The cold, thick woods of this part of Canada were usually isolated, inhabited only by the most vulnerable of wildlife attempting to take solace from the rougher, more dangerous parts of the wilderness. It was an ideal, yet isolated location inaccessible by regular people without the aid of vehicles, and the thickets provided much well-needed cover for prey to hide in. Prey, however, were not the only things hiding within the woods that day – amongst the densely-packed layers of bushes and trees was a man of slight stature, a shock of platinum blonde hair upon his head and a pair of legs that took him faster than his enemies could aim.
His hunter, however, had no need for aim. His eyes were sharp, able to make out the silhouette of his target through the thick white snow that would have blinded just about anybody else. He was used to it, perfectly in his element. There was no shivering, no shaking, and no reaction to the cold. He was just an owl stalking his prey as he ran through the woods as fast as his legs could take him – and soon, he would follow after him, speeding after the man like a beast. All he needed was for the man to run straight into his favorite trap.
He knew the woods like the back of his hand – he had spent the bulk of his life here, learning the path and the areas, learning the woods and the wilderness right down to each scratch on the bark of every tree. The woods harbored the quality of repetition – after a while, everything seemed the same, and one would have thought they had run in a circle, especially if they had taken multiple turns. The vastness of the woods made leaving difficult, nearly impossible, without knowing the intricacies of the place itself. The lack of this knowledge was what sent people away – and for those undaunted by the uncertainty of their fates, into death. It was this that the hunter depended on for his prey's demise.
And so he stalked his prey slowly, quietly, waiting for the slowdown and the fear and the panic to rise upon the man's face. He waited for the confusion, the backtracking, and the eventual realization as he saw his hunter, curled back and ready to pounce. He waited patiently, as any good predator would.
He knew, however, that his prey was not any ordinary man. He knew that there was always the chance that his prey had studied the area thoroughly before he came. He knew that there was always the chance that he had left markers behind, markers that were unknown to them that he could follow and find his way out. It was exactly why he had a backup plan – one that was near infallible.
"Tango spotted," a voice whispered into his earpiece.
"You know what to do," he replied, and prepared himself for the inevitable, his eyes still fixated on the figure weaving in and out of the trees.
A loud shot fired out in the distance, and a momentary flash appeared before his eyes. That was the signal – and he stood up from his position, shaking the cold out of his body, and ran after his prey as he ran straight into the confusion that awaited him.
He caught up with the man quickly and easily enough, stalking through the woods quietly, yet hastily. He watched as the man tried to run faster, only to be caught up to quickly. The hunter was quickly gaining on his prey, bit by bit, up until the prey was within his reach. In a quick burst of strength, he tackled the struggling man to the ground. His reflexes began to kick in – he dug his hip deep into the man's lower back, applying all his weight onto the man's body as he thrashed about wildly, grunting furiously from the effort. He leaned in onto the man, chest pressing onto the man's back as he dug around in his pockets for the rope that he had brought.
"I've apprehended him," he called out into his earpiece. "Keep your eyes peeled for reinforcements. Kill on sight if needed. I'll need help in getting him back to base in a bit."
"Roger that." A rough voice replied.
"Roger that," another voice followed.
There was a short pause before a third voice replied him.
"Evan…"
"Not now," Evan grunted as he began to bind his prey's hands and feet tightly, leaving red marks on the pale skin of the man beneath him. "Just do as I say."
"…Roger that." The voice finally replied softly.
"You've got the wrong person," the struggling man grumbled from underneath him.
"Sure, because just about any person would come to this part of the country, let alone this part of the world. You must've had a death wish." Evan replied smoothly as he tightened a final knot on the man's feet. "No, I'm pretty sure we've gotten the right guy."
"Oh yeah?"
"Jonathan Smith, codenamed Delirious, call sign H2O. Went under so many different names and disguises – but I think we've found you at last, haven't we?"
The man stopped struggling and stilled underneath Evan's body. Slowly, a soft, low, shaky laugh began to emerge from the man's chest.
