A/N: Hello all! I hope you're ready for a long chapter! I feel like I'm getting my groove back! Anyway, this chapter should be eye opening for you all, and I've got some Easter Eggs in there for anyone who either, A) knows American history or B) knows star wars: clone wars. If you catch either or both, include that in your review and I'll give your name a special mention in the next chapter. There's also a mirror scene in here from "Piers' Lament", my first Piers story. If you haven't read it, go read it if you want a good laugh! I promise you'll enjoy it.

Thanks to all of those who reviewed and to those who favorited/followed me and/or Under Fire! Anyway, here's the next chapter! Enjoy!

I managed to outmaneuver Leon Kennedy and Viper, though right before I was about to escape Vice's territory, I was taken down. I held onto the files, though. Whatever's inside of them, whatever it is that Henry Pretz had found out about this larger conspiracy to take over Insane City, I can't let it fall into anyone else's hands. I need to know what he found out to stop the violence before it occurs and to finally put a stop to Red.

Status Report 8: Information

It's not where I remember being last, a calm grassy field with a few trees scattered around the area. There's a warm breeze that smells like spring-freshly cleaned from the rain that's fallen. I'm holding the hand of a giant, my tiny, little fingers completely encompassed by his palm. He smiles down at me as the sun breaks through the clouds, illuminating the bottom of the ghostly white clouds with a golden bubble of light.

"This is where we're going to do it, Piers." The giant above me says. He turns away from me, his old eyes drifting around the grass and trees as that familiar smirk comes across his face.

Grandpa always believed in the dreams he created, so much so that I believed in them as well. I was nine at the time, back before my life was complicated. Back before I assumed so many skins that I couldn't even remember what my own looked like. Back before my parents split and I was pulled away from my grandpa by my father. I never got to see him again. He died from alcoholism before I graduated high school. My dad always said he'd been a drunk from the beginning. I think it was from the heart break.

But I'm back here with him, in the field were grandpa had dreamed of growing his very own orchard and having a nice house beside it so he could look upon the growing fruit every morning and open the windows to let in the sweet scent of ripeness. He'd grown up on an orchard back when he was little. The economy tanked and his family was forced to sell their property. I'd always loved the stories he'd tell me, about his adventures with his brothers and sisters in the orchard. I wanted to help him reach his dream. I wanted to see the images he'd painted so vibrantly in my head.

Why am I here now, though?

"When do we start planting the trees?" My voice is young and innocent, yet to be tainted by the career I'd later take up.

He chuckled, the sound crackling through his pipe-smoked lungs. "Soon, Piers. I still have to buy the land."

"And when will you do that?" That's when his hand tightens and the smile on his lip stiffens like he's forcing the smile to stay on his face. At that young age, I hadn't noticed the sadness that was there. Looking back into the world I lived in so long ago, I can see it all over him. His dream, his hope and belief in it-once unwavering-waned.

"Soon, like I said. Then we'll be planting trees and picking apples and I'll be chasing you through the trees like a big, old grizzly bear!" He pulls me into his arms, hugging me tightly while letting out big roar. I squirm playfully, trying to get away.

He never got his dream, his heart and spirit weren't strong enough to make it through the hardships life threw at him in his old age. I went back to that field when I was older and it'd been bought and turned into a baseball field. People were throwing pitches on it and I felt betrayed. It was supposed to be an orchard, supposed to have a nice house to the side where someone could sit on a porch and watch the wind rush through the leaves and fruit, breathing in the warm scent of fresh fruit sitting in the branches, not a ballpark surrounded by inner city apartments with a chain linked fence shielding it from the crime that riddles the streets. Washington DC had swallowed the field, taken from me and my grandfather a place that was meant for peace.

It'd destroyed it.

And I felt anger swell inside…

My eyes snap open and everything around me comes slowly into focus. A calm white ceiling sits over me and as I turn my head, my eyes absorb the various maps splattered across the walls, thin lines drawn along them, areas shaded or scribbled out, some push pins pricking their surface. The bed under me is comfortable and smells familiar-a warm, strong scent. Wherever I am, it's not like when I was a 'guest' at Vice's storage unit.

