BDSM Library - Extinguishing the Rebellion

Extinguishing the Rebellion

Provided By: BDSM Library
www.bdsmlibrary.com



Synopsis: As a new World War consumes Europe in the not-too-distant future, pockets of rebellion have sprouted up to overthrow the oppressors. Unfortunately, the occupying army is not kind to any rebels it manages to capture...
An old moped drove through rural Belarus in the very early morning, still hours before sunrise

An old moped drove through rural Belarus in the very early morning, still hours before sunrise. The driver, a young woman named Irina, knew that she shouldn't have been there -- a curfew had been imposed on the entire country for the past year, after the armies of the New Russian Union took over.  They had been trying to quell the minor rebellion that broke out after the mostly bloodless annexation.

 

The rebellion wasn't so minor to Irina, however; it consumed her entire life. After witnessing her husband of under a year -- an innocent passerby -- get gunned down by soldiers trying to break up a riot, she searched out a way to join up. She participated in several successful operations, and was now sent out on her first solo mission.

 

After driving for nearly an hour, Irina reached her destination: An intersection that, according to their intelligence, a convoy of troops was scheduled to pass shortly after dawn.  She shut off the moped's engine and dismounted.  Carrying a small package, she quietly crept to some thick underbrush near the intersection.

 

Hearing a very faint rumbling noise, she paused to listen.

 

"Stop immediately, and put your hands on your head!" boomed a sudden voice over a loudspeaker.  Irina froze, temporarily paralyzed with shock.  A blinding light was pointed at her, and she found herself staring at a Russian patrol vehicle perhaps twenty meters from where she stood.  Running on a fuel cell engine and sporting infrared sensor technology, the vehicles were silent and nearly impossible to spot in the darkness.  There was always a small chance of encountering a random patrol on one of these missions, but it was uncommon this far away from a major city.

 

"I said, put your hands on your head!" the voice repeated.  Irina, hoping to get a lead on the soldiers by doing something unexpected, dropped her package and took off running towards some nearby foliage.  Her escape was cut short as she was hit square in the back with a stun projectile and found her vision blacking out before she even hit the ground.

 

When Irina awoke, she found her vision obscured by a hood that covered her head, and her hands bound behind her with handcuffs.  She was lying on a hard surface; based on the periodic bumps she felt, she figured she was in the small cargo compartment of the patrol vehicle.  She had always been told to avoid being taken alive if possible, as the Russians weren't kind to so-called "terrorists," and they would likely execute her eventually anyway.  But alas, here she was.  She felt sick to her stomach.

 

The ride plodded on for what felt like ages, but actually lasted shorter than an hour.  She assumed they were taking her to a prison at Brest, the nearest major city as well as the city she and her friends had been operating from. 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. The rear compartment 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, and then brought to a stop.

 

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

 

"Irina Savitsky," said the man who had led her into the building. "Twenty-six years old, widowed, 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." All of her personal information was accessible by the military via a tiny chip implanted deep into her body -- something that had been made mandatory for all citizens over a decade ago.

 

"We picked her up attempting to place a small incendiary bomb at an intersection 80 miles outside of city limits," the man said. "She was picked up by a patrol that luckily came across her before she managed to plant it."

 

"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 momentarily blinded by the light in the room, but it felt good to breathe freely 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 escorted Irina turned around and departed.

 

"Savitsky, was it?" the man behind the desk said. He sounded surprisingly polite for a prison officer. "Listen up. We’re going to remove your handcuffs; once you are released, you’re going to remove all of your clothing and jewelry and place them on the floor in front of you.  At that point, you’ll be searched for any weapons or contraband."

 

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 male ones. One of the two guards in the room walked behind her and removed her handcuffs. She took the opportunity to stretch her arms and rub her wrists.

 

"Proceed," the man behind the desk said. When Irina hesitated, his tone turned a little harsher. "If you refuse to comply, I can get the guards to assist you."  Realizing that she had no choice, Irina bent down and began untying her shoes as slowly as possible, trying her best to delay the inevitable humiliation.

 

"We’re pretty busy here, 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 began to work 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. "It doesn’t do us any good if we can’t thoroughly search you." Irina plucked out her earrings and tossed them onto the floor into the pile, followed by her necklace and ring -- her wedding ring, which she had continued to wear after her husband’s death.  She felt a tear starting to well up as she realized she was probably never going to wear it again.

 

Since 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. "Please. It's not like we've never seen a pair of tits here before." The two guards chuckled. Irina, shivering from nervousness and cold, put her hands on top of her head. Her small, light 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 approached and individually lifted up her small breasts. Entirely pointless, Irina thought, as there wasn't much space to hide anything under them.

 

The guard then squatted down and used his hands to push her thighs apart.  He crudely stuck two fingers into her untrimmed patch of pubic hair, spreading her labia and crudely digging around a bit inside.  Irina gasped and her eyes bulged at the unexpected intrusion and she blushed, wondering if they ever actually ever found women trying to hide things inside.  He then circled behind her and spread her buttocks, taking a quick peek between them.

 

"She's clean," the guard said. The man behind the desk nodded and the guard escorted Irina, still entirely naked, through another door into a small room containing a small cabinet and a single open shower stall.  Irina heard him rummaging through the cabinet for a moment. "Okay, hands at your side, and 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 snips and he put the scissors back in the cabinet. Irina couldn't see herself, but imagined it was probably the shortest (and worst) haircut she'd ever received.

 

"Okay, now wash yourself off," said the guard. Irina walked towards the stall and turned the knob. Lukewarm water, smelling strongly of a chemical detergent, sprayed down on her. Facing away from the guard the entire time, she rubbed herself down as quickly as possible with her hands. When she finished, the guard tossed her a towel that she used to dry herself off.

 

"All right, bring the towel back," said the guard. 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 very obviously looked her milky skin over from head to toe.  Irina didn't exactly enjoy the idea of being looked over like a piece of meat.

 

The guard shoved a one-piece orange jumpsuit at her. 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. He opened a door that led to a dimly-lit hallway.  On each side of the hall 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 through the small grate at the top of the door. "You'll probably be taken sometime tomorrow to interrogation."

 

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

Irina woke to the sound of her cell door opening with a creak

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.  "Already...?" Irina found herself mumbling.  A metal bench wasn't the most comfortable place to sleep.  She had woken up several times in the middle of the night 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 effortlessly yanked her to her feet.  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 the hood over her head and secured it tightly.  Grabbing her by the arm, he led her out of the cell.

