A/N: It's done! *collapses and dies* I want to apologize for how long this took to update! I'd been steadily working on this chapter for a while-I was having some serious issues getting the flow right for some reason-and then work came and destroyed my progress by taking away all of my time. I finally managed to put aside some time to work on it though and BAM! Here it is.

As always, I want to send out a special thanks to those who reviewed last chapter! You have no idea what it means to me that you take a little time out of your schedule to write me a kind word or two. So thank you so much for doing that!

Enjoy!

Red showed no mercy, dealing a great deal of damage before finally leaving me alone. We've reached Insane City and I'm inside Red's base, though it doesn't look like I'll be getting around to taking him down anytime soon. I let my emotions get the better of me and now I've been left in his prison to starve out. He's trying to break me, but I won't let him.

Status Report 3: Obedience

How long has it been? I wish I knew. My stomach's killing me, rendering me unable to move as I lie here in the fetal position. Everything still hurts, my head hasn't started feeling any better, which isn't a good sign, and my throat is dry, agitating its raw condition. I'm really regretting having gone off on Red, the bastard now leaving me to slowly fade away in the darkness of his prison.

At least I was able to put on the clothes I was brought before becoming immobilized. Though I can't see what they look like, they feel like a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, nothing fancy. I welcome it, even with its lacking pair of underwear, feeling a lot more confident now that my dick isn't flying through the air. They keep me warm enough, too, which is a plus.

Taking a deep breath, my stomach lets out a long growl. Wow, it hasn't done that in a while. I've read it's not a good thing for your stomach to stop growling. Guess I'll find out soon enough. The growl is extremely painful though, causing me to give off a weak whimper. Yeah, I'm really starting to regret going off on Red. Who am I kidding, anyway? I'll blame it on the fractured mental state and my nakedness, but ultimately it's my own damn fault entirely. Rule one of undercover missions, follow orders. Hell, that's rule one of life. And I've managed to screw that up in an epic fashion. Does anyone even say 'epic' anymore?

That's when the cellar door creeks open and I give a meek gaze in its general direction. No light is shining through it, which is contrary to the other times I've seen it open, and the footfall that comes down it doesn't sound as heavy as Red's feet. I'm curious but it's not like I can sit up, so I'm stuck waiting for whoever it is to make an appearance. And after what feels like eons, the person finally does. I can't see them, but I recognize the voice immediately, "Hey, Cole."

It's Claire.

I give off an extremely pathetic noise and I hear her feet approach me. She's feeling up the bars, probably gauging their location, before she shuffles down to her knees and speaks, "Chris-well, Red sent me."

Go figure. I never thought of her as a rule breaker, someone who would go see the prisoner if big brother didn't say too. Though it does get me wondering what Red wants and why he, himself isn't here to see me like this. Claire continues, "He told me to give you this." I hear her reach through the bars, dropping something onto the ground, something flimsy and most likely plastic. Using the little strength I have, I feel for it, grabbing ahold of what feels like a water bottle. Dragging it over to my body, I make sure it's upright before twisting the cap off, which I'm amazed I'm able to do, by the way. Tilting it, and not caring that some of it splashes on me, I wrap my lips around the top and drink greedily.

It feels amazing to have something running down my throat again, the pain in my stomach lessening slightly. I have to force myself to stop drinking, knowing it might be awhile until I get something like this again. Screwing the cap back on with slightly more energy, I set it aside and mutter, "Thanks…"

I can hear her shuffle on her knees, "Yah."

When she starts to get up, I call after her, "Claire?"

I half expect her to keep walking but her feet don't continue. "What?"

"I want to talk to Red." Even just saying those words cause fear to pump through my heart. He's actually the last person I want to see but the mission comes first and I need to get on his good side if I ever hope to kill him. I wait on pins and needles for her response.

"I'll tell him that, but that doesn't mean he'll come." Without another word, she hurries up the stairs and closes the cellar doors, leaving me alone once more. My mind wanders to Red, pondering his actions. I guess he knows I'll die in about three days without water, so he's just preserving me long enough to torture me some more. After all, it takes the human body a long time to finally die of starvation. Of course, if that's the case, why didn't he come down and view his handiwork, see what a couple of days of pure starvation can do to someone. He enjoys seeing me in pain, after all, and so far this is the worst pain I've been in. Maybe that bastard can actually feel sympathy and now he's feeling bad for violating my mouth, bruising my body and throwing me in a cage to rot away? That's the least likely answer.

