E-Mail: jack_fan2004@yahoo.com

Status: Completed 1/20/2008

Word Count: 2741 _____________________

Mal's head throbbed dully; his arms were numb from the shoulder down, or up depending on how you looked at it, which was a merciful thing as his wrists had been scrapped raw by the manacles. The room was sweltering hot. Sweat poured freely down his body making his eyes sting and his back burn. There was nothing he could do about his back, but he blinked rapidly to try to clear his eyes. Not having a clock in the room, and with his captors not telling him anything, he didn't know how long Reginald had been playing his little hot/cold game, but it was really getting old. He'd roast Mal out for a spell then drop the temperature until Mal was so freezing cold he was sure he'd never thaw out again.

He wasn't rightly sure which one was worse of the two.

When they cranked up the heat his throat became so parched he could barely breathe or swallow, sweat poured freely over his body, and his skin felt dry and tight. The sweat stung his eyes and back and the burns from the cattle prod.

So, he supposed, the cold was marginally better. At least then he got so numb he couldn't feel anything. 'Course, the downside to that was that couldn't feel _anything_. Then there was the fact that when the heat came back on and the feeling started coming back making it feel like he had needles runnin' through his veins 'stead of blood. Not to mention the sneezing. Damn but did that make his head hurt worse.

So, really, he figured neither was much preferable to the other as they both brought on a whole bunch of hurt.

Unsuccessful in his attempt to keep the sweat out of his eyes, Mal finally gave up and just kept his eyes closed. He let his head drop so that his chin rested on his chest. He tried to sleep, but his current predicament wouldn't allow it. As he hung there, Mal thought of all the ways he'd like to eviscerate that ruttin' _Chiang-BAO HOE-tze duh_ son of a bitch, Reginald. And the _Huh choo-shung tza-jiao duh tzang-huo_ that were helping him. Just as Mal had finally started to drift into a restless sleep, the cell door opened with a bang. Mal cursed under his breath as the sound reverberated through his still aching head. He knew pretending to be a sleep would only get him another splash of cold water to the face so he opened his eyes and raised his head.

"Now, Sergeant, have you given a little more thought to what we spoke of earlier?" Reginald asked as he moved in front of his captive.

"You can play your little games to your heart's content, Reggie. Ain't gonna make me know something I don't already know."

"My name, Sergeant, is Reginald. You'd do well to remember that." Reginald's eyes narrowed as he spoke. Clearly, he didn't like the nickname.

Tough.

"What ever you say, Reggie." So, antagonizing the man wasn't really one of Mal's brighter plans, if it could be called that, but it was entertaining as all hell to see the arrogant bastards face turn seven shades of red. Since he wouldn't be getting out of his current predicament anytime soon it seemed, Mal figured he'd take his retribution in whatever way he could.

"You stink, Sergeant." Reginald said, crinkling his nose as he leaned towards Mal.

"Yeah, well, whose fault is that?" Mal retorted.

Reginald raised his hand and signaled to the man behind him then stepped off to the side. Mal didn't have time to react as the frigid water hit him. The _Hwin dan_ had turned the damn hose on him! The freezing water pounded his battered body with unmerciful force. After what seemed like an eternity, the onslaught finally stopped.

Mal shivered as the cold water dripped off him. *Well, that's one way to get the sweat out of my eyes I suppose. Think I prefer the sweat, though.*

"How about now, Sergeant? You're memory any better?"

Mal glared at Reginald. "You're n-n-not very b-b-bright, are ya R-R-Reggie? T-T-Told y-y-you I d-d-don't k-k-know y-y-you." He stammered then sneezed.

Reginald's face reddened. There was nothing Mal could do as the angry major drew back his fist and slammed it into Mal's stomach. Before Mal could even register the first hit, Reginald punched him again. ...And again, and again. When he finally stopped after what seemed to be an eternity, Mal was left hanging limp and gasping, eyes closed tight against the pain.

"You look cold, Sergeant. I think we can do something about that."

Mal kept his eyes closed as the major moved around. He'd had a good long look at the objects on the rack already, he surely didn't want to know which one the man was going for now. Although, he had a sinking feeling he knew which one it was.

His suspicion was confirmed when a surge of electricity set every nerve in his body on fire. Pain blossomed in his chest as the hotshot burned the skin at the contact point. Once again, he tried not to scream. Tried to keep his mouth closed, but he couldn't. God, it hurt! After a few seconds, he couldn't hold it any longer. He screamed.

