Mouse depressed the trigger on the hose, spraying down the doctor they’d nabbed a few days earlier, all while slowly chewing a Choco-Chunk protein bar. She whimpered as the cold water poured over her, churning the snow inside her cage into a frigid slurry.
Mouse looked up and scanned the compound yard, where dozens of ice covered cages filled the area. Each was now empty, their former occupants broken and shipped off—only the doctor remained. All of those expendable soldiers the team had captured were nowhere near as resilient as she was to torture.
It took the team less than a few threats to get most to spill their guts; the few who were not triggered by the possibility of pain sang like canaries when put to the blade.
As it turns out, none of the shooters they grabbed were Aviex special forces; they were just some regular agents who were not trained for extensive close-quarters combat save for light defensive operations.
The Aviex government's failure to send any of its reaver teams was a concern, but one that would have to wait for the time being. The team had no lead on the Aviex troops or hint that they were in the region, so the team would act as if they were going forward just to be safe.
The captured Aviex agents had been shipped off to a long-term facility on a cosmically nearby asteroid. It was a fine enough facility to keep them at until this business with the GU and Aviex governments rolled over; at that point, they would make fine bargaining chips to help Chloe negotiate with their enemies—after all, cracking heads was only one way to win this war.
Doctor Pellagro was the only one who had yet to break, but that was perfectly fine—everyone had a breaking point, and Mouse was determined to find hers.
It was commendable that she was still unwilling to talk after three days of nonstop torment, although from where Mouse was standing, it was just foolish bravado. The doctor was clad in nothing but a pair of shorts and a tank top, allowing the chilly winds to bite at her exposed skin, sapping any energy she had left.
Not that Mouse could judge—he was only wearing a pair of painfully short silky shorts, showing off his magnificent physique and allowing the cold to soothe his sore muscles.
Pellagro gasped as Mouse let off the water, finally giving her an opportunity to catch her breath. She heaved and collapsed into the slick slush, clutching tightly to herself, attempting to cling to the flickers of warmth her body could still produce—but that was a fool's errand.
Hours ago, once the suns had set, all the blood in her appendages retreated into her core, cowering like animals sheltering from a storm, leaving the rest of her body numb and nearly immovable.
“So, are you ready to chat with our boss?” Mouse asked, sitting on a folding chair he had moved out here.
The doctor was silent, her four ruby red eyes barely able to focus on Mouse sipping at black coffee he had busted out of one of his MREs—a rare treat this far away from Earth.
It took her several minutes to respond, but by the time she finally did, Mouse could not help but cruelly sneer at the stiff middle finger she showed to him.
“Alright then, have it your way,” Mouse shrugged. “Just know that was your last chance until Blondie gets back.”
Mouse took a moment to toss in headphones and start an upbeat pop song. He was unsure what the song was called because he had just hit shuffle on an app that sorted music by your taste. The tune reminded him of the song My Marmalade by Katya Lel from Old Earth, at least in its tempo and beat; the Lyrics, however, were a whole other beast; They sounded wild, cryptic, and romantic. Mouse had no idea how to speak Jurelian, but that in no way lessened his ability to get lost in the singer's hypnotic voice.
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Jurilian was a unique language in the galaxy; few spoke it, but everyone knew it when they heard it. It was considered the candy of languages for a damn good reason. Each word was as warm as a summer breeze and simultaneously as alluring as the whispers of a succubus.
Jurilian made all the romance languages of old Earth sound like someone clanging pots together. It was truly a universal love language.
“Hot damn, not that is the good stuff,” Mouse exclaimed, turning up the music and starting to do a little dance.
He picked back up the hose, each movement keeping in time with the song.
Many throughout the galaxy would consider the act of listening to a happy-go-lucky Jurilian pop star while torturing someone to be an uncanny situation, and they would definitely be right. This was a far cry from Mouse’s gang days in Chicago, but he had adapted well. Plus, the jubilant song in the background made torturing others far more palatable.
“Jurina, bayura e’ yaurina,” Mouse sang, butchering the elegant words while using the nozzle as a microphone.
When he was close enough to the cage, Mouse resumed spraying the doctor with cold water.
The next several hours were filled with Mouse singing poorly along with each new song the app fed him. The songs in his ears covered up the sounds of the doctor yelping and sputtering.
Mouse never gave her a moment to rest. Cold water was constant, broken only by blasts from a stun baton, brief coffee breaks, and—of course—his own horrible singing voice.
These things were all compounded by the doctor being nearly three days sleep-deprived. It was a torture that could only be found in this frozen hellhole of a yard.
Anyone could beat you, break a few limbs, or burn you. But unless Mouse was the conductor of your misery, you would never get torture and a show.
By the time Blondie arrived, Mouse could see that the doctor was at her last breaking point. All fire had left her eyes, and she kept quietly sobbing in her own language.
Blondie unlocked the cage and shuddered, thinking about what the doctor had just been through. God knew Blondie would bite off his tongue sooner than let Mouse work him over like this. That voice. Those shorts. God help whoever had to endure both at once
He stepped closer to the woman, uncaring of the blood and other bodily fluids soaking the slurry. “So, Pellagro, are you ready to have a chat? Or would you rather I have Mouse remix his playlist?” he asked, crouching down and making her look at the nearby Human Hercules.
“Ple—” she whispered, barely audible.
“Speak up!” Blondie yelled.
When her second attempt came out just as broken, Blondie shoved her head down into the slurry without hesitation, an action that, due to the melt, might as well have been waterboarding.
Doctor Pellagro thrashed, her instincts demanding she try to escape, an act that only caused Blondie to hold her down until she nearly passed out.
“Let’s try this again. Are you ready to speak to us like civilized sapients?” Blondie asked, pulling her head out of the vile puddle.
“Yes!!!” Pellagro gagged, one of her fangs falling out.
Blondie dropped her and walked out of the cage toward Mouse, taking a protein bar the man offered. “Get her cleaned up and put in bed. I will talk to her in the morning.”
“Easy enough,” Mouse smirked.
“What is with that look?” Blondie raised a brow, knowing that shit-eating grin.
“Oh, I just did not know we are civilized now. I think we could be called savage, monstrous, efficient, but I never thought us to be civilized,” Mouse chuckled.
“We aren’t. We will toss her back in there if she does not do what we want,” Blondie said loud enough that Pellagro could hear him. "But until then, she can be our guest.”
“I don’t know, Sir Mouse has a nice ring to it,” Mouse joshed, standing up and walking to the cage.
“‘Sir?” Blondie scoffed. “More like sirloin, you damn meathead.”
“Sirloin…” Mouse paused, then grinned. “Now I want a steak
“After you get her inside,” Blondie reminded, while Mouse effortlessly picked up the shivering woman. “By the way, aren't you cold?”
“Oh please, when you are as hot as me, there is no such thing as cold,” Mouse replied, flexing his free arm. His bicep bulged like a mountain, a muscle as large as Blondie's thigh.
"I suppose so," Blondie said with a shake of his head.
