AUTHOR'S NOTES: A little bit of a bad guy chapter this time around. And the torture that Rissa describes are real methods. The ropes were used by the North Vietnamese during the Vietnam War, and are frighteningly effective (as well as absolutely horrific for the damage they do to a human body). The lack of sleep is an old KGB trick, and even worse than physical torture: during Stalin's purges, the NKVD would keep people awake for 72 hours, after which they would sign any confession Stalin required-just for a little sleep. Rissa Arashikaze might work for the good guys in this story...but that doesn't mean she's a good person. (This will also be her last appearance for awhile, as she is an OC.)

Building 121215 (Base Correctional Facility)

Joint Base Beacon, Wisconsin, United States of Canada

12 May 2001

"Nobody knows…the trouble I've seen…" Roman Torchwick dragged his shoe across the bars. He tended to do this. The guards, stationed at the far end of the facility, had learned to ignore it. Eventually, they knew he would get bored, which indeed did happen.

Torchwick walked over to his bed and flopped on it. He'd been here just over a week now, and no one had come to visit him, other than the guard who brought him food three times a day. Not even Ironwood. He wasn't sure if he'd been merely forgotten, or they were trying to break him with isolation. He was the only one in the facility, so far as he knew.

He sat up when he heard the guards open the door. There was a clock on the hallway wall; he'd already had dinner, so this was unusual. He heard boots on linoleum, but the tread was light, not like one of the guards or Ironwood. For a moment, he thought it might be Neo, as incredible as that would be.

It was not Neo, though the woman that came into view was about Neo's height, possibly even shorter. She was an older woman, though not unattractive. "Well, hello there," Torchwick smiled. He jumped to his feet and executed a deep bow. "I am the world famous air pirate Roman Torchwick. And who might I have the honor of addressing?"

The woman gave him a curtsey. "Hello, Roman Torchwick. My name is Rissa Arashikaze. I'm from the world famous Central Intelligence Agency."

Torchwick paled. Ironwood had warned him about this: if he didn't talk about the future plans of the White Fang and Salem, he would be facing the death penalty as an air pirate—though he would get a trial. Ironwood had also mentioned the very real possibility that there would not be a trial: he would be simply turned over to the CIA and would disappear. And now it seemed the latter was frightening reality. "Oh," he said, his cheery demeanor vanishing.

"I see our reputation precedes us." Rissa leaned against the bars. "So, what should we talk about today?"

"I don't know anything," Torchwick told her. It was not quite the truth—he knew about the Black Queen computer virus—but beyond that he really did not know very much.

"I doubt that very much," she said sweetly. "And, not to be cliché, but I do have ways of making you talk." She regarded her fingernails. "I'd prefer not to use torture, but I'm more than prepared to do so." She faced him and smiled. "You've probably heard it referred to as 'enhanced interrogation,' but I don't like flowery words. I don't use 'extraordinary rendition,' I take you somewhere no one's ever heard of. I don't 'service targets,' I kill them. And I don't use 'enhanced interrogation,' I torture people until they tell me things they don't know."

Torchwick could not stop an involuntary swallow. "So, like…waterboarding?"

Rissa laughed. "Waterboarding is what they do in fraternities during Greek Week. I put people in ropes. I insert things in places things aren't supposed to be inserted. And then there's my personal favorite: lack of sleep."

Torchwick blinked. "What?"

"Mm-hm. After 72 hours without sleep? You'll be begging to tell me whatever you know, just for five minutes to close your eyes." Rissa's smiled faded to a more neutral expression. "Or, you know…we can just talk."

He sat on the bed and thought. He had no loyalty to the White Fang—in fact, he had grown to dislike Sienna Khan thoroughly. Her incompetence had cost him two hideouts and probably his gang. This Salem sounded frightening, but he wasn't even sure she existed. He could tell what little he knew, and not only avoid torture, but the firing squad. It meant life in prison, but that was better than the nothingness of death, and much better than whatever this half-pint psychotic was planning. He found himself smiling a little: she did remind him of Neo.

And that was why Roman knew he could not tell them. Salem or Sienna might not be able to get to him, but they could get to Neo. The thought of her in the hands of the White Fang, who were known to flay humans to death, made his blood run cold. For Neo, then, he would risk it.

"The things we do for love," he murmured.

