This Helplessness Suits Us (212 hits)
Category: UberMadness! EntryRating: 2 on 1 review (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Domochevsky (View user info) at 2005-07-25 19:14:36 EDT
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The trick is to wear them down.
I cinch up my tie as I walk into the room. It is 12' by 10' with dingy walls, with a single chair adjacent to an end table in the middle of it, and another small chair in the corner. Normally, this room is empty, but today a man sits in the chair. His hands are tied, and legs bound to those of the chair, and he wears a blindfold. I do not know where he comes from, or what he has done to be placed in this highly undesirable position; all I know is that his world will be crashing down around him very shortly.
I make my living this way. I'm a freelance "communications officer"; I get people to communicate. My clients are those who have questions, and are willing to forsake conventional means to obtain answers. I always get answers, it is just a matter of how long it will take to extract them.
Make no mistake; what I do is no fine science. The subject is delivered to me, and I facilitate the extraction of certain important details. Then the subject, or what is left thereof, is retrieved. They're sent here because I'm the best.
I tear his blindfold off. He squints as he adjusts to the fluorescent lighting in the room.
"Hello." I say in a tone I hope gives him a slight sense of ease.
"You're here because a mutual friend of ours wants to know something. What they want to know is written on a sheet of paper in this envelope" I toss the letter in his lap, "Care to open it?"
"My... My hands are tied." He had a Russian accent.
"A keen observation. I will open it for you."
I pick up the envelope, open it, and unfold the single piece of paper. There appeared to be a single sentence, written in Russian. I hold it out to him.
As he reads it, his eyes grow wide. I snatch it away, the crisp sound of snapping paper breaking the monotony of his heavy breathing.
"I don't read Russian, comrade, so I don't know what they want, but since you do..."
I let him sit in silence for a moment.
"Nyet. Nyet. I will not talk to you." He sounds like John Malkovich's character in that 'Rounders' movie.
"Of course not. Why should you talk to me? I haven't motivated you yet."
He sits, still breathing heavily. I notice a pack of cigarettes in his front pocket. I reach over and pull it out.
"Lucky Strikes, eh? I hate these things" I tap a cigarette out of the crumpled package. "No filters, so you might as well chew the fuckin' thing." I pull out a lighter, and start the cig burning.
"What's your name, comrade?" I can already tell he doesn't like the obligatory 'comrade'.
He feigns bravery and refuses to respond.
I take a small drag from the smoke. "OK. Listen: you need to work with me here, or things are going to get very messy. All I want to know is your name. There is no reason not to answer that question."
Nothing. He continues to stare into space.
"Alright, comrade." I blow a stream of smoke into his face, and set the lit cigarette behind hid left ear. "I'll wait until you're feeling more talkative."
He winces as the smoldering cigarette singes the hair and flesh on his temple. I pull a chair from the corner, and take a seat. I can see he's already reconsidering his tough-guy attitude.
"Se-Sergei! My name is Sergei!"
"Thank you, Sergei." I remove the cigarette. "Are you going to be trouble for me? Or are you going to make it easy on the both of us and just tell me what they need to know?"
"I... won't tell you."
"OK, Sergei. We can do it this way." I sigh, and take one last puff from the smoke before extinguishing it on Sergei's thigh. He yelps, and slumps down in the chair. "See you in the morning, comrade." I tell him as I throw the cigarettes on the ground and leave the room.
"Fuck you!" he yells at the closed door.
---
It is day two of Sergei's interrogation. The trick is to wear them down. Into a state of 'learned helplessness' as psychologists call it. A state in which they are so broken in mind and spirit, that vulnerability becomes a learned behavior.
It is 5:30 AM. Sergei has been asleep for about 4 hours. Soon that will seem like the most sleep he's ever had.
I go into the room, bucket of ice-cold water in hand. That usually gets people up pretty quickly. I throw the whole bucket on his sleeping form, and toss a black duffel at his feet with a clank.
