Sam Fisher- Torture Noises

  The radio guy goes back to the box and fiddles with some knobs on the side. I see a red light glow and a low hum fills the room.

  What the hell is going on?

  Then it’s almost as if a bolt of lightning answers my question. My ears are suddenly bombarded by a high-pitched electronic shriek that is excruciatingly painful.

  Oh, my God! Shit, turn it off!

  I’m squinting in torment but can see that the six Triad gentlemen are still out there, standing calmly, looking for signs of movement in the room. They’re not affected by the noise at all.

  Damn! Stop it! For the love of Christ!

  I realize I’m bending over, embracing the floor. My hands are clutching the sides of my head and I can’t shake away the torture. This is the fucking worst thing I’ve ever felt in my life!

  The implants. That’s what the device is targeting! It’s sending some kind of electronic signal to the implants in my inner ears. This has turned me into a dog, susceptible to pitches beyond the scope of human hearing. And, like a dog, I’m now crawling on the floor, unable to control myself. I must be drawing attention to myself, for the Triads look in my direction and walk toward me, guns pointed. One of them rips away the sheet of scrap metal, exposing me. I’m helpless at their feet, writhing in agony, pleading with gods that don’t exist to somehow stop the punishment.

  Two of the men grab me under the arms, take my weapon, and drag me to the center of the room.

  Do something! I command myself. I can’t be this vulnerable! I’ve been trained to withstand the worst torture imaginable and do everything I can to fight back. I can’t let them win!

  I’m lying on my right side in a fetal position, my legs curled to my chest. I sense that the five gunmen have surrounded me and are aiming their handguns at my quivering shape. They’re going to execute me here on this cold, dirty wooden floor.

  I swear I’m about to black out as my right hand instinctively moves to one of the pockets on my right calf, the side I’m lying on. I grasp one of the frag grenades I keep outside of my backpack in case I need one for an emergency. If ever there was an emergency, this is surely it.

  Activating it is easy. Tossing it toward the transmitter is another thing altogether. Instead, I elect to simply roll the damned thing right between one of the goon’s legs. The grenade wobbles across the floor and the five gunmen follow it with their eyes. The look of surprise on their faces is priceless, for they realize there is absolutely no time for them to do anything about the inevitable—

  KA-BOOM!

  The pain in my head abruptly ceases. I’m able to think clearly and summon all the strength I have left to leap out of the pitiful position I was in. I ram one of the men, knocking the weapon from his hand, and throw him into the fellow to his right. They collide and fall to the floor. Before they hit it I’m already swinging my right boot up and into the next closest Triad, kicking him onto his ass.

- Operation Barracuda, Chapter 15