"So you got me. So what? I know you too, Evan Fong. Or rather – 'Vanoss', codenamed Night Owl. Birthdate - May 31st, Mister and Mrs. Fong still residing in your birthplace of Ontario –"
"Shut up!" Evan yelled, and spun the man around roughly, his body still firmly pinned onto the man's. The man's eyes were an incredible, stunning blue – a blue that Evan had only seen one other time in his life, somewhere in his foggy past…
"Evan, I'm coming out to back you up." A voice murmured into his ear, interrupting his train of thought. "Brian's watching the perimeter and Brock's on standby."
"Got it," Evan answered, and focused back on the blue-eyed man before him.
"Who sent you?" He asked, fingers tracing across damp fabric and skin, reaching for the pressure point on the man's shoulder. "How much do you know?!"
As Jonathan's eyes narrowed and his lips curled into a firm, determined line, Evan pressed down hard on the tender spot between the bones in his shoulder. His face contorted in pain, brows furrowed in a futile attempt to focus and fight the urge to succumb to the physical ache that his body experienced. As much as he fought and resisted, it was evident that the pain was overwhelming, and Evan caught a few muffled grunts of pain escape Jonathan's lips. Promising, he thought, as he pressed down much more forcefully on the same spot. The result was an agonized scream that left the man's pale lips as he began to struggle again, trying as best as he could to throw Evan off of him.
"Who sent you?!" Evan repeated, releasing the pressure on the man's shoulder slightly.
"Don't you mean… hoo sent me, Night Owl?" The man breathed, mist forming in his breath as he spoke. The pain that was evident in his voice added an ironic little note to his joke – but Evan was in no mood for jokes. He wanted answers, and he wanted the truth.
"Answer me." Evan commanded, pressing down onto the pressure point again. A sharp grunt emerged from within the depths of the man's chest as he fought the pain again, his body jerking and thrashing about in response.
There was a rustling from a distance behind Evan, and Evan released Jonathan slightly, relieved that his back-up had arrived. His relief was immediately erased by the deafening sound of a sniper shot, followed by the sound of a bullet hitting something firm, yet soft. He turned sharply behind to see Tyler immediately falling over onto the ground, face meeting the snow with a crimson red spot beginning to grow larger and larger over the back of his left shoulder.
"Ty-"
"Fuck," He half-screamed, his dominant arm instinctively cupping the newly inflicted injury. "They've got a sniper on us, those motherfuckers - !"
The man beneath Evan's weight began to shake as he laughed a maniacal laugh, the laughter of an absolute madman. It was the sound of a man completely pleased with himself, delighted at the knowledge of his enemies suffering, taking sadistic pleasure in watching the scene before him. It was as though the situation that he was in was of no consequence to him at all. What a sick fucking bastard.
Evan began to release the man cautiously and reluctantly. To his surprise, there was little to no attempt to escape from Jonathan – he simply lay limp on the snow, eyes turning towards the sky where snowflakes fluttered and slowly fell from between the leaves of the trees which hung above them. There was a childlike innocence about the entire scene – yet the fact that the man was an immediate danger to them and the fact that the man was undeniably deranged disturbed Evan enough to distrust the façade of innocence that was placed before him. Without once turning away from his captive, he backed away towards Tyler and set himself down besides his friend, comforting the injured man with Jonathan still within his sights.
"How bad is it?" Tyler grunted out, eyes seeking out Evan's for reassurance.
"Not too bad, I think. I don't think whoever it was hit anything vital. We'll get that looked at when we get back. Can you stand?"
"Yeah," Tyler mumbled, and attempted to stand, wincing with every inch that he moved. "Don't help me, I can do this on my own."
When he finally got back onto his feet, hand still cupped over the fresh wound in his shoulder, he hobbled over to Jonathan and kicked the man square in the sides, causing the man to cough out a shout of pain.
"Yeah, it hurts, doesn't it?" Tyler taunted, voice rough with anger. "Too bad I didn't die in that shot. Now your pal's given himself away for nothing, didn't he?"
Furiously, he landed another painful kick into the man's side, and was about to continue with his physical assault against Jonathan just as Evan stopped him in his stride.
"That's enough. We need to get him back to base, remember?"