"Good morning, comrade!"
Sergei seems dazed, not that I can blame him.
"Let's pick up where we left off. Are you feeling more talkative today?"
"Fuck you. I will not tell you anything." He spits back at me.
"Ah, that old chestnut. Couldn't you be a bit more original? At least threaten me a bit, or you come off as a complete amateur." I reply.
"You're wasting your time. I'm not going to tell you anything." Sergei tries his hardest to look tough while strapped to a chair.
The light above him flickers for a moment. He strains his eyes upward.
"You'll find that attitude will get you nowhere with me, comrade. Everyone has a breaking point, and I will find yours."
He eyes me angrily.
"Let's get started." I tell him, unzipping the bag on the floor. "How tough are you feeling today, Sergei?"
He doesn't reply.
"Oh, I see... I'll probably be needing this then. For the blood, you know." I pull a small tarp from the bag.
His eyes grow wide.
I rustle around the bag.
"Straight razor or hunting knife? Your choice, comrade."
---
Day 12. Sergei has proven to be more difficult than anticipated. I've tried sleep depravation, which has yielded a drop in his resistance, but no new information. His pain threshold is rather low, so he tends to pass out before being sufficiently motivated to talk. It seems as though mental manipulation may be more efficient. He will break eventually. They all do.
"You want all this to stop?" I ask him. I say it calmly, like speaking to an old friend.
"Yes. Of course."
"Then why won't you tell me what they want to know? You can end this whenever you want."
"No." He replies. "I can't."
"Why?"
"Because I can't."
"Sorry, Sergei, that's just not acceptable. You WILL tell me what they want to know. I will motivate you to do so, no matter what it takes."
He doesn't reply.
---
Day 22. He's beginning to wear down. I denied him restroom privileges for the last two days to help speed the process up. I don't think this will take much longer.
The room stinks, as one could expect.
"How we feelin' today, comrade?"
"I... I'm doing well."
"Why is that?"
"Because I stopped spitting up blood, and... I realized something."
"And what have you realized, Sergei? That you're ankle deep in your own shit? That you've been here for almost a month and that this will continue until you give up whatever it is that they want? That you're going to be tortured for as long as it takes? Did you finally figure all that out you piece of commie scum?"
"No." He says calmly. His tone seems out of place for a man in his situation "I realized that it is YOU who is at MY mercy. That if I just break down and tell you what the bosses in Moscow want to know, then you get a reprieve from all this. That it is you who will eventually wear down, and all I have to do is sit here and stay quiet. You're helpless because you need my cooperation, and I'm helpless because I'm tied to a chair. We're both dependant on the other to resolve our situation, and neither of us is willing to give. This helplessness, it suits us, don't you think?" He chuckled a bit and began coughing.
"We'll see, Sergei. How about if I just don't let you sleep for the next week?" I ask mockingly.
"If you feel that is what it will take..."
"Alright, comrade. We'll see how strong your resolve really is."
---
Day 37. Sergei has refused to eat or drink for a few days, so I was forced to start an IV. He hasn't spoken at all in about 24 hours. A few days ago he seemed to be on the edge of breaking, but just mumbled on and on about how he's the interrogator, and a few things in Russian. I fear he is too far gone at this point to complete this assignment.
Hopefully I can salvage this. I don't want to admit the truth in what he had said. That I'm the helpless one without his cooperation.
I've tried everything I can think of, and nothing has yielded results. Anymore today might kill him.
I will try again tomorrow.
---
Day 43. Sergei has been completely uncooperative. It is my professional opinion that this interrogation should be scrubbed for the time being, and reinstituted at a later date. He has failed to respond to every interrogation technique, torture included. I do not know how to carry on the questioning.
Ha! Sergei, perhaps you're right. This helplessness does suit us.
I will phone for his retrieval in the morning. He can be someone else's problem.
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Submitted by DonkeyOnTheEdge (user info) at 2005-10-29 10:04:12 EDT (#)
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