I cross to the chair and begin adjusting the restraints. The modifications will spread his limbs wider, exposing more surface area. He tenses as I work, his muscles straining against movements he cannot prevent.
“What are you doing?” The question is sharper now. “Alexei, talk to me. What’s happening?”
I complete the restraint adjustment in silence. His arms are extended, his legs separated, his torso fully accessible. The thin smock provides minimal coverage, and I note that his respiratory rate has already increased.
Fear response initiating.
I retrieve the first implement from the tray: a metal rod temperature-controlled to four degrees Celsius. Cold enough to produce significant nervous system stimulus without risk of tissue damage.
His eyes track the implement. His body attempts to contract away despite the restraints.
“Please. Whatever I did, I’m sorry. I’ll give you more information. The Geneva accounts, the shell companies, I’ll tell you everything right now. You don’t have to?—”
I press the cold metal against the inside of his forearm.
The sound he makes is not quite a scream. It’s a sharp inhalation followed by a vocalization that dies in his throat, his body convulsing against the restraints. I hold the implement in place, observing the piloerection that spreads outward from the contact point.
I remove the implement. I wait. I press it against his other forearm.
“Alexei—please—I don’t understand?—”
His words fragment as the cold registers. I am watching his face now, cataloging the microexpressions: shock, fear, confusion, betrayal.
The betrayal is most pronounced. He believed that our dynamic had shifted, that the information exchange and the personal questions had established a new framework.
He was correct. That is why I am here.
I move the implement to his chest, tracing the sternum with the cold metal. His back arches against the chair. The smock has ridden up during his struggles, exposing his stomach.
I apply the cold implement to his lower abdomen.
The response is immediate and involuntary. His hips jerk, his breath catches, and I observe the physiological cascade that the intense cold triggers in proximity to the pelvic region. Vasoconstriction followed by reactive vasodilation. Heightened nerve sensitivity. The autonomic responses that do not distinguish between types of intense sensation.
I hold the implement in place.
“Stop.” The word is a gasp. “Please stop. I’ll tell you anything.”
I remove the implement. I set it aside. I retrieve the neural stimulation electrodes.
“The Geneva shell companies,” I say. My voice is level, uninflected. “You mentioned them yesterday as future currency. I require the specific names and account structures now.”
“I—I don’t—” He’s panting, his skin flushed from the cold exposure. “I need a moment. I can’t think when you’re?—”
I attach the first electrode to his inner thigh.
The placement is precise, targeting the nerve cluster that runs along the femoral region. The electrode is calibrated for sensory amplification rather than pain induction.
I activate it.
His entire body goes rigid. The sensation is not painful, but it is overwhelming, a flood of nerve signals that the brain cannot process at normal speeds. His mouth opens but no sound emerges. His eyes squeeze shut.
This is verification. This is protocol. This is the reassertion of the interrogation framework.
But I am watching his face with an attention that has nothing to do with information extraction.
“The shell companies,” I repeat. “Names.”
“Orel Holdings.” The words spill out between gasps. “Orel Holdings and Volga Investments and... and... Krasny Capital. They’re all registered in Geneva but the... the beneficial owner structures...”
