Chicago, Illinois – 1:23 A.M.
"Where. Is. My. Money?"
Jacqueline Griffin cursed lightly under her breath as the tip of the fingers from the man prior to her dug deeper into her cheeks, tilting her head farther back against the bedroom wall of her brother and hers one-bedroom apartment. She had a feeling that it would have come down to this, but she didn't believe that her brother had fallen this deep into his own problematic, narcotic-related issues.
"Sam, you know that I don't – Jared does." Despite the confidence she felt inside of Sam preventing himself from harming her, she knew the quiver in her voice said otherwise. She was scared of Sam, of him and the three other men standing behind him. It seemed that the Big Bad Sam wasn't so big and bad, but had in fact the other Big Bad Men do his dirty work.
Sam barked out a vindictive laugh, his muddy brown eyes shining with no remorse as he leaned forward, his hand tightening around her cheekbones as his breath fanned across her pale face. "Maybe, but do ya think that little fuck Jared will come deliver my money when he sees his little sister being kicked around like a punching bag, hm?"
Jacqueline had never really accepted her older brother's addiction of under-the-counter-drugs, though that rejection was present, Jacq didn't see the complication to where she would have thought for him to get rehabilitation. She loved her brother, always thought of him as a role model (even with the drugs existent) – especially when they had made the resolute decision to run away from their cruel and abusive parents. That was three years ago, and since then, she'd even seen Jared take oxycodone on more than one brief occasion.
The only real promise he had given her towards drugs was that he would never overdose, and that he would always be back by midnight on weekdays.
Jacqueline swallowed profoundly, nervousness and anxiety sweeping through her stomach in tight coils. Where was Jared? It was over an hour past midnight and he still hadn't walked through their smoke-stained wooden doorway of the measly apartment. "I-I'm sure he has it, Sam. He t-told me had to work overtime tonight, that – that's all."
When the back of his hand connected with the right side of her temple, Jacqueline wasn't exactly sure when she fell against her nightstand, rolling off and colliding with the wooden planks of the floor. She groaned momentarily, her mind working so rapidly that her movements seemed sluggish and hazy in her eyes. Or perhaps she had gained a concussion from Sam's direct hit.
She moaned out a quiet plea as large hands grappled with both of her arms, another curled thoroughly into the tangles of her curly auburn hair. Heaving her body up until a half-standing position, Jacqueline opened her mouth to try and conjure up a frantic reason for him to stop – but the breath rushed from her lungs as a solid punch impacted with her abdomen. If she had ever felt anything more painful, Jacq couldn't remember after that – agony shot through her chest as she struggled to draw in oxygen.
Finally managing to gather her bearings, Jacqueline began to struggle. All she wanted was to get out of the situation, to think of a plan instead of being bombarded by mind-numbing pain that these men could inflict on her.
Drawing her leg back, Jacq kicked the man behind her in the shins, causing his hands on her arms to loosen so that she could rip away from his hold. She disregarded the discomfort from her strands of auburn hair being pulled out as she ran forward, stumbling and knocking into Sam.
She fell on her hands and knees, scrambling onward and lugging herself back to her staggering feet. Racing toward the doorway and trying to ignore the shouts directly behind her, Jacqueline shakily grasped the knob to their front door, twisting and heaving it open with a loud slam.
"Get her! Now!" Sam shouted at the men behind him, demanding them to apprehend with woman escaping.
Jacqueline didn't bother to steal a glance behind her as she took a huge step forward – and ran into a chest. A choke of terror rose in her throat – until she saw who the person before her was. Jared, red hair sweeping close to his eyes, regarded her with confusion . . . until he saw the bruising swelling along her right eye and lip. "Jacq – I," his eyes widened when he saw the three bulky men made their presence known.
Without another word spoken, Jared clutched her upper bicep and dragged her out the doorway, shutting the door firmly and already halfway down the hall with her in his clutches. "How long have they been there?" He asked her seriously, the muscles along his jawline twitching dangerously.
"I-I don't know." Jacqueline grimaced as his hand tightened. "Ten minutes maybe?" She finally unleashed that sob that had been clogging up her throat and wrapped her arms around her brother's shoulders, holding her twin as tightly as she could possibly embrace. "W-Where were you?!"
