The van went on an undisturbed, yet unnerved trip after the raid on the Magellan Facility. After similar heists drew to a close, the robbers would feel breathless relief that they successfully evaded capture by the police, but now they felt like they could be caught at any time. The presence of an unconscious Cloaker still alarmed the crew, even if they restrained the body with extra zip ties and well-placed loot bags. Despite all the empty streets and alleys the driver planned out to take, a simple knock on the back of the van could compromise the silence.

The crew always treated the Cloakers as dangerous animals, and carrying one home was like taking the head of snake that could historically bite after death. So to keep fear at bay, Houston, Hoxton, and Dallas eyed the Cloaker with their masks still on, still fearing that another brawl would ensue that needed facial protection. However, this fear was not shared by Wolf as it was contemplation that plagued him. Unlike his comrades, Wolf sat unmasked on his server with eyes looking at the broken van window.

The cloudy sky beyond seemed to offer some sort of inspiration to answer some previous questions he had before being hammered in the face. An advert plane was flying with an ad for some body-wash. According to Wolf, the pilot must be doing a specialized job like he was. Just fly a plane because no one else could just so the product can be seen. Between him and the pilot, Wolf felt like he should envy the guy. Without a doubt, the enterprise of the Payday gang might be just as challenging and rewarding as flying a plane (more likely much more), but something about the pilot told Wolf that he had at least one regret from being a heister. Or maybe it was just the freedom that the pilot was experiencing being high in the sky that he wanted. But then…

The van braked strongly enough that it shook Wolf out of his thoughts. The airplane was long gone and replaced with clear skies. The all too familiar smell of liquor and gun metal was also wafting in the air.

I'll think long about this later, he thought, we must be at the Safehouse already.

Sure enough, the van parked itself next to the gate just outside of home base. Twitch as expected excused himself from the van and walked to the gate a keychain of keys in his hands.

"Nice navigating by the way. You saved our asses this time."

"Umm, okay? I really don't know if you're being serious or just sarcastic after I fuck up an escape. To be honest, I think I did pretty bad and-"

"You got us home, and that's good. Now you go home."

"Sure Dal."

Twitch unlocked the gate lock and pulled the gate to the side as Dallas, now in the driver's seat, drove the van inside. The gate was then closed and locked discreetly by Twitch, before he walked briskly to another car in a nearby alley. He quickly unlocked the car, sat himself, and then punched the keys in. Most people shouldn't pay attention to a baby blue sedan, so it seemed fine that he could just slam the accelerator a little hard this time. But as soon as Twitch was sure he was far away, he flipped his Nokia and held down the 6.

"Heyyy, what's up?"

Twitch quickly picked up a book he kept under the seat and opened to a bookmark. There, he found a chewed pencil and a note scrawled with quotes. It was number 23 today.

"Nothing much, but you uh got a bogey at the last hole. Just so you know."

"Really. Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I don't mean to be uh, mean, but you gotta watch yourself. You keep making the wrong calls here."

"I know, I'm working on it. Listen, I'll make it fair between us and make it a birdie. Sound good?"

"…Hm, yeah, sounds good. I'll bring the drivers next time if that's okay with you."

"Yeah, do that. See you next match."

"See you too."

Twitch closed his phone and put the book in the driver's compartment. With a sigh heaved from his throat, he numbly drove the sedan back to its hiding spot. Twitch then clicked the trunk button on the dashboard and after getting out gave a lazy slam on the door. Twitch then looked up to the same spot he thought saw a bogey. Red was splattered across the wall, so that was where he needed to be. It was exhausting work, but it had to be done. Inside the trunk would be enough cleaning materials for today's dirty mess.

As soon as the gate closed, the van drifted into the garage. Rust set down the pudding on Houston's worktable as he approached the van and opened the back.

"Ah, welcome back cocksuckers. What did you bring in this-"

Inside the van were at least a dozen loot bags, but the loot pile had a familiar face hiding among the cash. Instantly, he drew a knife at the sight of the Cloaker.

"SHIT! You guys too fuckin' blind to see the Cloaker ready to jump your asses?!"

"No wait Tom, this spook's unconscious," Dallas stated.

"You sure that it's not sleeping then!"

"We could check it…"

"FUCK no! I don't wanna be near that blasted slippery cunt! I already got busted balls trying to put it down, so why don't you guys pick it up while I find the nearest mini-fridge."

