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Jacon answers Jackalyn "Only whiskey I got is running through me, darling. But the bit 'bout holding you, that I can do."
The irish heads towards the entrance and waits for the desperado woman there "Just thought, how about you go first and try to stab his hand. I run right after and hold yer arm, but stab it with all your strength on the table. That okay?"
"If we're ready to start. I'll speak with the brother. Leave the first man to Jackalyn, it will... chafe him." Gavril pauses and checks that his earpiece is still working. "If we're ready, I can go in."
"Belay that until I follow through with my threat, Jacob. We're going for maximum shock value here," she says calmly. Jackalyn takes a deep breath before barging into the room of the other man, and swiftly, violently, without a word, sinks the edge of her knife into what little exposed skin her has left, and peels away ten centimeters of skin, almost to the millimeter. It's almost terrifying how easily she does this, almost as if the soldier has had hours of practice.
With a simple yank, she takes the length of skin, then, without a word, leaves the room. Resolutely, she stalks into the room of the first man, then slams the flayed skin onto the table. "That is the price of resistance. Now: purpose, capabilities, surperiors, base, supply lines, mole."
Gavril nods at Borax and the others, inserts his earpiece, and steps out of the room... just in time to catch Jackalyn approaching. When he sees her turning to enter the second man's room, he steps in front of the door and stands still, waiting for her to look him in the eyes. "Lance Corporal Chase." The title sounds slightly awkward coming from Gavril's mouth, a combination of the pronunciation and not being one he's used to, but he forces it fairly smoothly. "I cannot let you harm this man. You started with the other before anyone could stop you. Personally, I think your methods are... functional. But only with the one man. And if I have the chance to stop you from flaying this man, and I do not, what does that say of me?"
The Romanian pauses for a moment and then flicks the earpiece off. He drops his arms and regards the woman with a look that's understanding, if no softer. "I have a feeling you've seen what this kind of men do first-hand. The way you move, the way you act with them... I am not a psychologist. I will not diagnose you. But I will help you." He holds Jackalyn's gaze for a moment, and then calmly rolls up one sleeve. "I counted ten centimeters while you were in there. I assume you know what you're doing."
- - - - -
A few seconds later, the door to the second interrogation room opens, and Gavril steps in. His jaw clenches slightly as he closes the door, and over the earpiece the team can hear a quiet inhale. His sleeves are both fully rolled down, and it may just be a trick of the light but one looks to have a dark patch. It's impossible to tell once he sits down and folds his arms together, the sleeve hidden behind its partner.
The Romanian just looks at the terrorist leader for some time, letting him sweat and stew. After almost three minutes, Gavril breathes and taps his fingers on the table, then begins speaking in Arabic. "I hope you're coming to terms with your situation here. Whatever you were attempting to do, you didn't succeed. We've captured you, your brother, and several of your men. We are already aware of most of your plans, so I'd give you a chance to explain what you wish, but I doubt you'd take it. Even if I spoke to you in a native tongue. But then..." Gavril pauses, leans forward, and switches to French with barely a beat. "To do that, I would speak like this, would I not?" He doesn't say any more, waiting for a reaction.
Jackalyn stares blankly at him, then nods. "Yes, sir. Understood, sir. Hold still," she says simply, before, as gently as she can, she cuts away 10 centimeters of skin.
Rosa stares at the two of them for about ten seconds then starts violently cursing in Spanish. "You stupid, insane, pigheaded motherf*ckers." She growls and grabs Gavril's arm before he can walk into the interrogation room. "You. Stand the f*ck still so I can bandage that before you go interrogation someone while you as still bleeding from flaying yourself." She trails off into another chain of insults as she wraps his arm. "I swear, I will sedate the next person who intentionally hurts themself in my presence."