 

Irina's bare feet were stubbed against the concrete floor more than once as the guard tugged her around several corners and through multiple 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 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 aging cinder blocks.  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.  Above the table, a chain dangled ominously from the ceiling.

 

"Please, Savitsky, 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 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 handheld 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 what 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 friends among the rebels after getting caught on her first solo assignment.  Their lives would be on her hands!  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.

 

"I wasn't doing anything," Irina said as calmly as possible.  "I mean, yeah, I was out after curfew.  I saw a package lying in the middle of the road, and I was curious to see what it was.  So, I bent down to get a closer look and before I knew it, I was staring at a patrol vehicle."

 

"Interesting story," the interrogator said in a completely unemotional voice.  "But tell me, how do you explain this?"  He tilted his small computer towards her and she was presented with an infrared picture of her walking from her moped, carrying a bag.  He pressed a button, and there was another picture of her standing at the intersection, still holding the bag.  Another picture showed Irina walking towards some underbrush.  A fourth picture showed her placing her hands on her head, the package at her feet.

 

The interrogator stared at her, waiting for an answer.

 

"Those pictures 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 they show you walking away from your moped while holding the package.  Explain that?"

 

"All right!  All right!"  Irina exploded, small sweat droplets 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, 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.  "Your excuses are inconsistent.  Your tone of voice betrays you.  Now are you going to be honest with me, 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 nodded at the two guards positioned there.  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 Irina to her feet and knocked the chair out of the way.  One of the guards attached her handcuffs, which bound her hands behind her back, to the chain that dangled from the ceiling.  He pushed a button on the wall, causing the chain to retract into the ceiling by several feet.  Irina found herself suspended in the air by her arms, which were now unnaturally raised together behind her back.  Already, a burning pain filled her shoulders, her upper arms, her chest, and her upper back.

 

"Oh God, oh Jesus, please stop!"  Irina cried as she tried to struggle, but it only increased the pain in her upper body.  "What are you monsters doing?!  My arms are gonna be torn out of their sockets!"

 

"It’s called the strappado," the interrogator said.  "A very old, but very effective, method of getting someone to talk.  The longer you hang there, the greater your chances of dislocating bones and suffering serious tissue damage.  So... I highly advise you talk quickly."

 

"You can't do this to me!" Irina cried, as she choked back tears that were starting to well up in her eyes.  "This is against international treaties!"  The pain grew more intense and more unbearable by the moment.  Irina felt like she was going to be sick.

 

"Relics of a more idealistic time," the interrogator said. "You and your kind are dangerous, and we must be effective in extracting information that might safe peoples' lives."  He stood up and walked towards her.  To his amusement, Irina began sobbing.  He hadn't even laid a finger on her yet.  Very amateurish.  More so than any other terrorist he had seen.  She shouldn't take too long to break.

 

"What are you going to do to me!?" Irina cried.  "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 calmly.  "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."  This elicited a tortured cry from the prisoner.

 

Above Irina's sobs, he walked to the cabinets in the back of the room and rummaged through them.  When he turned back towards Irina, his hands were full.  In one hand, he was holding a rather large pair of pliers.  In the other, he carried a piece of thick metal cable.  He walked directly in front of Irina's dangling body and set his implements on the table.  Even though she was suspended a foot from the ground, he stood almost eye-to-eye with her.

 

"You can end this," said the interrogator.  "Tell us what you know.  We'll let you down and send you back to your cell."  Irina didn't answer.  She merely continued to breathe heavily as she softly wept.

 

"Giving me the silent treatment now?  Tsk tsk... well, 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 smack.  Irina let out a startled yelp, but held her tongue otherwise.  He delivered a harder blow to her other cheek.  Irina saw the interrogator wind a third time, and it looked like he smacked her about as hard as he could, right on her left temple.  She cringed -- her vision blurred for a moment as she swung slowly in her restraints, the pain from her suspension almost unbearable.

 

"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.  Beads of sweat were forming thickly on her brow, but still she held her tongue.  Time to turn things up a bit.

 

Irina's eyes went wide as he seized the zipper of her jumpsuit and pulled it all the way down, just past her navel.  She wanted to resist, but any movement made the pain in her arms even worse.  It was impossible to remove the jumpsuit entirely while she was suspended, but the interrogator peeled it back towards her arms as best as he could.  Her small breasts, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, dangled ever so slightly as her delicate pink nipples hardened in the cold air.

 

Wordlessly, the interrogator reached behind him for the thick piece of cable 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, more tears, more pleas, but no confession.  Her entire breast was reddened and scraped from the beating with the rough cable.

 

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 glistened across every exposed inch of her body.

 

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

 

That seemed to be doing the trick.  The wailing was loud and constant.  The interrogator twisted and pulled the pliers a bit, tugging the nipple around, and eliciting more tortured screams.  To provide more leverage, he grabbed the handles of the pliers with both hands and twisted.

 

"Stop, stop stop!" Irina cried.  The pain was sharp and too much for her to bear.  "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.  Between tears, she blurted out a street address.

 

"Now we're getting somewhere," the man said.  He released the pliers, bringing a sigh of relief from the prisoner as a bit of blood wept from the wound.  He walked to his handheld 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 refrigeration room 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 -- Victoria, Josep, Antoli... those are the ones I met.  Please, please just let me down!"

 

"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, 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 cup of water, but no food.  She gratefully gulped it down.

 

-----

 

That night, the squad 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 squad 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 squad 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 leader readied his weapon and pulled the door open.

 

When the hatch opened, an armed trigger was pulled.  The flower shop and the entire squad 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 trap.

 

-----

 

Early in the following morning, Irina's sleep was interrupted 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 terrorist 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 shoulder.  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 awoke, her vision still blurred

Irina awoke, her vision still blurred.  She reached to massage her head wound, but found her wrists restrained.  As she became more aware of her surroundings, she realized that she was lying on the floor.  Looking around as best as she could, it appeared she was in a hallway.

 

"Hello," said a voice that Irina recognized immediately.  She looked up and saw the interrogator who had tormented her the day before, flanked on either side by guards.  "I bet you thought that was pretty funny.  Well, now you have the murder of our troops on your hands.  That's not going to go over so well with a tribunal."

 

"I don't know what you're talking about..." muttered Irina.  She knew damn well what the interrogator was talking about, of course.  But she tried to sound as convincing as possible.

