Ortega was lying on a table, his hands and feet tied.
He was alone.
Again, they had put a cloth inside his mouth – he could barely breath through it – and he was just lying there, still, waiting for them to come back and start torturing him again.
And in the end, they obviously came for real.
They were holding some buckets.
He felt the water passing through the fabric over his mouth and starting to come in through his nose.
He tried to blow it away, but he couldn't catch his breath to do it.
Some water reached his throat, and he retched.
He tried to cough it away, but in trying to do so, he only hurt himself.
Between the gauze for the wound, water and blood, he couldn't cough the water away, he couldn't set his airways free.
He was now short of oxygen.
While he couldn't breathe, Ortega felt that he was dying.
He started shaking his body, but it didn't help.
At this point there was a never-ending, really long pause, then – finally – they set his nose free and only then could he breathe again.
The wheezing sound Ortega finally made was long and horrible.
When he breathed, he stimulated the wound on his tongue and the cloth immediately became red with both blood and water.
He was soaked with freezing water – as if it wasn't cold enough – and he couldn't even scream in pain. He could only mumble, and that too hurt him.
“Quit, Ortega: the SOG doesn't suit you. You don't have what takes to be a leader”
Ortega didn't reply.
Some other water flew inside his throat and Ortega immediately tried to breathe, but it was too late already.
He was short of oxygen again, and again he felt that death was imminent.
I am dying – he thought.
I am really dying.
He started shaking as if he had seizures: it was partly his body trying to set himself free, but the seizures were also involuntary, due to both panic and pain.
Only then did the water stopped flowing and, through the wet cloth, Ortega could finally breathe... Again.
“We don't want you in the SOG”
“We will make your life hell, if you get in. Because you know... We talked about you a lot and we don't like you, as a team leader. We'll take you down, whether you want it or not. That's why you are here rather than in the infirmary, receiving stitches on your tongue. So that, tonight, we can take you down for good. Understood? Look at me...
I said LOOK AT ME, GODDAMN IT!
GIVE ME SOME MORE WATER, ASSHOLES!
I'LL TAKE YOUR TONGUE OUT, MOTHERFUCKER! I'LL CHOP IT OUT RIGHT NOW. I AM GOING TO TURN YOU INTO A FUCKING CRIPPLE SO THAT YOUWILL NEVER EVER LEAD ONE OF MY FUCKING TEAMS!”
The man put his index finger inside Ortega's mouth and started pressing his wound beneath the wet gauze.
The fabric immediately became drenched in blood, becoming even redder than before. They had re-opened the cut on his tongue
Ortega felt his head pierced by a thousand sharp needles, than he fainted.