A short story written in spare time. I'm not psoting stories if I write them until they're finished.

Title

A normal human does not want to kill another human. Naturally, this would deplete the population. However, abnormal people are born all of the time. These abnormal people are destined to despise, to hate their fellow humans. They are people who smile an ugly grin in the face of torture of those they hate. It may be one person, it may be everybody, but it's always somebody.

Then there are people who simply do not care.

People such as me.

X-12-XX01

Today's customer was a rebel. An E unit had captured him while he was engaging them. The idiots probably missed all his friends, but that's natural. E units are self-equipped and have no uniforms. They're put together so they can die, so I don't blame them for wanting to avoid danger, but finding loopholes so that they can disregard the future is ignorant.

A couple of the grunts cuffed him to the chair. The chair is made of metal, so the person cannot escape. He glared at me when I entered, but his eyes immediately flicked to my briefcase.

"Greetings," I said. "Can you cooperate with us and tell us a few things?"

"What things?" he replied.

"The location of your rebel group, all of their identifications, your supplier, if you have one, and the preceding information of any other rebel group you may now of."

His face twisted into a snarl. "Suck it, goggles."

His comment was directed at my interrogator uniform, which we were required to wear so that we could not be identified and possibly assassinated.

I opened my briefcase in his sight. If the prisoner didn't cooperate, this was the next step. His eyes narrowed at my vast collection of screws, pliers, and other things that explain themselves but can't quite be described.

"I'm never going to talk," he said. My training could detect the fear in his voice. "You may as well stick me in prison now."

Prison? Idiot. I inserted a screw into my small drill and spun it several times. Everything told me his fear was multiplied exponentially. Saying he would never talk was valiant, but would he actually keep his word?
I lowered the drill threateningly to his right index finger. It was half a centimeter away from his fingernail when his eyes could not narrow anymore and he began thrashing in his seat.

"Stop! I'll talk!"

I slowed the descent of the drill, but didn't stop.

"Vas Tarrina!" he gasped. I raised the drill, halting its rotation.

"That's the town..." he said, a look of undeniable guilt shadowing his defeated expression.

"Repeat that," I said, switching on the recorder.

"Vas Tarrina..." he said again, his voice breaking at the end.

"Good boy," I said, packing up my tools. "Maybe you will go to prison now." I shut the door behind me.

So valiant in his defense, yet a coward. Nobody should make promises that they know they can't keep.

X-14-XX01

The local E unit went to Vas Tarrina, a small town, and flushed out the rebels. The fools managed to kill all but one of the rebels, but there were only 24 rebels and 45 soldiers, and yet the rebels killed 34 of the soldiers. I can now understand why the unit's here instead of on the frontlines.

The girl they brought back was around the drafting age of 17. She probably ran away as soon as her 17th birthday came, which is something that's become annoyingly common.

She was yelling something as they brought her in. Her gaze was a fierce and furious one as I stepped into the cell.

"I know how you found us," she declared, "I thought Renard was brave. I trusted him, I loved him," she continued, her cheeks flushing in rage, "I even gave my body to him the night he said he would stay behind," a tear rolled down her cheek, and she tried to shake it away. "I should have stayed behind! I never would have loosened my lips!"

"If you have something to say, young lady," I said, ignoring her rant, "say something you know I would care about."
"You're an asshole."

I smiled. What a funny girl they picked up.

"We know the Flags of Dove rebels have a base near Vas Tarrina," I said solemnly, "They probably supplied you with your equipment, as well as training. Your little band gave that unit a beating."

"That just shows that one of us is worth so much more than one of you government cocksuckers," she spat in my direction, a pathetic wad of spittle splattered on my shoe.

"I want answers, not opinions." I continued, opening my briefcase. I set it on the table beside me and took hold of one of her fingers. I bent it back and snapped it. She muffled her yelp of pain and simply closed her eyes.

"You don't want to begin losing these." I advised. I took hold of her right thumb and crushed it. Interrogators have sufficient amounts of strength to do that. Her eyes jerked and her teeth gritted, and I knew she felt it.

"I know how to make you talk." I said calmly. Her next finger was warmer, blood flow increased because of an increase in her fear. I didn't break it. Instead, I kept hold of her right little finger, and brought out my drill, revved it. Her finger pulsed with a sudden rush of panic, but she simply shut her eyes tighter.

