After the water, there was fire. And that was awful. That was being burned alive on a pyre. That was being lowered into a cauldron of boiling lead. The agony was incredible, but with fire, the virtual agony was so intense that it overloaded the brain and you blacked out.

Just the first kiss of that bubbling virtual lead on your skin and you were screaming. You were fainting. You were convulsing. You were on the point of death.

Then, when your entire foot was in the lead, well, your foot was no longer in existence, and your leg was cooking off, millimetre by millimetre as it went into the horrible, boiling, grey liquid. It was very realistic, it even smelled like hot metal.

And you couldn't scream any more. Your lungs were done, your throat was frozen shut and then your brain turned off.

Of course, they kept bringing him around, firing the same questions at him and getting the same answers.

"Don't know. Told you 'eady."

"You know something you're not telling us. We can read it right here on the screen."

And then the fire would return and Rook would scream as he was lost in some flaming horror. But, soon enough his brain would virtually fry and he would black out. When he came around again, usually after being slapped and prodded, there would be the same question, the same answer and more of the same fire.

"This isn't getting us anywhere," one voice was saying.

"Fucking bullshit." Gaines sounded unhappy. Maybe that was the default for Gaines.

Rook would've liked to chip in his own agreement regarding the relative bullshitness of the situation, but his throat had dried up with all the screaming and no one had bothered to give him anything to drink.

When they asked him the questions he could only gasp and hiss. No actual words would come out.

So they burned him again. Presumably they didn't want someone from the executive floor here at Torture Incorporated to come in and find them sitting around idle when they could be virtually roasting someone over hot coals.

Funny thing was, hot coals were bad, but not as bad as the molten lead. However they lasted longer. For some reason this bit of virt included demonic looking children doing the turning of the spit. Rook was virtually chained to this long metal spit, and these gaunt, weird looking kids, dressed in rags, were turning the spit manually, to roast him evenly above the bed of red hot coals. The virtual children were very solemn, they were not gleeful. They seemed to have teeth filed to sharp points. It was an odd detail that stuck in the mind as he twirled around and around at a steady, slow rate, baking evenly on all sides. What was the idea behind that, he wondered in between screams? The pain was terrible. The hot coals were really hot. He was actually cooking. His skin was blistering and peeling away. His flesh was bubbling. He was dying.

Again.

Except that he'd already boiled in lead. And burned on a pyre. There wasn't anything left of him to burn. He was just gases now, rapidly dissipating in the atmosphere.

But, of course, it was all virt. Not real. And for some reason, despite the very realistic agonies, that took away some sort of edge. He didn't know why.

Eventually, though, he blacked out again.

They gave up on fire. Rook had stuck to his single, rote response and they wanted more. He had kept back a couple of details, he knew that. And he knew they were probably key to keeping Plesur out of their hands. And he wasn't going to give them up. Even if they killed him.

That was a laugh. They were going to kill him. One hundred percent guaranteed. The sooner he gave them those details they would finish him off. So he hung on. It was weird. He wasn't even really sure why he was doing it. For Plesur's sake? To extend his own life? He didn't have an answer.

"This'll work," said Gaines, while changing the settings on the little torture device. "This plays on really great primal fears."

"I hope so, because we're running out of time on this. They're already unhappy upstairs."

Rook had only a little time to wonder what really great primal fears were involved before he realized that after water and fire, it had to be earth.

The virt had him laying in the bottom of a deep trench. It was very real. It was cold, too, clammy. Wet, moldy smelling dirt was being shovelled down onto him. He saw just the shovels, now and then, and then he didn't see them because his face was covered in the dirt.

His arms were bound securely behind him, and his ankles were cuffed together. There was no way to evade the dirt that was raining down from above. The dirt kept coming. He was being buried alive.

He knew he was screaming. Which should've been impossible since he was under a foot of dirt already. There was this pressure, and this sense of terror, of claustrophobia beyond any imaginable nightmare. He couldn't move, he was buried alive, he couldn't breathe, he was dying in a hole in the ground, buried alive. Buried alive

And then it was over, and he was sucking in air and back in the chair and the whole virtual nightmare was done.

Gaines and the other man were watching him.

"Okay, you had enough yet?" growled Gaines.

Rook couldn't talk. Not yet. He managed to grunt. His mouth was so dry it was like pieces of leather rubbing together. He coughed.

"Think he needs water, " said the other man.

"Fuck him. Dirtbag."

"If he doesn't get water, I don't think he can talk."

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Gaines got up and stomped away. A door slammed.

The other man gave Rook water from a bottle with a straw. The straw felt like a piece of metal an inch wide. Rook's mouth felt like it belonged to somebody else. But a little water was a good thing. Rook sucked it down.

"Sorry about Gaines."

Rook stared up at Mr Friendly. Was he suggesting that he was innocent in all this? That he was just along for the ride?

"Dirty work, huh?" Rook grunted, just this side of comprehensible.

Mr. Friendly looked even more uncomfortable.

"Someone has to do it," Rook continued.

"Look. Just tell them what you know."

"Alred' did."

"They want more. Don't you understand? They're under enormous pressure to get some result out of you."

"'queeze blood outta stone."

"Gaines is sure you know something that you're not revealing."

"Sadis' is all."

Mr. Friendly blinked. This was perfectly true, and he knew it and he didn't want to think about it.

"Have some more water."

The straw brought the water, so it was good. Rook sucked greedily on it.

"Think about all this, okay?" Mr Friendly was agitated. "I'll be back in a moment."

The door shut behind him. Once again Rook was alone, although still wired up to the virt machinery and the sophisticated shit in the tower behind him.

And then he thought he heard a phone warble in a really old fashioned way. Like something out of the twentieth century. Two rings and it picked up on its own, and a familiar voice spoke in his head.

"Venner. I have a call from your daughter."