 

"Shut up," the interrogator said.  He saw through her feeble lies.  "In light of your heinous crime, we are going to require more drastic measures.  I believe that this next method will do a good job of loosening your tongue... and other things, as well."

 

Irina tried to figure out what his cryptic statement meant when she was pulled to her feet by the two guards.  She found herself standing in front of a steel door.  It was clearly part of the same prison she had been in all along, but she did not recognize the hallway where she now stood.

 

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.

 

"Welcome to the preprocessing center for male civilian prisoners," the interrogator said with a disgusting smirk.  He called out into the cell: "I have a little present for you guys!"

 

Several of the prisoners roared at seeing the attractive young 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-serious.

 

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

 

-----

 

Days like this made Maria Khrutsky really hate her job.  She had been one of the prison's daytime 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 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.  Watching security footage after the incident, she saw the prisoners rip the clothes from her body.  Many participated in violating and beating 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.  Not only was this a breach of Maria's sovereignty, but it seemed a little too excessive a punishment for anyone to endure.

 

With a contingent of six civilian prison guards and a paramedic, Maria marched 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 paramedic as the guards laid the unconscious female prisoner on the stretcher he brought with him.  She was a mess: nasty welts crossed her left breast.  Her wrists were raw from the application of cuffs.  She was oozing a nasty mixture of blood and other bodily fluids from every orifice, and she had a variety of other bruises and wounds across her body, including what looked like attempted strangulation marks around her throat.  The paramedic checked her vital signs; she was still alive.

 

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

 

Upon arriving in the infirmary, they got the attention of a doctor and a few nurses.  Fortunately, it was a slow morning.  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, as they had no idea whether or not the prisoner was dangerous.

 

Irina slept all through the day and the following night, waking up briefly at times only to doze back off.  The following morning, though, she was 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.  A military officer stood to the side of the commotion, standing behind a handcuffed prison supervisor 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 prison supervisor, who was clearly trying to hold back tears.

 

"Was this murderous bitch really worth it, Khrutsky?" 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!"

 

"Process the traitor accordingly," said the Major.  "And bring the terrorist to my office."

 

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 the Major's office.  She was shoved inside; her escort followed her in and removed her hood.

 

"Get that gown off of her," the Major said.  Despite Irina's protests, the guard unfastened her handcuffs and ripped off the hospital gown -- the only garment covering her otherwise naked body.  "Now, you terrorist bitch... tell us the truth.  The whole truth."  Irina spat at the Major, but her spittle fell a little short of her target and landed on his desk.

 

"You really don't understand, do you?" the Major said, walking around his desk.  "We're not going to stop."  He wound back his arm and delivered a powerful hook to Irina's jaw, which sent her to her knees.

 

"If you don't start talking, I'll send you back to the interrogator who handled you before.  And I'll tell you what he's gonna do.  I've seen him do it before.  He's gonna take a cattle prod to your pretty little tits.  If you don't talk, he'll stick it up your little cunt.  If you still don't talk, he'll probably take some pliers to your now-blistered cunt and squeeze until something bleeds."

 

Irina felt her stomach getting sick at this description.

 

"He'll probably repeat with the pliers until he's run out of fun things to crush.  Maybe then he'll take a break and let his men have a little fun with you -- that won't feel too good, considering you'll already be blistered and bleeding in all of your most sensitive areas."

 

A tear started welling up in Irina's eyes.

 

"He has a world of possibilities from there.  Maybe he'll whip out the blowtorch or the electric drill, or maybe he'll take the pliers to your nails and your teeth.  If you pass out during any of this, by the way, he'll pump you so full of stimulants you won't sleep for days.  One thing's for sure, though.  He WILL keep you alive until you tell him what he wants.  Now, do you prefer that, or are you going to tell me what we want to hear?"

 

Irina could feel a bit of vomit welling up in her throat.  She knew he was deadly serious.  She remembered the pain from her interrogation and the horror of her gang rape and realized that they could do much, much worse.

 

Feeling that she had no choice, Irina broke down.  She 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 Major 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 Major nodded; the guard quickly ran out of the room and came back a few minutes later with an orange jumpsuit, virtually identical to the one Irina had been given when she was first brought to the prison.

 

As soon as she got dressed, the guard cuffed and hooded her once more and led her down twisting hallways until they reached her cell.  He opened the door and pushed Irina inside, where he removed the hood and handcuffs.

 

While Irina languished in her cell, 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 were taken alive -- a beautiful dark-skinned immigrant by the name of Komal Oruganti and a somewhat homely young woman named Natalia Markov.  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.

The interrogators had made short work of Natalia, one of the two women captured alive in the raid carried out on information p

The interrogators had made short work of Natalia, one of the two women captured alive in the raid carried out on information provided by Irina Savitsky.  The mere suggestion of a harsh interrogation caused her to break down and provide a sizable 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 Natalia'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 brutally -- the guards forcibly stripped her, suspended her by the wrists, and tormented her body with beatings, electric shocks, and pliers.

 

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 tormenters.

 

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 triangular shaped bar 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 triangle.  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 matters 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 glistened 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 discomfort grew.  Was that a trickle of blood she saw?  Komal's breathing grew quicker and shallower as the pain in her arms, her back, her crotch 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 Natalia 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 Natalia?" 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 bruised but perfectly rounded breasts and gently rolled her swollen, dark nipples between his fingers.

 

"You seem to forget that you are in no position to stop us from doing anything to you."  Komal, outraged at the indignity, mustered up the saliva to spit in the man's eyes.  Angrily, the man stormed off to a cabinet at the back of the room and rummaged through its contents.

 

"I'll leave you with something before I leave again," the man said.  He hung another fifty-pound weight between Komal's legs, making the pressure even more unbearable.  Komal let out a quiet, drawn-out whimper.  "A few more weights or a little more time 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 back, her crotch... it was too much to bear.  Surely, this was as close as one could get to hell on earth.  Could things get any worse?

 

Her question was answered after hours of painful solitude when the door to the room opened yet again.  The interrogator entered the room, followed by two guards -- between them, they were dragging Natalia, who was crying and screaming beneath a hood that obscured her vision.

 

"You wouldn't!" screamed Komal.  Natalia, 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 Natalia's head, and her eyes bulged at seeing her friend naked and suspended on the devilish contraption.

 

"No!" shrieked Natalia, 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.  Natalia began to sob, trying to cover herself with her hands, but one of the guards grabbed her by her short-cropped blonde hair, banged her head against the stone wall, and threw her to the floor.

