(You guys are really gonna' hate 32 after this post. Warning in advance for: gore, torture, general viciousness, ect)

[One week prior]

Upon reaching the base, Campbell was hauled from the plane and taken off to a holding room. Meanwhile, 32 reported to his superior. 

"Ah, you look like hell. You really should rest more often," The head of the FOH 'defense' sector commented. He smirked at 32, who did, indeed, look very tired. The man 32's powers had been derived from had been a lot more powerful than himself. 32 understood that he was able to go weeks without sleep, food, water, and could even grow back limbs. 32, meanwhile, wasn't as powerful. He needed 12 hours of sleep a week in order to operate normally, food every 3 days, and at least one cup of water per day. His limbs and major organs, as one could tell from his heart, could not grow back if completely removed. 

The comment was meant as a jeer at the assassin. The defense director, Murphy, knew damn well that 32 would not, [i]could not[/i], rest unless ordered to. 32, however, remained indifferent. His cold, dark eyes pierced the man as he stood, back straight and at attention, in front of his desk. Murphy frowned and shifted a little. 
"Give me a mission report."
"The facility was cleared, all personnel dead. Campbell was secured before I went in search of the formula as requested. The formula was not secured due to the basement level of the facility being destroyed in a fire, likely a fail safe in case of invasion." The answer was cold, mechanical, and sounded almost pre-recorded. 32's eyes didn't blink as they burrowed into Murphy's forehead. 

"That's a shame. If we could have gotten that formula, we wouldn't even need Campbell. As it is, you'll have to torture the location of the secondary base out of her. With the kind of power that formula could offer, we could destroy the mutant enemy once and for all, with their own kind at that." 32 remained unmoved. Murphy looked up with slight annoyance. "Well? What are you waiting for? Get to it!" 

"My head hurts." It was true; the dull pounded on the plane had turned into a sharp and unrelenting knife that seemed to dig itself into his skull. The only way to fix it would be wipe his memories yet again, and then let him eat and sleep. Honestly, that was all 32 was really interested in right now. He'd had enough of the woman's noise on the plane, and the last thing he wanted to do was go into that room with her. His small comment may have seemed harmless enough, but they both knew the meaning behind it. 32 had been left unwiped long enough to begin forming his own opinions; he was actually suggesting that the director gave him a break. Murphy was having none of it.
"Was that a tone of defiance I heard?" He said, his voice low, barely hiding his impatience. 32 swallowed hard.
"No sir." 
"Then get your ass in there and get answers!" 

The walk to the holding room wasn't a long one. 32 kept up a quick pace the whole way, not slowing for anything. He was irritated and angry, and the mask he wore over his face itched. The quicker he got this over with, the quicker he got to go back to sleep. God help the woman should she be stubborn. And of course, she would be. That was clear the moment 32 entered the room. Campbell sat in a wooden chair in front of a cheap desk, secured to it by metal cuffs around her wrists. She glared at him with an acidic look, the same that he often wore regardless of who he was looking at. There was a chair on the other side of the desk, intended for him to sit in, but 32 preferred to stand. 

"We want to know where your secondary base is, and you are going to tell us." His voice was the same, robotic tone that it always was. 
"Go to hell," The woman spat. 32 expected as much. He wasted no time moving this thing along; he, frankly, wasn't in the mood. The soldier made his way over to a tray in the corner of the room, supplied with different utensils. Scalpel, pliers, hammer, and other such basic torture essentials. No one had ever taught him the art of prying answers from people; he'd just been shoved in a room with an enemy one day and ordered to do it. Over the years, 32 had become quite skilled at it. Some people cracked easier than others, he had learned. He liked those people. They made his job easier. But then there were those damn ones that hung on for weeks, until he found whatever figurative crowbar it took to pry information out of them. He hoped this woman wasn't one of those people. He had already decided that this would not last longer than a couple days.

