Claimed by Cipher - Lolita Lopez

Prologue

Splinter Stronghold

22.7 Miles Outside Willow's Tears

Planet Calyx

Pain is weakness leaving the body.

Wracked with agony, Terror repeated the mantra that had been drilled into his brain from the first day at the academy. The sizzling arc of electricity ripped through his body, causing every muscle in his body to seize violently. When it finally—mercifully—stopped, he twitched and jerked for a few seconds before managing to suck a harsh, almost sobbing breath into his lungs.

Sagging in his metal bonds, he clenched his good eye shut and ignored the relentless ache in his shoulders. How much more of this unending torment could he take? It shamed him to admit that he didn't know. He had lost track of his time in captivity some time ago. He thought it might have been thirteen weeks but he couldn’t be sure. What he did know was that his body was slowly beginning to fail him and his mind wouldn't be far behind.

Before he let even one secret slip, he would find a way to end his own life rather than betray his brothers-in-arms. His honor would accept nothing less. His desperate need to protect his friends demanded it.

Since being taken from the scene of the crash, he had been moved four times, always under heavy sedation and chains. There had been no chance of escape and no sign of rescue. In the first few agonizing days of his captivity, he had been in the care of Devious, one of the Shadow Force's long-term undercover agents. Though the torture he had suffered under his friend's hand had been horrendous, Terror had trusted that Dev wouldn't kill him. He had been optimistic that Devious would find a way to get word to Torment about his location.

But that hadn't happened.

After three weeks in the main Splinter camp, he had been trucked out in the dark of night to a new place—and then another and another. This new installation seemed to be underground in the old mine shafts near Willow's Tears. The cold, dank wetness of the place assured him of that. The sooty purple dust that coated everything was evidence of the clean-burning fuel that had been mined here in decades past…

A heavy hand smacked his face, the sting of it bringing Terror back around to reality. "You still breathing or do you need another jolt get you going again?"

He lifted his weary head and stared at the pock-faced man who had been trying to get him to talk for over an hour.

"You know I can keep this up all night." The interrogator motioned toward the battery array he had arranged in the cell.

Terror simply blinked his eye and waited for the threats to continue.

As if understanding that pain wasn't going to loosen Terror's tongue, the man switched tactics. "I know you're hungry. I know you're cold. Give me something useful—just the tiniest piece of actionable intel—and I'll make things more comfortable for you in here."

Although his empty belly ached and his dirty skin desperately needed a good washing, Terror rejected the tempting offer by lowering his face and focusing on the floor. Muscles tense, he waited for a blow or another round of the electricity but neither came. The interrogator surprised Terror by unhooking the electrodes and winding up the cables. Certain this was some sort of trick, he mentally and physically steeled himself for an even more painful experience.

He consoled himself with the knowledge that none of the Splinter interrogators were as sadistic or cruel as Torment. There was a reason men broke the moment Torment walked into their cells. A lifetime in a Kovark prison cell or a quick hanging as a convicted Tier One Terrorist was preferable to even ten minutes under Torment's skilled, punishing hands.

The door to the cell was jerked open, the rusted metal squealing and grating, and the Splinter interrogator jammed his head into the hall. "Hey, Bruno, get D.D."

Terror perked at the mention of this new person. He imagined another pair of evil hands torturing him. They hadn't yet brought in a wetworks man to cut at him. Maybe that was next on their list of horrors. Razor blades, knives, chisels—there were all sorts of heinous tools of the trade to cause gruesome injuries in the hopes of motivating him to break his silence and talk about the undercover operatives, the long-term mission plans for Calyx and the current operations underway to neutralize the Splinters.

He suspected they had avoided causing him traumatic injuries so far because of the infection risk and the