U.S. Military Base
Inside an interrogation room, a man's agonized screams echoed repeatedly.
Beep beep beep—the phone rang. Owen picked it up and heard Jack Bauer's familiar voice.
"Any progress?"
"Not yet. Sarayev's lips are sealed. We're still trying other methods..."
"Hurry. We're running out of time."
Owen hung up and walked toward the interrogation room. When he pushed the door open, only Heartbeat, Sarayev, and another SEAL were inside. Sarayev was tied to a bench, head down and feet elevated, a towel draped over his face. Heartbeat was holding a kettle, pouring water directly onto the towel.
"Ugh… ugh… cough cough..."
As the water kept pouring, Sarayev's body convulsed violently, his head twisting back and forth. But it was useless—his skull was pinned down by the SEAL, rendering any movement impossible.
"Ugh… ugh..."
Grunts came from his throat, his entire body spasming almost like a seizure. Only then did Heartbeat stop, yanking away the soaked towel to reveal Sarayev's drenched face.
Sensing the obstruction over his nose and mouth had disappeared, Sarayev stretched out his neck and vomited water like a fountain, mixed with bile. He gasped violently, finally breathing the air he'd been denied.
Cough cough cough~~~
Sarayev writhed in humiliation. Just moments ago, he thought he was going to drown. The SEAL released his grip. Now free to breathe, Sarayev sucked in air like a starving animal.
"Tell me—where is the VX gas? Tell me, and you won't have to suffer this again..."
Heartbeat's cold voice cut through.
Sarayev didn't respond, only gasped like a broken bellows, wheezing loud and ragged.
Owen had no patience to wait. He stepped directly in front of Sarayev.
"I need to know where the Chechen fighters are hiding that VX nerve agent. Tell me, and I guarantee you'll live. If you don't, he'll keep torturing you until you talk. Believe me—you can't take much more of this. You really don't want to feel that again. Don't waste everyone's time..."
Owen didn't want to waste time. He had a hundred ways to break Sarayev, but they all took time.
And right now, time was exactly what they didn't have. The Chechens already knew Sarayev had been captured—and likely suspected the Americans. After all, riverine assault boats were a fairly distinctive signature.
However, they probably didn't yet know why the Americans wanted him. Sarayev, as the son-in-law of a Chechen leader, undoubtedly knew many secrets. The VX gas didn't directly connect to the U.S., so the Chechens likely wouldn't piece it together immediately—but they'd certainly take countermeasures. It was now a race to see who moved faster.
Owen kept talking, but Sarayev didn't respond at all, as if he hadn't heard a word.
Fuck.
Heartbeat cursed under his breath, nodded to the SEAL, and the man grabbed Sarayev's head again. The soaking wet towel was placed back over his face.
Sarayev knew exactly what was coming. Not fearing torture and being able to endure it were two very different things. He screamed "No, no, no!"—but was instantly silenced as water filled his mouth again.
He struggled in fear, trying to hold his breath as long as he could, but it was useless. His nose inhaled nothing but water. It rushed into his lungs, bringing that soul-crushing sensation of drowning once more.
His body convulsed on the bench. Heartbeat didn't let up. Owen gave him a questioning look—Heartbeat shook his head. No result yet. Owen understood and stepped out of the interrogation room.
Heartbeat was the expert at this—more accurately, an expert in coercive interrogation. Owen trusted him to handle it. Sarayev was tough, but everyone had a breaking point. It was only a matter of time.
But they were racing that time, and Sarayev's toughness was complicating things.
In the observation room, Owen watched Heartbeat torment Sarayev on the screen without a trace of emotion. In their line of work, unconventional methods were necessary. Human rights? Those only existed in daylight.
After several rounds of waterboarding, Owen could tell that Heartbeat was now testing Sarayev's limits. A few times, he came dangerously close to killing him. Sarayev suffered immensely, but even then, he said nothing.
"You're a tough bastard!"
Heartbeat gave Sarayev a thumbs-up. He actually admired the man's grit—but that didn't stop him from continuing the torture.
After several more sessions, Sarayev still hadn't cracked. On the monitor, Heartbeat exchanged a look with the SEAL, then both stepped out and entered the observation room.
"Boss, this guy's tight-lipped. I doubt we'll break him anytime soon. I think we have to go with sleep deprivation..."
Owen nodded, giving his approval. Heartbeat turned and left.
Sleep deprivation—an ancient technique dating back as far as the first-century Roman persecution of Christians. The method involved blasting the subject with bright lights or conducting constant questioning, denying any opportunity to rest until the victim's mind collapsed.
It was terrifyingly effective. It could shatter a person's will in a short amount of time.
Sarayev was transferred to another holding room. Heartbeat shackled him to a metal grate, forcing him to stand. Two bright incandescent lamps blasted him with unrelenting light, twenty-four hours a day. In addition, soldiers played deafening music every thirty minutes to make sleep impossible.
This approach took time and wouldn't yield immediate results, but it would work.
Owen, Heartbeat, and the other SEALs took the opportunity to rest in a barracks. They had been active the entire night, fought a brutal mission, and once Sarayev broke, they'd be back on task immediately. The smartest move now was to recharge.
Twelve hours later, Owen—rested and clear-headed—returned to interrogate Sarayev again. Sarayev looked like a wreck. This time, he didn't remain silent—instead, he spat out one word:
"Fuck."
On the surface, Sarayev still appeared defiant, but Owen knew better. From a psychological perspective, silence was the worst-case scenario. The moment a subject started talking—even just cursing—it meant their psychological defenses were weakening.
Twenty-four hours in, Sarayev was a wreck—barely able to stand. His eyes showed signs of damage from the prolonged exposure to bright light. A stench wafted from his body.
Sleep deprivation involved more than just lights and sound. He wasn't allowed to eat or use the restroom. The adult diaper he wore was full, unable to contain more waste. That alone could be the straw that broke him.
After thirty-two hours, Heartbeat finally returned with good news. Sarayev had cracked. The combination of waterboarding and sleep deprivation had worked even faster than Owen expected.
"Where's the VX gas?"
"Italy."
------------------
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