Jared stood stiff for a moment before he responded with running an absent hand through her hair, sweeping her bangs from her face like he used to do as children. "Calm down, Jacq. Are you hurt badly? Can you run?"
Jacqueline wanted to yell at him because he was acting to calm. Level-headed. He wasn't the brash and reckless brother to her at the moment. She shook her head and felt hot tears slide down her cheeks. Her knees suddenly began to tremble.
Jared grabbed the sides of her face, his dark green eyes searching mine as he held on tightly. "Jacq –" The door down the hall burst open and the three men, plus Sam, came stumbling out as they searched frantically for the two siblings. "No time – run to the stairwell!" Jared pushed the small of her back toward the direction of the fire escape, a few steps behind her as she forced herself to follow his directions.
As Jacqueline unlatched the lock on the vertical-sliding window, she skimmed it open and gasped when a burst of snow and frigid wind hit her in the face and bare arms. She cursed herself when she realized that she didn't even have shoes on, if she didn't fall off the rungs from no grip, then she would surely die from frostbite if she didn't hurry. Just as she was about to proceed to climb through the window, two shots suddenly rung out and wood chippings exploded in her face.
As instinct, she screamed and flailed clumsily through the open window, crawling across the metal to get out of the line of fire from the gun that had been aimed at her. "Jared!" She shouted with horror, mostly at the realization that he was still in the hallway of the apartment.
Jacqueline clutched the red brick as she pulled her head to look over the window seal. What she saw made her stomach clench painfully, her mind go numb, and her heart to speed up instinctively.
Jared was on his knees, leaned back and blinking feverishly as if he was puzzled to why he was kneeling on the floor. What made Jacqueline feel as if ice was slithering up her throat, was the blood stain that was slowly forming around the grey thermal long-sleeve shirt. Crimson stained against her brother's upper-torso, right below his left collarbone.
He unleashed a deep sound in his throat as he peered downward to see the injury sustaining on his chest, his index and middle finger coming up to gently prod at the sticky blood.
With Sam's malicious chuckle in the background of her ringing ears, she watched with dismay as Jared's eyes rose to meet hers – and then he fell over on his side, a strangled groan wrenching past his lips.
"Jared!"
The scream that ripped from her didn't sound like the Jacqueline most people knew. It wasn't the mature, self-possessed, and collected Griffin sibling – it was the sound of a desperate plea, of a dreaded terror, the sound of someone's nightmare coming alive. That's how Jacqueline felt at that very moment.
Just as she was about to come rushing to him in tears and heaving weeps, Jared held out a clenched hand in her direction. "No!" He yelled in a rasped voice, blood beginning to smear along his pale lips. "G-Go." The last word came out in a mere whisper, though she heard it clear as day. "Please go."
"Oh, God – Oh, Jared, no." Anger bubbled to the surface of her emotions, a deep lingering rage as she locked eyes with the vicious face of Sam's.
And then everything flooded red.
Chicago, Illinois – Courthouse – 10:34 A.M.
"All rise."
…
"Jacqueline Fay Griffin, you are under charges of murder to the second degree and drug possession. How do you plead?"
…
"Objection overruled."
…
"The jury will now retire to deliberate."
…
"This court finds you . . .
. . . Guilty."
…
Jacqueline felt insensible as she played with the metal cuffs around her wrist, her green eyes casted to the floor as the jury came to their final conclusion. She didn't want to be there, and at any given moment, she thought maybe she would burst out laughing as the prosecutor spat out his 'evidence' at her. It was all the truth, in a twisted and deceitful way.
She didn't resist when the two bailiffs' grabbed directly underneath her elbows, pulling her up from the uncomfortable red chair and leading her toward the side door of the courtroom. The orange suit she was dressed in felt itchy against her skin, her felt oily and clung to the back of her neck, her eyes, she knew, were blotched red from dried tears.
Jacq scanned swiftly of the female bailiff on her left, taking view of the woman's tightly pinned up hair. She examined the flash of metal that signified a bobby pin, before she returned her blank gaze toward the long corridor leading to the jail cell – where they would keep her until the bus would come, which would be nearly a week at best.
. . . But Jacqueline was not planning on staying her for a week, at all.
