As I lie on my cot, bruised, smelly, and wondering why my daily torture hasn’t begun yet, the door to my cell opens. A dim light filters in and I squint.
The plain, pale man is back.
“This way.” His voice is as bland as ever.
I stand and walk in front of him unbound. Any attempt to struggle or run just gives him an excuse to execute me, but I’ve done well at controlling myself. I drag my scruffy bare feet, passing rows of closed doors. I wonder how many other people are locked inside; maybe Dawn’s uncle, or Malaki’s mom.
We enter the same weapons-laden room as usual.
“Please tell me about the information you delivered for Human Equality Organization,” he says, as if we haven’t already been through this a million times.
I clear my throat. “I don’t know anything about it. They just used me to deliver information. I never looked inside the envelopes.”
“Tell me where the HEO headquarters is for Gay Community 17.”
“I don’t know.”