Attempting to set up, a ping of pain stings through my body. I grimace, lowering myself back into the bed. God, I've just started recovering from the battery I got from Red back in the Hummer. Now I've got more injuries to deal with.

Not just injuries. Bullet wounds.

That's right. I was shot.

Then Kennedy kicked me in the face. Jackass.

Wait! Where are the files? Ignoring the pain, I sit up quickly, throwing my feet over the side of the bed. My toes instantly hit something warm and fleshy and suddenly my skin is crawling and I can't help letting out a yelp. I shuffle back onto the bed, distancing myself from whatever I've stepped on. Of course, in my irrational haste, I tumble back, legs tangled in the sheets as I drop off the other side of the bed, hitting the carpeted floor with a thud. Every injury I've gotten since starting this stupid mission rings out as I capture my breath again. Wincing as I drag myself into a seated position, I glance up over the bed when a gruff huff comes from the other side of the bed.

There he is, sitting up and hair a mess. Red.

He gives this docile, tired stare to me, like he's been sitting watching the Olympics for several hours and just now notices the time. He blinks once, twice, and then attempts to stifle a yawn as he stretches his muscular arms upward.

"What the hell?" I ask, my attempts at keeping the accusation out of my voice isn't working. "Why are you on the floor?"

A perplexed look settles over his face, "Well, you're in my bed, so naturally I have to find somewhere else to sleep."

What? His bed? I look around the room again, my brain finally registering that this room isn't the commons barracks I'd stayed in the previous night-with all of the teenage men and their wet dreams. I was indeed somewhere more private. Chris'-Red's-room. "Don't you have a medical wing, or something?" I work my way off the floor, untangling my legs from the thick sheets that encircle them.

"You'd rather be with all the injured, moaning, groaning, complaining bitches down in the med bay?" The answer to that question is a definite no. I just continue correcting myself as he opens his mouth to speak again. "Besides, couldn't have my little pet all vulnerable with a bunch of horny teenage brats."

I can't cover the exasperation of my face as I glance over at him. He's got this stupid smirk on his face, confident. Jackass, just like Kennedy. "The files, then?" I'm just going to change the topic. His smirk is irritating me and I can't stop staring at it.

Red gestures lightly to the bed, "Somewhere in the mess of blankets there. You wouldn't let me take them away from you." He holds up his hand, little red marks with purplish-black bruises forming under them are present. "You've got sharp teeth."

For some reason, I feel a swell of pride in my stomach. I'd managed to ward off the most deadly man in the United States by biting him. Guess he's not so tough after all. Once my legs are free, I peel back the sheets one at a time, trying to locate the files. Red gets himself on his feet and sits himself on the bed. His body is near me, and I flinch unintentionally. He mumbles an apology of sorts.

"So," I ask, continuing my fruitless search. God, did I bury them in the mattress? "You rescued me?"

Chris sighs, "You never radioed in with a report, so I figured you'd gotten yourself into some kind of trouble. I wondered if maybe you'd found the files and hadn't followed my command, too." God, what a self-absorbed jerk. He just couldn't handle if I'd told Vice before him. He needed to know first.

Wait. Was that the only reason he wanted the Intel first?

Halting my search, I turn towards him, "Why did you want me to tell you first, anyway?"

"Why else?" he asked, returning the stare, "There was a high chance he'd kill you after you gave him the information. I couldn't risk being left in the dark."

Anger swells inside of me and I'm only an inch of self-control way from punching him. I keep my voice level, "You sent me in there knowing I might die?"

"Not knowing, Cole, just figuring. There was still a small chance he'd let you leave." He's smarter than I give him credit for because he notices my seething. "Don't give me that look. You're resourceful, Cole. You got a gun to my balls and saved a caravan of women a sore throat. I had faith in your survival skills."

"My survival skills? I took that woman's place to save her from a monster and the memory. You thought that somehow correlated to escaping a fucking madman's clutches all while keeping hold of sensitive information!?" I suck in a slow, careful breath, regaining some composure. I can feel the dead anger in his eyes and I know I've made a huge mistake. I need to amend this situation. "A heads up next time would be nice. That's all I'm saying, sir." Lowering my eyes-fain submission-I turn my head away a little.