Suddenly, she tripped and a hand caught her upper-arm right in time – Jacq forced herself to let out a cry of pain. This, in all honestly, position they left her in wasn't exactly comfortable. The fall had wrenched her right arm out to the side, causing her wrist to become wrenched around in the small handcuffs. A thin red line of blood could be seen beneath the loop metal.
The woman bailiff let out an annoyed huff, her scowl now being direction toward the man as she assisted in straightening out Jacq. "Are you okay?" She questioned the Griffin sibling sternly, her dark eyes briefly peering down at the trickle of blood running down her hand.
"I –"Jacq swallowed thickly. "T-That hurt, uh, an, l-lot. I-I think it sprained m-my wrist."
"Oh honey, it did a lot more than sprain." Diana – she had a metal tag stamped against the breast pocket of her shirt – forcefully smile as she examined the small wound.
She and the male exchanged looks before the man roughly grabbed Jacq's shoulder and yanked her around to face him. "Now you look, missy, we can get in big trouble helping you for this, 'kay? So you are gonna follow our instructions and rules if you wanna don't get a death penalty okay?"
Jacqueline made sure to allow herself to wince at his tone of voice as she bowed her head. "It isn't like I have anything else to lose," she spoke sorrowfully.
His eyes softened slightly. "Look, I'm sure you're a good kid. I personally don't believe any of that bullshit that happened back there – so Diana here is gonna undo your cuffs and you are going to allow us to fix up your hands here, s'kay?"
"I understand."
Just as the handcuffs were unfastened from her wrist, Jacqueline thankfully allowed them to bandage the cuts. As the last bandage was rolled on, she sucked in a long breath, exhaling it after a long moment . . .
. . . and then she pushed her elbow up and struck Diana in the face as hard as she could. As her arm connected with the woman's jaw, Jacq clenched her fist and punched the man Bailiff square in the nose. It all happened so fast in her mind, but she knew the actions were as long as fifteen seconds – time she did not have to waste.
Grappling the bobby pin in the woman's now haggard hair, Jacqueline ran forward – and promptly fell heavily on her knees as the male bailiff's fingers clenched around her ankle. She shoved her foot into his face before scrambling back to her shaky legs, sprinting down the hall toward any door she could find that read 'exit'. As she ran, Jacqueline bent the bobby pin into ways where could use it as a pick.
Just as she rounded a corner, Jacq felt the breath leave her lungs as she ran straight into someone – someone who had been expecting her. Strong arms wrapped around her shoulders and back, another set of hands prying her head back to cover her mouth with a rag.
Choking on chloroform, Jacqueline struggled futilely as she slowly felt her eyes dip lower and lower, her mind beginning to go forcefully asleep. "Please," she begged aloud, her throat choking on her words as her body completely slackened in the arms of the two men.
All she knew was blackness.
Division – 6:05 A.M.
"Wake up." The voice cut through her semi-conscious mind like a sharp shoot of a gun, causing Jacqueline to jolt on the mattress beneath her and spring up in alert. As her eyes shot open, the metal-styled room blurred and grew unfocused from her surplus drug-induced vision.
Jacq breathed heavily through her nose, blinking to clear her eyesight as she bleakly noticed the man standing about five feet from her bed. He was tall, with a slightly grey color in his black hair, with sharp dark eyes with ebony square glasses on his nose. He wore black slacks and a black long sleeve shirt – but what absolutely caught her immediate attention was the shoulder harness around his shoulders with two automatic weapons tucked in place.
"Good," he spoke briefly, his voice blank as he stared down at her monotonously. "You are actually making this easier than I expected. You were prone with a high amount of chloroform and barbiturates, although, not enough to endanger your well-being for internal damage."
Jacqueline grimaced and tried to sit up, but she didn't think her fingers could even strongly grasp anything at that moment. "You injected me with a depressant?" Her words came out as a groan.
"Yes. Barbiturates normally subscribed for patients recovering from amnesia or for hypnotic purposes. We could not give you a high dose of chloroform due to it causing you to be at risk for liver impairment, so you were still conscious. The barbiturates prevent you from recalling any memories on your way to Division." The man grabbed a chair around his ankle, dragging it from the wall and sitting in it oppositely, facing her.
Jacqueline gazed at him with disturbance, her lips pursed into a thin line. "Where are we – and who are you?"
