Genma slept. Fitfully, painfully, and every time he woke there was that blaring video, that mumbling video, that bastard in the video assaulting Kakashi with attacks Genma could only guess at half the time; there to keep him unbearable company. He couldn't stand to watch. He made himself watch, because someone would come, someone would come, they came before, and Kakashi would need Genma to be able to tell the truth about what had happened.

They brought Genma food. He refused it. Kumoto reappeared with a nasogastric tube and a large syringe full of thick, pale pinkish liquid. The woman was with him: she held Genma down while they forced the tube up his nose, down the back of his throat, and into his belly, then squirted the nauseating paste down the tube. Genma wasn't sure if it was a victory or not when he vomited the mixture back up only moments after they'd left him alone with the video again.

A different functionary came in -- another shift, Genma guessed -- this one a man with round glasses and a too-long neck, too-thin face. He was less threatening than the woman had been, but only because he seemed more bored. More confident that Genma was no threat at all. A neutralized threat.

Imahara came back at one point and asked him if he was ready to make life easier for his teammate yet. Genma almost acquiesced. But Kakashi was still telling lies, staggering through lies, floundering in lies. He wasn't broken.

"We know he's lying," Imahara told Genma. "But we can pull the truth out of those lies. You could make this all stop."

Genma made a thick noise at the back of his throat, and spat a gob of slick, puke-flavored mucous at her face. She hauled a hand back to slap him, thought better of it, and grabbed his hand instead, squeezing his fingers in a bone-crushing grip.

His own screams echoing off the concrete walls were the first sign, Genma knew, that his interrogators were winning.

They left him alone for longer. And then, abruptly, the video went dark.

Genma felt his heart stop.