And You Thought You Were Here To Party? ((Quint))
Sept 12, 2010 20:52:12 GMT -5
Post by Quint on Sept 12, 2010 20:52:12 GMT -5
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INTERROGATION CENTER
[/color][/justify][/blockquote]In all likelihood, Jack Chamberlain was probably going to get hurt. Bad. Really really bad. This wasn’t the first time he had been tortured. 20 some years ago was a long time. Long enough to remember and build a slight resentment over several beatings he had taken as a child. When his parents were taken away, he and his brother were interrogated, questioned and battered in order to get whatever rebel influence their parents had left before they were sent away into the Districts. They were somewhere out there; perhaps listening to his voice everyday over the radio. Or was it all just a cover-up? The authorities could’ve lied to him, trying to hide the facts from two 5 year old children. Wherever his parents were, they were most likely safe.
He, however, was not. He stared into the darkness, unable to see past the grimy blindfold tied around his eyes. The PeaceKeeper had been there awhile, reading over his files, being awfully quiet; which was torture enough. He hated waiting. Not knowing when she would strike or yell, or even worse, take out that hellish electroshock-gun. Finally she spoke and tore off the blindfold. At first, he felt pain, then relief. The guards that had brought him in made sure to make the rag taut, leaving no slack at all. For 3 hours, it had been tightened against his head. When she took it off, he suddenly felt the blood rush back into his head, his vision still blurry. He had to blink several times before his sight was in focus. Readjusting to the light was a challenge, leaving the interrogator standing before him obscure and hazy.
“Jack Chamberlain,” he answered hoarsely; all the screaming had taken his voice away. “Treasonous speech...” He said no more, no less. Being a smart ass got you in trouble here. Anyone who was stupid enough to actually joke around with this kind of business was either completely foolish or already accepted their death. This concept, however, was one that was very narrow minded. It appeared that they didn’t take in the fact that these people would not only murder, but they would make it last. They would hurt you until you were actually trying to kill yourself in your own cell. Just answer their questions and maybe they’ll let you live.
The PeaceKeeper introduced herself, sliding behind him, her mouth brushing against his ear as she spoke. He bit his lip, not out of fear, but rather amused at the mediocre, yet slightly seductive cliché. He recalled once hosting a radio segment mocking the very PeaceKeepers in the interrogation center. What ever happened to the nostalgic PeaceKeepers? He also found it jocular that she’d ever suspect him of lying. There was no point. His crime was literally broadcasted all across Panem, including the Capitol. Lying would only things worse at this stage. Though how much damage could she do? She wasn’t at all formidable as the other interrogators. The ones that had beaten him the other day must’ve been at least twice her size.
Her eyes met his and a prickly chill crawled up his spine. It was up to him to sort the sight out between something that struck fear or intimacy. How could the Capitol turn her into a PeaceKeeper? Obviously, they’d assigned him this girl because he was from the Capitol. Their home. He was one of them. Though, something deep down warned him to not underestimate. He truthfully hoped she wasn’t as corrupt as her coworkers. She was a pretty little thing.