CHAPTER 6—Betrayal

Pain was his only world. He gasped, sucking for the beautiful thing which was life, the inescapable air around him. And yet, as hard as he tried, it would not come. He could not make it, and the terror began to wrap around his numbing mind. Again, the shock was delivered to his body, and he screamed, and screamed, and screamed, but the only one to hear him was the one that was causing his pain. Thunder erupted over his chest, and he yelled, cursed, and raged. Unfortunately, the man standing before him only smiled, and moved in with the padded evil once more.

Bloodshot eyes scanned the room he was in. Chained by the wrists to the ceiling, this was what he had known for the past four days. Nothing but pain, torture, knowing all too well that at the evil one's whim, his life would be ended. He felt the surge of energy flow through his bare body again, and he screamed for all he was worth. He had already gone hoarse in the time he was captive. Pain was the only thing he knew, that and the man standing before him. The one that held all the power. The one whose neck he would snap if he ever got the chance.

It all came back to him in a flash.

Skinner was in position. Crouched atop a large building across the street from where Jason hid in an alley, Skinner mounted the scope and looked through it. He was watching the Securicar come rumbling down the road. Tommy Vercetti's entire fate rested on the man with the gun.

Pain hit him again, and he screamed once more. This was utter terror like he had never known. How could one man be in such torture while another stood there and smiled like it was no big deal? How could one sleep at night? His mouth hanging open, the man panted like a dog, gasping for breath, and he finally sucked in the first bit. His lungs had recovered in the brief respite from their constant shocks. The electricity was getting to him.

Thumbing off the safety, Skinner watched the truck come down the road. He motioned to Jason, nodded, and signaled all was clear. No cops around. Perfect. On the control device were two buttons. One was the initial explosion which would send the Securicar full of money into the street partway. The second would blow the outer ring of C4 and drop the van into the depths of the sewer. One push, and the mission was done.

He could see it through the stars bursting in front of his eyes. The device was plugged into the wall next to a hose. To intensify the pain, the Haitian man would hose him down, and then electrocute him with the padded horrors. When he became too dry, the stingingly powerful hose would be used again. Over the past four days, the man had noticed a pattern in the way this Haitian worked, and he was about to use it to his advantage.

Noticing the fact that the streetlight wasn't going to make the truck stop, Skinner aimed at the light and pulled the trigger. He felt the rifle kick against his shoulder and watched the traffic light shatter. The driver of the Securicar was startled and halted just where he needed to be. "Now, Jason!" came Skinner's voice. The explosion startled him at first. The Securicar sank into the street, preventing it from leaving. They had to be sure the money couldn't be recovered before they dumped it into the sewers. Earlier, Skinner had lined the sewers with their C4, providing a perfect trap. As soon as the Securicar fell into the trap, Jason rushed forward, grenade in hand, and flung the doors open.

"I'm gonna f--kin' kill you!" Jason howled as the pads were pressed against him again. Energy raced through his body, not enough to kill him, but enough that it hurt more than anything else Jason had ever experienced. How could Skinner do this to him? "And I'll take Ali with me! Straight to hell, you bitch!"

Jason threw open the doors and peered in at all the money. Shame they couldn't have kept it. Just as he was about to pull the pin from the grenade, he heard something move behind him. When he spun around, he saw Skinner standing there with his arm outstretched and a Colt .45 pointed right at Jason's chest. "You're getting to be too hard to control, Jason," Skinner sneered. "No one wants you. The Mafia don't trust your ego...think you own us all. I've been ordered to take you out." Moving swiftly, Skinner grabbed the grenade, and pulled the trigger before Jason could protest.

As the man neared him, he leaned down to clean any clogs from the drain under Jason's bare feet like he always did. Before he had been tortured, Jason's weapons had been taken, as well as his clothes. A thin pair of sweatpants with a white string on them was all he wore now.

Before the Haitian man knew what hit him, Jason reached out with his legs and wrapped them around the man's neck. Panicking, the man dropped the electric device and struggled to free himself. Jason spun his whole body and snapped the man's neck. Lifeless, the body fell to the ground. Using his feet, Jason flipped up and pushed the chains from his hands. Landing on his back, Jason took a moment to recover. When he found he could still breathe, he stole the man's blue shirt, and looked down at the eyes staring up at him.

Jason fell backwards into the van and slid toward the money. "Nooooo!" he cried as Skinner pulled the pin of the grenade and tossed it in. Skinner hit the button on his own device, the truck and money both exploded, and Jason fell into the sewer. Having been protected from both grenade and the fall by his excellent choice of Kevlar, Jason was found mere minutes later at the bottom of the twelve foot drop by a Haitian man.

"Please don't kill me," the Haitian man begged.

"Like hell," Jason snarled. He grabbed both electric pads and placed them on the man until his skin turned brown underneath. Even then, Jason didn't remove them, and finally jabbed the man's eyes out with his own knife.

