Page 191 of Operation: Defiance

Could I?

Yes.

Do I want to?

No.

Instead, I go back to the thumb drive with the log files he copied from the black site. There were three files that didn’t belong to detainees, and I’ve only examined two of them.

The Operational Standards Adherence and Continuity of Care documents don’t have anything more they can tell me. And until now, I haven’t been ready to open the third. I can’t avoid it any longer.

Contractor Risk Exposure Analysis.

At the very top of the file is a single detainee ID. No name. Just a number with a scattering of status updates dated five years ago.

Instruction adherence: Low

Authority recognition: None

Physical compliance: Resistant

Overall assessment: Compliance failure

The classifications leach the heat from my body, but they’re nothing compared to the first paragraph, written in language so plain, there’s no way this was intended for anyone but the top levels of approval authority.

The subject remained non-compliant throughout the six-day period. Standard procedures were followed for the initial forty-eight hours, after which escalation was approved.

In each successive twelve-hour phase, recovery intervals were shortened and corrective measures were increased.

The subject’s behavior did not change.

On the sixth day, a final calibration attempt was made.

Result: Acute physiological destabilization resulting in cardiac arrest.

I shudder, and the edges of the room take on a soft focus. No. I’m not back there. Not trapped. It’s warm. The music is still playing. Socks are still on. Asher’s coin is heavy in my palm.

I scroll to the next page.

Restraints applied at shoulders, forearms, wrists, chest, hips, thighs, calves, and ankles to prevent injury during voltage escalation.

Contractor C-96 initiated electroshock at the lowest therapeutic tier. Seizure duration: thirty-two seconds. Subject remained oriented.

Tier 2 duration: forty-five seconds. Subject exhibited non-purposeful motion and irregular respiratory cadence.

Tier 3 duration: fifty-one seconds.

My breath scrapes across my throat.

The final paragraph is the worst.

After release from restraints, subject was acutely disoriented and could not speak. A catastrophic cardiac event occurred twenty-three minutes post correction.

I blink, but the words smear on the screen. I can’t feel the laptop under my fingers. Can’t smell the tea. Can’t hear the music.

Cold vinyl. Antiseptic. Ozone. The straps dig into my thighs. My arms. My ribs. A hand clamps around my jaw, fingers digging into bruises aggravated again and again and again.

The electrodes start to vibrate. Nothing more than a tickle until suddenly, my entire body jerks against the restraints, my back trying desperately to bow. I whimper, tears leaking from my eyes under the hood.