Loudly.

Like before, Reginald touched the prod to a point on Mal's chest for a few seconds that lasted an eternity then gave him a few seconds reprieve.

Teeth clenched, Mal forced his eyes open and glared at the major. He really, really wanted to say something sarcastic about Reggie's parentage, but he was finding it difficult to get his vocal cords to function properly. Well, to function at all, actually. At the moment, he couldn't even groan.

Which just pissed him off more.

"How about now Sergeant?"

Mal didn't have a chance to reply. A fist struck him hard in his left temple causing his vision to blur and the room to spin. Reginald struck like a snake, hitting Mal repeatedly in the head.

"Now, Sergeant, I think I do believe you truly don't recognize me. Pity. It would have made this that much more enjoyable. Do you want to know why I loathe you so?" He hesitated only for a second, not giving Mal a chance to respond. "I was in command of the first unit that was sent in. All those platoons, thwarted by one lowly sergeant and a ragtag bunch of outworlders. You made me look like an incompetent idiot."

Mal struggled to remain conscious as he glared at his torturer. His anger swelled. All of this just because of some _Hwin dan's_ wounded sense of pride. His voice finally deciding to cooperate Mal replied, "Seems to me you do a pretty good job of that your own self there Reggie."

Mal tensed as Reginald's jaw clenched and he balled his fists tightly at his sides. Mal steeled himself for another blow, but it didn't come. He winced as the major turned back towards the torture rack. He let out a heavy sigh of relief when Reginald walked past it, but cringed when he picked up the hose again. *I swear that man is a sadist.*

He tried to brace himself for the freezing cold water he knew was coming his way, but there was just no way anyone could prepare them self for that kind of cold. Accepting what was to come, Mal let himself go limp again. He allowed his mind to wander back to less complicated times when all he had to worry on was how to keep Momma from finding out, and whipping his hide, when he'd sneak out at night to drink moonshine with the fellas or go skinny dipping with Sarah Mae Travers.

By the time Reginald finally had one of his goons turn off the water, Mal was sure he'd already turned into a Popsicle. His teeth were chattering so uncontrollably hard, he was sure they'd like to be shattering any minute now. Or at least that he wouldn't have any enamel left on 'em at this rate. He was also shivering badly causing his wrists and ankles to rub painfully against the manacles. Mal was almost positive all the skin had to have been ripped off from this last ...session, if it hadn't already been.

Mal clung desperately to consciousness. He was pretty sure his brain couldn't _actually_ implode, but it sure as hell felt like it was having a good go at it. He managed to raise his head and open his eyes enough to see that one of the other men was putting the hose away. Reginald was still standing in front of him, glaring. Mal returned it with an equally hate-filled look. Much of one as he could muster anyways.

*If it's the last thing I do, I'm gonna kill that sadistic ruttin bastard! And I’m gonna do it slowly.*

Reginald continued to stare at Mal. He remained silent for several minutes. He opened his mouth to say something then reconsidered and closed his mouth. Finally, he said, "We'll continue with this later." Without another word, he left the room and Mal was alone. Within minutes, he lost the struggle to remain conscious and slipped slowly into darkness.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Zoë was bored. Very, very bored. And worried. More worried, really, than bored. For the sake of her cellmates, and their toes, she'd stopped pacing hours ago. After Mal had stopped screaming. Which was part of the reason she was so worried. She figured it had been at least four hours since last she'd heard him. At least when he'd been screaming, much as it sickened and angered her to hear it, at least then she'd know he was alive.

The silence was nerve racking. Much as it made her want to kill the bastards hurtin' Mal, in a way, she really wished he'd scream again.

When he started again, she regrets the wish and _really_ wished she'd not had that particular thought. It gets her back to thinkin' on exactly what the ruttin' sons of bitches might be doing to him. That created all kinds of mental images she really didn't need to be seeing. Before she even really realizes what she's doing, she's on her feet and pacing again. Much to the disappointment of her cellmates, who once again, wisely keep their comments to themselves. Instead, they merely pulled their knees to their chests and tried to keep their toes out of the angry corporal’s way.

A low, raspy voice called for her.

"Corporal. I don't feel so good."

Zoë turned and saw the dirty, gaunt face of boy she barely recognized. He was from one of the other units that had been stationed at the valley. The boy had been looking sickly for about a day now. Problem was, no one had come to their cell since those _Wang bao DAHN-- Da-shiang bao-tza shr duh lah doo-tze_ had come and taken Mal, so she couldn't even try to ask for help. The boy's name, if she recollected properly, was Billy Jensen and he was just barely nineteen years old.