When Jackalyn returns to the room carrying the flayed patch of skin, the captive's face goes white. He lets out an almost gutteral growl when puts the flayed skin down on the table between the two of them. Despite his bandaged wounds, the man stands up and attempts to come at Jackalyn from across the table; the chains at his wrists stop him short before the guards can get to him, although they quickly wrestle the man back to his seat. "You b*tch!" he shouts, straining against the Peacekeepers holding him down. He headbutts one of them and they stagger back for a moment, and the terrorist reaches across the table again toward Jackalyn. His injured hand barely catches the bottle of water and tries to chuck it at her head; the throw goes wide and collides with the two-way mirror, and soon after the rattled Peacekeeper regains his composure and gives them man an open backhand across the jaw before restraining him back to his seat. "I'll kill you for what you did to my brother. Do you hear me? You're f*cking dead!" He rocks forward in his chair before the Peacekeepers pull him back again, his top lip still curled back like an angry dog.
After a few minutes, his ragged breathing slows and he begins to compose himself. "Don't hurt Malik again..." he says slowly, still panting a bit. "Leave my brother be, and I'll tell you what I know. Please, just... don't hurt him again. Don't touch my brother."
-----
In the other room, Gavril speaks to the stony-faced man in Arabic, getting little response. When he switches to French, though, the man shifts in his seat a bit. "Who are you?" he asks in English, his eyes narrowing. "You were one of the ones who captured me... how do you know who I am?"
Gavril leans forward in his seat. "Who I am and how I know you, the details, do not matter for you... Malik." He pauses again, wondering if saying the man's name will bring another response. "My companions and I are the ones who stopped you. We are the ones who could have killed you, and did not. Now, you are here, because we need you to tell us what you know."
The big man shifts in his seat, as if gathering his thoughts. "Now. You were born in France, although you may not be French. I'm aware of the complexities of those systems. But you came here, to take up this fight, of your own accord. It wasn't the money, was it? I don't think it is. There is money in France, money elsewhere. You came because you believe. Am I wrong?"
Jackalyn stares down dispassionately at him. "Very well. Now: purpose, capabilities, superiors, base, supply lines, mole."
"I don't know why we're here, exactly," the man says, his shoulders slumping. "My contact told me that there were secret endeavors being undertaken in Basra by the UN, and that ambushing them at locations we were fed would disrupt those operations. I don't know what you're all doing here, but clearly they were right. Whatever all this technology is, why it's here... I don't know. But I know that it destroyed Basra, and you're here to cover it up." The man spits, a bit of fire in him again after his previously defeated attitude recedes. "Many of our men are now dead or scattered, but a fair contingent of them are still outside the city waiting for our return. We move nightly to avoid your patrols, I don't know where they'll go next. Your mole... I don't know who they are. I was approached by a man; he was American, I presume ex-military, and came with an armed contingent of men. He told me he used to work for the government but had defected, and had a job for me; he gave me the name 'Edwards' and a radio to contact them, told me that they would feed me information. I presume this 'Edwards' is one of your Peacekeepers, I don't know anything else about them."
-----
Malik narrows his eyes at Gavril, avoiding the questions. "I didn't come here for the money, I came here to fight people like you." Mlik says nothing else for a few seconds, then looks up at Gavril again. "Where is Elias?" he asks, stone-faced. "Where is my brother?"
Borax radios into Jackalyn, "Have him give a description of the American. Garvril, tell Malik we know about the American and ask him to describe him."
Sebastian, not being much the talker, instead goes to inspect the men's belongings (presuming they were confiscated). In particular he looks for this radio.
Rummaging through the confiscated equipment, Sebastian doesn't initially find much of interest. He finds their weapons--Malik carried a Desert Eagle and a combat knife, will Elias carried a knife along with his assault rifle--along with their ballistic vests and ammunition. In one of their pockets he finds what looks to be a list of coordinates and some scribbling in Arabic, and a few coins. Tucked away in the back pocket of one of the pairs of pants is in fact a small radio, which still appears to be functioning.
Gavril nods at Malik. "I thought so." He leans back and takes a slow breath, then shakes his head at the man. "That is not how this works. I ask questions. You give answers. But I can give you one for free, I suppose. Your brother is here. His interrogator is a good deal less patient and friendly than I am at the moment. That could change... but only if you choose not to cooperate."