There's no way I'm going to come to some kind of accurate conclusion so I close my eyes and attempt to fall asleep. I have nothing better to do anyway.

The next time I awaken, it's to a blindingly bright light. I wince, pain like daggers stabbing into my eyes. Giving off a moan, I drag my hands over my sensitive eyes, the sheer agony only dampened slightly by the shade. I hear footsteps coming to a halt in front of me and I feel eyes drilling holes into my head as well. It takes every ounce of strength to look up into the white light, catching a glimpse of the outline of an incredibly muscular figure. It's Red, definitely.

"Claire said you wanted to see me." His voice is deadpanned, though his anger is leaking through. I bite back any and all snarky responses that come to mind since I've already got one foot in the grave with the other dangling over a meat grinder. My words need to be well thought out, not off the cuff and rude as they've been.

"Red," I manage; my eyes are finally starting to get use to the light. Sitting up, I can feel myself nearly stumbling over as I work my way to my knees. Damn, starvation has had a number on me, that's for sure. Keeping my back straight but averting my gaze-these powerful types always like to feel superior in every way possible-I speak, "I wanted to apologize for what I did…" Which was not eating your bland sandwich because it tasted just like your nasty, disgusting dick. "You were trying to be kind to me and I threw that back in your face." God, I should really get some kind of trophy for how well I can lie. I still can't believe arrogance of this magnitude exists. I've always thought we as humans have evolved passed this kind of attitude, but Red still has it. I guess not everyone is 'top of the food chain' material.

"You did."

"And I'm sorry. There's no excusing my behavior…" Well, actually, the whole 'my mouth tastes like your fucking cum' kind of works as an excuse, but, whatever.

He leans against the bars, the metal creaking some, "So you've learned your lesson?"

"Yes."

A sigh, "Let me tell you something, Cole." I hear him shuffling through his pockets, pulling out some things. The distinct zip of a lighter plays over my ears right as the smell of cigarette smoke tickles my nose. God, I hate this smell… "I didn't get where I am today by letting people walk all over me and, when it's most convenient for them, forgiving them for their misdeeds." Letting out a puff of smoke, he slides down the bars, back still towards me as he holds the cancer stick loosely between two fingers. I raise an eyebrow at him, head still low. Maybe he's smarter than I give him credit for.

He continues, "I'll admit, I enjoyed watching you squirm and fight back in the Jeep, but that attitude of yours is wearing rather thin against my nerves. If it keeps up, I might do something you'll regret. Am I making myself clear?"

Giving a small nod, I say, "Yes, sir." I remember him telling me to say that to him. He's probably thinking he's trained himself quiet the bitch. Boy, is he in for a surprise when I knife him.

Red scoffs, a sadistic smile no doubt playing across his lips, "And people say they don't like suck ups…" Standing, he turns and regards me, my eyes lifting to meet his. I hold back the urge to tell him off again, remembering where it got me the last time. Rule two of infiltration missions, don't make the same mistake twice. If I'm going to kill him, I've got to play his fucked up game. His smile widens as he looks down at me, a hand reaching to gently touch the side of my face. I wince, biting back a yelp. "Damn it, that's hot." His hand lingers down to my chin and back up the other side of my face, each finger brushing lightly against the battered skin. His hand comes to rest at the dried blood that's stuck to my face, where my skin broke open after his volley of pistol whips. "You wear blood well."

Backing away, he unlocks the cell, pulling it open. "Now let's get moving," he says, "I've got something you need to do for me."

My stomach sinks and I'm sure I visibly paled. Was he going to assault me again? Would it be more than oral sex this time? On shaky legs, I stand-partially weak because of malnutrition and partially weak from fear-and I walk out of the cage. "What do you want me to do?"

He throws a dark smirk in my direction, "Initiation, of course."

I swallow hard. Haven't I gone through enough initiation? Without a word, though, I follow Red up the stairs, blinking back tears as my eyes are assaulted with the extremely bright lights from the work space above. He's walking fast and I tumble after him, struggling to keep up. We round a corner and another, finally reaching a closed off room. The cement clad walls loom ominously as Red pushes through the door and we enter a chamber filled with several people. They're standing around a makeshift table, the long beams unfinished and prickly with splinters. Candles melt slowly into the middle of the table, their flames a welcomed darkness from the lights outside. At the very back of the room is a large throne-esque chair and it takes every bit of me to resist rolling my eyes. This prick really thinks of himself as some kind of king or god, doesn't he?