 

"I'll let you consider for awhile whether or not you want your friend to suffer in your place," the interrogator said.  "In the meantime, I'll let you down."  The interrogator walked to Komal and removed the weighted bar that connected her shackled ankles.  She 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 can wait here and talk things over for awhile," the interrogator said.  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 Natalia had one of their ankles placed in a shackle, limiting their range of movement to a few feet.  As the interrogator and guards left the room, they flipped off the lights and slammed the door shut.

 

Komal immediately leaned over to her side and grasped her crotch, which was still hurting like nothing she had ever experienced.  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.  Natalia curled up into a ball, weeping softly.

 

"You're going to confess, right?" whispered Natalia with fear in her voice.  "I can't go through this!"

 

"Wake up Natalia," 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 what's in store for us!" said Natalia.  "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 Natalia.  "And I'd like to hear you sing this same tune 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 surveillance camera positioned in the chamber.  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."

 

-----

 

Komal and Natalia slept through half a day of darkness and solitude before 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 Natalia.

 

"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 six feet away, staring at each other.  Natalia 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 Natalia'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.  Natalia's eyes bulged.  "If at any time you want to talk, tell us.  But take note: A 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 Natalia 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 Natalia as the guard repeatedly thrust into her.  Occasionally she caught a glimpse of Natalia's face, and it was filled with shame and horror.  Komal wondered if Natalia, who was rather plain-looking and introverted, was a virgin until now.

 

When the first guard finished, the second took his turn.  And the third.  And the fourth.  Already, Natalia's voice was becoming hoarse as screams of protest turned into screams of pain as her natural lubrication dried out.  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."  Natalia trembled in her bonds as blood and semen oozed down her inner thigh.

 

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 Natalia's left nipple and turned it on, holding it firmly in place despite Natalia'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 might 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 Natalia with the cruel instrument.  Natalia 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 Natalia.  "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.

 

"A 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 Natalia, who tried futilely to back away from him.  Bending down, he held the torch's pointed blue flame towards Natalia's right inner thigh.  Almost immediately the flesh began to char and Natalia let out an inhuman cry.  Komal closed her eyes, but not even a second later, Natalia's cries were augmented with the interrogator letting out a high-pitched scream.

 

Komal opened her eyes.  It seemed that previously, Natalia was too afraid of retribution if she struggled against her tormenters.  Now, she figured things couldn't get any worse.  The interrogator had dropped his guard after witnessing Natalia's docility, and she used the opportunity to deliver an unexpectedly powerful and well-timed thrust of her knee that knocked the blowtorch into the man's face.  He fell to the ground, the torch rolling away from him.

 

Two of the guards rushed towards the scene, 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 Natalia sobbed, the two remaining guards sprung into action.

 

Motivated by revenge and lacking their superior's finesse, one of the guards held Natalia's legs in place while the other picked up the blowtorch and continued where the interrogator left off.  This time Natalia 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.  Natalia'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 want her alive for now!" the new interrogator yelled.  The guards stopped and stood at attention as Natalia's 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 Natalia's bonds and she slumped to the ground, eyes shut, sobbing uncontrollably.  They clumsily attempted to put her orange jumpsuit back on, causing her to wince and squirm as their hands inadvertently brushed her burns.  They hoisted her between the two of them and dragged 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 equally beautiful younger 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 afraid you're going to share your sister's predicament."

The sick ward was abuzz with rumors about the young woman who had been unceremoniously dragged, delirious and barely conscious

The sick ward was abuzz with rumors about the young woman who had been unceremoniously dragged, delirious and barely conscious, into the section of the prison complex reserved for medical treatment.  The pair of soldiers who dropped her off muttered a few words about her running afoul of some dangerous male prisoners, then crept back into the prison's military wing.

 

The nurse assigned to Natalia peeled off the heavyset woman's tattered jumpsuit to reveal the extent of her injuries.  Swollen, bloody cuts crisscrossed her body; her nipples were heavily blistered; a mixture of blood and semen was crusted around her swollen labia; and her arms and legs were dotted with second and third degree burns, which looked like they were caused by cigarettes or hot pokers.  The resident doctor ordered that the prisoner be immediately sedated.

 

"Well, either she somehow managed to disappear for an hour in the company of angry male prisoners who got their hands on some weapons and a few dozen cigarettes..." the doctor lowered his voice.  "Or the military interrogators really got out of hand with her."

 

"We had that other girl in here just a day or two ago," replied the nurse.  "And she was clearly here because of the interrogators', umm, creative methods.  Sounds like the most likely explanation for this one, too."

 

"Just don't go gossiping about it," said the doctor as he worked over the now-sedated woman.  "You remember what happened to the administrator when the military felt she was a little too friendly to the other one."

 

"Don't worry about me.  Nobody deserves to be treated like this, but I find it hard to gather sympathy for terrorists and the people who help them."

 

The doctor shook his head as he worked.  "I hope you don't let politics affect your job, or I'll have to get someone else in here to help me out.  You are a medical professional first and foremost."

 

The nurse nodded silently and continued to assist the doctor in his long treatment of the prisoner.

 

-----

 

Komal now sat in an austere cell.  Like all of the others in this wing of the prison, it contained nothing more than an old toilet and a metal bench.  The only light in the room came through a small barred slot in the door that allowed guards to peek inside to check on the prisoners.  With nothing to do and nobody to talk to, she spent all of her time sleeping and massaging her assorted wounds through her orange jumpsuit, which had mercifully been returned to her.

 

She kept replaying the events of the previous day in her head.  She knew that the interrogator was serious about targeting her younger sister unless Komal chose to confess.  Her short time as a prisoner taught her that her hatred of the occupying New Russian Union was justified, and there was no doubt they'd treat her sister as badly as they treated Natalia... if not worse.  They knew that she had information, and any false intelligence she provided would likely make her sister's torment even worse.

 

She did what she felt was right, then, and provided some actionable intelligence to the interrogator.  She tried to fluff and embellish as much as possible to make it seem as if the information she gave was more important and far-reaching than it really was.  But she had little doubt that they'd be able to foil a few plots, or -- even worse -- capture and kill more operatives.

 

And since she had broken down, she felt even worse about Natalia.  Komal dwelt especially on the sight of her friend, who came from a pampered upbringing and wasn't very battle-hardened, enduring the sexual assault, the electric shocks, and the burns.  Since Komal ended up confessing, it seemed as if Natalia's suffering was for nothing.  Komal wondered if Natalia would ever forgive her... if she even survived the wounds inflicted on her.

