words, but I can't tell. I watch closer.

He moves his lips again and I realize what he said. He mouthed, "Attack me."

I look at him closer. His head moves in a small nod of consent. I think what the hell. I jump out of my seat and run at him. I make my hand into a fist and slug his jaw. His head snaps backward. He nods and I hit him again. This time after my fist connects with his flesh, a breath actually escapes him. I guess I had more strength in me than I thought. The man pushes himself away from the wall and puts his hands on my shoulders, slamming me into the ground. I gasp as the air leaves my lungs.

"What did you think would happen? That you could beat me?" He says snarkily. He then leans down to my ear and whispers.

"You are not alone here. We will get you and your friends out. Be patient." As he lifts me up, he leans in and tells me one more thing. He says, "I'm sorry. They will be suspicious if I don't." I only have a second to wonder what he is talking about before slams his fist into my jaw. I cry out in pain. He then pulls out his handcuffs. He moves behind me and pulls my battered wrists behind my back. He locks the cuffs on, but they are looser than the last man did them and they do not rub my skin quite so painfully.

"Move," he commands. He slips back into the role of guard quite easily and I wonder what his background is. He pushes me towards the door, putting on a show for the cameras. I decide to go along and I feign stumbling.

He shoves me down the hallway. My feet slap against the cool ceramic tile. We make our way back to the holding cells on the third floor. When he shoves me back into my cell, I am hopeful for a moment that he will take off these damned handcuffs, but he does not. He leaves me restrained. I look back to him in time to see him slide the door closed and the dreaded click meaning that it is locked happen. I feel like punching something or yelling or cursing, but I do none of these things. Instead, I lie down on the bench and close my eyes. I let my exhaustion overcome me and I drift off into a deep sleep.

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