The man didn't smile, but he didn't frown either. "You, once again, are making this easier for me. My name is Roan; I am a Cleaner for Division. And you are Jacqueline, my 'presumed' recruit."
"What's Division?" She struggled while pushing herself up, though she wasn't surprised when he didn't offer her any help in assisting the process.
Roan blinked once before replying, "Division is a classified U.S. Government organization responsible for a numerous variety of black-ops operations, including espionage, sabotage, and assassination. Jacqueline Griffin, you have been chosen among many to be a recruited agent for this organization. Through my specific training, you will become a Cleaner." At seeing her mystified and horrified expression, he actually finally smirked, but it was very faint. "Our Leader was very impressed with your actions toward getting rid of those bodies, though you were caught. Sloppiness can be transformed into something talented."
Jacq felt her teeth clench as she instinctively pushed herself further against the plain white headboard of her bed. "You're insane," she croaked out.
He schooled his face into an impassive expression, suddenly standing to his feet and dragging the chair back to its original location. "You need to follow me." He stated, grabbing an article of clothing from a hook alongside the doorway. "Put this on," he tossed the grey jacket at her, waiting patiently for her to slide by him into the corridor.
Jacqueline sat there as she grasped the overlarge jacket, her ponders running through her mind at a mile a minute. She concluded that Roan was a dangerous man; just by the way he stood relaxed. He looked calm and slackened, but deduced by the way his shoulders tensed and his legs moved, he was far from careless. In fact, Jacq knew that Roan could kill her in less than three seconds if he chose to. He just looked so . . . professional.
Realizing she should probably follow his instructions, Jacqueline slipped on the jacket and zipped it halfway to cover the thin black tank top she wore. It seemed they had changed her out of the stated orange jumpsuit, instead dressing her in knee-length combat shorts and a charcoal-colored wife-beater. She met Roan's eyes – which she now noticed was a faded grey blue – and shouldered past his tall form.
The corridors she strolled through looked so plain it was almost dizzying to see. Lights stretched ten feet apart, she felt as if she was going through a mountain-underground tunnel as Roan marched behind her silently, his footsteps almost non-existent. Jacqueline occasionally had to glance back to be certain he was actually behind her. She was frightened on what she was getting herself into (or, literally, what she was being forced into). Judging by Roan, she didn't see any available options besides being quiet and listening. All she knew was that wherever he was leading her, it wasn't good.
"Turn right."
Doing as commanded, Jacqueline halted hesitantly as she came into a substantial room. The ceiling was covered in bright fluorescent lights, the floors being a steel metal besides the black mats scattered around in large squares. There were young men and women, similar to her besides looks, either sparring against each other or fighting it out with fake dummies.
Roan's hand pushed against her upper-right shoulder, sufficiently steering her to the left as she was lead toward a small set of stairs – down into the place where they were battling. "Whoa, whoa, whoa," Jacqueline stopped and craned her neck to look at the man leading her into this death pit, "What are you doing?"
He forcefully pushed her forward and snapped his fingers at the two sparring recruits, waving his hand so that they cleared the mat. The division recruits promptly complied without resistance, the guy helping the other up from his back before they settled off to the side, content on watching. "You wanted to know what Division was, –"
"Yeah, you told me."
"– I'm going to show you." Roan disconnected his shoulder harness and gave it to the recruits off to the side, but not before making eye contact and promising future pain if anything were to happen to his guns. Jacqueline suddenly noticed the attention the two were receiving, and she did not like it at all. Roan showed no emotional discomfort from the eyes on them, mostly because he had no facial expression anyways. "You are going to fight me."
Just as Jacqueline propped open her mouth to protest further, her eyes caught sight of the person standing behind the large dark-tinted windows that lead into a room above them. He was wearing a suit, with his arms crossed and a serious look on his face. That must have been Roan's dubbed 'Leader'.
At hearing a small step of boots, her eyes shot back to Roan just as his leg swept from underneath her and she collapsed backwards from the hit to her legs. Back slamming against the mat, Jacqueline cried out once before a weight pushed against her chest. Roan had his forearm rammed against her chest; his other was outstretched as he curled his fingers into her hair and used that momentum to be pounded against the mat.
