Status: Completed 8/3/07

Word Count: 1,508

*words* is someone's thoughts _____________________

*He's really fond of this particular form of rude awakenings.* Mal thought as a spray of frigid water to his face snapped him back to full wakefulness. He opened his eyes slowly to find his vision blurred as water fell into them. He blinked a few times to try to clear it. It helped. Some.

"My name is Major Reginald Prescott Longsworth."

Mal stared blankly at the man in front of him - the same man who had "greeted" him a few hours before. Reginald tapped his foot impatiently. Cleary, he expected the name to mean something to Mal.

Mal kept quiet a minute longer then spoke, "I reckon you think I should recognize your name? Well... I don't." He tried to shrug, but the manacles made it impossible. Not to mention he was having a bit of a problem with actually being able to feel his shoulders.

Reginald scowled. "You mean to tell me you have no idea who I am, Sergeant?"

"Uhhh, that's what I just said, isn't it?" He paused, attempted to shrug, again, and added, "Not a clue."

Reginald's expression changed from a scowl to out right fury. He was quiet for a few minutes as he slowly regained his composure. "We'll have to see if we can jog your memory, Sergeant Reynolds."

He hung the hose back on the rack and turned to the rack of torture instruments. He made a show of studying them then, eventually, chose the whip. "This is unlike a regular whip," Reginald began, "see how thick it is?" It is not designed to break the skin. Well, not for a very long while anyway, but it is still very painful. You see, I don't want you to start bleeding yet. That will come much later. For now, I only wish to inflict as much pain as possible upon you in the time that I have."

Mal tried to relax. He surely knew allowing his body to tense up would only make it worse. He also knew why Reginald was telling him these things. Mental torture, the anticipation of pain, was often as bad or worse than the pain itself. So, he took slow, deep, even breaths and willed himself to remain calm. Not an easy task when a crazy, self-righteous, _Liou coe shway duh biao-tze huh hoe-tze duh ur-tze_, was coming at you with a very fat whip.

Reginald maneuvered himself behind Mal. "I believe twenty lashes will do for now." He said as he began the whipping.

Malcolm winced inwardly as the first lash fell. *This ain't so bad.* Then the second lash connected, and the third, and the fourth. The pain increased exponentially with each lashing - especially when it connected on a spot that had already been hit. By the time he Reginald hit twenty lashes, Mal was breathing heavily, but refused to make any verbal admission of how much it had hurt.

Reginald put the whip back in its place, and then walked back over to Mal. "How is your memory now, Sergeant?"

"My memory is fine." Mal replied. "Trying to skin me don't change the fact that I don't have a _freaking_ clue who you are."

"Skin you, Reynolds? No, we haven't gotten to that . . . yet."

Mal groaned inwardly as Reginald moved back to the torture rack.

"Perhaps you just need a little more persuasion." He removed the cattle prod and walked back over to Mal again. "This may be a bit outdated, but it is very effective. Besides, I have an affinity for old-fashioned things. Especially when they come from Earth-that-was." He paused for a minute as he admired the cattle prod. "This model is called a hotshot. It was a particularly crude device used to control cattle and other livestock by delivering a high-voltage low-current shock to the body, usually the rear-end, of the animal. Their use was banned in 2077 when animal rights activists finally convinced the government that they were inhuman. You see, while they were not deadly to humans or animals with short term usage, they deliver an extremely painful electrical charge. With long term use . . ."

He let the last sentence hang.

Reginald hit a button on the end of the prod and it sparked.

As his torturer approached, Mal mustered all the strength he could and kicked at Reginald. His feet connected solidly with the other man's chest causing him to stumble back and drop the cattle prod. It flew from his hand and skittered to a stop against the wall. Reginald grunted stumbled back a bit, but stayed on his feet.

The other two men in the room, who had remained still and quiet in opposite corners of the room to this point, started towards Mal. *Should have known he wasn't alone,* Mal chastised himself. He lashed out again catching the man on his left, a tall, dark haired man, in the face with his heel. The man bellowed in rage as he stumbled back, blood dripping from his split lip. The other man, slighter shorter than the first, approached with lightning fast reflexes. He easily deflected Mal's attack and slugged him in the gut. Mal gasped and tried to catch his breath. He focused his gaze on his bare feet and concentrated on forcing his lungs to work properly.

He was just beginning to breathe again when the first man came, seemingly- out of nowhere and punched him just as hard as his buddy had. It took longer to regain his breath this time. Finally, after what seemed like forever, his breathing eased and he raised his head. For all it was worth, he glared at his attackers. Looking back to Reginald, he saw the other man nod to the other two men in the room and they moved alongside Mal again. Each man reached down and grabbed one of Mal's ankles then strapped him into the manacles attached to the ground.

"I really was hoping to avoid having to use those, Sergeant, but you leave me no choice." Without another word, Reginald walked over to Mal and touched his chest with the prod.

He held back the screams as long as he could, but after the third touch of the prod to his skin, Mal couldn't fight it any longer and screamed. Loudly.

The first few times, the prod was applied to his bare chest. Then Reginald worked his way down to Mal's stomach. After a few touches there, Reginald moved the prod lower still and touched the area just above Mal's groin. By that time, Mal was in too much pain to realize, or to really care, that his bowels and bladder had released their contents into his pants. Mal just continued to scream. He didn't stop screaming until several minutes later when Reginald finally turned off the prod.

"Now, are you ready to answer my questions, Sergeant?". Reginald asked as he replaced the prod on the torture rack.

Mal slumped bonelessly against his restraints, groaning. He remained quiet as he tried to regain his composure. After several minutes, his breathing finally evened out. Wincing at the pain flaring up and down his arms and shoulders, he pulled himself back to his feet. Glaring defiantly at the _jung chi duh go-se dway_ in front of him, Mal said nothing. Mal wanted to say something, to come at him with some verbal retort, but he was still gasping and his throat felt raw. Instead, he opened his mouth as if to speak then spit in Reginald's face.

The other two purple bellies reacted quickly and both punched Mal in his stomach. Once again Mal was left gasping for breath. His chin touched his chest again. He was still trying to catch his breath when he felt fingers grab him by the hair and yank his head back.

"You are a stubborn fool, Sergeant. I will break you. It's only a matter of time." He released Mal's hair as he finished speaking.

Reginald motioned to the other two men. The three of them left the room leaving Mal gasping and alone.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

A few hundred feet away in her crowded cell, Zoë was pacing. She paused and was cringed as she heard her sergeant and friend's blood curdling screams. Seething with anger, she began pacing furiously again. Her cellmates, seeing the murderous look in her eyes, wisely decided not to complain again. Besides, they shared her fury, although to a lesser extent. They had all come to like and respect Mal when they had been waiting to die at Serenity Valley. He'd kept them alive and sane while they'd waited to be rescued.

Finally, when the screaming stopped, Zoë's pacing slowed. The others breathed an inward sigh of relief when she eventually stopped altogether and leaned on a wall then slid wordlessly to the floor. The fury still burned in her eyes.

It was obvious to even the most skeptical now that Mal was not just being debriefed. He was being tortured. Together, they waited in the uneasy silence for the screams to begin again.

TBC

Translations:

Liou coe shway duh biao-tze huh hoe-tze duh ur-tze = Stupid son of a drooling whore and a monkey.

jung chi duh go-se dway = steaming crap pile