There's a painful silence between us but I say nothing else. Speaking won't help anyway. I can feel that he's pissed-I called him a monster, after all. He deserved it, though, not going to lie. How did I fall into this situation, anyway? Usually, I'm calm and collected-Mr. Cool-in an undercover situation. Never, not once, had I lost my cool. But here, for some reason, I can't keep my head on straight. Complaining gets me hit-or worse. What more incentive do I need to keep myself professional?

Red finally breaks the silence. "Get on the ground, on your knees." My back stiffens because I know what's coming. I can't fight it, or I'll just make it worse. I do as I'm told, shifting off the bed numbly and lowering myself to my knees. I'm shaking, trying not to, but still am. Red stands, stepping over to me. A rough hand takes my hair and pulls, yanking my eyes upward to stare at him. I maintain a very calm glare, not defiant, but steady. He's looking down at me, dark eyes lined with something menacing. "You can't seem to learn your place, Cole. I think you like being abused." A dark smile appears on his face. "Do you like to be abused, Cole?"

The answer he wants to hear is acid on my tongue, "Yes, sir."

His grip tightens and I can't help but wince at the sudden pain. This sadist is enjoying every second of his power over me. It only reinvigorates me to take him down. His other hand drops to the elastic rim of his sleep pants. He's already getting himself excited, I see. He tugs on the hem a little, "You just want this shoved down your throat again, don't you?"

Again, I respond the way he wants me to, "Yes, sir." In that instant, I'm thrown against the ground. My head hits the side of the bed, stars dancing across my vision. Every injury again screams out in agony as I grip my sore head.

He drops down on top of me, his legs straddling me as I turn onto my back to face him. There's a wickedness to his expression that instantly numbs the pain. "Tonight, Cole. Be back here tonight." He gets up, grabbing me and pulling me to my feet before releasing me and making his way out the door. On his way out, he adds, "I'll need a report on the info by this evening. Better get reading."

As the door closes behind him, I collapse onto the bed. My legs can't even hold me they're shaking so bad. My entire core is numb to everything, my mind racing over what he's said.

Tonight. He wants me back tonight…

God, no. Please, no. He was joking, right? He was just going to have me come in and he'd make me grovel a little and then I'd be left alone, right? Surely there was something else he was planning…

But even as I hoped against hope, my gut turned to ice and every vein drew cold blood. He was going to rape me-tonight. Every inch of my skin crawled.

Forcing myself to calm down, I knew I still had the rest of the day. I could find a way to get myself out of here, possibly try and contact the CIA. Maybe, just maybe, they'd extract me if they knew how much danger I was truly in. Also, I've got the files. The CIA will want to see these for sure. Picking myself up, still feeling numb, I began searching for the files again. Where on earth had the gone to?

Finally, after tearing the mattress off the frame, I found them tucked underneath. It only bothered me a little that in my injured-and no doubt delirious- state that I'd managed to secure the files and defend them from people like Red. Part of me was proud of the fact I'd kept them to myself all this time. I'd get to see Henry Pretz' information without any censorship. Opening up the folder, I nearly jumped back when I see the first page.

Name: Piers Nivans

Code Name: Cole Jaden

An image of me sat there staring back. It was my official picture, taken back when I first entered the CIA.

"What the hell…" My hands flip to the next page. Detailed there is all of my history, everything from my family's personal history to my job descriptions. My entrance exam scores are filed as well, showing my bright IQ. Several pages behind that held more information about me, all CIA confidential. How the hell had these gotten in here? I'd had to have been faxed to him months ago, back when Intel was first coming in on this mission, back before I was even assigned.

I moved past the information on myself, finding a map of Insane City printed tiny. Sections were colored and circled, arrows marking the movement of one group to another area. The conspiracy. The map showed a consolidation of power. One group was rounding up alliances with the smaller, outer groups, the ones that sit on the fringe of Insane City looking in.

