Ryker woke up with a sharp pounding in his head. The white light from the ceiling burned into his eyes. He lifted a hand to his forehead and felt a fresh wound. He didn't know if it had happened during the arrest or when he had twisted like a damn worm in Ashford's grip.
"Great…" he muttered, letting his back hit the chair again. "Another shitty day."
He looked around. The room had no windows, only a camera in the corner watching him like an indifferent witness.
The door clicked open. Ashford walked in, suit spotless as always, flanked by two guards who positioned themselves near the entrance.
"Look who it is. The boss himself," Ryker said with fake enthusiasm. "Should I feel honored or worried?"
"Watkins," Ashford greeted calmly. "We know who you are and what you were trying to do."
Ryker rested his elbows on the table. A faint smile tightened his face.
"Do you? Not very well, considering you caught us after we got what we came for."
Ashford didn't answer. He pulled a tablet from the inner pocket of his coat and activated a hologram. It showed the chip.
"This? We've already recovered it."
Ryker clicked his tongue and lowered his gaze for a second. Inside, he was cursing every saint that ever existed and every one that didn't. When he looked up again, his tone was sharp.
"Then I'm not a problem anymore. Let me go and I promise I won't cause more trouble."
Ashford stepped closer.
"Don't underestimate the VSB, Watkins. You're not here because of your skills. You're here because you made a mistake, and because we want to know how much more you know."
"And if I say I know nothing?"
"Lying won't help you."
"Underestimating me won't help you."
Ashford scanned the room like it belonged to him. Because it did.
"You have an interesting record, Ryker. Your abilities have caught our attention for a long time, but this last job… it interests us more than you think.
"And what am I supposed to do with that? Sign an autograph?"
Ashford took another step forward.
"Choose the smarter option. We ask, you answer. We give you a chance to walk out of here unharmed."
"I prefer working with competent people."
Ashford didn't take the bait.
"Your options are limited. Think about what's at stake. Not just you, but everyone around you."
Ryker tensed.
"What do you want from me?"
"Information. Your contacts. Everything. Don't underestimate what you know."
"If that's the case, I need guarantees. I'm not talking if I don't know there won't be retaliation."
Ashford nodded calmly.
"We can reach an agreement."
"And if not?"
Ashford leaned in until their faces were inches apart.
"It could hurt."
Ryker sighed.
"Fine. Let's talk."
Ashford straightened.
"Who gave you the chip?"
"I don't know. Black market. Trask contacts. There were rumors about a leak, and we took the opportunity."
"Who's 'we'?"
"The team you arrested with me."
"Be more specific."
"With names?"
"No one gives real names. You go, you buy, you pray. It's luck, connections… and a pair of balls. And if you ask me, the traitor you're looking for has big ones. Not like this circus of bootlickers who think they're elite when they're just garbage the government throws away when it's useless."
"Don't play smart."
"I'm not playing. It's natural." He smirked slightly. "How does it feel being Hoffman's dog?"
Ashford stared at him in silence for a few seconds. Then he grabbed Ryker by the shirt and slammed him back into the chair with force. Ryker let out a grunt.
"Careful with your mouth."
"Sorry, Mr. Immaculate. Your domain, your rules. And as you know, rules me—"
The punch cut him off. A thin line of blood ran down his lip.
"Always that hospitable with your guests, Director?"
"Sometimes people need to remember who's in charge."
"Definitely not you."
The second punch hit his cheek. The impact snapped his head to the side. The third went straight to his mouth, forcing him to spit blood mixed with saliva onto the floor.
"Do you think this is funny, Watkins?"
"If you represent the law, then yes… I'm laughing my ass off."
Ashford grabbed him by the back of the neck and slammed his head against the table. Ryker yelled in pain.
"What were you looking for in the servers?"
"The same thing everyone looks for," he replied, dizzy. "Information."
"Information about what?"
"I don't understand how an idiot like you became director."
"Say that again."
"What? Me? No, nothing." He pushed himself upright and lifted his hands theatrically. "I didn't say anything."
Ashford pulled him out of the chair by force. The guards stepped back. It was no longer protocol. It was personal.
"I warned you."
He slammed Ryker against the wall. Ryker groaned. Ashford pressed him harder.
"What else do you know about the chip?"
"That it hurts when you remind me."
Another punch to the ribs. Ryker curled forward, gasping for air. He dropped to his knees and spat more blood onto the clean floor.
"You decide how this ends," Ashford whispered near his ear. "Do you talk… or do I continue?"
Ryker, breathing hard, lifted his gaze. He still had a weak smile.
"Guess I never really liked you since that time."
"I want answers."
"And I want to stop bleeding," he coughed. "But looks like neither of us gets what we want today."
"If you don't talk nicely, you'll talk the hard way. Want me to start interrogating your little friends, Watkins? Until they scream?"
The smile vanished from Ryker's face. Pain still filled him, but there was something else now. Fear.
"Son of a bitch."
Ashford didn't respond. He stood silent, hands clasped behind his back, breathing heavy. Ryker remained on the floor, swaying.
"You'll have to try harder, Director."