Tyler glanced at Evan momentarily, considering, before ending his attacks with a considerable amount of restraint. Fingers trembling, he pulled a gun out from a holster and pointed it at Jonathan just as Evan helped the man to his feet.
"You guys know I'm not telling you anything, right?" Jonathan murmured, smirking as he stood. "I'll get away with everything, as always. I've gotten out from tougher situations than this. I've gotten out from things more impossible than this."
His snide comments earned him a resounding smack across the face from Tyler, alongside a gruff command for him to shut up. Instantaneously, Evan grabbed Tyler just as he was about to slap Jonathan once more, and waited for the man to calm down slightly before pulling out a blindfold, securing it around Jonathan's eyes.
"We're bringing you back to our base, either way. Try to run, and Wildcat will shoot you down, so you had better cooperate with us. Is that understood?"
To his annoyance, Jonathan simply blew a half-baked attempt at a raspberry at him.
"Move," Tyler commanded, kicking at the man's bound feet roughly to incite action.
"I can't move if my legs are tied up like that, you know." Jonathan replied, a coy smile upon his face. "Why don't you cut me loose and let me walk on my own? I swear I won't run. Maybe I'll hobble, but I won't run."
"Very fucking funny," Evan groaned, and began to drag Jonathan along in an alternate pathway back to their base, making great care to avoid the path that Tyler had been shot at and the line of sight available from it. He was determined to keep the party from any further injury – even the hostage. If the enemy had orders to take down Jonathan in the scenario of capture, he had to keep the enemy he had in hand alive. The information was vital – much more important than the satisfaction of ridding themselves of their enemies.
The journey back towards their base was not easy. The base was well hidden amongst the thickets and the rocks and snow, and it took a trained eye to find the entrance to the base. Along the way, Evan called back Brock to assist him at base and instructed Brian to keep a lookout for any individuals attempting to make it past the perimeter, and to apprehend them on sight. His orders went down easily with them both, and Evan would have been entirely at ease with the rest of the rocky journey if not for Jonathan's incessant babbling.
"You're Wildcat," he drawled. "Or rather, Tyler. I didn't think you'd be so tall. Just like how I didn't think Evan here would be so bulky in person. How was Tennessee like? Did your parents ever find out you never moved to Indiana but came to Canada instead?"
"Shut the fuck up," Tyler growled from behind Evan.
"But," Jonathan continued defiantly, "I don't they matter as much as that girl… ah, what's her name, Kelly?"
Evan turned back almost instantly to throw Tyler a warning glare. The man looked just about ready to snap, with all his buttons pushed in and his patience worn thin. Amongst the anger was a tiny bit of shock and surprise at the sheer amount that Jonathan knew about him. His eyes widened in anger and shock, he slowly reigned his emotions in under Evan's stare, and sulked silently with his gun still pointed warily at Jonathan.
"Do you miss her? She looked amazing in photographs. Too bad…"
Tyler hissed angrily at Jonathan, causing Evan to glance back at him once more, silently ordering him to stand down. Once more, Tyler fell silent, his anger barely contained within his frame.
It wasn't long before Evan found the entrance to their base. Brock was already waiting for the trio by the doorway, his gun ready in his arms, yet his body seemingly entirely reluctant to make use of the lethal weapon. There was something melancholic and entirely unfitting about the entire image – Brock's kindly, round face held a mildly miserable expression as he held onto the deathly weapon in his arms.
"Hurry inside," his soft voice pierced the air delicately. "Before anyone sees us."
"Is that Moo? Or is that Terroriser? I honestly can't tell who's supposed to sound like that, you know," Jonathan piped up, almost too cheerily.
"None of your damn business," Tyler bit back roughly, and motioned at his wounded shoulder to Brock. "Can you do something about this? Sniper shot."
"Follow me," Brock said, and Tyler and Brock disappeared into a hallway that led to the infirmary of the base. Evan, however, had a slightly tougher job: he had to bring Jonathan to the interrogation room and begin interrogations – something that he hesitated to do, for he was never entirely comfortable with, let alone be good at.