 

Komal would have taken some solace in knowing that as she languished in her cell, guards were hauling her sister Asha's limp body into a military transport.  The interrogator ordered that she be given a heavy dose of hypnotic and sedative drugs and returned home.  There was no evidence of her association in any dangerous activities, and the drugs would ensure that she hardly remembered anything she saw at the prison.  To their credit, the transport crew carried out their task diligently and without committing any of the crimes that had become commonplace in the occupation.  Asha woke up in her bed the next day, a bit groggy and vaguely remembering a nightmare of some sort.

 

-----

 

Time dragged along as Irina sat in isolation.  Without windows, a clock, or any human interaction, she completely lost track of time.  At the beginning, she tried to count the seconds as they passed, but she grew bored with the monotony and drifted off to sleep on the metal bench that served as her bed.

 

There was little else to do besides sleep... and cry.  She tried to clear her mind of any thoughts, but horrible images kept creeping into her head.  The beatings.  The pliers... God, the pliers.  The brutal gang rape by the prisoners who satisfied their urges by biting, slapping, and punching her, penetrating every orifice until she bled, all the while as she pleaded with them to stop.

 

Almost as bad was the fact that she had probably caused other members of her group to be killed or arrested.  Secretly, she hoped that if her intelligence led anywhere, her associates were killed.  A quick death would be a blessing compared to the hell she had gone through.

 

And now, a burning thirst had begun.  Without a sink in the room, the only source of water was the nasty, ancient toilet... which looked like it hadn't been cleaned in months.  Or years.  It was totally out of the question.  She swallowed a bit of saliva... not much help.  She curled back into a ball on the metal bench, hoping sleep would overcome her and make her ignore the thirst for awhile.

 

The opening of the metal cell door roused her from the nap.  Her throat still burned, and her belly was grumbling.  Eagerly, she looked to see if the person at the door had food for her.  No luck.

 

"Good morning prisoner.  I trust you slept well?" asked the prison guard who stood in the door frame.  Irina didn't know what to say in response, so she just nodded.

 

"Well, I have some updates for you.  First, your intelligence led to the elimination of your terrorist cell and the capture of two of its members, who have since been interrogated successfully.  Second, your tribunal date has been set: Two weeks from today, nine o'clock in the morning.  One week prior, you will be transported with other prisoners to Kiev, where the Grand Tribunal for Unified Eastern Europe is set up."

 

"Until then, since your interrogation has been completed, you will be incorporated into the general female population in the military wing of this prison.  It is now time for showering, followed by the morning meal.  I will release escort you to the showers.  Any resistance will result in you being confined to this cell for the remainder of your stay here."

 

Already going mad from her short time in solitary confinement, Irina chose not to resist.  She stood up and followed the guard down a series of hallways, all lined with cells similar to hers.  The guard stopped at a door that looked much like the others, and unlocked it; inside was a fairly large room containing several benches and doorways leading to other rooms.  The guard left Irina in the care of the attendants -- all of which were, much to Irina's relief, female.

 

"All right, newcomer, let me tell you how things work around here," said one of the attendants, a bored middle-aged woman who, nonetheless, looked formidable.  "You give me your uniform.  We quick-launder it, while you go into the open doorway past me into the showers.  We'll give you a towel and a razor so that you can clean up as you see fit.  Once you're done, bring us back the razor and towel, and we'll give you back your uniform."

 

Irina nodded.  Just a few days ago, she would balk at the orders to strip on command.  Now, she the idea of doing it for a group of uninterested women rather than men with bad intentions reduced her nervousness.  Irina unzipped the jumpsuit and stepped out of it, handing it to the attendant while trying to avoid eye contact.  The attendant gave her an old white towel and a cheap-looking safety razor.

 

She was the only person in the shower room, which lacked any dividers or curtains for privacy and contained eight solid-looking shower heads embedded into the tiled walls.  She chose a shower in one of the corners and turned on the handle.  The water was lukewarm, and the water smelled strongly of a detergent mixed in with the water to eliminate the need for bars of soap.  But... it was still a shower.  Irina tilted her head back and let the water run on to her face.  Definitely the most pleasurable experience she had since she was brought in.

 

The entrance of several other prisoners into the shower room roused Irina from her relaxed state.  They were all there for the same purpose though... no real reason to be embarrassed.  In the opposite corner of the room, she spotted a familiar face: The female prison officer who had possibly saved Irina's life.  She was shocked that the occupiers had actually followed through with their threat to try her with treason... despicable.  The warden -- Irina thought her name was Maria or something like that -- looked downtrodden and defeated.  Hopefully they hadn't been treating her poorly.

 

Maria saw Irina and, without making direct eye contact, nodded in acknowledgment.  Irina did the same.  She began scrubbing her hair with her fingers when she saw somebody else she knew enter the shower room.  Komal, the woman who recruited her into their little rebellion, limped to one of the shower heads.

 

Irina felt somewhat exposed seeing someone she knew in the shower with her, so she turned away before calling out.  Komal turned towards the corner where Irina stood, and reacted with surprise.

 

"Irina!  I thought you were dead... you never came back!  What happened?"

 

Irina tried to explain her situation, but found herself choking up with tears.  "I... I can't talk about it right now."  She quickly shaved her armpits and legs with the razor, turned off the shower, wrapped the towel around her body, and walked into the waiting room where she received her freshly cleaned uniform.

 

"Have a seat on the bench and wait until the other prisoners are finished," said the attendant after handing back the uniform.  "You will all be escorted to the mess hall together."  Irina nodded and sat down on one of the benches after slipping back into the orange jumpsuit.

 

Irina sat, knees pulled up to her chin and her face in her hands.  Another prisoner sat down next to her.  It was Komal.

 

"I screwed up," muttered Irina.  "They caught me red-handed.  I tried to lie, I told them you were all hiding in one of decoy safe houses.  I paid dearly, and they made me break down.  I think... I think I'm the reason you're here."  She put her chin up to her mouth and started shaking, tears dripping down her face.

 

Komal tried to hold back any anger she felt at Irina.  True, she was now incarcerated because someone she recruited failed on her first solo mission.  But... that was the risk in the activities they participated in.

 

"I can't help but feel a bit frustrated, but I'm not in any position to criticize," Komal said as she put her arm around Irina in an attempt to comfort her.  "They got information out of me when they threatened to torture my sister in my place... but before that, they did the same to Natalia and I let the poor girl suffer before my face."

