This is an Unexpected Bump for Sure -- 22

He looks at me.  I look away.  He grabs my chin and forces my face to where I have to look at him.  I close my eyes.  He slaps me.
“Keep your eyes open!”  He says.
I comply.
“What are you!”   He yells.
“What do you mean?” I reply.
“What are you!”  He yells louder.
“I ,. . . I don’t know what you mean.”  I answer, stammering for fear.
“We have reason to suspect that you are not an ordinary citizen.”
“I’m about as ordinary as they come.”
He slaps me.
“Smart cracks will get you no pleasant experience,” he tells me.
He bends down and places his face about an inch from mine.
“We want to know all about what you are involved in!”  He yells.
“It’s hard to explain,” I say.
“Well, we have plenty of time,” he tells me., “ because you are going to be in here for a long, long time.”
He straightens up and stands back.
“You can make it easy on yourself and get out of here much sooner, though, if you tell us all we want to know.”
He pauses.
“Do you think you can do that?”  He says.
“If I know anything.” I reply.
He slaps me.
“That wasn’t the answer I wanted,” he states rather firmly.  “Do you know the answer I want?”  He asks.
He looks at me, bent down, his face inches from mine.
I don’t know what do say.
He slaps me again.
“Well!”: he shouts, right in my face.
I wince.
“What answer do I want!”  He screams at me.
“I wish I knew,” I reply, rather meekly.
He grabs me by the shoulders and shakes me.
Then he straightens up, backs away, checks his watch, , stares straight at me.
“I have to leave for now. You are going back to your quarters.  When I return, you will answer my questions (with the emphasis on will).”
The other two men take me back, close the door, and I am again in utter darkness.

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