After 15 minutes being held in the cold-water pit, the cadets are then brought back out to the surface.
The lead masked men then grabbed Vera out of the group, dragging her away after throwing a bag over her head.
"VERA!" the rest of the cadets screamed, trying to stop Vera from being pulled away from them. They all know too well what is going to happen when a cadet in SERE training is isolated from the rest.
It's relatively harder to break them in interrogation and torture if they are in a group, as they can encourage each other on. Alone, however, is the real challenge, when the hopelessness of SERE training is really fleshed out.
"PISS OFF!" roared a masked woman, she and several other masked men dashed up and beat the remaining cadets back, and another masked man fired warning shots into the air, prompting the cadet to fall back.
Vera is then dragged into a room; her bag is then yanked off. She stared into the eyes of the masked men, firm and determined.
"One more chance, speak when you can, orc," said a masked woman of more than 2m in height, using a racist term towards those that are part of the Slavic culture circle.
This prompted Vera to swear at her in Russian, then In Belarusian.
Angered, she asked the other masked men to grab tasers and tased Vera mercilessly, of course, doing it in moderation to ensure that Vera is not at risk of severe physical harm.
Vera's screams of pain soon spread outside of the room, clearly audible to the cadets who are now all handcuffed to pillars.
"YOU BAST*RDS!" yelled Albert, "what fun is there in beating up women?" You ball-less freaks! Let me go, and I will—"
Before he can finish his rant, fire balls and ice daggers thrown by the masked men danger close to him prompted him to shut up.
"Want to suffer? Need not rush! There're lots of chances!" laughed a masked man sadistically.
Back in the room, the masked woman gave Vera a silencing face hold, careful to ensure that he does not cover her nose.
"NOW ORC, IT APPEARS THAT YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND THE SITUATION YOU ARE IN!" she roared.
Vera did not succumb to the pressure, biting her hand, she yelped, freeing her grasp and immediately spraying alcohol onto where she bit, blue blood oozing out.
The rest of the masked men then grabbed whips and rained down blows on her.
The back and forth lasted for another 15 minutes, which felt like an eternity for Vera. She is then brought back out, horrifying the rest of the cadets at her state:
Her uniform is beaten open, with tears in the fabric and blood oozing out. Cuts and bruises littered her skin, from her face all the way down to her serpent tail, which had been locked together by a roll of cloth to prevent her from using her pincer when stressed.
One of her ram horns has parts broken off. Though it is essentially keratin (nails), hence not painful unless the entire horn is broken off, it still takes significant strength to break a Chryso or Draco horn, testament to the extent of the torture she had been subjected to.
Sean is unsure he should feel thankful or not at how the masked men, whom are really just their instructors in disguise, are being restrained with their physical abuse. On one hand it ensures that none of the cadets will face life-threatening situations, and Sean knows for a fact that there are doctors and psychiatrists on standby, ensuring their safety. On the other hand, considering the masked men's techniques are designed to maximise their suffering, Sean is seriously contemplating whether hypothetically giving them a quick one is a better way out.
Vera staggered forward, falling down in front of the cadets, panting. Sean grimaced, silently hoping that she can just say the safety words "doughnut man" twice to stop the role-playing as they had been briefed on the SOP of the Tier 1 course before starting the course, but unless it is done in an emergency it will cause a deduction of her points. Or just confess and get eliminated.
"ANYONE WANT TO FOLLOW HER PATH?!" yelled a masked man, grabbing her up and throwing her back on the ground.
The rest of the cadets remained silent. Seeing how uncooperative they are, the masked men then grabbed Sean out next, trying to drag him out, only to be hindered by his 150kg body weight. They grunted, painfully pulling him with them.
The other cadets snickered at the comedic effect of this process.
"DID I TELL THE REST OF YOU TO TALK?!" roared a masked man, throwing ice daggers around them.
They drove out a pickup truck and tied Sean to it, starting the engine and dragging Sean along the road, pulling him over the jagged ground.
By the time they are done, Sean's lips are still as tightly sealed as cement, refusing to speak a single word.
The masked men gave a sarcastic clap at the cadets.
"GOOD WILLPOWER!" he sneered.
"Let's see whether you all can still be so firm when psychological methods are being applied instead."
With that, black bags are once again thrown over the cadets, and they are being transported away again, unable to see where they are going.
The masked men grabbed them by their shoulders instead of their handcuffs, brashly yet carefully guiding them forward, calling out obstacles like steps on their path.
Each of the cadets are then thrown into a small room that barely has enough space for them to stand. The bags are then pulled off and the doors are locked shut behind.
Sean looked around, the entire room is pitch black without any windows, a small breathing hole for ventilation is their only medium to the outside world. He felt around, feeling something wet. He looked down, moving back in horror to see a human body model next to him "beaten to death" and with fake blood oozing out, which is what he had felt. Even though he knows that it is fake, he could not help but to be scared as a result.