"I'm pretty sure…that it's sleeping. A collision to human respiration should be able to cause shock or moments of fainting due to a sudden halt of oxygen."

"Okay Wolfie…I'm gonna take your word for it. But if that bastard wakes up and kicks me in the balls like Hoxton, I'm going to smear pudding all over the seats and make you clean them before I get taken out."

"Ah come on, you can't hate on me for that! It was an honest mistake-"

"Fuck you Houston! You crossed a line by shining my seat with motor oil and I will not fuckin' stand for that shit! SO YEAH, you get to clean my chocolate mess and maybe more if this bastard gets to ruin my day even more!"

"OKAY, we get it! Let's just remove the bags and then the stupid Cloaker. Then we take a chair and strap him to the metal as tight as we can. Bonnie and Jacket need to come up and try to pull out any information we have out of the guy."

"Sounds like a plan. Now get out of the way, I need some damn ice for this."

After pushing loot bags off the Cloaker, Rust could see the wet hell it took just put the bastard out cold. There was water and blood everywhere in the van.

Houston already has to clean this shit off. Damn Cloaker…doesn't feel right, Rust thought, rare empathy taking hold of his mentality. Perhaps Houston had enough shit for today. It was a lot of blood and water already splashing out in the garage. 7 zip ties just looked overkill for one person, but the van was messed up thanks to a goddamn Cloaker after all.

"Hey Hox, how hard were you hit?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Yeah, believe me, you can ask him later once his manhood returns."

"Oh shut it."

Rust dragged a nearby cart and positioned it by the doors where the Cloaker was carefully pushed unto by Wolf and Houston. Step by step, they disembarked from the van holding on to the restraining zip ties. There was a sudden metal clang.

"Hey! Heyyy! We're moving a sleeping body that could wake up and break us!"

"Look, my balls are raw, and they need some ice fast. If I don't get them any sooner they're gonna fall off. Also, the fuck's not sleeping; they're knocked out. So I can be as loud as I want to be!"

Wolf, Rust, and Houston tried to put it of their minds as they imagined Hoxton hobble out of the van as if his lower regions were iron dumbbells hanging on wet toilet paper.


After a blistering half hour of moving and restraining the Cloaker in the special chair, Houston finally removed his mask from his face. Even if the Safehouse would be able to repel any police raids, that shouldn't mean the room should be located behind Jacket's room just in case the doors failed! Mist could form just from hot sweat inside the basement; it was an industrial freezer after all. After breaking and hiding out in what housed the said freezer for a stakeout, Hoxton was able to buy the keys and lore for $500. Apparently, the Safehouse was previously a meat store that made a killing in the 50s, but due to the owner's own neglect wasted away and was forgotten. Now the meat freezer served as a viable interrogation chamber when normal methods of information gathering failed.

Four factors in the design of the interrogation room were recognized by Bonnie to aid her in extracting info from her prisoners. The meat locker door was so heavily reinforced that one imagines an insane asylum room first seeing it. Cold, ceramic steel and a white tiled floor always seemed to create a feeling of being a prisoner, no matter the character one had in the room.

The inside shoddy lighting provided by two outdoor lanterns could disorient and sway any will. Lastly, the chair; a creation of Wolf previously used for imprisonment or experimentation (which didn't fly after a smell started wafting around), but currently reused as a 'discomfort chair' that heavily restrained legs and arms of a person against a layer of spiky Velcro scratching their skin. The cold temperature was just an afterthought and was not really needed, but it still prevented overheating as punishment was administered.

With this setup, Bonnie was able to get about anything from information brokers, mercenaries, and other robbers. She cracked her fingers as she observed the newest wealth of knowledge, the Cloaker.

Houston put his mask back on and stood behind the table of power tools that could be used to bludgeon or pierce the Cloaker. Bonnie cracked her fingers and Jacket stood behind as backup if Bonnie herself didn't get through. However, Bonnie was only cracking fingers to pass the time and come up with an approach. Was it going to be like that Yang guy again or that religious nut a year ago? For so long, Cloakers only appeared as bat-shit insane agents of justice that kicked your ass if you weren't careful, but even though one was currently rendered helpless, Bonnie had no sure-fire way to make one say something else other than 'The safe word is police brutality'. Well, you could stab, scratch, club, punch, electrocute, shoot, burn, explode, or run over anybody to make them talk, but they wouldn't get any useful info from people who keeled over from a simple minute-long punching session.

