Bumper

The night was dark and the concrete cell you were in was even darker. The rest of your task force was nowhere to be found, presumably having left you behind. The thought made you nauseous with worry. What would happen to you now? It wasn’t like you could escape. The Shadow soldiers responsible for your capture stripped you of your gear first thing, leaving you in just a t-shirt and tactical pants. Your feet were cold against the floor and they’d snapped the cuffs around your wrists too tightly. You winced, skin rubbing against the cool metal.

Christ, you should never have taken Price up on the transfer, you sulked.

“Good work here, Shadows. Bonuses all around, y’all got that?” A familiar voice echoed beyond your cell door. You could imagine him slapping his boys on the shoulder while he praised them. The bastard had always been touchy. You of all people knew that.

You heard him enter the room, the thick metal door swinging shut with a resounding clang. Everything about the man, from his voice, right down to the way he walked should have been warning enough. How had you not seen it coming?

“Its a damn shame you and your friends couldn’t just leave well enough alone. It didn’t need to end like that, Lieutenant.” The voice drawled behind you, his gloved hand gripping your shoulder firmly.

“Go fuck yourself, Graves.” You snarled, dried blood mottling your face.

“My shadows do that?” Graves asked with a low whistle, ignoring you in favour of jerking your hair back to get a good look at your wound. “Quite the bump you got there.”

You let out a hiss, gritting your teeth as a splitting pain bloomed around your temple. There was a shallow gash there you’d earned when, a third-party mind you, Shadow knocked you out with the butt of their rifle. Around the wound your hair was matted with dried blood and specks of dirt. You probably should have worn a helmet. Fuck.

Pushing the thoughts to the back of your mind you wrenched your head away from him. Graves let out a low chuckle and walked away, pulling up a chair opposite you. The metal scraped against the concrete unpleasantly, making you reel back. By the look on The Commander’s face that was probably his intention. Asshole. He took a seat and studied your grimace, his gaze hardening for just a moment. It sent a chill up your spine. It was easy to forget he was a real threat sometimes. You shouldn’t have forgotten, after all the devastation you’d seen him cause… he could, and would do worse to you if he wanted. Your fate was entirely in his hands.

“I meant what I said.” Graves stated, breaking the silence.

“What?” You frowned at him, mind blanking.

“It really is a shame you failed to follow my orders. You were just starting to grow on me, Lieutenant," Phillip confessed, folding one leg over the other. “I was hoping you’d stick around after we were done here.”

Graves pulled his pistol out, the sleek metal glinting as he began to inspect it. You couldn't see his expression in the dim lighting of the room, and maybe that was by design. Maybe you’d only ever got to see what he wanted you to see. Maybe the last thing you’d see would be the barrel of that gun. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from it, didn’t dare to. You watched him press the magazine release with one hand, the empty case falling to the cell floor with a clatter, while the other hand reached into his vest for a new one.

“Focus up.” Graves ordered- and you obeyed, eyes snapping to him.

You were distantly aware that the following click was the new mag being loaded.

“Now because I like you, I’ll give you a choice here,” Graves began, leaning forward with the pistol gripped loosely in his hand. “You can either tell me where your friends are headed, or I can get the information out of you the hard way,” He explained slowly, voice low “The hard way ain’t gonna be fun for you, so I suggest you choose wisely.”

You turned your head away from him, grimacing at the thought of what was to come. You wouldn't betray your team, not without putting up a fight. The truth was you had no idea where they were going after the church but if you could hold out long enough for them to escape Las Almas, maybe your capture would be worth something.

Graves waited. He was giving you time to reconsider your choice, but your mind was made up.

“That’s just too bad,” Graves’ chest heaved with a sigh, shoulders slumping. He pushed up from his seat with one hand. “What am I going to do with you now?”

He was going to kill you.

You watched him walk to the back of the room to get something. You’d seen a table back there when you’d been brought into the cell initially. What exactly was over there though… you could only speculate.

It was odd to think that you were going to die to Graves of all people. You’d started to like him in the time you’d spent together- maybe too much. This probably could have been avoided if you hadn’t been so enamoured with him in the first place. Another mistake on your part. Graves stalked out of the darkness towards you with a large canister and a rag. He wasn’t a tall man, standing at 5 foot 10, but the way he towered over you now was downright frightening.

Your eyes widened, wrestling against your restraints as a rag was laid over your mouth and nose. The cuffs clacked against the metal chair. You twisted and squirmed. The rag fell to the floor. Your breath picked up and your eyes began to dart around the room for a way out.

Graves clicked his tongue, bending down to pick the rag up. “Save your breath,” He began, pressing the rag to your face. You tried to pull away to no avail. “You’re gonna need it.”

You barely had any time to react before he was pouring water over your face. It was cold, far too cold. The shock forced you to take a deep breath in. You wretched awfully, your chest burning from the force of it. There was only water, you couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t breathe. You lurched against the chair, shredding your own skin. How long had it been? A few seconds? minutes? hours? You had no idea. Graves just kept pouring, one hand tipping your chair back at an angle. Was he going to let you die like this?

Then all at once, the rag was gone. You could breathe.

You doubled over. The chair tipped back into place, making a sickening crack against the ground. The water clawed its way out of your throat, splattering across the floor at Graves’ feet. Your chest felt tight. You sucked in breath after breath, hungry for more. You needed more. Your eyes were rimmed red and your clothes were soaked through. Your throat burned.

You couldn’t have taken more than three breaths before Graves was putting the rag back on your face and tipping the canister toward you.

“Upsie daisy.” Graves drawled, hoisting the chair back with some effort.

God. How much of this could you take?

Each round was the same: He’d put the rag over your face, tip you back, and then start pouring. He poured for about 35 seconds before pulling the rag back so you could breathe. You were only ever allowed three breaths (four if he felt generous) until it started again.

Twenty-three minutes. That’s how long it took you to break.

“S’the damn church!” You gasped, choking on the lingering water in your throat. “I don’t know where they’re going after that… but they’re meeting at the church.”

“See? Now that wasn’t so hard.” Graves smiled, patting your damp shoulder as he brushed past you.

You could still hear him barking orders to his men long after the door slammed shut. If you were lucky, your team would be long gone by now. If not… Well, you’d rather not think about that. Whatever happened next was your responsibility. As for Graves you had no idea. It was likely he’d kill you just to tie up any loose ends. Hopefully it would be quick. You could only shudder at the alternative.