Hanging On

He loses track of how many times they've done this. Dragged from cell, tortured and questioned, killed horrifically, brought back in that damn box, dragged back to cell, left alone for awhile. He's even begun to see things, and wonders if his mind is finally breaking under the endless cycle of pain and death.

A figure leans over him, that damned new age serenity painted all over his face. "Hang on, Jack," the voice whispers. "Help is coming."

"No, it isn't," he breathes back. "Just end it."

Insanity would explain a lot. But he hangs on anyway, just in case.