He had watched countless interrogations before, conducted by many different people from his superiors to his own peers. The ones that his superiors conducted often ended successfully – yet, he could always see the brokenness in the captive's eyes, with all of their natural guardedness cracked and broken into a million fragments under the pressure of interrogation. The ones that he and his peers had conducted varied – the ones that Tyler had more often than not, in more recent times, ended in a bloody mess. Brock barely could bring himself to use rougher interrogation methods, and Brian often met difficulties in manipulating the information out of their captives. Evan was not too far off from all that.
Even in that moment he was troubled with a dilemma. Jonathan looked as though he was in no condition to attempt escape, and protocol stated that there would be no need for any extreme forms of restraints. After all, it was ideal to keep the prisoner comfortable until force is absolutely necessary to ensure that information is thoroughly coaxed out of them. Yet Evan knew that Jonathan would probably be capable of more than he looked like he was capable of, and he was sorely tempted to chain the man up completely against the man's will.
With a sigh, he settled for something similar. He lowered a large hook that hung above at the very top of the room and looped the ropes that bound Jonathan's wrists around it. Slowly, he tugged at a chain until the hook lifted itself up, bringing Jonathan along with it until he was tethered to the hook by his wrists, with his arms raised and with his feet only an inch or two above the ground. The muscles on his arms contracted almost immediately in response, the details of his muscles throbbing and exposing themselves as they struggled against the strain that they faced.
Jonathan was, however, unfazed.
"This isn't going to make me talk," he spat out through gritted teeth. "I'll never tell you what I know, Vanoss."
"You'd better. You'll get to go if you tell us what we want to know," Evan replied as he removed Jonathan's blindfolds, gazing once more into the amazingly blue eyes.
"I don't need to go. I'm exactly where I need to be. I don't even need to escape."
"Doubt it. If what you're doing now is anything like your past missions, it's just intel that you've been looking for. And if you've found anything, I'll make you tell me what you've found."
Jonathan laughed, his whole body shaking with mirth. "You are so wrong. And I know you. You're soft. People that your dear friend Tyler would've beaten up and turned into pulp, you barely make a scratch on. And when you do beat people up, you do it like you barely even mean it. I know your style, and you'll only ever lightly scrape me. You'll never get anything out of anyone, let alone me. You're the prime Canadian, you know? So… polite. Do you really think you'll ever get anything out of me?"
Evan raised an eyebrow. "Do you really think I can't get anything out of you? My team and I have been trained for this. We've been trained to extract information from even the toughest of people. I guarantee you that you'll spill as long as we keep you here."
Jonathan laughed once more. "You won't be here that long, baby. You're not the only one with friends."
"They'll never find you." Evan threatened. "And even if they do, we're equipped to kill every single one of them. Even you. So be a good boy and tell me what you know, won't you?"
The devilish smirk upon Jonathan's face continued to grow – the man didn't seem in the least bit threatened by Evan or where he was. "What I know? I'll tell you what I know about you. Your mother and father thought you were going to work in Los Angeles. It was a lie, that's what it was. You got offered a job by Ezra Simmons, your boss when you first came in. He thought you would be an asset, and you came all the way to this part of Canada for him. He was right, wasn't he? You proved to be one of the toughest of fighters and best of hunters in the organization. If your mom and dad knew, they'd be so proud of their son."
"Don't you dare." Evan growled. He suddenly understood how Tyler felt. Jonathan was pressing all of his buttons on purpose, reaching into all the personal and sensitive aspects of his life so that he would lose control. And if he did, Jonathan had all the power in the world to make Evan do his bidding. It was basic manipulation, something that Evan had been trained extensively to recognize and fight against. He refused to succumb to the psychological warfare that Jonathan had declared upon him. He had to resist.
"But Mommy and Daddy don't even know where you really are, Evan." Jonathan continued, a devious glint in his eyes. "How do you think they'll react if they find out that their son is working for a shady organization and that he might've died in the Canadian wilderness?"
"Shut up!" Evan yelled, his hands balling into fists by his sides. The knowledge that Jonathan knew about his parents and their whereabouts irked him greatly – it meant that they were in danger of enemy attacks, and it also meant that they would be used as leverage against him, to trap him in place. The idea of using innocent lives as leverage as if they were mere objects or toys disgusted him, and all Evan wanted to do in the moment was to strike Jonathan in the face and stop the pretty pair of lips from moving ever again.