 

"Natalia's here too...?  Anyone else?"

 

"Just us right now, everyone else managed not to be taken alive..."  Her voice trailed off as the two of them silently wondered if they would have been better off killed in a firefight as well.

The morning meal could hardly be called that

The morning meal could hardly be called that. It consisted of a bowl of specially formulated "Wellness Porridge," engineered to contain exactly one third of a person's recommended daily dietary intake in a single serving.

"Tastes like... ugh, I can't really describe it," Irina said. She sat at a table next to Komal and directly across from Maria, the former night supervisor at the prison. "Paper. With a hint of, umm, peanuts or something."

"Get used to it, they serve you the exact same thing three times a day. It's supposed to be good for you, and it's cheap as hell to produce." Maria mumbled in a very irritated voice as she worked through her serving of the bland paste. Black circles under her eyes accentuated the look of defeat that she carried at all times.

"Will you stop with the damn attitude?" Komal snapped. "Things are bad enough for us already, and you're just dragging us down even more. Besides, compared to us, you don't have a whole lot to complain about."

"You're terrorists. You deserve to face justice. What the fuck did I do besides save your friend from a gang rape? Now my generosity has earned me treason charges."

"There's no way those charges will last. They'll find you innocent. Irina and I... we'll probably hang. And what the fuck did we do besides work to free ungrateful people like you from a future of oppression?"

Maria set her spoon down in disgust. "I didn't ask for you to save me. I was quite comfortable until recently, and now I've been torn from my perfectly fine life to this. You... at least you weren't in a position of status or comfort. You were hiding in a damn hole in the ground. This should be an improvement."

"An IMPROVEMENT? Do you call THIS an improvement?" Komal unzipped the top of her jumpsuit; while holding the top closed with one hand to hide the better part of her breasts, she showed off the sickening bruises and scabs that dotted her stomach.

"You're a terrorist. What do you expect?" Maria tried to hide her emotions, but she was visibly disturbed at the marks of Komal's torture.

"If you really don't care, why did you bother to help Irina here? You could have ignored her and you would still have your job."

"They were infringing on my territory. We had an arrangement... my wing was for regular arrests, theirs was for military issues. I didn't want their mess in my turf." Maria knew, deep down, that she wasn't telling the whole truth. While she wasn't sympathetic to the rebellion, seeing the ruthlessness of the military interrogations in her face was a little disconcerting. But she had to keep reassuring herself that she was dealing with bad people who more or less got what they deserved.

"You really have no idea, do you. When I didn't talk, they raped and tortured my friend -- who had already confessed and given them all the information they needed -- in front of my face, to persuade me. When I still didn't talk, they somehow tracked down my sister and threatened to do the same to her."

"Your friend was, by your own admission, a terrorist. And they didn't actually lay a finger on your sister. Sounds like an efficient operation there."  Maria's voice was filled with contempt, but her eyes expressed a bit of fear.

"Believe me, they would have," Komal said as she stood up from the table in disgust. "Hell, I don't know if they actually agreed to let her free, anyway... she could be buried in a mass grave right now, for all I know." She walked away from the table, Irina following closely behind. While she was grateful to Maria for saving her life, Irina had trouble forgiving her attitude.

Maria silently finished her meal. She kept trying to remind herself that she was talking to terrorists, not angels. Deep down, though, she couldn't help but feel some sympathy.


-----

The remainder of the day was rather routine.  The prisoners were taken back to their cells, and brought back out for lunch and dinner.  The long hours of confinement were maddening for Komal and Irina, but having a small amount of time to walk around was somewhat of a relief.  They avoided contact with Maria and sat by themselves at meals, as starting a fight would likely end the modest privilege of eating outside of their cells.  The five days that followed proceeded uneventfully in the same way.  Shower, three meals, back to the cells in between.

The seventh day arrived, the day that Irina and several others were scheduled to be transported south to await their tribunal.  Irina was roused by a guard who told her that, following her shower and breakfast, preparations would be made for the voyage.  She went to the shower as usual, now used to the prospect of stripping down to merely wash off in the presence of other women.

Komal was already in the shower room, her back to the door.  Irina said hello, walked to one of the free shower heads and began scrubbing at her hair with her fingers.

Suddenly, commotion broke out.  Irina heard a high-pitched, angry woman scream "You BITCH!" followed by the noises of a struggle.  She turned around and wiped the water out of her eyes to witness what was going on.

Komal was pinned on the floor beneath a somewhat heavier woman, who was furiously attacking her.  Irina immediately recognized the second woman: It was Natalia Markov.

Komal had been taken by surprise when Natalia tackled her from behind.  She was now pinned on the floor, her eyes stinging and her vision blurred from the water-detergent mixture that poured from the shower onto her face.  She tried to push Natalia away, but the repeated blows made it nearly impossible.

"I'll fucking kill you!" Natalia screamed.  "Look what you did to me!"  Komal saw tears in Natalia's eyes as her fist met Komal's nose.  Her vision blurred from the pain as Natalia grabbed Komal's short hair and repeatedly slammed her head onto the floor tile.  She could see through her blurred vision that the women in the shower were gathered around the scene, but nobody raised a hand to help her.

"Natalia, I'm -- so sorry, I know, I screwed up, please stop," Komal tried to fit in words between blows.  Natalia put her hands around Komal's throat and began squeezing.  Several of the shower attendants had rushed in to witness the scene, but were too intimidated to stop the fight.  Komal gasped for air and kicked her legs in an attempt to dislodge Natalia, but it was no use.  Her lungs were burning, and nothing she did could wrench Natalia's hands from her throat.

Guards finally arrived, and not a moment too late.  They grabbed Natalia and pried her off of Komal -- all the while, she kept trying to break free and continue fighting.  Once they finally had Natalia subdued, they picked up Komal and hauled both women, still dripping wet and naked, out of the shower room.

"All right, quit your yappin', nothing to see here," droned one of the shower attendants.  "Let's finish up now."

-----

The guards decided to teach the two prisoners a lesson about fighting.  Once Komal and Natalia reached a guard station, their hands were cuffed behind their backs, their ankles were shackled, and they were both hooded.  Then, to Komal's horror and Natalia's frustration, the two women were bound together: Thick rope was used to tie the two together at the ankles, knees, hips, chest, and neck.

