Warnings for mentions of child soldiers. Written in about twenty minutes.
Jack's not sure when he started feeling sorry for one of his guards.
You see, he'd been captured, along with his partner, John Santeer, and was being held captive by the people who's facility they were supposed to infiltrate.
All in all, not the best way things could've turned out.
They've been here for a week, kept in a small bedroom with two twin beds and a tiny bathroom that has one sink, one toilet, and a shower that's just large enough to be functional.
There seems to be a large rotation of guards that guard their room, but only one ever brings them food- they're fed twice a day, and good meals, too. All in all, things could be much, much worse. Jack's not sure what's really going on underneath the surface here.
But. Back to the kid. Because that's all the guard really is, honestly. He's around twenty-one, looks younger, and never quite looks Jack or John in the eye when he's in the room.
Also, he always seems to be sporting some new bruise every few days.
Jack's not a fool. He saw the kid fight when he and John were taken down. It wasn't the flashy, inexperienced moves of someone who'd been crudely trained, or even the quick, efficient moves of someone who's practiced for years.
No, it was the fluid, natural movements of someone who's been doing something almost since birth.
Jack grits his teeth a little harder every time he thinks about that. John reacts the same way when Jack tells him.
Jack's not stupid. He knows child soldiers are a very real thing.
They wait, always on the edge of their seats, wondering if today will be the day that they're tortured, interrogated, killed.
They pass the time by trying to strike up a conversation with the kid- three weeks in, they succeed, and trade words every time they see him- and working out to keep in shape.
Then, two months in, the kid comes into the room with a determined glint in his eye and a huge bruise on his cheekbone. He looks at Jack straight in the eyes and says, "They're going to kill you tomorrow. I can get you out."
The kid takes them through an elaborate setup- he convinces the other guards he's following orders, brings them through the hallways as if they're prisoners, and then- much to Jack's amusement- into an actual secret passageway.
They get out and contact DXS. After a few explanations, a much-appreciated extraction, and two debriefs, the three men are left alone until the director arrived and decides what to do with the kid.
Jack refuses to call him the name he gave: thirteen-oh-one.
Jack clasps the kid's shoulder, trying not to think too hard about the way he flinched away from the contact at first. "Hey, kid, you want a place to stay?"
He nods, and Jack breaks into a grin. John, well used to his partner's habit of taking in strays, throws his hands up in the air and mutters about retiring.