With a speed he would never have thought himself possible, Jason unplugged the device, and took more of the man's clothes. After tying the laces of his new shoes, he tried to handle on the door and found—as he had thought—that it was locked from the outside. He stepped back, pulled up one foot, and slammed it where the bolt stuck into the wood paneling. The deadbolt broke through the wood—shattering it in the process—and Jason saw the shadow of someone standing to the right of the door.

He was shortly thereafter brought into Ali's place of residence, into the basement, where he was having this treatment given to him. They didn't want any information in particular, they just loved to hear him scream for making them lose their money.

In one swift movement, Jason grabbed the barrel before the man could react and smashed the back of the gun into the man's face with a single jerk. Before the guard could retaliate, Jason drew the knife and rammed it into the man's stomach, while using his hand to muffle the cries of pain. Anger welled up inside him, and he delivered an uppercut which knocked the man to the floor. Several seconds of searching landed Jason with an assault weapon and several extra clips of ammo. He ejected the half-full magazine and clicked a fresh one into place, pocketing the others. On the downed man, Jason also found a hand grenade. He took this as well.

Down the hallway ahead, Jason opened the door and found four Haitian men playing cards in the small room. A single light hung from the ceiling, and they didn't even look up as he entered. Ignoring the splinters in his foot, Jason leveled the assault rifle and opened fire. All the rage and fury built up from the past few days rose inside of him, and one could literally see the anger fill his eyes. The very thought that these people had been playing cards, laughing, having a good time while he was experiencing torture made adrenaline flow through his veins.

Breathing heavily, Jason watched the last man fall, and moved further into the room. In here, he stole some shoes and two more hand grenades. He also found a Colt .45 and more clips for his rifle. The door on the left wall was locked, and Jason didn't want to waste ammo (or get any more splinters) to open it. His foot was already throbbing, much like his whole body from the four-day torturing.

However, there was a ladder in the corner with a trapdoor at the top. This place must be where they hid things from the cops. Sure enough, when he scaled the ladder and pushed on the lid, he found himself under a carpet.

The room looked very fancy. There was red carpeting everywhere, with vases and paintings by Da Vinci, and cases full of books. There was even a grand piano by a huge stained glass window. Jason looked out a clear portion of the window and found what he was looking for—a Haitian Voodoo was parked out front. Two of them, to be more accurate, and he wanted those to get him out of this place. Moreover, neither of them were guarded.

Jason started a bit when the door to his right flew open and two men came running in. Before he even knew what was happening, Jason opened fire, shattering two vases full of water in the process. One man went down, but the other dodged behind a satin sofa, now peppered with bullet holes. Jason tossed a grenade over the couch, watched the whole thing explode, and ran straight for the stained glass window.

Two more men came flying into the room as Jason flew through the air. He pulled the trigger, shattered the glass, and flew through the opening. Both man came to the window and opened fire as Jason hit the ground, rolled, and vanished behind one of the cars.

"Jason's getting away!" one man called as he reloaded his gun. Ali came running into the room looking panicked.

"Stop him! He can't get back to Vice City with what he knows!"

Jason couldn't help but think that even if he got away, where would he go? According to Skinner, no one wanted him anymore. Not the Mafia, not the Vercetti Gang, who would he turn to for business? Maybe he could strike a deal with Taira Lopez? Sounded like something to try and pursue.

Using the assault weapon like a sledgehammer, Jason shattered the glass in the window and climbed into the car. It took merely seconds to hot-wire it, and he put the pedal to the floor. Gravel sprayed up behind him as the car lurched forward and took off like a bullet. Three men ran from the main door to the Haitian Mansion and opened fire. The back window shattered, and Jason reflexively ducked to avoid being hit.

A large iron gate loomed ahead. Jason didn't know if he could break through, but it seemed like it was worth a try. Gunning the engine, Jason pushed into fifth gear and braced for impact. Unfortunately, metal was stronger than that of the car, and the car halted. Jason, who had forgotten to buckle himself in, kept going. Right through the windshield, through the bars of the gate, and onto the street. A quick inspection told him he wasn't cut by the glass, a miracle in itself. He hit the ground running and sprinted down the hill, away from the mansion.

Gasping for breath, but not having much luck, Jason sprinted into a side alley, attracting stares from many civilians. At this point, he didn't care. He was free of that nightmarish place, and vowed to never return again. He didn't know if he could keep that promise, but he promised to try his best.

Although he was free, he wasn't out of the woods yet. Every Haitian man on Ross Island knew what Jason Beretto looked like, and they would be out to get him. He had to make it off the island, get some help, and come back to exact his revenge. After Ross Island was his, Tommy Vercetti and Toni Cipriani would have to pay for betraying him. They would both be punished for what they did. Jason would make sure of that.

He used to have some compassion in his heart, one iota of mercy left in him from all his past years of serving the family. Now, after being betrayed by everyone he knew, the only one man he thought he could trust shot him, he had nothing left. The bullet wound had been bandaged, but poorly. The Haitians didn't want him to die just yet. He would have to get fixed up before continuing with the job. His heart had frozen over, and he had no mercy for those that stood in his way. None at all.