I was nearly gasping when I came to what seemed the end of the tunnel that ran through the ceiling.

I blinked when the light hit my eyes, trying to adjust my vision.

My throat tightened when I heard a gruff voice speaking.

“Now, take your pick, sir. Chinese water torture, or dunking?”

There was no answer. I held my breath, and tried to look into the room; I almost swore out loud. They were just beyond my eyesight, but if I strained enough, I could see them.

“I wonder what would happen if your little friend could see us now,” Lin’s Master chuckled; he stroked his beard thoughtfully.

“I’m sure she knows what this form of torture does to the victim.”

I felt my fists clench. He went on.

“A funny thing, the human mind; it wants rhythm in most of its life. The human brain simply loves patterns,” he continued, the smugness in his voice capable of drowning you.

“Can you imagine what would happen when the precious pattern was distorted? Of course, you know.”

He bent low over Cricket, smirking.


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