The next page said ANACONDA in red, another map there with a red snake circling the entire city. Several blue arrows tried to enter the red circle, but were repelled, bouncing back. Several green arrows tried to escape the circle, but they too were repelled. Create a perimeter and suffocate the enemy from the inside. No doubt, once Red was trapped, he'd continue to try and function as the overlord, even when the moral of his men was dropping. He's too proud. He'd never lay down before whoever was heading this plan, whoever had the influence to create this perimeter in the first place. Slowly, other gangs inside would bow to pressure and join the force against Red, even when it meant bringing upon the wrath of Red.

His own men would turn against him and then, the tyrant would fall.

It's a brilliant plan.

Behind that map were page after page of extracted emails, code words highlighted with email addresses circled and arrows pointing to paper clipped images of known gang lords. After all of that, these gang members' entire working profile from the CIA was there. There was only one email that had no image and no working profile, and it was a system of letters and numbers.

Behind all of that were hand written scribbles-journal entries- on notebook paper, sticky notes, the margins of newspapers, all kinds of paper imaginable. I skim them, finding myself chilled and disturbed yet unable to stop reading. Henry Pretz was going insane, each written piece of information more crazed and frenzied, as if he'd written them right before his executioner came walking in the door. Paranoia filled each word as it was scribbled sloppily onto the pages.

He was afraid. He knew it wouldn't be long before someone found out about his snooping and took him out.

The last page had one thing on it.

3

And You're Next

Leon had said that it was 3 who'd ratted Henry out, that it was 3 who'd provided the information linking Henry to the CIA. Henry's message is clear. It won't be long before 3 figures out about me.

Flipping back to the front, I carefully work the information about me free from the pins that hold it in place. I've got no idea what I'll do with it once it's in my possession, but at the very least it won't be there for Red see. Another thing to concern myself with is how I'm going to go about explain everything. Chris is an explosive man. If he figures out about this clear sign of insurgency, he'll go on a rampage. Ever person, involved in this stupid gang land brawl or not, will be swept away in the sea of bullets to follow. If the plan is enacted though, every innocent person inside this city will suffer when Red continually refuses to break. They'll starve to death, unable to leave themselves. The surrounding area will be sucked into a power vacuum as gang members outside of Insane City ease their boredom by attacking and raiding the surrounding towns.

A state of emergency.

There's no way I can keep this guise any longer. I've got to warn the CIA of this plan, I've got to get them down here to do something.

Folding up the information on me up, I glance around the room until I find a fresh pair of jeans and t-shirt, Red's insignia on the sleeve. Dressing quickly, I tuck the papers away in my pocket, hurrying out of the room with the file in hand. I make every turn I can, avoiding being seen by a passer-by. The last thing I need is a witness to my apparent treachery. Before long, I find my way outside, where the streets are quiet. Quickly, I hurry to the end of the street, turning the corner. If my assumptions are correct, this city hasn't had any real renovations beside fencing and barbed wire. And, just as I assumed, I find a payphone sitting on a corner, graffiti decorating it with profanity and pornography.

Not that it matters. It'll work the same as any other phone. Glancing around, I step inside and pick up the phone. Still works.

My fingers punch in several numbers. It's a code system. Tying in the code opens up an immediate line of communication to the CIA's director's office. It's for emergencies only, of course, and miss-typing the code or not entering it fast enough shuts off the line and sends up a red flag to the CIA. It means, most likely, that that agent's position has been compromised. It's the only form of contact I have, and while I know there isn't a chance of extraction, even with my impending danger. I'd been told this before I signed on to do this, the CIA must know about this plan and act on it.

It isn't long before there's a click on the other side and an automated voice, "number."

"55-7567-24," It's as fluid as my name.

There's another click and then his voice comes over the phone, the head of the CIA. "Nivans."

"Sir," my back straightens even though he isn't here to see me stand at attention. "I've got S.O.E information." S.O.E. State of emergency.

"Go ahead." His voice dead, cold, calm. He doesn't even seem surprised to be hearing from me.

"One of the CIA agent from Operation: Cohort was still here after extract, one Henry Pretz, number unknown. He's surrendered documentation to me. There's a conspiracy amongst the other gangs here."

