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Breaking Point

11 Aug
Breaking Point

 
 
 

     The scene is a dank, dungeon-like space, the floor stained with old blood, the walls impregnated with the screams of the dying. Centered, is a table on which James Bond lies, shackled and helpless. With him stands a man in a tuxedo. His face shows no cruelty, only indifference, though his eyes belie that indifference. They glitter with malice.
      “So, Mr. Bond It’s down to this. You will tell me your department’s secrets or you will suffer more than you have believed humanly possible.”
      Cooly, and with a sneer of dismissal, James Bond shakes his head. “Do you think you can frighten me, Coldfinger? I’m a trained agent. Pain means nothing to me. You may kill me, yes, but I will never give in, and I’ll take my government’s secrets with me to the grave.”
      That brings a smile and a sad shake of the head. “You may believe that, Mr. Bond, but once I use this machine on you, you’ll be a spillway to everything I want to know.” He points to a small machine sitting on the table next to where Bond is chained. It’s a simple box, with only one control, a small push button. From the box two slim wires run, presumably connected to James Bond, in some unknown way.
      Bond turns his head as much as the shackles will permit. He frowns before saying, “What does it…do?” The simplicity of the thing obviously has him concerned.
      “It makes you talk, Mr. Bond. It makes any man talk. When I push that button you will know agony such as no man has ever faced. It’s directly connected to your neural system, and will make you know exactly how a woman feels in labor…hard labor.” Coldfinger grins, cruelly, as he leans back in his chair, his hand poised over the box, awaiting a response.
      For a long moment Bond stares, as though accessing the chance that the man is lying. He weighs his options and resources. Finally, he shrugs and takes a deep breath.
     “Okay…the man in charge of my department is named Quincy Farber, and he…
 
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Author’s Note:
     This was something prompted by my daughter’s pregnancy and long labor. I’d talk, too.
     And if my little story pleased you, I’m glad. There are other stories posted, as well. You and others like you are the reason I write. If it did bring a moment of reading pleasure, take a moment to rate it. Feedback matters to me. And if you’re in the mood for something a bit longer. make a stop to look at my novels, and read the excerpts to see if they please, as well
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Posted by on August 11, 2012 in Short Story

 

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