Completely immobilized and tightly pressed against each other, Komal and Natalia were picked up and carried by a pair of guards to a cell where they were ungracefully dumped on the floor.  Natalia was still enraged, but all she could do was feebly attempt a head butt -- something that, given her constrained movement, hurt her as much as it hurt Komal.

"Natalia, I..."

"Shut the hell up, Komal."

"Just let me explain mys--"

"Explain what?  Explain the fact that you allowed them to do what they did?  To rape and torture me, to mutilate me with that blow torch?  And then... I heard that they brought your sister in and you told them everything you knew before they even laid a finger on her.  Nice priorities you have there, Komal.  Glad to see you care about me."

"I had no idea that..."

"I don't care how you try to justify your actions.  Face it.  You cared about your sister more than you cared about me.  You thought that I deserved to go through what I went through, but she didn't.  Never mind that she never followed you and joined the rebellion.  You're so selfish, it's not even funny."

All Komal could do was cry softly behind her hood.  Natalia was right; she had been ruthless towards Natalia and showed a huge double standard when they brought her sister in.

Time passed slowly.  The discomfort and the awkwardness were stifling.  Komal wished she could find something to say that would make Natalia understand, but couldn't think of anything.

"You, umm, recovered pretty well... at least you're walking and you have your strength back," Komal said, breaking the silence after a long period of quiet.

"Burn treatment has progressed a lot, even since we were young," Natalia replied coldly.  "But it's been a painful week.  And the scars are going to remain for a long time."

"I guess it could be worse..."

"Worse?  Fuck you.  I don't want to hear your remarks, and I don't want your sympathy."

"I didn't have much fun either, Natalia," Komal snapped.  Her frustration was building.  "You didn't see what happened before they dragged you down with me.  They beat the shit out of me.  They twisted at my skin with pliers.  They put me on that horrible device.  I still have bruises and scabs, and I'm still limping."

Natalia didn't reply.  Komal decided not to push the issue any more.  They lied together on the cold floor in silence.

After what seemed like an eternity, Komal and Natalia heard the door to their cell open.  Behind the hoods, though, they saw nothing.

"What's going on?" demanded Natalia.  There was nervousness in her voice.  "Are you letting us out of here?"

"We need to hurry," said a faceless guard.  "The transport is here to take you and several others to
Kiev for your upcoming tribunals.  Let's go."  Komal and Natalia were hoisted off the ground by a pair of guards, and carried through the twisting hallways.  At some point, they got into an elevator and took a brief journey down.

"What's going on?  Are you going to untie us?" Natalia asked.  There was no answer.  Following the brief ride in the elevator, they were carried awkwardly through more corridors.  After some time, they passed through a door; once beyond the door, they heard the hushed talking of several women.  However, the talking rapidly stopped and was replaced by gasps.

The guards awkwardly stood Komal and Natalia on their feet.  It took them a moment to find their balance, and they nearly tumbled to the floor.

"Ladies, we will momentarily be boarding you on the transport for your voyage south," announced a male voice.  "We expect you to behave; any resistance, arguing, or scuffling will result in punishment.  You may have seen these two women fighting earlier today.  We will not hesitate to do the same to you, if not worse."  A small commotion broke out among the female prisoners.

Abruptly, hands began tugging on the ropes holding Komal and Natalia together.  One by one, the ropes loosened and fell to the ground.  More than once, Komal could have sworn that the hands intentionally groped at her breasts, but she chose not to protest.

Finally, the hoods came off.  After their eyes adjusted to the light, Komal and Natalia found themselves standing in some sort of loading dock.  The female prisoners -- which included Irina and Maria, and others Komal recognized from mealtimes -- were lined up towards the middle of the room.  Their bright orange prison jumpsuits had been replaced with similar bright green uniforms, which were labeled on the back with the words "KIEV MILITARY PRISON."  Natalia noticed that all eyes were fixed upon them, and felt rather self-conscious.

The guards released the handcuffs and shackles from the two nude women, allowing them to take a step back from each other.  They were both handed bright green jumpsuits like the ones worn by the other prisoners, and they quickly worked to put them on.

"Get in the back of the line," barked a guard.  Komal and Natalia silently obeyed the order, taking a spot behind the others.

"All right, prisoners.  We're now going to restrain you.  Stay in place, looking forward, hands at your sides, feet at shoulder width.  After that, we'll get on the transport."  The women followed the orders, as guards worked their way through the line carrying shackles connected with thick chains.  The prisoners' hands were bound in front of them, and their bare ankles were chained together.  Their ankle restraints were then connected to one another by a long length of chain, ensuring no prisoner had even a remote chance of escaping.

"All right, prisoners, let's get moving!" barked a guard.  A large door at the end of the loading dock rolled up, revealing a short ramp that led to the back of a large military truck.  Bare feet patted along the floor as the prisoners hobbled forward towards the cargo hold of the transport, where they sat down on a hard metal bench that ran the length of the truck's sides and back.

Komal and Natalia, the last women in the line, finally made it to the truck and sat down.  The metal interior of the truck was cold on their bare feet.  It appeared that the cargo hold was unheated: something that would make the journey uncomfortable in the early winter.  Once they were all seated, the door to the cargo hold was folded shut and locked into place.  Several of the prisoners began to weep in the cold darkness as the truck began its long journey south.

Irina didn't know how long she would be stuck in the cold darkness, having never been to Kiev in her life. Depending on how fast the transport moved, how direct of a route they took and whether they ran into any problems, she figured it would take six to twelve hours. Not that it really mattered. Every minute she was stuck on the cold metal bench in the darkness seemed like an eternity.

Besides the frequent bumps in the road, the only regular noises Irina heard were the sobs of herself and many of her fellow prisoners. She wondered how many of them had been tortured, how many had been raped... how many were even actually guilty. Would the innocent be given a fair trial? She had no idea what to expect.

The prisoners pressed up against each other for warmth. Although there were occasional whispers between neighboring women, Irina didn't talk to the two people next to her. She just wasn't in the mood. She tried her best to get some sleep, but it was difficult and came in the form of short naps that were interrupted by discomfort and bumps in the road.

After some indeterminable amount of time, the transport lurched to a stop. Surely they weren't there yet, but Irina heard footsteps outside and the door was thrown open. The night was still pitch-black outside and she could barely make out the forms of guards standing at the entrance to the cargo hold.

"Are we there already?" asked a prisoner near the door, her voice filled with a mixture of anxiety and hope.

"Not even close," said one of the dark figures. "Figured some of you might need a piss break. Who needs one?" A few of the prisoners muttered their assent.

