Chapter 1: Introduction
Barbed wire wrapped around the perimeter of the compound like a clinging vine of thorns. In the distance, the almost otherworldly jungle whispered and moaned with the wind, sickly sweet—like the gas build-up in a sewer. Chelsea eyed the wild foliage with a mixture of disdain and apprehension. Out there, beyond the barricades, the native wildlife waited for a wrong step, a momentary falter that would give it the chance.
Chelsea Thompson had feared that moment the day she was captured in Europe; she feared it with a clenched jaw as she inched through the lush foliage that cut off her homeland from the strife-torn continent from whence she came.
Now she resided in another jungle: a concrete and steel monstrosity, the cold bars of her cell leaving her more miserable than any real jungle ever could. She had heard the stories of what awaited American soldiers who fell into enemy hands, and with each whispered tale, she imagined those same hands doing the same to her.
Long, slender fingers - like tentacles - that would creep up the sole of her foot, hungrily seeking out the tender spots she had thought unimaginable until now.
As if on cue, the door to her cell swung open. Captain Hiroko Takeda herself stood in the threshold, her black hair sleeked into a tight bun, as sharp as a razor. "Stand up, private."
Chelsea gulped and did as she was told, even as Hiroko's treacherous slippers neared.
She caught a glimpse of the captain's appointee, Lieutenant Rika Sato, at the door, her round eyes like twin suns fixed on Chelsea. Sato was the quieter one, but her presence still brought a chill to the air.
"You know why you're here," Hiroko's mouth curved into a sinister half-smile. Her slender figure betrayed no hint of the cruelty she bottled; her almond-shaped eyes held a secret world, and it sent ice tiptoeing down Chelsea's spine. "Tickle torture.
Yes, we've all heard the rumors." Hiroko's tone was light, almost jovial; a complete contradiction to her cold exterior. "But I assure you, soldier, they are far from exaggerated."
A bead of sweat trailed a lazy path down Chelsea's brow as Hiroko traced a single finger along her instep. Electric pleasure zipped and crackled beneath her skin—then the humiliating flood of laughter followed, as if Chelsea had no control over herself.
She struggled, for all of a second, against the Japanese officer, gasping and keening until her desperate resistance melted away and a puddle soaked her rough woolens. Her body shuddered and heaved as Rika watched, sorrow and something sharper flickering through her gaze before vanishing behind her professional mask.
It wasn't just Chelsea. Every new arrival from the American lines suffered the same excruciating indoctrination, their terrified mutterings echoing the halls in hours that stretched long, languid seconds.
Sergeant Miyuki Kawamura looked a hellion in her uniform, a savage Barbie masking her brutality beneath her petite frame and bright, girlish face. She swaggered in behind Rika and Hiroko.
"What about 4-E today, Captain?" she asked, grinning lasciviously, as if she were as eager for Chelsea to begin her torture session. "I've heard she has the most ticklish feet out of all the new ones."
"Her room then, Sergeant," Hiroko ordered.
"I'll bring 4-E to her cell." Her dark eyes brimmed with barely contained curiosity, her voice musical in its way of commanding. "Ms. Thompson, will you accompany me?"
Chelsea's legs trembled as she let herself be ushered out the door, unsure where Hiroko was taking her. The two walked in silence except for the distant cries of soldiers undergoing their own foot tickling torment. The air thick with humidity, a bead of sweat trickled down Chelsea's collarbone.