(A/N) Hey guys, we're back again with another X-Ray and Vav chapter, and this one is written by one of our fantastic new writers, My Seven Deadly Sins! I think you'll enjoy this one, which is a bit darker than what's gone on before (and let me tell you, the first draft was far darker – just a little too dark for the situation, though).

And again, just making sure everyone knows that we're currently looking for characters for our Avengers/Hunger Games fic – In the End, You Always Kneel – so if you'd be at all interested in learning more about it, head on over to our forum of the same name or PM me for more information!

TheMetaReborn: Sorry I'm only getting back to you now! Delighted that you're enjoying this story, and there may be one more Freelancer making their appearance by the end of this fic. Maybe even more than one, who knows? Oh that's right, I do!

Enjoy!

Chapter Thirty-Six – Bad Cop, Bad Cop

Agent Joel Heyman

Written by My Seven Deadly Sins

"I get it,' said the prisoner. 'Good Cop, Bad Cop, eh?'

If you like.' said Vimes. 'But we're a bit short staffed here, so if I give you a cigarette would you mind kicking yourself in the teeth?"

― Terry Pratchett, Night Watch

All the unwanted sounds entering Agent Heyman's ear canal were making his head ring like a Chinese gong. Understandable, to say the least, given that their headquarters was currently going under a large-scale redevelopment, but it could take several weeks, months or even years to finish, with the slow pace the construction crew were currently working at.

Now, without somewhere private to meet with their boss, they were forced to relocate themselves to their only available FBI facility in Achievement City, whether it was ready for them or not. This is where they contained and secured members of the Community that they've managed to capture so far, in a massive concrete bunker far below the city, unknown to the people, or even to the construction workers working on the ground site.

The unwillingness of the men and women that they held here to cooperate had proved difficult to overcome, despite the massive and aggressive variety of techniques they used during the interrogation process – up to and including the playing of Taylor Swift covers sung by a collection of local drunks, something that had not yet been made illegal, though it was only a matter of time. If their screams of agony weren't enough to warn new prisoners that the easy way was the choice to go for, they'd soon learn. Joel couldn't help but hold a high-level of respect towards whatever psychopath recorded them in the first place – his work was invaluable to their current operations. He still held hope that even the most battle-hardened thugs could turn into a bunch of whimpering puppies, prepared to leak every cent of information on the Corpirate, after enough exposure to those tone-deaf tracks.

Agent Heyman was impressed at how well this place was being kept under wraps, out of the public eye. He had only been informed of its existence recently, as was his partner, Agent Burns, and both were happy to breathe a sigh of relief at the thought of the Bureau establishing a permanent headquarters in the city, meaning that they could move out of the GCPD buildings and into something a little more appropriate. However, the erupting curses, shouts and cries from the inmates were highly irritating, and really lowered the mood and tone of the place. They threw the feng shui all out of whack, acting more like rabid animals trapped in a cage than rational human beings.

Still, better locked away in here than out on the streets, he mused darkly, as himself and Agent Burns were led through the underground bunker, past the blocks of cells.

The Enderwolf, as it had come to be referred to by his jailors, was, somewhat surprisingly, the only one who didn't create much of a hassle. Adam had his own special cell that was located in a separate block from the others, Omega having made it clear that he wanted this prisoner, above all others, to receive their full attention. Ever since he had arrived, Adam had just curled up like an armadillo in the corner of his cell and murmured to himself while rocking gently, frightened that they might hurt him. From time and time he would claim that he could hear the monster inside his head, speaking to him, and that was typically the time that a nurse was sent for to administer the happy pills.

He's had enough punishment to endure for a lifetime, the poor bastard, Joel thought sadly.

However, he didn't have time to pity Adam. His attention was firmly focused on the task at hand, extracting the Corpirate's location from the prisoners within this prison, before that S.O.B. started serving them a heap of headaches and canned worms again.

Agent Burns had dispatched several search units to track down his whereabouts, but Joel wasn't holding out much hope for success there. The Corpirate wasn't the kind of guy to stand there like a statue and allow them to slap the cuffs on his wrists. Even if those teams did find him, they wouldn't have much luck taking him down. Still, they needed to do something before the Community launched their next attack, and Joel had no doubt that another one was coming, and soon.

First they sent in Bullet-Beard, then the Enderwolf, then Iron-Ryan, then Mogar, and then a cluster fuck of gangs, until finally they sent the Enderdragon in, making his grand entrance by wreaking havoc throughout half the city, until Mogar had finally been able to chase him off.

What would they send next, after being beaten back at every turn?

Following a cold trail was like walking blindly through the dark, but at the end of the tunnel there was always a light. That light, in this case, happened to be Dr Sorola's brand new invention – one he hoped would succeed. After all, the good doctor had been mostly responsible for Mogar's transformation from villain to hero, although Mr Jones obviously played a key role there too, Joel had to admit.

There was no name coined yet for the device, but from what he could tell this machine seemed to be in the shape of a bicycle helmet. The materials used to model it looked like one of two things.

One: he dismantled a microwave and employed the components into a makeshift hat.