32 picked up the pliers and came back over to the woman. "If you don't tell me, I'm going to break your fingers." The words were so straightforward that it was unnerving. He saw a flash of fear behind Campbell's eyes, but she steeled herself bravely and kept her lips pursed. 32 didn't hesitate to wrap the pliers around her left thumb and crush. A painful scream filled the room, but when it was done, he gained no results. 
"Why are you doing this?" Campbell managed to choke out through the obvious pain in her voice. 
"Because they told me to." The answer was so blunt. 
"They're trying to destroy mutants, don't you realize that? I saw you heal from that gunshot; you're a mutant. How could you turn against your own kind?!" The pliers crushed down on her second left finger, cutting her desperate attempt at reasoning off. Campbell cried out again, but fought the pain. 

32 almost always went for the fingers first; they were easy and fragile. Crushing fingers, cutting fingers off, but a person only had so many fingers. Five hours into the session, and he was out of digits. Campbell sported a bloodied face, missing teeth, bloody nubs on each hand, and a great portion of missing flesh. Still, she refused to tell him what he needed to know. 32 was furious inside, but his cold demeanor never showed it. He was beginning to take this personally, which is exactly what Murphy had wanted him to do all along. He demanded she tell him what he wanted to know; she spat bloody saliva on his mask. The man turned and left the room, only to return shortly with a manila folder in his hands. He leaned casually against the far wall as he pretended to read it, for effect only. 32 had already memorized every aspect of the papers inside. On the outside page, the name 'Linda Campbell' was printed. 

"You live at 236 East Forest drive, Manford, Kentucky. You have a husband and three children: ages 13, 9, and 3." 32 looked over the top of the folder at the woman, whose breath had caught in her throat. "I don't like children." 
"I swear to God if you hurt them-"
"Then tell what I want to know." 

Campbell's face had paled. 32 knew he had already won; it was just a matter of time and how far he was willing to go. And he was willing to go as far as he needed. 
"I won't," The woman finally said, "I won't let you use my work to start a war." 
"You've made a mistake." With that, 32 turned and left, leaving Campbell yelling and screaming for him to come back, to stay away from her family. 

32 returned a day later, a small body bound and tossed over his shoulder. He dumped Campbell's thirteen year old daughter in the extra chair, tears of fright rolling down her face. Campbell used every foul word in the dictionary to describe him. 
"Tell me what I want to know, and she won't be hurt," He said flatly. 
"You're sick! You're a sick fucking bastard!" 
"Mom? What's going on? I'm scared!" 

32 ignored the cries as he went back over to his tray of tools. The bloody hammer seemed like a good option. He came back over to the girl and grabbed her hand, forcing it onto the table. Without hesitation, he brought the hammer down at full force, making a sick crack of breaking bones. The girl screamed and tried to pull away, but his grip was too strong. His dark eyes shot towards Campbell, who was yelling, crying, and damning him to hell. But she still wasn't cracking. 
[i]I could be asleep right now.[/i] 32 didn't have much patience left when he'd walked into the room yesterday. What little he had left now was running thin. He tossed the hammer across the room and drew his gun.
"NO!" Campbell screamed, her voice hoarse. 32 raised it just enough to shoot the girl in the knee. The sound of them both crying and yelling was deafening. 
"Tell me!" 
"I won't give you shit, you fucking monster!" 32 raised the gun to the girl's head, giving the mother one last chance. 
"Tell me now!"
Campbell sobbed and screamed, "NO!" 

The sound of a gunshot filled the room, and the noise level was suddenly reduced to half. "NOOO!" Campbell sobbed uncontrollably as her daughter's form went limp. "You sick bastard! I'll kill you! I'll fucking kill you!" 
"You have two more children left," 32 said, not sign of the slightest remorse. 
"You're a fucking monster! A monster!" 
32 turned to leave once more, then Campbell finally broke. "No! I'll tell you! Just leave my family alone!" He stopped and holstered his gun. It was about damn time.