Stop, he told himself. Don't let him win.
He straightened up, mentally willing all his muscles to relax. "I don't care what you know about me, Delirious," he half-sneered. "And if you don't want to tell me what you know and what intel you've gotten, that's fine by me. We've got people scouring the perimeter for your people. Specifically, your sniper friend that shot Wildcat. And when we get him here, you're going to talk – or he is."
A momentary look of anxiousness flickered upon Jonathan's face. Almost as instantly as worry was expressed in his eyes, it was masked with a false blankness as his expression became void and empty, as if nothing had happened at all. If there was anything Evan knew, it was that emotions that were concealed with such rapidity and ferocity were more often than not genuine and easily manipulated to his advantage. It was a good sign for the interrogation – it revealed a weak spot that Jonathan had. The more he tried to conceal the fact that his friend's well-being concerned him, the more evident it was, and the more Evan could use that knowledge to his advantage.
"So, are you ready to talk?" Evan prompted once more. "Or should we bring him in to speak for you?"
"Nobody's telling you anything." Jonathan simply said, biting his lower lip slightly.
"I could wait all day, Delirious. I'll just sit right here and wait 'til you tell me something. But believe me, you'll wish you'd talked to me. Sure, I can hurt you, but you've said it yourself – Tyler will beat you to a pulp. And when he comes in, you'll wish you told me everything instead. So it's all up to you – talk now, or wait for worse. And if you don't talk either way, there's always your dear friend we can work with. Then maybe we'd throw you to the wolves in the wilderness, see how things go from there."
"Do that, then," Jonathan grunted, his arms beginning to shake slightly from the strain it was under. "At least I don't have to tell them shit."
"Not from here, are you?" Evan smirked. "Then maybe you'd like to know that the wolves here are pretty brutal. They wouldn't just bite you. They'll drag you across the wilderness to where the rest of the pack is, and they'd snap at you until your neck breaks. And maybe they'll eat you. Or maybe the bears will. You'll die slowly and painfully, and you wouldn't even know how to fight it."
"You'd think I was never trained for my mission," Jonathan bit back. "Bad news for you, because I have."
"And unfortunately your training wasn't comprehensive enough, because you're here with us right now." Evan finished for him. The interrogation was veering off into a different direction entirely, and he had to get back on track. Threats were proving ineffective, and he needed another way in to what Jonathan knew.
"So where're you from? That's not quite an accent I recognize." Evan began again slowly, attempting to make his question sound as innocuous as he could. "Illinois? Michigan?"
"Not telling you anything."
Evan pushed further. "Missouri? I'm tempted to go further south based on how you talk."
"I don't have an accent, so shut it."
"You do. It's just weird, that's all. Like… all mixed up and messy. I thought I heard a slight bit of American South in there, but I also hear some Midwest, too."
"I'm not –" Jonathan started sharply, before stopping short and wincing slightly as a spasm worked its way through the muscles in his arms. "I'm not going to tell you where I'm from. And there's no organization, so there's no point in finding out where I come from."
Evan raised a brow, mildly surprised that his act had been seen through. Regardless, he knew he had to continue. "You know I won't believe that, right? Mercenaries don't just do this sort of thing without being paid. You got hired – and I want to know who hired you."
"And what makes – what makes you think… what makes you think I'll tell you?"
"Pain," Evan answered simply. "And the fact that your friend might be here any second now. So you'll probably want to talk before you suffer even more."
"I'm not scared of pain, and I'm not scared of what any of you will do." Jonathan murmured through gritted teeth, his shoulder blades buckling under the pressure. "In fact, I don't think you've even caught Lu… that you've even caught him."
Jonathan was resisting incredibly well, faring much better than most other subjects of Evan's interrogation despite the discomfort and pain that he was going through. Even the threats were stomached without striking much terror within him, and Evan began to wonder if more drastic means were needed to extract the information that Jonathan held so close to his heart. He had a minute reluctance to do so – there was nothing to be gained given how tight-lipped he was trained to be. There would just be blood and violence and vengeance. Evan needed leverage against the man, and he needed it badly.