He tried to fall asleep so as to distract himself, but any illusion of getting sleep was soon shattered by the loud rock music coming through the speakers at maximum volume, mixed together with the sounds of ferocious animals and monsters like Deep Dwellers, making it impossible to sleep.
A long, sleepless and torturous night later, the doors opened.
Louis saw a human girl in front of him. He couldn't believe it. She is masked, but Louis recognised those soft, brown eyes.
"Charlotte?" he gasped, he knows it cannot be.
She is dead, he saw her being consumed by the flames on the boat.
"Oui, mon cheri," she smiled, calling out to her beloved in Provenance accented French.
She hugged him, poking at his nose fondly.
"But…you…are…dead!" he said. "You can't be here…in South…Africa…I…"
"Shh…" she smiled softly, pressing a finger against his lips. "You are stressed. Look at me, I am alive, ain't I?"
Louis breathed, his mind still trying to make sense of what he is experiencing.
The girl chuckled, kissing him tenderly in the cheek. He could feel the warmth of her lips even through the mask.
"You are delusional," she cooed. "You are locked up here because you keep rambling about me and my parents dying by a bomb, then saying you went to the US Marines, and into UNSSD. This is why we have to lock you up to make sure no one is hurt by you."
She then cried, wet tears falling on Louis' face. "Please don't hate me, or your Papa and Maman for this."
"No…" Louis muttered. "You lie…Sean, Ariel, Eddie, Albert…and Phineas! They are real, I know!" he said.
Charlotte cried, shaking her head wildly. "They are not! Please, mon cheri, why would I hurt you or lie to you?"
Louis' brain is in shambles now. Reality is definitely contradicted here, yet Charlotte seems to have something for every claim he can make.
But that is not the most powerful attack on his perception of reality.
It is how in his mind, he wished this is real, to be able to see Charlotte again, to see his "ma cherie".
"Don't cry…please…" he quivered, reaching forward to wipe her tears.
"It's not your fault…" she comforted. "So please, tell me more about your imagined identity, so that we can help you!"
"You mean…me as Number 42…?" asked Louis hesitantly.
"Oui!!" exclaimed Charlotte. "You were rambling about a big, bad, meanie, some bast*rd in South Africa?"
Louis paused, still hesitant. Charlotte sighed fondly, hugging him. "Go on. Once you recover, I will make ratatouille, pair with some lobsters Cajun style…"
Louis nodded along fondly, smiling along, mesmerised by the fond, cosy picture she is describing.
"Maybe I can fry a couple of catfishes just for you…" she continued.
Then Louis froze. He frowned at Charlotte.
"I hate catfish," he said.
Charlotte paused, her affectionate fingers laced around his neck went rigid.
Louis' red eyes fixed on her. Gone is the domestic bliss, now all that remains is perception. She is relying on stereotypes of Cajun Americans.
"You are not her, who, no, what are you?"
Suddenly, the figure deformed in front of Louis' eyes. Louis shrieked as he backed away from the reformatting flesh in front of him, which has now taken another feminine form.
Louis looked at the strange figure in front of him. She has an imposing height of more than 2m.
But her height is not what scared Louis, but it's her features. The dominant Sellardraxian traits she has are those of the Draco subspecies, yet her form appears to have combined other subspecies as well, once can see feather like features of Avis, ghostly vibes of Angels…
No, not other subspecies, rather, her form is simply beyond what Louis can associate with sentient life on Earth? Humans? Bethorians? Sellardraxians? She is all yet none simultaneously.
It is said that the fear of the unknown is the most brutal and totalising fear of mankind, and Louis would find himself agreeing to it. Not a single finger has been laid on him, yet he is quivering from fear, amplified by his sleep deprivation.
The woman bent down, looking at him deep in the eyes.
"Name?" she asked. Her voice is cold, lacking any noticeable emotion.
"I don't have a name," replied Louis, his rationality overriding his fear. The whole point of SERE exercise is to simulate capture and real interrogation, and he knows if he says anything, he is eliminated.
And after her playing this cruel trick on him, there is no way he will say another word. Anger started to replace fear in his emotive layer.
She giggled unsettlingly.
"You interest me, 2 others already cracked when I played this trick on them, surprised you didn't," she said. "Impressive, for a scraper."
"As if using someone's loved ones, worse, someone's dead loved ones is something to be proud of," retorted Louis. "You speak French huh? Well, here is a new word for you. P*tain—"
"AHHHHH!!!!!" Louis' swearing was cut short when she formed a fireball in her hand and pressed against his exposed shoulder, the blaze consuming him. Of course, she kept it in control. She does not want to actually incinerate him after all, and that fire is designed to maximise the feeling of being burnt, without actually scalding him. This is a very advanced form of Sellardraxian magic.
"WHY AREN'T YOU TALKING?!" she gloated, revealing the full sadist she is. "LOUDER, I CAN'T HEAR YOU!"
(Observation room)
Franz and Jay looked at their screens. Both were visually disturbed.
"You know," quipped Jay. "I know she is the master of infiltration, espionage and interrogation, but this?"
"Artemis 100 "Mistral" really is not one to be messed with."