The Romanian listens to Borax's statement without any outward sign, but he does hear it and follows suit. "Tell me about the American. Edwards. What he looks like, what he offered you. Why you came here."
Presumably Malik responds with silence, and Gavril leans forward. "Malik, I will make you a deal. You came here to fight people like me. To kill us or die trying. But now you are captured, and that is... that's no good, is it? We ask you questions, and to what end? Surely you know you will die like a dog, unarmed, helpless. No way to end for a man like you. So if you help me, I will help you." He slowly draws his pistol from its holster and shows it to the man. "If you answer my questions, no lies, no curses? I will give you the chance to choose your own end. To die with a gun in your hand, like a true warrior." He sets the gun on the table, just in front of him, well out of Malik's reach.
"What do you say?"
"Ask him how to contact this 'Edwards' for later. Perhaps we can track the radio signal."
"Give me a description of this 'Edwards,'" Jacqueline says calmly, before pausing. "And your righteous fury? It's pointless. We didn't destroy Basra, believe it or not. As much as you would like to believe it, the rest of the world isn't made up of complete monsters."
"You going to finish the job you started, you capitalist dog? You and the other soldier, you nearly... you could have killed me. You had a sniper blow out my leg and then beat me into submission; how is your commander? Did my man kill him after all? You knocked me unconscious before I could check if that الأبله was still breathing." Malik pauses for a second, breathing heavily. He growls at Gavril as he shakily begins to rise to his feet and plant his hands on the table facing the other man. "A weapon in my hand means nothing if I'm not fighting with it, and I doubt you will risk your life just to let me into Paradise. You can eat sh*t."
-----
"Edwards... I've never met Edwards, only spoken with them. She's a woman, she sounds American as well. That's all I know about her, from when I spoke with her on the radio." Elias grunts, shifting uncomfortably. "The American I met with, though... he was older, perhaps in his forties. His hair was still thick, but his beard and hair were flaked with gray. He was muscular and moved like a man who has killed before, and spoke like a man who wasn't troubled by it. At first, I thought perhaps he and his men were private contractors, like your Blackwater or Aires. He wore ballistic goggles and a shemagh around his face, but I could tell the man had a broken nose. His skin was a bit tanned, but I saw tan lines when his shirt moved." Elias stops and motions to one of the guards, asking them to retrieve his thrown water bottle. He takes a sip of it to wet his throat, then coughs. "He and his men all carried military-grade equipment, too. He arrived in a helicopter, the others rode in Jeeps."
Jackalyn nods curtly at this information. "Thank you for your cooperation. I will assure that no harm comes to your brother." She then walks stiffly back outside the interrogation room, then turns to the rest of the team. "I think that this is all he knows. He's broken."
Borax nods to Jackalyn, "Don't know if the ends justifies the means, but good work Chase. "
Borax turns to the group, "Elias may be broken, but Malik is not. Suggestions on how we proceed?"
"Lieutenant Kristophson is alive, actually," Gavril says, surprisingly calm given his earlier outrage at the man's injury. "I could have killed you, and I could have killed your man. We did not. But you mistake my offer, Malik."
As he continues to speak, Gavril ejects the magazine from the pistol and begins removing cartridges, one by one. He sets them on the table before him in a neat row, showing clearly that he's not pulling any tricks.
"You came here to fight men like me. To join a crusade of ideals, to fight against a capitalist West that you feel goes against God, and goes against the way things should be. Probably being raised in France did not help with that. Rather than do what you could to better your situation, you became radical and moved here to kill Westerners. I'm not insulting your decision. Every man makes his own way. But now your way and mine are at odds." Having removed the final cartridge from the magazine, the Romanian pulls back the slide, ejecting the round that was ready to fire. He catches it in one hand and holds it in the light.
"I cannot say whether you've done the right thing or the wrong thing in the eyes of God. All I know is that you have caused pain for myself, my companions, and innocent people. I am certain that selling your work to an American is nothing good, nothing to be proud about as a warrior or a religious man. So no, Malik. I am not risking my life, not truly. I am giving you a choice: to repent, and tell the truth."
