5, Torture.

“Be honest, do you think you could take a bear in a fight?” Special agent Trent Murdock wasn’t drunk, but the whiskey he’d been drinking for the past three days reeked on him as if he were in a distillery.

“It depends,” replied his best friend, special agent Dale O’Connor. “Am I armed in this fight?” Their conversations rarely revolved around anything tangible in the real world, yet the emotional energy they put into their chats was equal to that of a high stakes political debate. “I know I don’t get a gun, but I get like a golf club or something, right?”

“Nope. Bare hands.”

O’Connor snorted. “Beating a bear with bare hands. You’re dumb.”

“You’re dumb.”

“Fuck you.”

“No, fuck you, Doc. Answer me! Could you win that fight?”

O’Connor carefully considered the question. “Is it morning, day, or night? What’s the weather? Have I eaten a good meal previous to the upcoming fight or have I been starving in the woods for awhile?”

“You’ve eaten well, but the bear hasn’t eaten for days. It’s a hot day, maybe ninety degrees in the middle of summer, and there are no rocks or large sticks to use as clubs or spears.”

“Do I have any special clothing items, like a belt that I can use as a weapon, maybe?”

“Nope. You’re naked.” Murdock shook his head as if to shoot down O’Connors next inquiry. “Don’t ask.” He sipped straight from a bottle and the glorious whiskey went down smooth as silk.

“Is it a brown bear or a black bear?”

“That’s racist.”

“Oh, so now I wanna hold down an entire group of human beings based on their skin color because I asked you to specify which species from the genus ursidae I’m fighting?”

Murdock was confused as hell but powered on. “I don’t know anything about what you just said, but you’re fighting a polar bear.”

“Oh, and that’s not racist?” O’Connor protested. “How come you didn’t say it’s a Panda? Afraid you’ll be accused of being racist yourself towards the Chinese or something?”

“That’s racist.”

“Fuck you!”

“No, fuck you Doc! Answer the question!”

“Fine! I’m fucked,” answered O’Connor without any hesitation. “In that fight I am straight fucked.”

Murdock didn’t even pause for a second. “What if you knew the stakes were high, like perhaps you could have a threesome with a pair of beach volleyball players afterwards if you win?”

Dale O’Connor leisurely took the bottle that was passed to him and took a sip. “These are women volleyball players, right?” The third train in an hour went by as the small room shook. Neither man lost any momentum.

“No, dipshit, they’re men.”

“Well I’m not motivated by the thought of homo erotic encounters, even if they are well tanned volleyball players, so that might even have a negative effect on my motivation, you know? I mean, after all I’m naked fighting a bear with my BARE hands…” O’Connor put extra emphasis on the word “bare” as he sneered at his friend.

“Jesus Doc, you’re an idiot! Of course they’re women volleyball players!” Murdock paused and calmly added, “and they’re beauties, the kind that make your legs go numb from how good looking they are.”

“Are they from Brazil?”

“Fuck! They’re from any fucking country you damn well choose for fucks sake!”

O’Connor never broke eye contact with Murdock. They’d been conversing like this for three solid days with no sleep, no breaks, and no sign of slowing down. He sighed. “Nope. The bear still wins, and I don’t get a threesome. Shame.” He shook his head in defeat.

The two of them had been in a room with a prisoner for three days. The man was a thug of epic proportions who had no empathy or remorse for the bad things he’d done, ever. He sat gagged and blind folded, slumped in a chair with his hands cuffed behind his back, chained to the wall. He hadn’t slept for three days and his mind was close to going insane from the never ending chatter. He moved uncomfortably and occasionally whimpered. The men always ignored him completely.

There was a camera with a microphone surveying the whole scene. Two women were in the sound proof room next door comfortably sitting at a fairly large pub table. They were ignoring the computer monitor with the volume on mute. A third woman walked into the room carrying a brown paper bag and a tray of coffee.

“Any change in there?” asked pilot Porter. She was always in a good mood, but currently she was smiling bigger than usual.

“They’re in the zone,” replied sergeant Schuman. “This fucker is something else. We’ve seen these two break a prisoner in less than a day but this guy is still holding out. He’s cracking but not broken yet. Death has twenty bucks that he’ll cave by sundown but I say no way. It’ll be at least another day, maybe two.”

Porter handed Schuman a bagel form the bag and said, “How long can Doc and Murdock realistically keep going on like this?”

Special agent Death laughed so loudly that she felt embarrassed. “Oh Porter, you’ve been working with them for over a decade now! If you give them whiskey, do they EVER stop?”

Porter laughed easily and shook her head. “I’ve only heard the stories of how these two can break prisoners without touching them but this is the first time I’ve seen it. It’s stunning.”

Sergeant Schuman nodded in appreciation. “We checked on them an hour ago and they were arguing about which dog takes the biggest shits. I feel like a part of my brain actually died while listening to them bicker.” Schuman smiled ear to ear as she bit into a bagel and it seemed to recharge her from just one bite.

Porter was pleased and shared her enthusiasm. “These were made fresh this morning in a bakery upstate that I just love! I’m glad you like it!”

Special agent Death smiled widely as she put down a cheap romance novel. She gladly took a cup of coffee and a bagel from her pilot friend. “You’re the only person I know who’ll fly to fetch multiple meals a day.”

“I love food, and if we’re on hold for awhile, I just wanna fly, you know?”

Death smiled and shrugged. “Your deliveries have been the only spot of joy through this whole mission. Honestly, I don’t know how our prisoner is still alive. I would’ve caved by now. They just don’t… fucking… stop. It’s unreal to witness.”

Death hit the button to unmute the ongoing conversation in the other room.

“Do you think you could take a wolf with your bare hands with the same conditions?”

“Well that’s more realistic cuz there are actually wolves that live in hot climates cuz earlier you said it was a polar bear but it was a hot summer day in the nineties.”

“Fuck you! That could happen!”

“No, fuck you, dummy! Polar bears live in THE FUCKING ARCTIC!”

“Just answer the question! Could you take a wolf?”

“I know I’m naked for this fight, but do I at least have shoes?”

“That’s racist.”

Special agent Death muted the conversation and yawned. “If you know of any candy stores with homemade licorice, I could go for some.”

Porter got excited as she turned to exit the room. “I know just the place a few states away! I’ll be back in a few hours!”

In the distance, an overconfident weapons dealer sat smugly because he incorrectly assumed that his number one thug would rather die than ever betray the location of their warehouse hideout.