Two: he went to a junkyard and rummaged through the mountainous piles of scrapmetal, collecting bits and pieces that people had either abandoned or thrown away. All those rejected pieces were now combined into this terrifying thingamajig with blinking lights flashing red and green, various wires sticking out and two antennas mounted on top.

Even though it looked like something you could pick up in a dumpster, the machine's purpose itself was the interesting part, having already been tested successfully on one of Sorola's assistants. While they had been informed that the device was still only a prototype, Dr Sorola had informed them that they were ready to try this out on one of the mercenaries the FBI had captured. X-Ray and Vav weren't giving them any leads, so why continue to depend on them at this point?

Zachary Miller was the name of the unlucky victim, picked at random from the dozens of gang members and mercs that the FBI had imprisoned down here – obviously never going to volunteer anything wilfully. He was a fairly tall and muscular man with broad shoulders, black hair and a thick beard, with eyes that glared malevolence at whomever they were turned on. His file claimed that he had served two tours of Iraq before receiving an honourable discharge from the military, but evidently civilian life hadn't suited him all that well, as he had taken up the role of a gun for hire with gusto.

He had been captured during the Community's attempted raid on City Hall. Despite his pretentions at uber-masculinity, this wannabe tough guy had apparently turned out to be pretty afraid of doctors, freaking out like hell when Dr Sorola entered the room. Joel could sympathise, he wasn't mad on them himself.

His current condition nearly caused J-Roll to inhale his freshly made coffee and spit it out all over the floor. Miller was strapped down to a chair almost identical in appearance to the ones you see at dental clinics. He had been stripped of most of his clothes, left in the cool breeze with only a pair of black shorts. His entire body was scarred and bloodied, his face almost disfigured from evident mistreatment. Joel frowned at this, and he could feel Agent Burns tense in disapproval beside him. While he wasn't surprised to see that the merc has been treated poorly during his incarceration, this seemed to be going too far, even given the situation.

His eyes darted back and forth wildly between the men as Burns didn't waste a single minute.

"What are you going to—" Miller's sentence was cut short as Burns immediately socked him. The impact caused his face to turn wavy until the knuckles were retracted. An awkward silence reigned as they all examined the blood that trickled from the edge of his mouth and slid down his chin. Burns had missed his nose, which was the intended target to break, and mashed Miller's lips right up against his two rows of tombstone teeth. Miller heaved at the sudden cheap shot and scoffed something that wasn't audible under his breath.

"Talk," Burns demanded as he curled his hands into fists and gave his well-known "this isn't over yet, sunshine" glare. He used it a lot on Joel back in the early years of their partnership, after Burns' old partner had been killed. "What's wrong, huh? No speaka de English?"

"I told you already, I don't know where he is…" Miller growled in reply.

"Yeah? Well what I'm getting is the same bullshit that comes about two seconds into every interview I've ever done with one of you fucking people! And I'm sick of putting up with your bullshit!" Burns raised his forearm. Joel knew he expected this punch to leave a heavy reminder that you don't lie to the FBI during questioning periods. Miller closed his eyes in anticipation, but before he swung his arm—

"Enough, Agent Burns." A voice, both very calm and very serious, spoke up from behind them, halting Burns from delivering the blow. "Mr Miller has experienced a large amount of misery and torment already. Adding on more won't do anything to serve our purposes."

The speaker was none other than their boss, Omega, the director of the arm of the FBI that focused on super-powered threats. As far as Joel knew, no one knew his real name. Sometimes he wouldn't if Omega himself even did. He wore his usual business attire consisted of a suit jacket, right from the drycleaners, and a red tie, a white collar-shirt underneath, black slacks, and a shiny new pair of shoes.

He was about average in height and weight. His hair was short and brown. That was about all Joel could do to describe his superior, and he held the nagging suspicion that if he ever met Omega outside of work, he wouldn't even recognise him. There was something strange about the man, or rather, there was something so fundamentally unstrange about him that was itself strange. Joel couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something wasn't quite right there.

"I agree," Joel supplied helpfully. "You need to cool off. We've all caught the stress flu, not only you."

"But—"

"Agent Burns," Omega budded in. "There is a reason why Dr Sorola is here, and it's the same as there is a reason why you are here. Understand?"

Burnie took a moment to let the words register, before taking a deep breath, and blew out the air through his mouth. "All right, doc." Burns stretched his arm out parallel to the floor and stuck his thumb out sideways to Miller, indicating that he had the stage. "Take it away."

Dr Sorola cleared his throat as he approached Miller, with his machine in hand. He ignored the taunting that leapt out of the other man's mouth; knowing full well the mercenary was trying to aggravate him, and remained unfazed. He stepped behind the chair and began strapping on the helmet to Miller's head.

Perfect fit.

"Gentlemen," he said, shrinking back into his spot beside Omega. "What my machine is about to do is extraordinary, even miraculous, I must say. Really, this invention, above all others, can only be seen as testament to my genius, and will no doubt serve as my legacy to future generations."