"All right, then, this is how it's gonna work," the man said as he pulled the cargo hold's ramp out and onto the ground. "You're gonna march out here in an orderly fashion and line up on the side of the road, facing away from it. We'll unfasten your left handcuff so that you can move your arms, and then you can figure out the rest."

Protests broke out among the prisoners. "In full view of the road?" "In full view of YOU?" "How are we going to do it with our ankles still bound like this?"

"SHUT UP!" bellowed the guard. "Now hurry up, or you'll just have to piss in your jumpsuits and wallow in it for the rest of the trip." The silent prisoners marched down the ramp and lined up as instructed.

"Okay," said the guard. "I have a little remote device here that's going to release your left handcuffs. After I do that, you have two minutes, at which point I'll instruct you to put your cuffs back on. I'll use the remote to verify that all of your cuffs are properly secured, and then we'll go back in the truck. Any attempts at escape will result in the use of force, deadly if necessary."

Irina's left handcuff released itself, but she didn't have to go... not that she would in such a degrading manner. She saw the silouettes of several other prisoners reluctantly unzip their jumpsuits and pull them off, down around their ankles before awkwardly squatting in order to avoid getting their jumpsuits soaked. A cold wind howled, causing the prisoners -- especially the ones who had peeled off their jumpsuits -- to shiver violently.

Several guards prowled back and forth with flashlights, inspecting the prisoners for any suspicious behavior... although Irina thought they were looking at some of the prisoners a little too closely.

"All right, two minutes are up!" barked the guard. The prisoners pulled their jumpsuits back up and re-secured their handcuffs. They stood in silence for a moment, after which Irina heard a commotion coming from the end of the line.

"Stop it, STOP IT! What the hell?!" Irina recognized the source of the protests -- Komal. It had appeared that two of the guards had unfastened her ankles from the chain holding all of the prisoners together and were dragging her away. She craned her neck to get a better look, but it was too dark to make out any details.

"All right, back into the cargo hold," said the guard who had done all of the talking. "Nothing you need to worry about. Just a disorderly and violent prisoner who needs to be separated from the rest of you." Irina followed the line of prisoners into the back of the transport and heard the door slam.

-----

Komal was shoved, still secured at her ankles and wrists, into the cabin of the transport. It was pleasantly warm inside and surprisingly large with two rows of seats and several cots in the back.

"Cigar?" asked a black-haired guard who held a foul-smelling brown cylinder towards Komal. She had never seen one in person before -- they were as rare as they were expensive, with very few farms growing tobacco plants anymore. She shook her head.

"Not feeling talkative, are you?" said the guard. "That's all right." He took a long drag from his cigar and blew the smoke in Komal's direction, causing her to cough. The guard chuckled.

"Oh, here, let me undo those restraints," the guard said. "Doubt you could overpower a half-dozen of us." He produced a small device and pressed several buttons on its surface in sequence. With a quiet clanking noise, Komal's restraints loosened. She removed the shackles from her wrists and ankles and rubbed the chafed skin beneath.

"So, what's a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this, anyway?" asked the guard with a grin. Komal remained silent and returned an icy glare.

"So, your ID chip says your family is from... India. Delhi. Why'd they move all the way up here?" Komal kept up her icy facade, but her heart was beating quickly. She certainly wasn't dragged into the cabin for friendly chit-chat.

"Why am I here?" she said angrily. "One of the men said I was being 'disorderly and violent.' What a load of bullshit, I was just trying to take a piss like everyone else."

The guard shrugged and nervously turned away from Komal, watching the road pass by through a window. Komal sat motionless for several minutes, when suddenly a pair of strong hands grabbed her arms and pulled her backwards off her seat.

"What... the fuck... are you DOING?!" Komal screamed as she kicked her legs, trying to break free from the man who was pulling her towards the back of the cabin. She was thrown face down onto a hard cot in the back of the cabin and felt the man straddle her on the cot, turning her over to face him.

"Thought you might want to keep us company for a little while on the road," the brutish-looking man said as he grinned widely and began fumbling with the zipper on her jumpsuit.

"NO!" shrieked Komal, fighting with all of her energy to keep the man off of her. She had been stripped, humiliated, beaten, shocked, groped and been put on the infernal "iron horse" since her capture, but unlike Irina and Natalia, she had been spared from this. She felt the erection growing in his pants as he slowly succeeded in peeling off her clothing.

"Somebody toss me some restraints!" the man called. His request was shortly granted and he managed to secure her arms behind her back and restrain each ankle to an opposite leg of the cot, spreading her legs wide. Her jumpsuit now lay in a crumpled heap next to the cot, and the man straddled her again.

"This isn't right, come on!" yelled a voice from the front of the cabin. Komal looked and saw the black-haired guard, the one who had offered her a cigar, looking on disgustedly.

"Keep out of other people's business, rookie," grunted the brutish-faced man. "This one may be pretty, but she's no different from the others -- she'd kill your whole family if she got the chance!"

"That's... not... true!" grunted Komal behind choked sobs as the man began sucking on her breasts. He worked his hand down between her thighs and jabbed his fingers into her her vagina, working to stimulate her. She let out a whimpering groan at the helplessness of her situation. The man slid off his own pants, apparently wanting to forgo any more foreplay and get on to business. Komal felt him slide inside of her and begin thrusting, when she suddenly let out a bloodcurdling scream. The man withdrew out of surprise and looked down: The cot between her legs was covered in blood.

"You on the rag, you stupid bitch? Why the hell didn't you say anything?" said the man angrily, wiping blood from himself. Komal sobbed and shook her head between tears. "There's no way a little whore like you is a virgin." Komal shook her head again.

"You can thank your friends in the prison and that goddamn 'iron horse' of theirs," groaned Komal, writhing in agony. "Guess I never fully healed... or maybe I got infected." She couldn't help but get some morbid satisfaction from the disgusted look on his face.

"Well, you're not getting out of this so easy," said the visibly angry man as he reached for his pants and retrieved a pistol. He grabbed her by the hair and, eliciting a yelp, pulled her into a sitting position. He knelt in front of her, grabbing her chin and pulling her jaw open.

"If I feel teeth, I pull the trigger," he said as he unceremoniously thrust into her mouth, forcing her to gag. Komal, with tears dripping down her cheeks, complied for a moment and sucked as best as she could. But she would not let him use her like a toy and get away with it.

Waiting for the sound of a gunshot, she clamped down as hard as she could.

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