Ashford left without looking back. The door slammed shut. The camera light in the corner flickered. The door opened again, and one of the guards barely peeked in.
"If I were you, I'd tell him even what I had for lunch."
Ryker didn't answer. He lay flat on his back and let the groans escape. His pulse throbbed in his jaw, his ribs, every damn inch of his body.
"Stupid implant. Reduces pain… yeah, sure. Reduces my balls," he muttered through clenched teeth. The buzzing in his skull made him roll to his side.
The floor was cold. Not cold enough to numb the pain.
He tried to close his eyes and breathe. Useless. All he heard was his broken breathing and the electric hum of the ventilation system.
Across the room, a man in a trench coat watched him calmly through the camera. He didn't move or speak. Just observed. Ashford entered seconds later, adjusting his shirt sleeves.
"Don't you think that was a bit excessive?"
He hung his coat on the rack.
"He leaked agency information. Should I have bought him a cake?"
"Ashford…"
"It's not about—"
"It's not that. You've been under a lot of pressure and you're dumping it all on this kid."
Ashford crossed his arms.
"Let it serve a purpose."
The other man didn't answer. He kept watching.
"He doesn't trust anyone," he said at last. "Not even himself. But he isn't lying. Not completely."
"How do you know?"
"Because I've seen it before. People who lie do it to survive. This boy talks to annoy you, not to save himself."
Ashford pressed his lips together.
"Do you think he's covering someone?"
"Maybe. Or maybe he just wants you to think that. But if you keep beating him, you won't get anything useful. Give him silence. Let him think."
Ashford looked at Ryker for a long moment. Then he glanced down at his own knuckles, still red.
"I want results. If he doesn't cooperate soon…"
"Then we extract the information," the man interrupted quietly. "Without hitting him."
Ashford nodded slightly.
"Let's see how long it takes him to talk."
On the floor, Ryker stayed there. The ventilation hum sounded almost like a lullaby.
"Great… they break my face and ignore me. Such gentlemen."
He shifted onto his side. The pain kept him awake. Or alive. Hard to tell. The metallic taste in his mouth grew stronger. His thoughts drifted slower, darker. Somewhere deep inside, the old man's image surfaced again. It didn't disappear so easily. He owed him half of what was agreed for the chip… and many other things.
The air in the cell felt heavy.
Vala lay on the floor with her feet against the wall, staring at the ceiling while the two guys argued. The lock clicked. She turned her head toward the guard.
"Let's go."
She didn't ask who or where. It was obvious from the way he looked at her.
She walked silently beside him. The sound of her steps echoed louder than usual through the hallway. He stopped in front of a gray metal door, opened it, and gestured for her to enter. Another interrogation room. A table. Two chairs. A camera in the corner.
She sat down quietly. Closed her eyes for a second and exhaled slowly. The door opened again. A man in an immaculate trench coat walked in, the same one who had spoken with Ashford earlier, calm like someone who rarely loses patience. He closed the door gently behind him, walked to the table, sat across from her, and intertwined his fingers on the surface.
"Good evening, Vala," he said softly, almost politely. "I just want us to talk. Is that okay?"
"I don't talk to corrupt people."
He kept his composure. He shifted slightly in his seat as if he had all the time in the world.
"Then just listen. For a moment. Nothing more." He placed a chip on the table in front of her. "This is what was downloaded from the servers."
Vala lowered her gaze but didn't touch it.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"I understand," he said. "I didn't come here to force you to confess. I just need you to understand how serious this situation is."
She stayed silent. He continued calmly.
"That information isn't dangerous only for the people listed in it. It's dangerous for you. You're young. You're in a fragile position right now, and there are people out there who won't hesitate to act once certain doors were opened."
"Are you threatening us?"
"No. I'm telling you that you're not invisible. And now that you touched certain doors, some eyes turned toward you."
Vala narrowed her gaze.
"The world should know."
He nodded slowly.
"Maybe. But the world isn't always ready for the truth. Sometimes what looks like an act of justice becomes the start of something far worse. And then it no longer matters who was right."
Silence.
"What do you want?"
He barely blinked.
"To prevent you from ending up filed as suicide cases in the records."
Vala lowered her eyes. The hardness from before began to crack, though not completely.
"You're smart," he added, no flattery in his tone. "Think about what I said. That's all I need for now."
He stood up, pushing the chair back gently. Before leaving, he looked at her one last time.
"We're not here to silence you. We're here to stop you from making an irreversible decision. If you change your mind, talk to Agent Beckett. He'll return your things and you'll see I told you the truth."
The door closed. The chip remained on the table. Vala didn't touch it. It felt like an insult made physical, a mockery of everything they had risked. Years of struggle reduced to the helplessness of holding everything and nothing at the same time.
Slowly, she turned her face toward the corner camera and raised her middle finger.
"Very effective, Agent Bellini," Ashford commented from the other side of the room, amusement in his voice.
"At least I left the floor clean," Bellini replied without looking up.
"Still want to talk to the rest? They're more volatile."
"I'll handle it."
"Don't get attached."
Bellini gave a soft laugh, a faint smile appearing on his lips.
"Same could be said about you and Watkins. You seem to have quite an interesting history."