"Who do you work for?"

The voice was unemotional, cutting, persistent. The interrogator, standing over her chair, was faceless in the harsh light of Examination Room Three. From behind a one-way glass, Chapelle watched the proceedings with folded arms and pursed lips. They were nearing her breaking point. This had to be it. She couldn't possibly stand any more.

In the dim light he watched as she drooled more than spat a mouthful of blood out, saliva and blood trailing down her chin and spiraling in ropy threads to her lap. She was naked and filthy, tied to the chair where she had been for days, an IV drip providing only as much nourishment as she required to stay alive.

He hardly recognized Nina Meyers, former CTU employee.

"Who do you work for?" the interrogator asked again. He grabbed her face in one hand and she looked up at him, blinking against the harsh lighting. Her chapped lips moved, soundless. She cleared her throat and tried again.

Chapelle stepped towards the glass, straining to hear the whispered words through the speaker system.

"I almost want to tell you. But not quite."

Nina smiled weakly, her eyes heavy from drugs and exhaustion. A smile. She looked over at the mirror, drilling into where Chapelle stood.

He kicked at the wall between them in frustration. Not quite. But he would make sure she broke.

He stormed out of the observation booth to the music of Nina's dry, rasping chuckle, and the repeated question:

"Who do you work for?"

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