Specimen(50)

“Weird,” Errol says.

“What’s weird?”

“This doesn’t look right. Something’s fucked up.”

I shift my eyes to the right as much as I can. With the light in my eyes, I can’t see much other than shadows, but it looks like Spat is holding a hand-held computer. I hear him tap at the screen. He adjusts the disk behind my ear and then taps again.

“There’s some squirrely shit showing up when I run the diagnostic. It looks like there’s some leakage.”

“What does that mean?”

“Maybe nothing, but it isn’t right. I don’t think they’ve used the usual drug regimen—the levels are all off. It also looks like the rear implant has shifted. He’s been through multiple surgeries, which isn’t normal either. It should be one and done.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“It means I can’t really tell what’s going on here.”

“But can you break it? Make him talk? Read whatever shit is in his head?”

“It doesn’t work like that. We might be able to force it to cycle power, but that wouldn’t give you much time. Maybe if we can disable the primary implant, some of its functioning will be deactivated. Never actually tried to do that, but it might work.”

“What might work? Stop with the tech talk, and give me something to do here.”

“If you can slow down the implant enough without putting it into torture-resistant mode, he’d at least be physically capable of talking. Not sure if he will, but at least it’s a possibility.”

“How?”

“The implants operate best at a hundred degrees. Part of the drug treatment keeps his temperature high. If we can cool him down to ninety, the implants will be impacted.”

“In what way?”

“He won’t be able to access the information from them. A lot of his training and programming would go right out the window. I can’t tell you if that method will work or not, but it would leave him vulnerable. That’s assuming his body can stand the cold.”

“So, just freeze him?”

“Basically.”

“And he’ll live?”

“He should. Well, he might. I don’t know how the drug treatments have been changed. He’s supposed to be the best of the best and all that shit, so he’s got a chance.”

There’s a pause before the leader speaks again.

“Put him in the box.”

I struggle as they release me from the platform and haul me backward. My eyes adjust quickly, and I search for an opportunity. I’m in a large, mostly empty warehouse. I don’t see anything I can reach to use as a weapon, so I’ll have to rely on my own strength, assuming I have any left.

The man holding my left arm glances behind him, and his grip falters slightly. I twist my wrist backward, grab his hand, and break two of his fingers. He screams and jumps back, freeing my arm. I slam my fist into the head of the man closest to me. He drops to the ground, but my freedom doesn’t last.

Other men come out of the darkness around me. There are too many of them, and I am overwhelmed again. They hold me up, rain punches to my head, stomach, and chest until I slow my struggles. They continue to drag me across the floor toward the back of the warehouse.

Hands push on my head and shoulders, forcing me to squat as I’m shoved inside a rectangular container. A barred top comes down, trapping me. My knees bump the front of the box and my shoulders are pressed against each side. My back is pressed against the container as well, and I’m forced to keep my weight on my heels. The box is longer than it is wide, and there is no room to turn or even move my legs enough to sit down. My arms are trapped between my chest and my thighs. When I tilt my head up to see the top, I have no more than a couple of inches between my face and the bars above me.

“Fill it up.”

A rumbling comes from behind me—the sound of a generator starting up—and icy water hits my back. I try to shift, but I can’t turn my head enough to see where it’s coming from. There must be a hole in the back to allow water to come in over my shoulders. Within a few minutes, the freezing cold water surrounds me. It’s up over my shoulders and hitting my chin. I have to tilt my head backward and push against my heels to keep my mouth and nose above the water line.

I hear a dull click, and a bright light shines down into my eyes again. I can make out voices, but the water in my ears muffles the sound so I can’t decipher the words. If I move too much, the water sloshes enough to enter my mouth and nose. The sound of the generator continues, cycling water to keep it cold. The chill from the water seeps into me. Every muscle aches as I struggle to hold my head above the water.