Title: Twisting Arms

Rating: K+/T for dark themes

Summary: People who love sausage and people who believe in justice should never watch either of them being made. - Otto von Bismarck.

A/N: I love this story. It's the best thing I've ever written, if I may be so bold. Seriously, though, I don't know what else to say. Don't expect too much from these author notes from now on. This chapter is dedicated to Snake from 999.

[LOOK] Having replayed the Seventh Chapter, I noted that this story branches from the cannon timeline. Specifically, after Stolen Memories (CR's liver mission), when he is fleeing with Maria, he claims to have regained his memories and breifly describes what he knows about the Rosalia Virus, though he says that he remembers much more. For the purpose of this fic, that did not happen. CR has a few memories of the Rosalia Virus and can treat it effectively. This is the extent of his knowledge. This change is vital to the plot of this story, as will become clear later.

Anthony Craft stumbled forward into the cell. He managed not to fall, but he inhaled sharply, and coughed violently as freezing air filled his lungs. He stood bent at the waist, his hands on his knees, catching his breath. The steel door slammed shut behind him. He heard the faint rustling of chains, and he quickly stood up, trying to retain a modicum of dignity. He smoothed his greasy hair with his hand and cleared his throat.

As his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw a young man in a white prison uniform watching him warily from a bench in the back of the cell.

Anthony smiled shakily. "It's freezing in here, isn't it?"

"Almost," the prisoner answered in all seriousness.

Anthony raised his eyebrows. "Almost?"

"33 degrees Fahrenheit."

He bent over again, laughing hysterically. "He didn't tell me you didn't know how to take a joke!"

CR-S01 suddenly looked alarmed. "Who?"

Anthony took several deep breaths to calm himself and wiped tears from the pits of his eyes. "I think I like you, kid. What's your name?"

"I don't know."

"So, you really don't remember, then? That's alright, Cunningham said you might not know."

"Dr. Cunningham sent you?"

"Yeah. I'm Anthony Craft, sna-, er, lawyer."

"Why do I need a lawyer?"

"To get you out of jail, of course. You don't want to spend the rest of your life freezing your ass off in here, do you? I mean, damn. Cunningham said it would be cold, but not this cold."

CR-S01 stood up, and Anthony could see that he was chained at both his wrists and ankles. "I'm working off my sentence."

"Not anymore. You haven't had a patient in weeks, have you?"

"N-no. But-"

"That's what I thought."

"Agent Holden said it might take a while to find the right patient."

"You haven't seen Holden in weeks. You haven't seen anyone in weeks."

CR opened his mouth, but seemed to have nothing to say. He shuffled forward, first the right foot, then the left, being careful not to trip over his chains. The scuffling of his shoes on the metal floor was eerie in the silence. When he was just a few feet away from Anthony, he stopped. He chose his next words very carefully.

"Where is Agent Holden?"

"He's been reassigned."

CR was taken aback. "Why?" he blurted.

"He was being too cooperative. The feds don't want to see you free, kid. That's why it took so long for Holden to find jobs. He couldn't just pick up any old surgery; he had to find difficult ones. Otherwise, people would start getting suspicious. Apparently, he made a mistake."

"He... did that for me?"

"Yeah."

"Where is he now?"

"I don't know."

"Will he be alright?"

"I guess so. Aw, kid, don't look like that. It's not like he got fired. At any rate, he knew what he was getting into, even if you didn't. Honestly, this is the best thing that could have happened. Holden still has a job, and now, because of me, you get to be free months, no, years! before you would if you were still working off your sentence."

"What about Dr. Cunningham?"

"I was getting to that. Listen, why don't you sit down? You're not being interrogated. I'm here to help."

CR seemed skeptical, and not at all reassured. Still, he shuffled back to his bench. Anthony looked around the cell as he strode to the bench as well. It was about the size of the living room in his flat in Portland. There was a metal bunk with a thin matress and no blanket chained to one wall, and on the back wall was the bench, which was bolted to the floor. The only light came from a bare light bulb far above their heads. There were no windows, or openings of any kind. He looked back at the door, and he could barely make out the lines that distinguished it from the wall. The walls and floor, which were fashioned from dull metal, seemed to flow seamlessly into each other. He sat down next to CR and placed his briefcase between them.

"You haven't seen Cunningham because they haven't let him in. They haven't let anyone in. Really, it's just one woman. Agent Sophia Delora, of the FBI."

"Did she replace Agent Holden?"

"You're smarter than you look," Anthony joked, but CR was not amused. "Look, they put her here because she's so stubborn. She thinks you're guilty, and she hates you with a passion. I barely managed to get her to let me talk to you. But now that I'm here, you're not going to be in prison for much longer. Got it?"

"Yes."

"Any more questions, before we talk business?"

CR paused, fidgeting with the chains of the cuffs on his wrists. "What day is it?"

"Thursday, August 16."

CR's shoulders slumped and he sighed.

"It's pretty hard to keep track of time in here, kid, I understand. Don't worry about it. Now, we've got a little less than an hour, so let's make the most of it." Anthony popped open his briefcase. "I've done a bit of research, but outside of the tabloids, there's not much about Cumberland. That may actually work to our advantage-"

"I'm innocent."

"Yeah, I know, Cunningham told me. But you've got to think about this realistically. Who's going to believe that?"

CR glared at Anthony, his red eyes like daggers boring holes into Anthony's head.

"You're a smart kid. You know more about this case than anyone, even me, at this point. Think; how innocent do you look right now?"

"I'm innocent until proven guilty."

Anthony barked out a laugh. "That's a good one. You know, if you weren't so naive, I'd say you'd make a fine lawyer in your own right. I'll let you in on a little secret. Law isn't about justice. Law is about loopholes. Law is about breaking fingers and crushing toes." CR looked at him with something like incredulous anger on his face. "I've been in this business since I was born. My old man was a prosecutor. He didn't care if you were guilty; that was the cops' job. He did what he was supposed to do, and he did whatever it took to get his verdict. It's none of my businness if you're guilty or innocent. My job is to see things their way, and twist some arms until they see it my way. I'm damn good at twisting arms. That's why Cunningham hired me. He doesn't like me, and you don't have to, either, but until this is over, you have to see things my way. I'd rather not twist your arm."

CR's mouth was a thin line as he considered what Anthony had said. At last, he spoke. "Why did you become a defense attorney?"

"What do you mean?"

"If your father was a prosecutor."

"Being a prosecutor is a thankless job. My old man was murdered by a psychopath, some wackjob he was prosecuting. That's why I'm a defense attorney. It's the winning side. Sure, people hate me, but those people have morals. Murderers don't have those."

"That's... terrible."

"Don't I know it." Anthony glanced at his watch. Half an hour had passed. If he was going to get any information out of this kid, he had to do it fast. "Listen, I'm sorry for destroying your faith in the American justice system. Why don't you tell me your side of the story? I know I said that I have to make them see things my way, but if you really are innocent, then your way is part of my way." He smiled slyly. "Besides, if I talk any more, my lungs are going to freeze."