He was, however, slipping slightly, and Evan could see that. Evan was trained similarly – to put up with the pain when interrogated, to not even show the slightest hint of personality and to not show fear or response to pain in the face of hostility. Jonathan was showing signs of him slipping up, something surprising for somebody who was trained as extensively as he had been. A little voice in Evan's head began to file away suspicions, one by one, about it all being an act to bring Evan's guard down, and Evan willed the same little voice to shut up. He had no reason to be overtly suspicious or to overthink things. After all, it was only natural to show pain. There was little to be gained from using that as a manipulative tool, especially if one's interrogator had set his mind to not letting one go. If anything, it only meant a weakness on the part of the captive.
"You may not be scared," Evan began again after a thoughtful silence, "but it doesn't mean that you can't feel it. Surely you want to rest your arms, no?"
"I'd rather chop my arms off than to tell you anything." Jonathan spat.
Evan began to pace about Jonathan's dangling body slowly, each step producing a pronounced click that reverberated off the walls and the floor of the empty room. He made sure to walk closer to Jonathan, bit by bit, a tactic that he often used in intimidation that had proven quite successful in provoking unease. "We can always start small. For instance, why would a mercenary from the States want anything to do with Canada, or even an organization based in Canada? Is the organization that hired you based in Canada?"
The body that hung before him jerked slightly, struggling instinctively against the pain that shot through it. Evan would've pitied him if not for how stubborn Jonathan was choosing to be – he had every single chance to talk and spill the beans, but he had chosen not to despite the pain that he had been subject to. It was frustrating for Evan to work with someone who was so stubbornly tight-lipped, despite the fact that he had anticipated this situation entirely. He knew that Jonathan was well-trained, and he knew that Jonathan would put up with whatever abuse he would face. Yet, he was still annoyed at the lack of progress in the interrogation and how much resistance Jonathan was putting up.
The door to the interrogation room opened, and Brock peeked in meekly, eyes darting past Jonathan's hanging body almost intentionally in discomfort. Once he found Evan's eyes, he motioned for Evan to follow him out of the room. Cautiously, Evan shot a look at Jonathan before following after Brock out of the interrogation room and into the hallway.
"What is it?" Evan queried the moment the door shut behind him.
"Tyler's only just been patched up, but he wants in on the interrogation. He thinks both of us will go too soft on him -"
"- Which is kind of true. Sorry, continue."
Brock composed himself, and then began again. "And the other things is that I can't quite get in contact with Brian. I've radioed him a few times but he hasn't answered. I'm afraid whoever it was might've…"
He shuddered, and his voice shook as it died out before he could even finish his words. Carefully, Evan reached out and patted him on his back, calming the shaky man and muttering words of consolation under his breath.
"Look – Brian's going to be fine. He can hold his own. You've seen how he's like in the field, he's an absolute beast. I'd say he could match up to Tyler if only Tyler weren't so tall and could take most people out in a punch. He'll be fine, alright?"
Gently, he patted Brock's shoulder once more, and tilted his head slightly to meet Brock's eyes, reassuring him silently as best as he could. It wasn't a move he was completely comfortable with – but it was a move that Brian had taught him once, a move that Brian had guaranteed confidently would set Brock's nerves back in place if he was shaken.
"He needs to know you're there for him," he had said. "And he needs your strength. He's awkward on his own, so you need to get a little close-up and touchy with him sometimes. It sounds weird, but as long as he can see you and know you're not touching him because you're weird, he eases up just fine."
And ease up he did. Slowly, Brock blinked back, the anxiousness in the depths of his eyes gradually subsiding. He was still evidently worried, but the panic and the shakiness was, for the most part, gone. Silently, Evan wondered how many more ways about Brock Brian knew, and how Brian managed to figure it all out on his own.
"Evan." Brock whispered softly, straightening up and removing Evan's hand from his back. "'I'll be fine And Brian… I hope he'll be fine, too."
"That's good." Evan replied. "If everything's okay… I'll get back to interrogating him, alright? Just so you know where to find me. Go take a rest or something. And keep trying to get in contact with Brian. Maybe it's just the signal being unstable again."