"I'm sorry?" Rissa asked. She wasn't quite sure she'd heard him.

"I've told Ironwood everything I know," Torchwick said sadly. "And I can't tell you what I don't know. No matter how much you torture me."

Rissa watched him for a moment. She was now sure he was hiding something, but she also knew that there was a good reason why he would be hard to break. She would break him—everyone broke sooner or later—but it would take time, which was not something she had at the moment. She couldn't very well put him in the ropes at Beacon. "Very well," she said evenly. She waved in the guards. "You're being transferred to Fort Leavenworth Military Prison, where you will be put on trial for air piracy, conspiracy, terrorism, and murder. The penalty will be death by firing squad. But before then, you'll see me again." She smiled again. "So give it some thought. Goodbye, Roman Torchwick." She said it with a note of finality.

He watched her leave, and sighed as the guards began unlocking his cell door. "I already have," he said.

Emerald Sustrai stopped, wiping sweat from her brow. "Whew." She'd always been a runner, though growing up, her running hadn't been voluntary. Though she no longer had to run, she still did, because one never knew when it might come in handy. On Cinder's orders, she'd taken to jogging down Arryn Avenue, to the main gate and back to the VOQ, around dusk. Her route took her past the base jail. She couldn't be too obvious about it, but Cinder saw it as a way to keep tabs on whether or not Roman Torchwick was still there. She figured that, if Torchwick was moved, there would be a security convoy moving him. Ironwood was rarely subtle. Emerald was happy to obey Cinder's orders, because it gave her time to think, though she wasn't sure what the point of thinking was: she was in too deep to get out now. If she ran, they would hunt her down, and Emerald was tired of running.

She took a breath, stretched, and to her surprise, saw a group of camouflaged HMMWVs stopped in front of the correctional facility, with base security police cars flanking them. As she watched, several men in body armor and helmets led a man out dressed in orange fatigues. He was quickly led to one of the HMMWVs, but not before she recognized Roman Torchwick.

Emerald knew police all too well. Instead of immediately running or jogging away, she merely remained where she was, and kept stretching, balancing on one foot while she brought the other up around her back. Given that she was dressed in a sweat-stained T-shirt and very tight biker shorts, and the fact that Emerald was quite attractive, it was enough to stop any man in his tracks. The Security Police definitely noticed her and appreciated the show, but by staring at her, they did not suspect the real reason she was there. By the time she was finished stretching, the sound of trumpets echoed across the base, presaging 'Taps' and the lowering of the flag. Emerald came to attention, faced in the direction of the base quad, and saluted as the prisoner convoy drove past her. Then she calmly jogged back to the VOQ.

Covert Base Hector

Formerly Fargo, North Dakota, United States of Canada

12 May 2001

"Always good to hear from you, Cinder. I'll be sure to give Aunt Chestnut your love. I'll let you know about our travel plans just as soon as I talk to her." Arthur Watts made a kissing noise. "Good night, love." Then he hung up the phone, leaned back in the swivel chair for a moment, and grinned beneath the thick mustache before he got to his feet, left the dusty office, and walked down the corridor to the base's main hangar.

Inside, there was a soft buzz of activity. The night was a time to work for the White Fang at Hector; during the day there was too much chance of detection from either GRIMM or, worse, the US military. Watts passed under the wing of a USAF C-130 that had landed two days before. It was intact. Its crew were filling a shallow grave behind the hangar, along with the men and women that had worked at Hector—before it fell to the White Fang a week before.

Sienna was in one corner of the hangar, surrounded by four of her men. As he approached, she punched at two of them and kicked at the others, landing solid hits on the padded blocks each man held in front of him. She saw him and dismissed the four, who bowed to her and left. "Arthur," she greeted him, turned, bent over, and grabbed a towel. He admired the view: Faunus or not, Sienna was lovely. It helped that she was dressed in a workout suit that did little to hide her assets. The stripes on her arms and legs, and the large ears atop her head did not at all take away from her exotic beauty. She straightened up and noticed him staring. "Why, Doctor Watts, I didn't know you cared."

He inclined his head. "My apologies, High Leader. I did not mean to stare."

"Yes, you did. But that's fine." She dabbed her forehead. "Besides staring at my backside, did you have something to report?"

"A great number of things. We should meet."