He paused, realising that the others were staring at him impatiently, and sighed. "By scanning and analysing a combination of brainwave and retinal patters belonging to our friend here, we're capable of creating a projection of what an individual has seen – with some luck, the Corpirate's headquarters." He narrowed his eyes toward Miller lowering his head and squirming uncomfortably. "Now, enough delays. Let's begin."

The doctor dug his hand into his coat's front pocket and pulled out a small remote the size of a walkie-talkie. He flipped the switch and the machine produced an unspectacular beeping noise that felt rather inadequate for the situation, if the device was indeed all the doctor had made it out to be. Joel noticed that Miller was looking a tad bit sickly from the strange tingling sensation his head felt – apparently that would subside later. The lights on top of the device were rapidly flashing; probably translating the data.

Joel was about to ask how long it would take to process the image, when the front of the helmet extended and out pushed something which looked remarkably like a camera lens, and began emitting an image of a skyscraper on the opposite wall – a building which would be instantly familiar to any resident of Achievement City.

"What's this supposed to be?" Burns asked, as he bit his lip in thought, and Joel couldn't help but remember that Burns hadn't been stationed here as long as he had.

"That would be what we've been searching for," Dr Sorola concluded, excitement lighting up his eyes.

Joel rubbed the back of his neck. Without a shadow of doubt, he had driven passed this same exact building plenty of times, though he was hesitant to show his partner up. "Isn't that the—"

"…Achievement City Trade Centre." Omega braced his back against the wall, folded his arms and nodded in approval. "Or the 'Tower of Pimps', if you prefer the slang. We should have guessed he'd be there."

The Tower of Pimps was the tallest building in all of Achievement City, located on Wall Street, at the heart of the city's financial sector. Pretty standard, as trade centres go – full of stockbrokers. The amount of cash they earned, and probably extorted from their well moneyed investors, must have filled their pockets like kings.

God, the amount of gold he'd have been to buy, if life had taken him a different direction – but no, he was with the FBI, and what's more, he hadn't just become an agent because it seemed like a good idea at the time. He loved his job, he loved making a difference and protecting people. He was an agent because there was nothing else he'd rather be.

Miller's mouth curved upwards into a smile, chuckling at something that the agents could only imagine. "That's his hotspot, boys." He tilted his head back and laughed malevolently, like he had just made some kind of joke. "That's where all the magic happens! And that's where you're fucked!"

"We'll see about that," Burns responded testily, glaring at the merc.

"Oh, really? You think you're really gonna get him the second time, when you failed the first?!" Miller howled in laughter. "Then go ahead! Take your wrecking crew act, knock on the Corpirate's doors and see what happens! Because you people are all fucked!"

Joel pointed his finger at Miller. "You should shut up now," he warned, as Burns began to flush with barely-supressed anger. "We got what we needed from you."

Miller shrugged off the warning and commenced with his upbraids. "Beat the Corpirate? You don't know anything about anything, do you?! The Community runs Achievement City! The Community always has and always will! I got my slice of the rewards! My paycheck's been covered! Now I get to sit back, watch them unload bullets into your bodies, then toss them into the incinerator and watch as you fucking burn to ash—"

"Mr Miller, perhaps another session with Dr Zach is in question?" Omega asked quietly, and the merc immediately froze in place, a wild, hunted look appearing in his eyes.

"Please, don't let that bitch near me," he begged, and Omega held a hand up to his lips, causing the merc to snap his teeth together almost instinctively, and he fell silent.

"You let Zach at him?" Burnie asked, horrified, having turned to face their superior, who stared back, unperturbed.

"She gets results, Burnie, which is more than I can say for your methods. You didn't seem at all hesitant to add to Mr Miller's sufferings, only a short time ago."

Burnie blinked, but somehow held his tone in the face of Omega's accusation. "I only punched the guy, sir. Zach…well she's something else. I imagine this guy would be more than happy to let me beat the crap out of him for a month, than spend five minutes with her."

Joel didn't even have to glance at the merc to know that this was true. Dr Zach's methods were well known within the ranks of the FBI, and not just for their high-rate of success. But, as Omega had said, she got results.

"Thankfully, Dr Sorola here came up with an alternative solution. Mr Miller held up remarkably under Dr Zach's…questioning, but technology, it seems, holds a far more tasteful alternative."

Having heard all he needed to hear, already too familiar with Dr Zach's techniques,Joel walked towards the exit door and pulled out his phone. Omega grabbed a hold of his shoulder.

"Where are you off to in such a hurry?" he asked, raising a curious eyebrow. Joel smiled sweetly with that devil-may-care attitude he assumed so effortlessly, and showed Omega his contact list, pointing at four of the numbers. Omega thoroughly scrutinized them as seconds silently ticked by. "Make the calls," he finally said, showing his trust that Joel and Burnie could handle this situation.

He stepped outside the room and called the first contact, waiting for a moment as it rang. A few seconds later, a British voice answered.

"J-Roll, hey! What's up?"

"We need to talk." Joel skipped all the formalities and cut to the chase. "I know where the Corpirate is holed up…and I know how to get the bastard."