Brock nodded, and turned to walk away, sidling only a few steps before he turned back towards Evan once more, just as Evan was about to reach for the door –
"Evan?"
Evan flipped around quickly. "Hm?"
"I know... that you don't oppose to Tyler's methods, that you think it's for a sort of good. That's fine, really, but… I really don't want any more bloodshed. You get what I mean?"
"Brock – sometimes we just… we have to do what we have to do. And if it means blood, it has to be that way."
"Listen, Evan, please… It's just… after all that's happened, I just don't want anybody else to be hurt. And… you know how Tyler's like. Or rather, what he's become like. I don't want him to…"
"To what, Brock?"
Tyler strode out from behind Brock, now donning a sleeveless shirt with his left shoulder bandaged and cleaned of all signs of blood. In his right arm was a sheathed blade – his favorite interrogation tool, one that he threatened with as he pointed it directly at his captive's neck. A look of annoyance crossed his face as he approached – a look that Brock met and immediately shunned, looking down on the ground as if there was something interesting in it.
"To what? Kill him?" Tyler asked. "He – and his friend – nearly killed me, Brock. They shot at me and missed my head. I could've died because of this motherfucker, Brock. If anybody should die, it's him."
"Tyler!" Evan chided.
"Oh, not you too. I know, and I won't kill him. As long as he spills, am I right? So he won't die, not yet. But that doesn't mean I won't be rough and that I won't make some blood spill. Because y'know what, sometimes that's the only thing that works with these assholes. Just plain old brute force and a real threat of death. It makes them talk better than anything, and you guys know that. So suck it up, Brock, and go worry about Brian or something."
Tyler waved Brock away dismissively, and Brock threw a final pleading look at Evan before he left, shaking his head slightly as he walked away. A triumphant smirk grew upon Tyler's face.
"There's nothing to gloat about, dude. He's our friend." Evan told him, eyes still glued upon Brock's frame as it grew smaller and smaller with distance.
"Dude's become a total ninny. He needs to grow – well, re-grow a pair."
"You know exactly why he's become like that." Evan answered sharply. "It's the exact same reason why you –"
"Why I'm like that, yeah, whatever." Tyler finished bitterly, annoyance biting into his tone. "But at least I don't stop fighting just because there's a god-fucking-damn setback. I fight harder, and I look to become stronger. He's just turned into a shell of his former self. He's completely regressed into this fucking little bitch who's so afraid to even see blood anymore. You need to stop making excuses for him, Evan."
"If I can excuse your behavior, then I can excuse his as well. Simple as that."
"Whatever. Are you going to stop bitching and interrogate this son of a bitch with me?"
Evan sighed, and nodded. As much as Jonathan was stubborn, Tyler was even more stubborn – and Evan had rarely ever won an argument against him. As the door swung open and they met Jonathan's struggling figure on the hook, the man's eyes darted to his two captors, and he ceased struggling, maniacal, clown-like laughter beginning to emerge from the depths of his chest instead.
"There's nothing funny at all, Delirious." Evan said.
"But there is," Jonathan laughed. "You had to bring him in. That's just sad."
"You'll be the sad one once I'm done with you." Tyler growled. "Honestly, Vanoss? The hook and you didn't do anything more?"
Evan shrugged, and simply took a seat in the corner by the door. "He's all yours, now."
Tyler smirked, and unsheathed the blade in his hands slowly, taking care not to exert too much pressure on his shoulder. Jonathan, however, was still gleefully giggling away – and suddenly Evan understood his codename. Delirious.
"Hey Wildcat," Jonathan taunted, mirth in his voice, "Why's your call sign Piggy when your nickname is Wildcat?"
The smirk on Tyler's face grew dangerously, and a dark flame in his eyes burned on with a murderous rage. "I'll tell you why," he murmured darkly. "It's a great laugh, I tell you."
Almost like a tiger, Tyler pounced upon Jonathan, blade drawn up to the man's neck. His tall frame obscured Evan's view, and all he saw was a sudden stilling of Jonathan's body, with his feet stiffening until his toes were pointed directly at the ground, and a droplet of dark crimson landed on the ground directly beneath it.