Gavril loads the single cartridge into the magazine, slides the magazine into the pistol, and pulls back the slide, arming the weapon to fire. He then sets it on the table--still out of the other man's reach--and folds his hands. "I am giving you a choice. Tell me what you know, and you get this gun. One bullet to do with as you choose." His eyes are hard, uncaring. "Your choice, Malik. Do what you feel is right."
Malik stares at Gavril for a good long while after he finishes talking, his eyes a reflection of Gavril's own; his eyes follow the pistol while the bigger speaks, but they don't deviate once he finishes. He scowls for the duration, barely noticeable under the bruising from his earlier fight. "Rat out the American to aid a Frenchman? I trade one sin for another, is that what you want me to do? I will serve my penance in Hell regardless of whether I help you or not..." he says, but his eyes flick down to the weapon for the first time since Gavril set it on the table. "You won't let me do it," he says finally, with a tone that suggests he doubts himself. "It's against your laws, your regulations... you would be strung up, be court-martialed for allowing it to happen. You're just trying to get me to turn over something useful to you. I won't fall for it, you filthy pig." Despite his protestations, his eyes never come up to meet Gavril's as he stays transfixed on the weapon on the table in front of him.
"He's right you know," Rosa mutters into her earpiece. "Even if they decide they don't care enough about him to actually court-martial you for his death, it's still wrong to talk a man into suicide to get information out of him."
Borax speaks in a matter-of-fact tone, "Wrong and right are a matter of perspective and the perspective is heavily influenced by our culture. Each of us is going to have a line that we won't cross. That line won't be the same for all of us. That line may change based on what we experience. Ultimately, we need to believe in what we are doing and decide if we are going to make sacrifices, both moral and mortal. Maybe we go to hell, for what we do, but maybe we'll make that trade to stop humanity from being exterminated."
As Borax is making his speech, Jackalyn quietly slips out the door. At first, she walks stiffly. Back arched, head up, eyes cold. But as she moves down the hallway, her eyes lose their freezing gleam and become dull and blank, and she doesn't so much walk as stagger to the bunks.
Quickly turning into the bathroom, Jackalyn collapses, vomiting into the toilet, and remains there for a few minutes, before composing herself-if only slightly-enough to walk out of the restroom and slide into her bunk. She stares up at the ceiling, but doesn't see it.
Rosa just scoffs. "Moral relativism is a fun little belief isn't it. It makes it so easy to justify so many things. But if we sacrifice everything that makes us decent human beings to save lives, we haven't done any good, we've just destroyed ourselves before the enemy could do it for us. I took an oath that I would protect and serve. And I believe that talking someone into killing themself is wrong. So vete a la verga culero and your holier than thou mierda."
Borax and turns to face Rosa, "The only one talking holier than thou shit is yourself. You're entitled to your beliefs, just as everyone else is entitled to theirs. That doesn't give you the right to curse me or anyone else on this team."
"Don't try to take the moral high ground when you're trying to defend killing prisoners and I won't call you an assh*le. Sound fair?"
"The only one claiming moral superiority here is you. No one has asked you to do anything you aren't comfortable with, so stop pushing your morality down everyone else's throat. I'm the one who said you needed to be here so that the prisoners aren't tortured to death, remember? And I'm fine with going to hell if it means saving the planet. "
"Oh no, you're just asking me to stand here, watch, and keep my mouth shut while you do something I find morally reprehensible. And don't bother pretending that you care about their lives. If you cared if I was here to keep them alive, you wouldn't be telling me to shut up and let him talk that man to death. And since I'm clearly not needed or welcome here..." Rosa turns on her heel and walks out.
Borax lets Rosa get the last word and makes a mental note to request the services of a counselor. While Borax was not happy about Jackalyn's methods, he didn't have the luxury of being picky. He was willing to carry the group's sins. Borax would rather Rosa aim her anger at him than anyone else in the small group.