Red takes a seat in the throne, motioning for me to stand beside it. Doing so, I feel utterly ridicules, especially as I get a better look at the crowd of people. They appear to be some of Red's top leutienatns, though why they're all gathered here is beyond me. Perhaps something is about to go down? There's another man on the other side of the throne, a blonde man. He throws me a smile and I return it with a tiny one of my own. What the hell is with this guy? Oddly enough, he looks familiar, though in my current mental state, it's nearly impossible to figure out from where.

The men before me look uneasy-save the strange blonde guy-their attention focused on Red. The criminal gives a strong smirk in their direction, waiting through long bouts of uncomfortable silence before finally speaking. "Thank you for gathering, gentlemen." Another pause. He's making them extremely uncomfortable. Something's not right here. "Someone ask the question."

A shorter man speaks up, buzzed hair and a round face, "W-Why are we here, sir?"

"Thank you, Jason. That's a fantastic question. Why are you here? There's one person in this room that knows the answer to that…" He sits forward, leaning his elbows on his knees, "and I know this person knows because I stumbled upon their dirty little secret a short bit ago." My stomach turns to lead and I hope he isn't talking about me. He couldn't have figured out I work for the CIA this quickly. There's just no way. Cole Jaden's story checks out to a T and all traces of Piers Nivans have been wiped from every database in the world. I don't exist, only Cole does. It just isn't possible, is it? "I want that person to step forward." As I panic quietly, the shadowed people in the room grow fidgety under Red's hard gaze. The swelling silence does little to quell the uncomfortable feelings in the air. For long, painful minutes, we stand in an awkward hush, Red not even so much as twitching. The tension in the air is so thick, I can touch it. Everyone's at the edge now, the fragile silence far to heavy yet no one willing to shatter it. It's becoming unbearable.

I dare a glance over to Red, his eyes trained in front of him. The candle light has softened his harsh features, though his glare is no less intimidating. But he looks younger, less beaten by the war he's been waging for nearly a decade. He almost looks human sitting there. If it wasn't for the fact he's trying to use silence to crack his men's morale, I'd think he was simply deep in thought as he sits in the soft orange glow.

Suddenly, a voice in the crowd bursts out, "I'm the spy!" As if the man were diseased, the others step away from him, large gates distancing them from him in the matter of a second. There isn't so much as a murmur as the spy looks around frantically, his eyes wide from fear of what's to come. "I swear the CIA doesn't know anything!" He tries to run but the men standing in a circle around him grab him, forcing him to the ground.

Red stands, nodding to the strange blonde on the other side of the throne, "Well Vice, is this your guy?"

So that blonde is Vice? I knew he looked familiar. So Red and Vice are on more than speaking terms now, they trust each other enough to come over and play dictator? Since when? What else doesn't the CIA know about?

Vice walks over, through the crowd, and stops in front of the spy. The man-even in the limited light-visibly pales as Vice glares down at him. "Honestly," the blonde states, voice deadpan, "I couldn't tell you. I've never bothered to learn the names and faces of those below me." He throws a sarcastic smirk towards Red, "I figured I'd leave the hard work to you, friend. After all, you're so much better at making them crack."

A scoff comes from beside me, "You've always been a snake, Vice."

"I'm flattered," the blonde smiles and turns, walking back to his previous position beside the dictator, "It's not like I wasn't doing you a favor by leaking this little bit of Intel to you. I mean, after all, he's both of our problems considering he's been working under both of us for a while now. At least for me he was some numbered minion, for you he's one of your top lieutenants. You've always had a sucky choice in character, though."

"That explains why I'm talking to you."

The blonde doesn't even flinch at the careless comment, something that would have normally-should Vice have been in power in this situation-gone rather badly for the smartass who said it. But their bickering is the least of my concerns right now. Just who is this spy? He brought up the CIA, but I was told that there was no one inside Insane City, not after the failed overthrow of Red during Operation: Cohort-where Vice's troops were used to try and eliminate Red. The CIA rated the risk level too high, and it wasn't until I was released for this mission that they felt it was calm enough to try and go from the inside again. So is this guy bluffing or what?