It was a test, she realized. They wanted to see how strong and capable she was. But they knew she wasn't – she had no proper training in self-defense. But maybe that was what they wanted to see – they wanted to see how well she could fight in a brawl.
Jacqueline clenched her jaw, breathing heavily through her nose as she spat out a rapid, "fine," before bring up her left knee and rolling him off of her. Both Roan and she stood up at the same time, circling each other, though Roan made it seem far more graceful – far more deadly.
She decided to make the first – or second – move. Swinging a left fist at Roan's jaw, she moved her right to jab him in the ribs as well. Jacqueline knew for a fact he would counter them both at the same time, which was what she was expecting him to do. But, to her surprise, all Roan did was gently rotated his head to the left, evading her oncoming punch and grasping her right wrist, swinging her over his back and causing her to land stomach-first on the black mat.
Breath escaping her lungs, Jacqueline could vaguely hear the other Recruit's snickers and the shifting of their impatient feet. They obviously wanted to tell her how to counter, or at least help her up, maybe neither – she could be wrong. "Get up," Roan demanded, pacing about a yard away. "Or I will haft to make you."
Huffing once, Jacqueline hoisted herself to her slightly shaky feet, rubbing at her bruised wrist as she did so. "You're a smart girl, Jacqy, just watch and observe – you have the most amazing memory I have ever seen, it almost photographic. Watch and observe." Jared's words echoed in her head, causing her eyes to drop to Roan's feet, where they moved with precision and balance.
She began moving the same, yet in a total opposite manner where he couldn't detect of her copying. Licking her lips, Jacqueline prepared herself just as Roan strikes out at her. She bit her lip as she allowed him to grab a fistful of her hair, allowing him to wrench her hair back just as she jutted her elbow out and enabled it to press against the bend of his elbow. His fingers unclenched and she lashed at him with her palm, hurling it into his chest with as much strength as she could muster.
Roan staggered back a step, a flicker of something reflecting in his eyes before it vanished. He seemed to decide to take it up a notch, speeding forward and kicking out his right leg. Seizing his knee with trembling fingers, she propelled him away and attempted to use his own move against him. She was shocked when her hit was actually fixing to strike him – until he blocked her kick with an arm, his own body whirling around in the opposite direction, his arms reaching behind him to grab her around the neck and to completely force her onto the mat.
Coughing, Jacqueline faintly heard Roan snap at the other Recruits to continue their morning hand-to-hand combat training. She wheezed and coughed against as she struggled into a sitting position, her neck and joints suddenly felt more than less sore. Roan was strapping his harness back on, not sparing her a glance or the time of day to even assist her up to her feet.
But luckily, someone else was actually considerate. A handsome young man, perhaps a year or two older than her, gave her a hand. He was about her height, around five-foot-ten, with a head full of dark brown hair, hazel/brown eyes, and a small five o'clock shadow ghosting across his cheekbones. He was handsome, indeed.
Taking his hand graciously, Jacqueline smiled briefly and dropped his hand, finding it was too warm for comfort. "Thank you," she said. "Now I know Roan is a complete jackass, I'm glad that was surmised for my sake."
The man's eyes widened for a complete three seconds, as if he was shocked that she would even insinuate or even think or say it aloud. His lips twitched into a half-smile, but it was strained. "Ah, yes – my name is Michael. Just Michael."
"Jacqueline Griffin, call me Jacq." She removed herself from the mat, but not before Roan was already wrapping his hand around her upper arm and dragging her away from the other Recruits. "What – but I thought –"
"You will hold a minimum of training with the Recruits. A minimum. But your hand-to-hand combat, weapons, tactics, infiltration, and almost everything else will be handled by me." Roan glimpsed to the side at her with a stern, nearly expressionless look. "You will serve under Birkhoff and Amanda for Technology and Engineering and languages and etiquette."
"Wait –"Jacqueline gritted her teeth and glared heatedly at him. "Why am I really here? What could you possibly want with a twenty-two year-old who murdered three men?"
Roan halted in his movements, yanking her to a stop as his blue eyes peered at her with as much intensity that she felt her breath get caught in her throat. "Because you are being given a second chance." He nodded his head toward the door they had stopped in front of. She turned away, hand on the door knob. "And Jacqueline, it's a onetime only offer."
She entered the room.