Borax realized that the task facing them was immense and would strain them physically and psychologically. In fact, it was more likely the mental burden would be greater than the physical. Borax was sure of one thing, however, the aliens were hostile, and lethal. This was no E.T. Were they here to exterminate us? Wiping out an entire city unprovoked didn't leave much hope otherwise. And the terrestrial obstacles would be just as challenging. Governments, mercs, religious groups, would all want to control the situation. XCOM had to get ahead of this on all fronts.
Borax turns his attention to Gavril and speaks into the communicator, "Rosa's gone squeamish, so let's call it a day and figure out what we know and what are next steps are. Malik is indignant and arrogant, so maybe we can use that against him."
Gavril pauses for a long time, listening to the chatter over the earpiece while he stares at Malik. He only offers one brief sentence of his own, spoken to the man but clearly heard over the communication: "I'm not talking you into anything, Malik."
Finally, Gavril reaches forward and ejects the magazine from the pistol, and begins slowly, methodically, loading the cartridges back in, one at a time. He remains silent all the while, and once he's finished, he replaces the weapon in its holster and stands up. "Think about your life, Malik. Think about the things you have done, and whether they have been worth the doing. I will talk to you again." The Romanian turns to the door and pauses, looking at one of the guards. "If he or his brother are hungry, get them food. Make sure it's halal." Those are his final words before he leaves the room and returns to the central chamber, where he removes his earpiece and takes a long, slow, deep breath, before he looks up at the others.
"I hate interrogations."
The next morning, Borax gathers the team in a small conference room..
After giving the group a moment to situate themselves, he begins with an even tone,
"When E.T. and his buddies, came to our planet and leveled Basra without provocation, it should have been crystal clear to everyone in this room, we are in a fight for the survival of the human race. As corny and B movie as that sounds, everyone better come to terms with it. These guys aren't here to negotiate a trade agreement or exchange cultural view points, they are here to wipe us out. But we are not going to win this because we have bigger guns, we are going to win this because we have the will to see it through."
Borax speaks slowly and deliberately,
"Make no mistake about it, this is a a test of wills. Ours versus there's."
Borax pauses, as if troubled about what he has to say next,
"Nobody has a better chance of getting ahead of this than XCOM. But we can't do it if we are all operating as individuals and fighting with each other. Capturing Malik and Elias requires that we decide here and now, as a group: do the ends justify the means? Every group with a cause has to decide how they go about it and what lines they will or will not cross to succeed. I truly believe that if we fail, the planet is screwed. But does that mean I'm willing to strap bombs to children or torture innocent people? I honestly don't know. This is isn't me trying to win a game of poker or protest a politician, this is about saving the entire human race and I'd be deluding myself if I thought I'm going to come out of this the same way I went in."
Borax exhales, and then makes eye contact with group,
"We need to decide this as a team, because if we are not on the same page, we've got no chance. Maybe we don't figure it all out right here and now, but we need to start the conversation. Vasquez, I'd like you to hear what you have to say."
Rosa rolls her eyes. "Bohan, I have no idea what planet you've been living on, but it sure as hell ain't this one. There was a single ship, and it was a crashed wreck when we found it. There was no sign of any further attack and there hasn't been any reports of aliens or any other strange sightings anywhere else on the globe. And why the hell would the start with f*cking Basra if they were invading our planet? Why no DC, or London, or Beijing, or Moscow? I'll tell you why. Because there's no big invasion lurking on the other side of the moon. We haven't even found any signs that there are any more aliens in our godd*mn solar system."
"The ETs were hostile, but they sure as hell aren't some invading army here to stamp us out. They crash landed here, probably by complete accident, and reacted violently when they ended up on a planet they know nothing about with heavily armed soldiers taking control of the area they were stuck in. We're not on some big special mission where we get to be the heroes who save Earth from invading space monsters. We're a black ops kill team here to slaughter dissidents before they can salvage alien tech that could be extremely dangerous."
She casual spits to the side. "So don't try to make up sh*t about how we're the last hope for mankind or how this is a fight for the human race and we have to make sacrifices. We're here fighting people we don't agree with, on government orders, just like every f*cking war in history. I don't know about any of you, be I agreed to do this sh*t because I value human lives and I want to make sure that a bunch of terrorists don't end up carrying around alien super weapons. But if we start spitting on human life and tossing out morals in the mean time, then we're just as bad as the people we're here to stop." She takes a deep breath. "I like the think I'm a better person than that. If you have a problem with basic respect for human life while we're on an operation, I'll request a transfer to a non-field position. I have more than enough medical training to be of help somewhere else."
