Rough gravel, carefully scraped flat, is cold on their bare feet. The spy shifts slightly, testing the pinch of the cuffs linking their wrists and feet to a thick spike of rebar pounded into the ground behind them. The shell of what will one day be apartments is beginning to take form around and above them; skeletal concrete posts shore up what will be the foundation of the basement around them, and more climbs above ground in a tangle of rebar and scaffolding.
Somewhere nearby, they hear the wailing beeps of heavy machinery put in reverse.
"Sounds like the construction crews are starting to arrive," they comment idly.
Their interrogater, leaning on the ladder out of the pit, smirks. Their gun remains steadily trained on the spy. "That would be the cement truck," they confirm. "But don't get your hopes up; my team is just borrowing it."
The truck appears over the rim of the pit, backing up slowly until the chute is close enough to unfold over the future basement.
"They were scheduled to put the floor in today," the interrogator remarks. "I thought we'd get an early start, you know? Help them out a bit."
The spy tugs in a sudden burst of fear at their cuffs. "Wait-"
The interrogator climbs up the ladder and signals to the truck. With a horrible grinding sound, the massive drum begins to churn, and the first flecks of sludge start to roll down the chute.
"Wait, don't-" the spy lurches against the rebar, scattering gravel underfoot. The only way out of the pit is up the ladder their interrogater guards. Even if their hands were free, there'd be no scaling the pit's sheer walls of hard-packed earth.
"Last chance," their interrogator calls over the rumble of the truck. "Who hired you, and where did you send the information you stole?"
Concrete hits the ground with a wet flop and splatters outwards, creeping slowly but surely towards the spy. They shift again, keenly aware of the texture of rock and dirt against their bare feet.
"It doesn't work like that," they plead. Words spill faster as the flow of concrete down the chute continues. "I don't know where it went, I only had instructions on how to send it! I was hired anonymously, it's safer for everyone that way, please-"
"Nearly everyone, anyway. Didn't seem to be of much help to you." Their interrogator leans on the top of the ladder. "I don't believe you. Someone of your caliber doesn't go into jobs like this blind. You know more than you're giving me."
A cold fleck of wet concrete splatters across their foot. The spy yelps. Their wrists are bruised and torn from the force of their struggles by now. Their efforts only redouble. Concrete squishes between their toes when they lift first one foot, then another, but it's no use. The rebar doesn't budge, and the concrete only keeps coming.
Laughter floats down from above. The spy raises tear-streaked cheeks to see the rest of the inerrogator's team gathered around the pit.
"Looks like a fuckin dance," one shouts down, then demonstrates by hopping from one foot to another, mimicking the sounds of pain they're all already familiar with from the team's prior efforts at wringing the information from the spy. "Dance, you fucking jester, and maybe we'll end it quick!"
"Pay up," another calls over them. "They cried less than five minutes after seeing the truck."
"Damn it! Fine." The interrogator tosses a roll of bills to their teammate.
The spy gapes. Concrete oozes over the tops of their feet.
Fuck them all. They shut their mouth and begin a breathing exercise to calm the terror juddering through their body. The enemy team hoots and jeers above them, endlessly amused.
The truck's awful roar shuts off. The spy's eyes snap open, flicking from the top of the concrete around their ankles and up to the last of the sludge dripping from the chute.
The interrogator checks their watch. "It takes about thirty minutes for this type of concrete to harden enough to walk on. Not that you'll be walking anywhere, of course." They lean on the top of the ladder. "So I'd say you have about.... twenty-five minutes to decide if you would rather keep your feet, or your loyalty to your employer."