Damn, it was usually true that the stronger the interrogated were, the juicier and greater their secrets were. Knowing this, there apparently were secrets that could never be revealed. The Yakuza man and terrorist were able to give details on major weapon caches and blood funds somewhere in Foggy Bottom, but they offed themselves before revealing details about their leaders. All across their heists, the Cloakers were seen to be the most impassioned of law enforcers to be able to ruthlessly incapacitate Bonnie and others, so the oath they would possibly take would be as serious as death.

Being the interrogator and torturer was like being the dealer in a game. They could decide who wins or loses, but it meant you could make dramatic mistakes and have to restart all over again with new or old players. However, as likely as it was, Bonnie damned to hell expected the Cloaker not to commit suicide through some supernatural shit. As an experienced gambler, she knew when she would win big taking this one on like the previous players, so she would have to take it slow to keep the spook alive. If her soft coaxing was still going to be rough, she'd owe her peace of mind to Wolf who took most of the Cloaker's equipment. It would sound superstitious, but Bonnie firmly believed third time was the charm on this one and could not be lost.

Bonnie cracked her last knuckle and eyed the Cloaker. Wolf was able to remove the tactical harness around the Cloaker's torso, gloves around the stiff fingers, and other limb protection that hid calloused digits. The outfit under was some sort of wetsuit with built-in chest armor that Wolf himself admitted was too tight to cut without 'waking the monster'. The headpiece also left on was fabricated as the combination of a gasmask, night-vision googles, and the remarkably small yet valuable radio communication headset.

Altogether, this resembled a slender but lean man who probably spent too much time in an arms dealer's weapon closet. Bonnie pulled back her fist and readied for a good punch. It was time for a good trick. She fired off her fist and let it glide towards the Cloaker's face. As quickly as her fist stopped in front of the Cloaker's face, a collection of ragged breaths a running smoker would take filled the air.

"Heh. Works everytime on people like you."

The Cloaker tried to take in his new surroundings, but was visibly having what was the equivalent of a panic attack behind a mask. Bonnie sighed inwardly, feeling a little sorry for the bastard. She grabbed hold of the goggles and tilted them up. A set of dull green eyes stared back at her with fear and determination to escape from restraints. The Velcro was doing its job.

"Shhh. It's okay pal, it's okay. It's okay. Hey, listen. You're thinking you're not in a safer place than you think you know, but I know it is. It's been a long day, but take a few good breathers, okay little man?"

The Cloaker was still hyperventilating in the chilling atmosphere. From the Cloaker's dazed eyes, they could see only silhouettes of a man with a chicken head, another standing behind a spiky table, and an eerily motionless blue face. In cold misty air, dangerous auras taking shape around these men and the nearby creature were what the Cloaker could feel most intimately. Most frightening of all was the pale blue gorilla-like face with a red mouth that could eat men whole, daring to soothe a pained soul.

"Huh, looks like you aren't calming down there, are ya? I know, that, you're not going to be comfortable in this position, but have to take precaution right? But seriously, calm the fuck down, or I'll have to do it myself. Maybe, you need more air than that mask giving you some. You wanna remove it? "

The Cloaker still didn't calm down. Bonnie sighed once more, and turned to Jacket in the dark, who was already swinging his bat.

"Woah! No. Put that down."

The Cloaker's breaths seemed to slow down after that command. Slowly, the man with a chicken head lowered their bat to the ground, before dropping it with a wooden echoed thud. Thankfully, the blue face stepped back off into the dim light and stood still as a silhouette. An eerie period of peaceful stillness passed between the Cloaker and the mysterious men. Suddenly, the man with a chicken head grew big and close really fast. The moment of peace was then interrupted by the sudden metallic smash on the mask of the Cloaker.

The goggles and mask clattered like China dishes on the floor. Jacket had reached for the metal bat and forcefully removed the Cloaker's mask with a carefully aimed swing. Bonnie, Jacket, and Houston shared a quiet moment of astonishment once the goggles stopped shorting out. In the light of the lanterns, they could see the Cloaker's true face.

"Well, miss, whadya ya think you're doing in the police force?"