Borax looks to the rest, "Anyone else have an opinion?"
As Borax and Rosa continue to argue, a Peacekeeper bursts into the room, his face flush as he pants. "The prisoners," he stammers, straightening out while he steadies his breathing. "They were attacked. The Peacekeepers are injured, but they'll survive. Elias is dead, and Malik is... gone. We don't know where he's gone. One of the Peacekeepers just radio'd in, I was ordered to come straight to you." He finally regains his breath and motions for the group to follow him. "Please, come with me. No one's been questioned yet, we didn't want to do anything without you all present."
At the scene, the group finds the guards who were on-duty recovering from a beating. Their rifles still lay scattered on the floor, although a few bullet holes in the wall suggest they may have put up a fight. Elias's body sits inside the interrogation room, a still-welling pool of blood gathering both on the table and at his feet. Several bullet holes riddle his body, and one of the service pistols of the Peacekeepers lies discarded on the floor, the magazine ejected near the doorway. "I'm sorry," one of the men says, gingerly rubbing the side of his head. "She hit us from behind, slammed my head into the wall and took my sidearm... I passed out after that. I just came to and called it in."
"We need to lock down the base immediately and sound an alert. If there's an unsecured way off this base, I want to find it." Borax steps forward and eyes the men carefully. What's are your names? Can you give us a description?"
"Rosa, can you examine the injuries to the soldiers and tell us anything about our attacker's height, handedness, or anything else?"
Borax turns back to the peacekeeper, "Do we have any cameras covering these hallways? Also, get me a list of all the females on base. Next, we take teams of three with manacles. All women except for Jackalyn and Rosa need to be detained for questioning. "
Rosa curses under her breath. "It looks like our traitor has decided to screw subtly and cover their tracks with blood. Lovely." She hurries to the scene with the rest of the group. As soon as they arrive, she drops down next to the dead men and examines their bodies. "Maybe? It's harder unless I know more about exactly how the situation went down. I can at least identify anything odd about the wounds though."
"My name is Rogers, sir. My partner's name is Smith. I didn't get a good look at her, but I know it was a woman. She was shorter than me, and while I couldn't make out what she said I heard her curse something under her breath just before I passed out." Rogers sighs, grimacing when Rosa inspects his head. "I'm sorry I don't have more information for you, sir." Smith still seems a bit light-headed from the whole ordeal; while Rogers has stood up and seems to be recovering, Smith--while conscious--is still slouched on the floor clutching both his head and his stomach. Once someone takes a look inside the interrogation room, you can see that the walls near the doorway are also slightly stained with blood, and it seems the guards inside the cell were likely shot as the surprise wore off. "They'll survive," Rogers says, wincing a bit. "Medical just carted them off, but neither of them was in critical condition." On the opposite side of the hall, Sergeant Mylls is getting three more Peacekeepers squared away with medical personnel before he turns back around and speaks with you all.
"We've got two cameras, one from either side of the hallway, as well as the closed-circuit cameras linked to both interrogation rooms. I'm not sure, but... well, you'll see for yourselves, but it seems like one of our assailants got a hold of some of your weaponry. One of the first people they hauled out had massive scorch marks on his chest and clothes, just like your prisoner did." He gestures into the center room, toward a computer console. "You can take a look at all the footage there if you need to. There's no guarantee the hall footage wasn't wiped, but it doesn't look like they had time to get to the closed-circuit cameras."
