47- Picana Torture

  Cromwell then moved away and rolled a flat cart on wheels from behind the column. There was a box on the platform that resembled a large car battery. Wires connected it to a batonlike object. At first 47 thought it was a flashlight, but then he saw the two metal prongs on its bronze-covered end.

  The militant picked up the wand and flicked a switch on the box. The machine hummed. That confirmed 47’s alarm that it was a battery containing a rheostat to raise or lower voltage.

  “This is a picana, Agent 47,” Cromwell said. “It is an illegal device that originated in Latin American countries, specifically for human torture. It uses the same principles as a hotshot—you know, a cattle prod—except that a picana delivers shocks of very high voltage and low current. The voltage is ample enough to cause significant pain, but the low current means that it is less likely to kill you or leave marks on the skin. I’ll give you a little taste now. When Charlie returns, we’ll really have some fun. We’ll strip you, tie you down, and use the picana to abuse all the sensitive areas of your body, and, believe me, there are more than you can possibly imagine when it comes to electric shocks. And the authorities will never know when they perform your autopsy.”

  With that, Cromwell thrust the prod forward and held it against the back of 47’s outstretched hand. The pain was sharp and intense, causing the hitman to involuntarily jerk his arm away.

  The terrorist laughed. “Now do you see? Is the situation perfectly clear to you? Imagine what it will be like when you are restrained and can’t avoid the agony.”

  The man poked 47 on his shoulder blade, causing the hitman to roll to his side. Another jab went to a kidney. A further nudge attacked the ribs. Despite the pain, the assassin did his best to rotate his body closer to the handgun.
...

 47 couldn’t help watching Cromwell’s face. The man’s eyes clouded over and he seemed to disappear into a painful memory, forgetting who he was addressing. Suddenly the man thrust the picana into the hitman’s lower back, delivering a few seconds of misery. Then he resumed his reverie.
...

  “No! No! I’ll kill you!” Cromwell spent the next ten seconds jabbing the picana into different parts of 47’s body, plunging knives of anguish through the hitman’s senses.

  Apparently the hitman had touched a nerve. Perhaps it was the truth.

  And then the clock struck 12:02.

- Hitman: Damnation, chapter 32