It was another quiet night for the inmates of the underground detention facility in Moab. Cell Block C had no vacancies, a single inmate in each and every 8 x 8 cell. There were big, brutish thugs, beautiful arms dealers, Chinese organized crime figures, treasonous Special Forces operatives and even some unexpected oddities such as the stuck up cheerleader, the genius wunderkind and some guy named Ned.
Since they spent all their time alone in their cells, save for a weekly firehose shower, the inmates occasionally pressed their faces into the small, caged, square openings in their cell doors in order to communicate with each other and share tales of their villainy. It didn't take them long to figure out that they were all locked up courtesy of the mysterious agent know as Carmichael or Bartowski, or Chuck. At first they thought it merely coincidence that they'd each been taken down by that same lanky, curly-haired nerd but as their tales spread it became obvious that "the Chuck" was an elite super spy, a master of disguise who used his skills to disarm his opponents who initially thought his whining and fearful shrieks were signs of weakness and inexperience. They realized that the simple fact that they were alive and in this hole in the ground was proof of the ruthlessness of "the Chuck" since a quick death from a bullet to the head would have been a relief for all of them. "The Chuck" wanted them to suffer a lifetime in these dank confines. He was a fearsome operator.
It was indeed a quiet night but they knew it was about to change. The silence was broken every Sunday night at the same time. At first it seemed unfair that this one prisoner was allowed to see a visitor on a weekly basis but as time went on it became clear that the visits were leaving him in a deteriorating state, both mentally and physically. Last week the guards had barely been able to keep him walking all the way back to his cell. His tight tangerine-colored tank top and white capri pants (different from the orange jumpers the others wore) had obviously been soiled.
Unsurprisingly, the heavy steel door at the end of the hall was unlocked and drawn open with a metal-on-metal squeal coming from the old hinges. When the door slammed shut four sets of heavy, workboot-clad, footsteps could be heard as the guards started to make their way towards the cell at the far end, separated only slightly from the rest.
Once they reached his door and threw it open the inmates strained to hear the conversation.
"Shaw, your visitor is here. Supposedly has some information about your wife's murderer. Change into these new clothes and you'll get to see him."
"These clothes don't look regulation," Shaw croaked.
"Just put it on and let's go. We don't have all night." The gruff guard placed his hand on his stun gun as added incentive for the raven haired convict to follow orders.
A couple minutes later the footsteps were heard again as the guards, with Shaw in shackles, made their way up the corridor. The quiet gasps and unintelligible questions of the other prisoners could be heard as they watched Shaw in his new red and blue clothes walk by with the guards as the group progressed past them and finally exited Cell Block C.
Shaw's visitor was waiting patiently on one side of the bulletproof glass with only a plain manila folder in front of him containing just three photos. It was the usual routine but Shaw's memory had been damaged when he was captured because someone had nearly brained him with a pipe to the back of the head. The occasional flashes from the Ring's intersect was also causing a deterioration of his brain functions and compounding his memory woes so when he sat down opposite his visitor he only vaguely remembered him from the previous weeks. Although he remembered his visitor's code name, he couldn't help but think that he'd met him before, that he knew more about the man in front of him than his betraying mind would reveal.
"What can I do for you today Cobra?" Shaw was trying to hide his eagerness to learn the whereabouts of his wife's killer. He knew it was a blonde woman and couldn't help but think they'd crossed paths before. Damn his brain! If he ever found the person who'd hit him with the pipe he'd….
"I've been authorized to show you some pictures and maybe the intersect can help us track your wife's killer. So let's do this."
The first picture was of Eve. Shaw's eyes started watering as he remembered his beautiful wife, the love of his life. She was smiling and looked so joyous and happy.
The next picture was a still showing Eve recoiling from the fatal gunshot wound she received on the streets of Paris. Her killer's arm was outstretched with the smoking pistol clutched firmly in her hand, her blond hair streaming in the light breeze of the cold evening. Shaw's tears were now flowing down his cheeks.
"Why are you showing me this?" Shaw was demanding an answer for being subjected to this unnecessary grief.
"Don't worry Shaw, it'll all make sense in a minute." Cobra reached for his final picture and held it up for Shaw to see. It was a picture of a tuxedo clad man with brown hair and an extraordinarily toothy smile standing next to a beautiful blond woman dressed exquisitely in white and wearing a matching toothy grin. Their love for each other exploded out of the photograph.
The flash hit Shaw like a freight train. His eyes rolled back and he clutched the sides of his head with his shackled hands while screaming. His shaking caused him to fall out of his chair and land hard on the cement floor. It was evident that he had also soiled his brand new outfit.
Cobra stood up and shouted at Shaw. "That picture was from today. My best friends, my partners, were married today. You don't mess with my team, stallion, because we take care of our own."
Cobra gathered his photos and started walking away. Casey would be waiting at the airport to fly him back to LA. He thought maybe he'd bring a Weinerlicious outfit for Shaw to wear next week. There wouldn't be too many more chances before the intersect shut Shaw down for good and he didn't want to miss his chance to see him in that black skirt and frilly white top.
The Cell Block C door opened again with a groan and as the footsteps became louder the inmates looked out to see Shaw's return. It was a sad sight they witnessed as he was dragged, unconsciously and unceremoniously, toward his cell and dumped inside. Once the guards had retreated to wherever it was that guards went, one brave soul broke the silence.
"Why is Shaw wearing a Superman uniform?"