Week 34.3 – Belling the Cat

Previously: As Digger and Cole attempted to escape the Czar’s dungeon, and Yi Fan tried to steal the Czar’s powers with the golden mask, Twain was being taken to be tortured. And now…

Twain tried not to panic as he kept unconsciously testing the strength of the straps holding him in his chair. He had been able to endure the torture last time he was here, but only because he knew he could get out of it at any time, Even strapped to a chair , all he had to do was grip the arms and flip, and the chair would disappear along with his body to be replaced by another version of himself–unbound, unweakened by torture, and hopefully armed.

But this time was different. If he flipped, the chair and his body would disappear, all right, but only to be replaced by another body strapped into another chair. Even worse, he would have a gunshot wound to the chest.

The door opened and a short, broad-shouldered man entered, pushing a steel cart brimming with surgical tools and other implements. One wheel squeaked loudly on the sealed concrete floor as the cart made its way closer. Twain’s blood chilled upon seeing the man’s face, his bushy eyebrows and long sideburns liberally salted with gray. Twain didn’t know the man’s name, but simply thought of him as The Mechanic.

[blockquote type=”blockquote_quotes” align=”right”]Twain’s blood chilled upon seeing the man’s face, his bushy eyebrows and long sideburns liberally salted with gray. Twain didn’t know the man’s name, but simply thought of him as The Mechanic…[/blockquote]The man looked at Twain with no hint of recognition, then grabbed a pair of gloves and began to speak as he pulled them on. “My father was a carpenter,” he said without preamble, and Twain recognized the words. The Mechanic began every session with the same speech. Soon, he would pick up the hammer. “He built tables. He was not concerned with craftsmanship, nor with durability. He did the bare minimum he had to. Four square legs, a square top. He built them efficiently, and in great numbers.

“I say this because I want you to understand: I take no pleasure in hurting you, nor can I be swayed by appeals to my humanity. You are not a person. Your body is lumber to be sawed. Your limbs…” Picking up the hammer and slapping it once, heavily, into his palm, “…nails to be hammered.”

He set down the hammer and walked around the cart, picking up various implements of torture. “I tell you this because I value efficiency. You may have some idea that you can confess right away, perhaps to a lesser offense, or perhaps you might say something completely false, that we would then waste valuable time confirming. In this way, you might hope to delay the torture, or even avoid it altogether.

“If you hold on to such hopes, you should give them up now. I am contactually obligated to deliver a pain experience that cannot fall below a certain….” Always the pause, “…irreducible minimum. You will be tortured. An attempt at preemptive confession will only frustrate us both. So please hold your confession until the time allotted for such.”

He picked up a length of spring steel and whipped it through the air once. “Because although I cannot reduce your punishment, I am allowed to extend it as necessary.”

Dude… You do not want to miss the next episode!

To read from the beginning, click here…