That night flashes before my eyes once again; I find myself unable to resist the pull of the flashback, suddenly finding myself back in that warehouse, chained to a pole. It had been dark, so terribly dark, that night. Our mission had been to scout out the warehouse, make sure it was empty. It should have been empty. Someone had screwed up, but that didn’t matter then. What mattered was the fact that as soon as Bash and I had walked into that warehouse, we were ambushed. It had been a setup the whole time.

There had been ten of them, and because the mission was to simply scout, we weren’t equipped for a fight. The men had easily taken us down. I was the first to be questioned. Again, I think, if only I had been faster than them. If only I had been able to take them down…

They had chained me to a chair, a harsh, bright light glaring down into my eyes. I said nothing as one of the men slapped me, hard, demanding to know who I worked for and why I was there.

Despite the circumstances I was in, I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. I mean, really, if you’re gonna kidnap some guys, at least come up with more interesting questions. I remember the amusement I had felt, assuming that one of our men would be there soon to help us out.

Instead of the whole “I’ll never tell you what I know” schtick, I had went with the classic “feigned confusion.” I plastered the most believably confused look I could come up with on my face, and said in a trembling voice, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The man made a sound of disgust, slamming his fist into my gut. The air was sucked out of me, and I doubled over, trying to catch my breath. I didn’t dare look over to Bash.

“Who. Do. You. Work. For.” He said through clenched teeth. I shook my head, forcing out a low whimper. Well, it hadn’t been that forced.

I guess I had been really convincing, because after ten more minutes of his brutal punches and “Who the hell do you work for?” they realized they weren’t going to get anything out of me. Or maybe they just believed my act. Either way, they decided that Bash would be a better target for their questions.

I distinctly remember the determined look in his eyes as they untied me and shoved him into the vacated chair. He grabbed my arm and barely had enough time to whisper, “Are you okay?” before they shoved a gag in his mouth and pulled me out of his line of reach. I could see the confusion I felt reflected in his eyes as they shoved me against a nearby pole and chained me to it.

“Don’t… don’t you want to question him too?” I asked, thankful for the steadiness in my voice.

The man nearest to me smirked, his expression set in cruel amusement. He pulled my restraints tighter, merely saying, “Why would we need to question him when we can just use him as incentive for you to answer our questions?”

The realization of what he was saying dawned on me, and cold terror seeped through my bones. I started shaking, knowing that no matter what they did, I couldn’t compromise H.Q. Many more lives were on the line than just Bash’s. I looked over to Bash, and knew that he was thinking the same, as he squared his shoulders in the preparation for what was to come.

Never once did I give them anything they wanted to know. They tortured him for hours; my throat had been raw from screaming his name within the first thirty minutes.

It took H.Q. four hours to realize why we weren’t back yet, something we are still trying to figure out why, and another two to send someone out to help us. No one had been out in the field that night, something I’m sure the men who had captured us made sure of.

By the time we were finally found and rescued, it had been far too late for Bash.