"Very well." She raised her voice. "Octavia!" A female White Fang, who had been field stripping a M4 carbine, stood and came to attention. "Find Adam Taurus and have him meet us in the briefing room."

"Neo Politan as well," Watts added. "This concerns her."

The briefing room was a small room at the base of the control tower. It had been the senior controller's office, and it was a bit crowded with all four of them in it. Sienna sat in one of the chairs while Adam took the other. Both had towels draped across their necks; he had been working out as well, practicing with the katana that never left his side. Dressed in stolen workout gear, he still wore the mask; Watts had never seen him without it. Neo was dressed in her flight suit: sullen and silent, she had been what she usually did in her waking hours, besides brooding: doing maintenance on her borrowed F-22.

"I just got off the phone with Cinder Fall," Watts began. "We may have to move up the schedule a little. It seems we've gotten a break."

"Oh?" Sienna inquired.

"Yes. Cinder tells me that Penny Polendina has returned to Beacon with her B-1. That may mean nothing to you, but it means a great deal to me. Miss Polendina's B-1 is known to me as Project Paladin, and that's because I designed and installed most of its systems while I was working with Schnee GmbH. The aircraft is a prototype for a standoff weapon for use against GRIMM hordes, and can be entirely flown remotely."

Adam smiled. "Let me guess. You left yourself a backdoor into the system."

"Not quite, but I can hack into it without too much trouble. Once in, I can create all kinds of havoc."

"Enough to distract Beacon from an assault?" Sienna asked.

"Enough to put our plan into motion, in conjunction with Cinder. It's a revised version of Wedding Party, but aside from the attack on La Crosse—which is no longer necessary after the United States Army kindly withdrew all but a single brigade of the 1st Armored Division from the Mississippi Barrier—the effects will be much the same. Whatever I do with the Paladin B-1, Cinder will then launch her portion of the plan, and the White Fang will launch its assault."

"And Salem?"

"Naturally, my communication with her is spotty at best, but I have been assured that the GRIMM will attack the barrier around the same time. She has something special planned—something I'm assured has never been seen before. And before you ask, I have no idea what it is. All I need do is send her the signal 24 hours in advance and it will be on the way."

"A coordinated attack," Adam mused. "Let's hope it works this time."

"It should. We have had more time to prepare, and now that we've…acquired…a C-130, it will make penetrating Beacon airspace to be much, much easier."

"Very well," Sienna said. "When do we go?"

"Four to five days. Will that be adequate?"

"More than adequate," Adam answered. "We could go within two days if necessary. And the sooner the better. We've gotten lucky that the only aircraft that has landed here has been a C-130 with engine trouble. Sooner or later, it will be a combat aircraft or two, and they will get off a report."

"Indeed." Watts paused. "There is one other thing, and this concerns you, Miss Politan." She'd been studiously ignoring them, but now her head came up. "Roman Torchwick is no longer at Beacon. He's being moved."

Adam scooted his chair away from her, and Neo scowled. "Fuck," she snarled.

"However," Watts added, "I might could learn his intinerary. I have access to the US military's data network. Their most secure prison is Fort Leavenworth in Kansas; depending on the route they use, we might could rescue him."

Neo's eyes seemed to light up, and for the first time since he'd met her, Watts saw her smile. Sienna glanced at her, and also scooted her chair over a little. "I don't think that's a good idea."

The small woman's smile instantly disappeared. "Fuck you!"

Sienna sighed. "Trust me, Neo, I would love to rescue Roman Torchwick." Her tone indicated otherwise. "But we could compromise the mission. And before you tell me where I can put the mission," she said, as Neo opened her mouth, "our survival is your survival."

"Still," Adam spoke, "let's at least look into it. We've been very quiet, and I imagine that's made the Americans rather nervous. At some point, someone will notice us here. If we were to attack Roman's captors, it might distract them away from Beacon. They'll be looking for us elsewhere."

"Unless they track us back to Hector," Sienna told him.

"Why should they?" Adam countered. "It's at least looking into." He reached back, and to Neo's surprise, took her hand in his. "The things we do for love, eh? I know a little about that."

"I'd noticed," Sienna growled. "All right, Doctor. If you can find the route, then maybe we'll try something. But don't get your hopes up. I won't compromise the mission for your boyfriend."