Swords of Exodus [Dead Six 02] by Larry Correia, Mike Kupari Page A

and grabbed my other bags. “I gotta go.”
    She followed me down the stairs and across the lawn. I stopped at my climate-controlled tool shed, unlocked the heavy padlock, and went straight to one of the wooden crates. This was the stuff I wasn’t comfortable storing in the house. Jill fidgeted as she watched my preparations. She knew full well what I was doing.
    “Be careful.”
    “Always.”

Chapter 2: Head Games

    VALENTINE
    Location Unknown

    My shackles clinked as I was led down to the last room on the right side of the corridor. A pit began to form in my stomach. This was the information extraction room. I had been in there several times before, but couldn’t recall exactly how many times. Nor, for that matter, could I remember how long it had been. I just knew that this was where they took me when they wanted me to tell them something.
    The room was a little bit colder than the corridor. Machines and equipment that I couldn’t identify lined the walls. At the back of the room was a large tubular tank that resembled an MRI machine or something.
    Near the center of the room was a chair like you’d find in a dentist’s office, except this one had built-in restraints. My three escorts sat me down in the chair. Davis held me in place while Smoot stood watch, taser at the ready. Reilly then fastened both of my wrists and both of my ankles to the chair before doing up the waist and head straps. Once I was restrained, they raised the chair so that I was almost in a standing position. Several suction cups with wires leading to them were connected to my head. A band was put around my arm to monitor my heart rate and breathing. An oxygen tube was jammed up my nose. Machines in the room blinked to life as they were brought out of standby mode.
    In front of the insane dentist’s chair was a regular chair. That was where she always sat when we did this. The door to the room opened again. High heels clicked on a cold concrete floor as a pale, fortyish woman strode across the room. She sat stiffly in the chair in front of me, crossed her legs, and tapped on her iPad for a few moments.
    “Good morning, Mr. Valentine.” She didn’t bother to look up.
    My eyes narrowed. “To what do I owe the pleasure this time, Doc?”
    Her name was Dr. Silvers. Olivia Silvers. She didn’t look like much. Pale skin, thin build, flat hair, but she was in charge here, and she was an ice-cold bitch. I hated her with the utmost intensity, but in my present position, the most I could do would be to verbally abuse her. Her retaliations for that kind of behavior had convinced me that it wasn’t worth the trouble.
    It’s not that they necessarily tortured me. They hadn’t pulled out my fingernails, smashed my kneecaps, or anything like that. Hell, they didn’t even waterboard me. Nothing that base. These people had other ways, sophisticated, monstrous ways of getting inside your head.
    First would be the needles and then would be the questions. Sometimes the questions didn’t make sense. Other times I didn’t know the answers, but she’d keep asking. Sometimes they’d put something in the oxygen tube in my nose. Other times they’d put things in my food and I’d wake up in the chair. Or I’d have a nightmare about being in the chair and wake up back in my room. Sometimes I’d remember things that didn’t actually happen. It was hard to tell what was real.
    Whenever I resisted or fought back they’d just beat the shit out of me and throw me back in my room. Sometimes they’d withhold food or leave me strapped down for days on end. One time, they left me out in the snow for a few hours. They let a big guard dog attack me once for the time I’d stabbed Smoot with the pen.
    Dr. Silvers looked up at me over her spectacles. She must have practiced that disinterested, condescending expression in the mirror, since she was very good at it. “The last time we talked, you told me about the death of your mother.”
    “I did?”
    “You were