I slowly plunged the screw into her nail. As the screw twisted flesh, she began to writhe in agony. She could keep her lips shut no longer and screamed. I apathetically plunged the screw into the chair, attaching her little finger to the chair. Several more tears ran down her face, she opened her eyes to blink them away, and saw her little finger.

"Aaaaaah!!!" she screamed, she looked up at me in hatred, her eyes moist with tears, then shut her eyes tightly, her lower lip fluttering with pain. A drop of blood from her ruined finger hit my shoe. A flash of emotion entered my brain. Was it horror? Sympathy? I quickly rejected it. It was not my job to investigate my feelings.

I broke the rest of her fingers. She was now shaking with disbelief, and panic, now that I had run out of fingers to break.

I decided to move up a level. I took my scissors and cut away the clothing surrounding her upper thigh. It was creamy, slim, and tight. Was it desire that I was feeling? I am young, at only 22 years old, even though few ever see my face. I looked to her face to see her eyes, bright and shiny with tears, look into mine in confusion.

No. Not into my eyes. My eyes were concealed. I shook away the feeling. Yes, this girl was attractive. Finding a mate was, and never will be, my objective during work. I took the large drill from the case.

"Say something." I said. The words burst from my mouth; I did not intend them to escape.

"Please..." she responded, "I can't...I just can't..." her face was soaked with fresh tears, and she was gasping for breath.

I shook away my emotions once more and slowly plunged the drill into her thigh. She screamed, and screamed. I met bone and she screamed with a new agony. Her head thrashed around, and she shook, her hair continually fell into my vision. She screamed so much she would take in a short breath, a short scream, and created a sort of pathetic, panting scream.

I was almost through the bone, when several drops of swear and tears splattered onto my goggles. I stepped back quickly, letting go of the drill. I tried to wipe away the water, but I couldn't. Why!? I desperately wiped at my goggles. Then, I found out. I slipped my fingers under my goggles and wiped them away. It was my own sweat. And tears.

The drill was set into the girl's thigh. Blood had collected around it in a well, and was dripping down her leg. Her clothes were soaked in sweat, and her lips were dripping with spittle. She looked up at me with terrified confusion; her eyes were red from crying.

"Talk!" I said.

"Please!" she gasped, "I'm sorry! I want-to-but-I, "she lost herself in sobs. I drilled the rest of the way through her thigh. I drowned out her screams and reversed the drill. It was dark with her blood, and her blood now soaked her leg and ran down the chair.

I was panicking. I didn't want to, for some reason, but I the knife and slashed her cheek. I pried open the wound and watched the blood flow. I could see her lips moving with her screams. I twisted my knife in her ear, and she writhed, causing me to slice off a bit of ear.

She stopped screaming.

I called on my communicator. "The prisoner has fallen unconscious." With a quick look, I added, "Bring a medic with you."

I sat on my chair, thinking. Why? Why had I panicked, felt despair, shed tears? It couldn't have been the fact that she was attractive...her screams, her blood...

It was my fault. That was why.

X-15-XX01

The girl has been transferred to a mental hospital. She's gone insane, and can't be physically interrogated, the heads said. They'll still be trying to extract information from her, but any more torture would add to the damage. I felt a sudden rush of guilt when I heard that she had gone insane.

Why had she not given in? Her friends were all dead, and her beloved had betrayed her. She had nothing to lose.

Was it spite? Or was it simply...

Bravery?

X-18-XX01

There were no prisoners to interrogate today, or for the past two days. The rebel attacks have all stopped. All of them in the area. News got out that that girl had gone insane from torture, and I know why.

They're afraid of me. They're all unspeakably terrified of being tortured by me, because they know they can't win.

I'm not coming to work tomorrow.

X-19-XX01

I visited the girl. She's in terrible shape. She babbles at everything and when she saw me, she screamed and hid under the sheets.

To think that I did this to her...I've tortured women before, none like her...they all gave in before I could hurt them as badly as I hurt her...all of the ones that were her age gave in as soon as I revealed my tools.

Her name is Lorrie. I found that out.

I should forget about her, but I can't. I need to do something about that...

X-22-XX01

I've sold everything I have and donated it all to Lorrie's recovery. When she gets back to normal, she'll still hate me, but I'm thankful for that.

I also quit my job, so I'm just wandering now.

I'm still young, after all...I'll figure out what to do with my life.

Updated: 09/20/08 10:33 PM Log in to comment! | Share this!