Before I can continue, the director speaks, "Is Red involved in this conspiracy?"

"Uh, no. Well, not directly. He's the target of the conspiracy. They're trying to take over-"

"You're mission, Nivans, is to take Red down. An outside conspiracy isn't your concern."

"Sir, with all due respect, this plan will corner Red and cause the innocent people of Insane City to suffer. Many will die needlessly if this plan is allowed to happen."

"And that's not your problem." I feel the shock sink in. "Red is your problem. If this conspiracy will aid in taking Red down, then I don't see the problem. More of those bastards might die as well. I don't see the reason for your concern."

"Sir," I spoke, trying to remain calm, "Gang leaders may die, yes, but the innocent people who live here will suffer because of it. We're talking about a perimeter, a blockade."

There's the slightest bit of inpatients in his voice, as if speaking to an unruly child. "Let me lay this out for you, Nivans. Red is your concern, not the people of that damned city, not the other gang leaders who are starting a coup. Red is your focus. Him. Nothing else. I'd suggest, if you're so worried about the citizens of the city, you do what you can to take Red out before this coup can occur."

"Sir, this is a real S.O.E. The entire region is at risk."

"There are always risks, Nivans, and you knew about them before you agreed to be our inside man."

"Sir-"

"Red is your priority. Keep yourself in line, agent, or you'll be left behind too. Don't think I won't hesitate to erase you're existence, even as Cole Jaden, from the very face of the earth. Keep yourself in the game and forget everything else. Red must be taken down or his influence will spread and it won't just be the region that will be in danger." He hung up, the click on the other side loud before the beeping of disconnection filling my ears. I let out a sigh before hanging up myself.

I just stood there, mind milling over the conversation with my director. Honestly, I'm kind of surprised he wasn't even slightly interested in what was happening in Insane City. This revolution is going to endanger so many innocent people-at worst, kill them-but the CIA doesn't want to get involved. It's happened before, I suppose. Sometimes an area is deemed too 'hot' and the CIA won't go in, but this isn't too hot, not yet at least. They have time to sweep in, take out the outer gangs and maintain the tainted integrity of Insane City. At least the body count wouldn't be too high…

Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly. I know what I've got to do. Screw the director. Lives-innocents-are at stake. It looks like, no matter how monstrous this conspiracy, I'll have to get it derailed myself. My entire body shivers at the thought of what I'm about to do, but I also feel a ping of tenacity. Red's not going to win and neither are these other gangs and whoever's leading the charge.

I ducked down, taking the file pages concerning me and tucking them underneath the base of the phone. I shove them up high into the metal plate, making sure they were extra secure. No one was going to be looking under a telephone station in a phone booth for information on me. Taking the rest of the files in a tight grip, I head back to Red's base, eyes watchful of anyone who was coming. I entered the place without a hitch before I heard my name over the loud speaker system.

It was Red. "Cole, I need you're report. Meet in my office. Now."

Steeling myself, I head there, feet remembering the pathway as if it were something I walked all the time. My heart pounds against my chest as I push open the door, seeing Red sitting behind his desk calmly. The glow of the outside lights through his windows cast an ominous light upon him, harsh shadows blinking on the walls as the lights waver. He looks up at me, brown eyes masked with indifference. Taking a silent, deep breath, I step in further and close the door. "Good to know you're prompt, Cole." His smile is dark.

I don't say anything as I move closer, dropping the file onto his desk. He raises an eyebrow at me, like he's insulted that I'd even make a suggestion that he read it. I lean across the desk, locking my lips to his before he can say anything. He melts into the kiss instantly and his greedy hands only take a second to rise up and yank on the collar of my shirt, trying to pull me closer. Pulling back though, I hold up my hand before he speaks.

I need to get the most information I can out of him. I need his enemies, his weaknesses, and this is the easiest way to do it. It's to save lives, it's to save Insane City.

Slowly, I tug at my shirt, lifting it over my head and dropping it to the floor. His hungry eyes dance over my naked chest, lust settling where indifference use to be.

I swallow hard but steel myself. I have to do this. I need to save this city.