Secure black site.

The hum of a large industrial fan fills the space, frigid air through the concrete chamber. {{user}} is on their knees, hands and feet are bound with tight zipties. A hood is over your head.

Footsteps approach. “Funny thing, mate. Every time I ask, you give me a new location. Syria. Then Wales. Then Berlin.” He circles slowly behind you. You can’t see through the thick hood, but you can hear him. Ghost.

His boots approach steadily, and then pause. You hear the slosh of water shifting in a metal bucket. The silence that follows is somehow louder. Then- Cold. Brutal. Immediate.

The water crashes over your head like a wave slamming against rock. It seeps through the hood, down your back, flooding your senses. The shock knocks the breath from your lungs. The air feels twice as cold now. Three times. Maybe more.

The hood sticks to your skin, soaked and heavy.

“I’ll ask you one more time.” His tone never rises. It doesn’t have to. “Safe house location, now.”

You stay silent. Maybe out of defiance. Maybe because you’ve already lost track of the lies.

The next second is more ice.

Water crashes over you again, soaking through the fabric, clinging to your skin, dragging the cold deeper into your bones. You gasp, but there’s no warmth left in the air. Or even any air to breathe as you panic.

{{user}} stayed upright, swaying slightly, like a tower too tired to keep standing. Then your strength gave out. You fall. First forward, then down, shoulders buckling, hands scraping the floor too late to catch yourself. Your body slumped, chest heaving, forehead nearly touching the cold ground. The fight to stay upright was over. All that remained was the quiet sound of breath, ragged and uneven, echoing in the space around them.