My name brings me out of my musing, my eyes landing on Red. He's giving me a stone cold glare, "You're going to prove your loyalty to me, right here, right now." His hand reaches to the holster strapped around his leg, pulling a gun free. It's black, sleek frame glows ominously against the darkened background as he hands it to me, handle first. Looking at him and then the gun, I take it. It feels heavy and, despite my weakened condition, my heart rate increases tenfold. Even though I've killed dozens of people, I still feel a rush of terror whenever I'm about to go through with it. It's not normal, still being afraid to kill. I should be hardened but I'm not and, at times like this, it terrifies me that I haven't. Sucking in a deep breath, I look at Red before turning to examine the spy. His entire body is rigid, fear oozing off of him in waves. There's something about this spy that tells me his story is a tragic one, one that's going to go unheard and unknown for the rest of eternity. His family will never know what happened to him and his friends will always wonder where he went. This man's life and death will always be surrounded in mystery, a dusty case in the back of a police department's records room. I've seen too many of those cases, known too many people who've up and disappeared. Can I really allow this to happen to someone else?

Stepping towards the spy, I watch as he shrinks down, his body almost becoming one with the cement below my feet. "P-Please…I'm sorry…I promise they don't know anything. They don't even know I'm here, not anymore!" Standing right in front of him, I hold the gun loosely at my side.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

Red's voice is dangerous, "Cole."

The spy speaks freely, "The CIA sent me in years ago, to send intelligence on Red back! They left me after the front fell through and I've been here ever since! I swear, I'm working for you Red!" He looks past me, looking at the criminal behind me. "I gave up on the CIA! They left me! But you-you didn't leave me! You never betrayed me! Why else would I work so hard to help you accomplish your goals?"

"You're working for Vice," Red's voice is almost painfully emotionless.

"That's only because I can't leave his order or I'll be killed! But I swear, my loyalty is to you!"

Red's voice is stern as he speaks, cool and stoic, "Once a traitor, always a traitor, Patrick."

"No! That's not true! I'd do anything for you!"

"Then die," Red states. The way he says it, so simply and without hesitation, so heartlessly…It sends a shiver through my spine.

"What…?" Patrick-as Red calls him-sounds completely devastated by the news-like he didn't see it coming for miles. What did he expect, getting tangled with a crazy bastard like Red? The only person this prick is looking out for is number one, everyone else can take a bullet between the teeth.

"You heard me, Patrick." He steps away from his throne. Vice follows after as Red leaves the room, the man waving nonchalantly towards us, "Bring me his head when you're done, Cole. I'll be in my office." He disappears from the room, the other men standing awkwardly before shuffling after, none really desiring to watch their friend die a gruesome death. All the while, Patrick is mumbling to himself, tears streaming down his face as he watches the men he's fought beside abandon him. As the last set of military grade boots leaves the room, I turn my gaze on him.

"Patrick…"

"I can't believe it," He states.

"Patrick, I need you to listen to me." Kneeling down, I look him square in the eye, defeat present there. "You need to tell me what you know about Red, about his operation." I have no idea if this place is wired or not so I've got to be careful. Saying something stupid could hand me a similar fate to this poor bastard. "Patrick."

He's dazed and, as he looks at me, I can see he's lost all hope now. He really did believe these people were his friends. He really thought that Red was his savior. He really thought that, after switching sides, Red would forgive him for his associations. What a dumb son of a bitch. His lips twitch into a smile, "You know, it's kind of funny really. I got sent here almost five years ago for some blasted operation. When it failed, I was left behind. The boss of the CIA called me and told me that I wasn't worth extracting. Yah, he told me that. Over the phone. It wasn't that it'd be too difficult, it was because I wasn't worth it."

My heart nearly stops beating. What? Is that his crazy talking or is he serious? I've heard of leaving a man behind, it happens. I've witnessed it. But too leave him behind because the director doesn't like him? My thoughts fly to the director, thinking about the man and his looming presence. He's always been a bit cold but I'd never pegged him for some kind of heartless beast. This can't be right.

"That's when I dedicated myself to Red, to helping him claim this god forsaken city-it's already doomed anyway!" Patrick is crazed now, looking at me wildly, "You've got to believe me! I've been nothing but loyal to Red since the CIA left me behind! My ties with Vice are nothing but superficial! I haven't run a mission for him since the CIA dropped me!"