They'd taken Mal about two days ago, near as she could tell. She really wished they'd bring Mal back. Not just so they'd stop hurtin' him, but 'cause then he could deal with the private. She wasn't so good at the comfortin' and moral raisin' as he was. Kneeling next to the boy, she placed the back of her hand to his forehead. He felt hot. Fighting back the surging anger, she gave her best attempt at a reassuring smile then stood. "I'll try to get you some help. You just try to get some rest."

Although they hadn't seen anyone, she was sure there was a guard close by. Food, if you could call the gray, gritty substance food, was brought once a day, water came three times a day. That, at least, was clear and clean. It was brought on a motorized cart, which meant someone had to be close enough by to operate it. Zoë approached the bars to the cell and wrapped her fingers around the bars.

"Guard." She called out loudly. "I know there's someone out there. We need some help down here."

There was silence for several long minutes before she finally her the sound of boots coming towards the cell. A moment later a guard, weapon drawn, stopped in front of her.

"Step back." He ordered, gun pointed at Zoë's head. "What's all this ruckus about?"

Not wanting to give the guard any reason to fire, Zoë back up with her hands in clear view. She pointed to Billy and said, "That soldier's pretty sick. He needs some doctorin'."

The guard stared at Billy for a minute then pulled out a radio. "Brooks, get a medic down here to cell 6, B block." Without another word, he turned and left.

A few minutes later a medic arrived, along with three heavily armed guards. "Back up. All of you over in that corner." One of the guards said as he pointed his gun to the opposite corner. "Any one of you so much as moves a muscle, I'll put a new hole in you."

Nearly two-dozen people trying to move at once in a very small cell all at once surely made for an uncomfortable situation. To say the least. Ribs were jabbed and toes were stepped on, but no one complained or made any sudden moves. When everyone but Billy had moved, the guards moved in front of them and trained their weapons on the group. The medic kneeled next to Billy and opened his bag. He spoke in whispers so no one but Billy could hear him. After a few minutes he stood and turned towards the group.

Zoë caught the medic's eyes as he looked at the group. The sadness in his eyes told her she wasn't going to like what he said. He seemed to recognize her as the defacto leader and turned his attention to her.

"I'm sorry. I've given him something for the pain and to help him sleep, but he is dying. He has Tolenta. There is nothing more I can do."

"I thought that was curable." Zoë fought the urge to strike out. She knew the guards wouldn't hesitate to shot them all if she tried anything.

The medic shook his head again. "It is, if you catch and treat it early enough. It progresses very quickly if left untreated. I'm sorry. All I can do know is make him comfortable." He turned towards the guards. "Get a gurney down here. We need to get him to the med bay and make him as comfortable as we can."

Zoë believed the medic was truly sorry he couldn't help the boy, so she merely nodded and watched as he turned to the guards. She listened as he talked to them.

"We need to get the rest of them checked," the medic continued as he pointed to the group behind him. "If any of them has it, it may still be treatable."

The three guards stared at Billy for a minute then looked at each other. "You know," one of them said, "I got a better idea." That said, he lifted his gun and shot the sick private. The boy's head snapped back and slammed into the wall as the bullet hit him in the forehead.

All sensibility left her as Zoë howled in rage and threw herself at the guard who'd done the shooting. She tackled him down and sat on his back, before anyone else could even begin to move, she reached around and grabbed a knife from his belt, grabbed a handful of his hair then sliced his throat from ear to ear. The other guards recovered from their shock. One of them swung his rifle, hard, at the corporal's face connecting with her cheek. She crumpled to the ground in a heap, just barely clinging to consciousness. The other guard kicked her hard in the stomach to get her off his fallen comrade. She flipped over and landed on her side with a groan.

She watched through pain-filled eyes as one guard picked up Billy's body as the other guard and the medic picked up the wounded guard. The medic's sympathetic look was the last thing Zoë saw as everything faded to black.

TBC

Ching-wah TSAO duh liou mahng = frog-humping sonofabitch

Huh choo-shung tza-jiao duh tzang-huo = Filthy fornicators of livestock

Hwin dan = Asshole

Wang bao DAHN-- = dirty bastard sons-of--

Da-shiang bao-tza shr duh lah doo-tze = The explosive diarrhea of an elephant