Sevyarynets told how they organized a monstrous gas attack for him at Akrestsina

Gas attack at Akrestsina, July 2020.

I wake up in the Akrestsina solitary confinement cell even before reveille – somewhere in the courtyards people are wailing. I listen – they are asking to go to the toilet. Apparently, they were taken out for transport/stage last night, and the paddy wagons for Zhodzina haven't arrived yet.

The wailing grows, turning into screams.

Reveille. I hear the staff stirring, lazily bickering with the people. The superiors haven't arrived yet, there are no orders, so the answer is one:

— "Endure it."

Finally, a shift change. Inspection. They transfer me to an adjacent solitary confinement cell – the same concrete box with a wooden bunk fastened to the wall.

And people from the courtyards begin to be led out to the toilet – into my cell.

I hear:

— "Commander, how do we flush? There's no water!"

— "And where to wash hands?"

— "And where is the water?"

— "Is there at least toilet paper?…"

The staff slam doors in the corridor:

— "Hurry up."

— "Move it!"

The queue moves. An hour. Two. Three.

"Quite a transport, I think. Half of Akrestsina is being taken out – probably a 'pre-election' clearance."

And behind the door, the convoy and staff somehow cheered up, they're laughing, hurrying people along. Finally, they call out to each other:

— "So, is that everyone?"

— "Everyone."

— "Come on, bring him back!"

And then I got goosebumps. Oh my God. It can't be.

Exactly. They open the solitary confinement cell:

— "Go back."

— "Are you kidding me? At least turn on the water!"

— "Get out, I said!"

And so it is. They bring me back – into the 2 by 3 meter cell without water, where dozens of people had just used the toilet. It's July. I will not describe what the "hole" turned into there and what a stench stood. It's impossible to breathe. It stings the eyes.

I bang on the door.

They open again, three of them enter.

— "Assume search position!"

Hands on the wall, I stand, they search for show (there's nothing anyway). I squeeze out:

— "What kind of mockery is this – the adjacent solitary confinement cell is empty! At least open the window!"

— "Oh, does it smell bad?"

They stifle their laughter, but I hear, it's difficult for them too.

— "It'll be better now."

I see with my peripheral vision: one person hands something to the shift supervisor, everyone retreats into the corridor, and the "senior" person long, with a hiss, releases air freshener into the cell. An entire canister. Doors slam. Laughter.

There's a natural fog in the cell – such that the walls are not visible.

I slide to the floor – there's a bit of air there. Can't open my eyes. I pulled my t-shirt over my mouth and nose. I hold my breath. I understand – if I inhale deeply now, I could die.

And behind the door they're guffawing, apparently, taking turns looking through the peephole:

— "Can't see anything."

— "Is he even alive in there?"

I crawled on the floor for a couple of hours. Thank God, the ventilation opening mostly cleared it. But, I think, the comrades had a good laugh that day.

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