Page 50 of Enemy of the State

I’ve run through approximately one million scenarios at this point, but none have yielded results that don’t end with me dead. I haven’t begun to see nearly enough of this place to make a successful escape attempt, and that’s a problem. I overheard a guard once say something about Block Ten, but I haven’t seen more than this one cell block I’m being kept in, and I’m certain that was on purpose. I’ve only been to the infirmary, the washroom, and the torture room. That’s not enough to go on for a legitimate escape attempt, and I have no choice but to nail it on the first try. Otherwise, they’ll either lock me up so tight I won’t be able to make a second attempt, or they’ll just kill me. To make this work, I need to explore more of this place at some point in the next day or two.

Thy Art Is Murder’s “Reign of Darkness” suddenly blasts through speakers, and I bob my head along to the music. It’s louder than usual—and it’s always at a near deafening decibel—but at least they’re finally playing something I know and like. I’m nodding along when my cell door abruptly swings open, revealing three guards, the noise drowning out their arrival. Has Digs sent them? There’s no way he’s already worked a way out of this situation for me. If so, damn, he works fast.

Sitting up, I leer into the masked faces before me, but somethingabout this feelsoff.On the surface, it doesn’t seem all that unusual; nevertheless, my gut is screaming at me that something about this is wrong.

The guard in the center steps inside my cell, his rifle strapped to his back, a second Glock at his other hip, and a total of three combat knives, instead of the usual two.Blimey, this is definitely wrong.

“Let’s go,” he growls, and even in the low light, I can see the hatred boiling in his brown eyes.

“I don’t think so,” I counter, shaking my head as unease drops into my empty stomach like lead.

“It’s not optional.Let’s go.”

He’s wrong. Life is full of options. Some are as simple as yes or no. Others are much more complex, like life or death. Thisisoptional, though, at least to some degree.

Quickly assessing my options, I land on a surprise attack. Holding my ground, I wait until he’s entered my personal space. Once he’s standing just before me, I swing my head back and slam it into his forehead as hard as I can. He grunts and, with a satisfied smile, I bring a knee up and smash it into the infinitesimal balls he’s got between his legs.

He doubles over, and I go for the knife at his hip, but don’t get to it before the other two guards rush to his aid, one of them subduing my arms and jamming a needle into the muscle of my shoulder.

I sway on my feet, my vision hastily blurring. Just as I’m about to black out, I wonder if this was Digs’s plan all along.

I’d pay good money for them to stop knocking me out. It hurts like hell coming out of that murky, drugged haze. I don’t know what they shot me up with, but I can tell my arms are restrained over my head and something unyielding and firm is wrapped around my ankles. With my eyes still closed, I decide to risk curling my toes tosee if they’ll move without my captors noticing. Paralysis would be a problem. Fortunately for me, they do.

“You overdosed her, you fuckhead,” one of the guards grumbles.

So, they want me awake.

“I’m a fucking medic; I know exactly how much I gave her, and I didn’t overdose her,” I hear another snap, and I nearly give away my state of consciousness by spitting at him. However, if this is the same guy who touched me on that table in the infirmary, he’s got a lot more than just a little saliva coming his way.

“Fuck it. Let’s start without her being awake. It’ll be more fun to see her wake up to it anyway,” another says, and I think he’s the one I went after in my cell.

Jeesus Kristus, is everyone around here spectacularly fucked in the head?

The heat of a body steps into my personal space just as something slices through my clothes, stripping me bare. When the balmy, warm air of the room kisses my skin, I don’t feel the same thrilling anticipation as when Digs touches me.

I can’t help but notice the similarity of this situation and my time spent with Digs; the resemblance is uncanny. Did he orchestrate whatever is happening now? I mean, that’s repugnant, even for him. But is it possible? I don’t want to believe that.

Digs did say he couldn’t kill me, but was he simply full of shit? I’d have been a fool to believe him, even if part of me wanted to, but based on my current situation, I can’t help but wonder if it was all a lie, ifeverythingwas a lie.

The last of the tatters of my clothing are pulled from my body and I’m left hanging from the ceiling, my legs tied to the floor. Deciding that my eyesight would be useful right about now, my lids flutter open, and I immediately regret that decision. Three masked men stand in front of me, flipping blades in their hands.

“Glad you finally joined us. You were about to miss all the fun,” the one on the left states, glee edging into his tone. But it’s not thefun kind of glee that Digs gets when he’s about to give in to his darkness. No, this motherfucker is just foul.

“Are you familiar with Lingchi?” the middle one asks, stepping forward, dragging the tip of his combat knife up the soft skin of my side. I get the sense that this bloke is the ringleader of this little trio, and it only makes me all the happier that I head-butted him.

“Death by a thousand cuts,” I sneer, well acquainted with the ancient Chinese art of execution. I wouldn’t be a very good assassin if I didn’t have a vast number of tools in my tool belt.

“Then you know it’s one of the most excruciating forms of torture and death?”

“Obviously.” This patronizing wanker is only serving to piss me off at this point.

The other two join him then, circling me like wild hyenas. Look, I’m all for having a creative outlet, but this is not the healthiest of choices.

“We’ve been given orders for your execution, you know. But they never care how the prisoners die here,” the one behind me jeers.

Was Digs’s earlier conversation with me simply to taunt me, knowing that I’d die tonight? Was his goal all along to dangle the alluring picture of freedom in front of my face, just to add to the torture of yanking it away again via painful death?

I can feel my body going hot as my blood simmers, bubbling within my veins, and if I were to open my mouth, fire would surely flow from my lips. Betrayal scorches me from the inside out, burning my skin and melting away any parts of my heart that I, for a moment, let soften toward Digs.

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