Page 51 of Mission Shift

A man stood over me, fastening a strap around my wrist, securing it to the top edge of a metal tub. My ears rang, and my thoughts were sluggish, but I knew—I knew—this wasn’t just any tub.

My muscles jerked as violent tremors wracked my body.

Before I could even think—much less react—a massive hand was clamped over my face.

And then—

Water.

Crashing over me. Filling my ears. My mouth. My nose.

No, no, no!

I thrashed against the restraints, twisting, struggling, every nerve in my body screaming in protest. But it was useless. I was being held under with brute strength.

The cold, the lack of air, the crushing pressure on my face—it sent my body into overdrive, and instinct took over.

Don’t breathe. Don’t breathe. Don’t breathe!

My lungs burned, the unbearable ache growing as every second ticked by. I knew this kind of torture—I’d seen it done before, had even facilitated it. But nothing prepared you for experiencing it yourself.

The body betrayed itself. It always did.

A fresh surge of panic ripped through me. My muscles locked, my throat tightened, and my body demanded air. But I fought the instinct to inhale, clamping my lips shut. I shook uncontrollably as the cold burrowed deeper, turning my veins into ice.

Black dots danced behind my eyelids.

My chest convulsed.

And then—

My mouth opened.

Water surged in, filling my throat, drowning me.

Just as I started choking—just as my body gave in to death—I was yanked from the water.

A desperate gasp ripped through me, my lungs convulsing as they drank in the stinging air. Savage coughs tore through my throat like acid after each violent inhale, rattling through my battered body.

Through the haze of pain and suffocation, I lifted my eyes from the tub and darted my gaze around the room.

Two men.

A machine—fuck—with electrodes leading into the water.

My mind spun.

They were going to light me up with currents of torment.

“What do you want?!” My voice was raw, desperate.

The men laughed, and I recognized a familiar guttural sound.

No. It couldn’t possibly be—

A shadow moved, stepping into the harsh overhead light.

I knew that face. The thick, square jaw. The nose that was crooked from too many fights. The cold, soulless eyes.

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