9,393 Words

   “Where is the place your friend calls home?” Asked Tesher.
   “He’s not my friend.” Baxter glared.
   “Not your friend.” Tesher immediately answered aloud.
   “Not my friend,” Baxter repeated. He knew the next question. And it would be hell to dodge.
   “Is this person family?” Suddenly Baxter loved this question. He could answer this truthfully. In doing so, this spy hunter would never be able to find him.
   “No.” Answered Baxter. And despite it being the truth, it was also a lie.
   The frustration returned to Tesher’s face. He tried to disguise it. “Let’s go back then. What city does this person call home?”
   Baxter’s head dropped with shame, “Aeroplane City.” He was beginning to have trouble keeping the words inside himself. His struggle to give up some information the Armbatrol demanded began to create more and more physical pain by withholding it. The salt he licked off the floor had counteracted the drug some, but the drug still had a lot of bite.