"If that's the case," I state, keeping my voice cool and low, "You should tell me what it is you know. If you tell me that, Red will let you walk."

"Really? But he said-"

I shake my head, every ounce of my being stinging, "That's only if you don't talk."

There's something about the look on his face that disturbs me, like he's really that far gone in his sanity. Giving a shaky nod, he speaks, "I'll tell you everything." And he begins to speak.

It's a short conversation, one that doesn't yield more than I already knew, save the last bit he includes on the end. Recently, he discovered a conspiracy growing within Red's ranks. Apparently, a couple of his lieutenants are planning to overthrow him. But, Patrick thinks this mentality is far reaching, and could be affecting several of the other gangs in Insane City. It doesn't surprise me, considering people don't like being under the heel of a dictator for long. No doubt Red's always sleeping with one eye open, he knows his power is sought after. That's not the part that bothers me. It's that it could possibly be wide spread. A collective overthrow attempt will spell disaster for the surrounding cities, as well as for me. Not only that, but a movement of that size would have to have an organizer, some kind of leader who'd take over once things were said and done.

It means Red isn't the only person I need to watch out for.

Mentally, I heave a sigh and I look at the hopeful in front of me. "What's your real name?" He twitches with surprise, and an unsettling calm comes over him. It's like he's come to terms with things or something.

"You mean the name I used before." His words are empty, that hope I'd seen before is gone. He knows he's going to die.

"Yes."

"The last time I was called by that name was when I was leaving for that mission. My wife came up to me and hugged me, told me she loved me and to be safe. My two daughters, they did the same thing. I remember my little Mya, she told me, 'daddy, come home safe or I won't let you hug me ever again'." A lump forms in my throat but I swallow past it. "It's ironic, really. I could have returned home safely had the CIA extracted me. But, because I was already so deeply involved, I couldn't just walk away without getting a bullet shoved into my brain." He gives off a small, heartless laugh, "It's almost funny. The CIA is the reason I never got to see them again…They're the reason my wife and kids are still praying for my safe return and hoping against all hope that I'll return to them someday. And yet the CIA considers themselves to be heroes of the American people, like they're some kind of race of god or something. It's truly ironic."

"I'm sorry." Is all I can muster.

"You'd better watch yourself, or you'll be left behind, too." My blood turns to ice as I look at him, his eyes locked with mine. How does he…? "As for my name, it's Henry Pretz."

Pretz, huh? "Thank you, Henry." I keep myself calm, not wanting to acknowledge that he's said something that's gotten me startled. Lifting the gun quickly, I pull the trigger, the bullet flying through the front of his head. Bits of blood and brain matter splatter onto me as his limp body collapses to the ground, a crimson halo forming around what's left of his head.

He knew, somehow he figured out I'm undercover too. Was it something I said? Or is it really that obvious? Shaking my head, I dismiss the thought. If I go around doubting myself, I'll be leaving myself open to discovery.

Standing and grabbing a bit of broken skull, I step out of the room and make my way through the cords and half built walls. I have to stop and ask a couple of people to point me in the direction of Red's office, not my proudest moment. But when I finally get there, I don't even have to knock before he calls me in. I step inside, throwing the disgusting mass onto his desk, bits of leaking brains and splatters of blood forming upon the metal finish. He gives it a disinterested stare before looking up at me, "I didn't think you'd be able to pull it off, Cole."

"I told you I learned my lesson, didn't I?"

His smile says everything. He's pleased and he fucking believes I'm his little bitch now. Good. "Well then, Cole, it looks like I'm down a lieutenant, care to fill in?" He stands, his strong body dimly lit by the empty window frames, "Being a member of my lieutenants means you'll have to follow my orders to the letter and, of course, you'll have to swear your allegiance to me. You hold no person or god before me, I am your savoir now." God, that's fucking cocky. "Also, Cole, whatever I ask for, you give in full and that includes that mouth of yours." A chill runs up my spine but I bite back any noise that dares to try and escape my lips. "Do you understand? From today on, you're my solider, my follower and my fuck toy."

It takes every last bit of my strength to speak and not sound sarcastic or condescending, "I understand, sir. I'm yours."

Red grins, "Good." He steps around his desk, walking up to me and placing a hand on my shoulder, "Then welcome to the family, Cole."