Examining the wounds, Rosa can make out that the attacker, or at least whoever attacked these two, was significantly shorter than they were. Whoever they were, they weren't carrying a weapon; the blows are blunt and delivered in such a fashion it's unlikely they were dealt with some sort of bludgeoning tool. Most of the strikes are angled either straight or upwards, and were intended to incapacitate rather than kill. Given where they were hit and how, it seems unlikely the assailant was right-handed. Neither of their injuries are life-threatening, although Smith especially seems like he ought to be thoroughly examined for brain trauma as he seems unsteady on his face and not entirely cognizant of his surroundings. Elias's wounds are simple and straightforward, with three bullets through his chest and stomach with another through the head. The bullets through the chest came from the front, likely as the attacker came through the door, while the shot to the head came from behind. Based on the angle of the shot and the placement of his body, it seems Elias was held down and executed, meaning he was likely shot before the guards were engaged but only finished off after the attacker had dealt with those inside the room. However, Rosa immediately realizes this doesn't quite add up, as there's no way this all could have happened as quickly as it did with one person. There must have been another assailant in the other room, given the speed with which all these attacks were carried out.
"Don't blame yourself soldier. It was my fault. I figured someone would have come for these two. Should have posted more guards and set a trap. Make sure Smith gets to medical as well."
After Rosa gives everyone her analysis, "Excellent work Vasquez." Borax turns to the rest of the group, "Recommendations on how we proceed?"
"This is... interesting," Rosa says after she finishes examining the remaining bodies and the soldier's injuries. "The assailant was small, very small, and seems to have hit with whatever they happen to have had on hand. But the guard inside was shot several times from the front, then executed from behind. It would have taken at least two people to pull this off. Which means we either have more than one traitor, or they somehow snuck someone inside to help them." She absently wipes her hands off. "That lockdown needs to go into effect now, before they get out. We need to know who they are and we might never find them again if they get away."
Borax listens to Rogers intently as he speaks, and while the man seems rattled he's likely telling the truth. However, his story doesn't account for either the bullet holes in the wall outside or how quickly this all must have gone down. It's not necessarily that he's lying, but the trauma could be making him difficult to remember or it's possible he just wasn't conscious at the time those events occurred. Medical staff take away Rogers and Smith not long after Borax is done speaking with them, leaving them alone with Mylls and a few more bodyguards. "Those were trained soldiers," he said, frowning. "Rogers served with me in the army before we came in with the UN. He's no slouch, for someone to take him down that quick... they're dangerous." He clicks the radio at his shoulder and tilts his head down toward it, giving the order for the lockdown. "If they're quick they could already be out of here, but it's worth a shot."
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The day after the bloody interrogation Jacob attended the meeting with a fresh new cigar lit between his teeth.
The irish seemed refreshed and clear after a long night of sleep, but his face turned a distinct shade of angry as the conversation between Vasquez and Bohan went on.
When the american asked for their opinion, Jacob waited to see if others wanted to speak before raising a finger as he puffed on his cigar. "Y'know what I think? I think ya got a mighty hero complex, which isn't wrong by itself mate. But ya better take care because the distance from secret organization to death squad is shorther than ya think...
The irish steps back, rubbing his beard as hr tries to regain his composture "Look, Borax... I, as I think the others did, joined this fancy group to kill grays and protect people. If I gotta shoot at people who want to use E.T.'s tech wrongly, I'll do it with a smile and I won't lose sleep over it. But let's be clear: the lines are pretty f*&$ing drawn already and we better be checking them every couple days or we will end being worse that we fight against."
The irish attempts to smile as he puts the cigar on the ashtray "I hope you don't take me for a dickhead, son, I'm just trying to..." but then the soldier arrived.
As the situation unfolded and information was handed, the Irish seemed increasingly nervous. "Oi sir, how about me and whoever wants to tag alone go fetch our equipment? I don't want to be a downer but if there's a mole might as well be a docen and I'd rather be fully armed in that case."
"I can send some men with you to fetch your things, if you want, or just have them bring them here. Whatever works for you," Sergeant Mylls says, sighing. "What'd you say the name of their informant was? Edwards, right? I'll get a list of all personnel with that name attached to their files, if you all want to look through the security footage or... hell, I don't know, whatever it is you think'll help."
Jackalyn still looks somewhat haunted at the meeting, but immediately pulls it together and puts on her game face as the frantic report comes in. She follows the other's lead, letting the experts do their work.