A/N: It must be a Thanksgiving miracle-or if you don't live in America, just a regular miracle-but this chapter just wrote itself. I'm pumped to write the next one, so be expecting it soon as well (maybe before turkey day? I'm not sure). Anyway, fingers crossed I'll get it out by Thursday!

Also, a warning for excessive and semi-graphic violence in this chapter. I toned it down quite a bit from the original write but it's still pretty violent so if that kind of stuff bothers you, you've been warned.

As always, thank you to those of you who reviewed and/or fave/followed!

Anyway, enjoy!

Emil Lime

The Ashland gang has been taken out, Alexia slaughtered and Alfred taken prisoner. He was almost a dead man but I've managed to stave off Red's wrath long enough to have the poor bastard interrogated. Alfred knows something about this conspiracy. After all, his gang was the first to agree to being involved. I've been tasked with interrogating Alfred and Chris will be watching. I know things can only get bloodier from here.

Status Report 13: Conspiracy

I've never known someone who can cry gracefully. I'm certainly not one of those people. They make it look effortless in the movies, but when you see people crying in real life, it's pretty scary. However, I've managed to recover nicely; my eyes aren't even red. Taking a deep breath and willing the horrible memories of death and destruction into the tiny box of my subconscious, I straighten myself up and walk out of Red's office.

As usual, this part of his base is relatively empty—probably because nobody's stupid enough to wander around Red's private area without a good reason. I work my way back into the grind of it all, zig-zagging past the boys who are finishing up the cleanup of today's massacre. They don't pay me any mind and I do the same. The only person I do stop and acknowledge is the young teenager who directed Chris to where Alfred's being held. I ask him where prison 8 is—since the only prison I've had the luxury of meeting was the one I was in first and the one Jill's being caged in. He gives me rather vague directions, probably because he's a dumbass, and I head out to find this mythical prison I've been ramblingly directed to. Just like with the other prisons, I pull the heavy door open and make my way down the stairs. To my surprise, the lights are on—and by lights I'm being incredibly generous because it's only one single light bulb hanging from the ceiling.

Chris is down there and a broad smile crosses his face when he sees me walk in. He opens his arms as if ready to embrace me. "I was just about to go looking for you."

"Sorry about the wait, sir." I was mourning the loss of humanity in this city, no biggie. I can make room for your petty requests.

To my surprise, the larger man waves it off. "Don't worry about it. You showed up before I had to drag your ass down here, didn't you?" The conversation's tone changes immediately when Red turns towards Alfred, the blonde man sitting fetal position in the back of his cell. "He's all yours, Cole."

A chill runs down my spine at the mentioning of my fake name. There's something about the way he said it—has he figured me out? Or is this just another one of his tests? He wants to see how far I'll go before I break down and he can fuck me all over again. I can't let him have his way again. Nodding with a hardened resolve I'm not entirely sure I've got, I walk over to the cell and push open the door, which to my surprise is unlocked. Looking back at the smug gang lord, I can already guess why he doesn't feel the need to lock Alfred up. I take my first step in before I'm stopped by Red. "Take this with you."

He hands me a short, curved knife as I turn around, the cold steel heavy in my hand. I can only nod as I turn back towards Alfred and pace over to him.

I'm right beside the bastard and he doesn't even acknowledge me. I can hear him muttering the name of his dead sister over and over again. They must have been close—that, and she died right in front of him and he didn't even get the chance to say goodbye. Kneeling down, I gently place a hand on his shoulder, his entire body going ridged. "Alfred."

He just shakes his head, whispering, "Alexia refuses to tell you, so I do too."

Mentally, I let out an angry sigh. "Alfred, if you talk you won't be hurt." He shakes his head again. God, if he would just make things easy, he wouldn't have to suffer. Of course, how many terrorists have I told that to? How many said they could handle anything we "Americans" could dish out? And how many ended up screaming and begging on the floor an hour later? God, people just need to learn to take my word for it. "Look, I don't want to hurt you. I really don't. The faster you speak, the faster you can get back to Alexia."

The blonde throws a glare up at me at the mentioning of his fallen sister's name, like I've uttered something vulgar. After a few seconds of glaring, he burrows his head back into his knees. I glance back over at Chris then, the man gesturing for me to get on with it. That prick just wants to see the heads roll. I suck in a breath.

My first mistake in joining the CIA was believing it was an organization of righteous freedom fighters. While I certainly don't deny we fight for freedom and American security, I wouldn't call it righteous. We kill, steal, cheat, lie. Nothing we do is even remotely close to 'righteous'. It use to bother me, actually. I'd have vivid nightmares about the horrible things I've done but now I've become desensitized to it; I can put it away into a box and forget about it—Just like I've down with the monstrosities I've recently witnessed. They call it 'coping', I call it losing your soul—but they're probably pretty close to the same thing. The worst of everything I have done, though, is torturing someone: even when they deserve it. Torture isn't about beating them until they're black and blue, it isn't about bending them until they break. Torture is about trapping them, caging them, confining them, at least until they give you the information you want. It's about creating an out for them, not pinning them to the ground until they squeal.

Basic torture 101: never shatter the hope of escape. You do that, the information you receive will be unreliable.

Grabbing Alfred's collar, I pull him to his feet as I stand. He wobbles a little before lifting his gaze at me. "Leave me alone, I'm not telling you-" At that moment, I took the knife and placed it against his throat, immediately shutting him up. For the first time since I've known him, he actually looks nervous. I guess it's easier to see which of the two twins actually had the balls in the relationship.

"I've asked nicely," I press the blade just hard enough against his neck to draw a little bit of blood, "Now it's going to get rough." I shove him against the wall, Alfred stumbling a bit before catching himself. My right hand quickly grabs at his collar, yanking down the buttoned shirt to pop the buttons free. Underneath, Alfred's pale chest is exposed and I place the tip of the blade against his sternum. "You want to know the safe word?" I put my lips next to his ear, whispering, "The name of the person who's heading this conspiracy."

"I'll never tell you." Why can't they just make this easy?

Without hesitation, I drag the tip of the knife through his skin quickly, Alfred letting out a scream. He shoves me away, but I don't lose my balance; instead I punch him in gut, knocking the wind out of him. Before he can crumble to the floor, I catch him with my right hand and hold him up. My left hand brings the blade back to the man's throat. Using my strength, I shove Alfred to the side, his form falling to the floor. I straddle his waist before he can get up, digging the knife into his left shoulder joint as the man wails below me. Slowly and with controlled practice, I drive the tip of the knife in between the two bones, forcing them to separate. Alfred screams, kicking and thrashing underneath me before I pull the knife out fast. He groans, huffing in breath after heavy breath as he glares at me with fierce blue eyes like a dare. Taking the knife firmly in my hand, I begin shoving it back into where I'd left off, the hollers coming from under me numbing me more to the situation.

All the while I can feel Red's eyes on me, feel the excitement he's getting from watching this. God, there's so much blood. When I finally remove the blade after a resonating pop of the joint, I stand up and slam my booted heel down against it. The noise Alfred makes is inhuman as I grind against it with the hard sole. His good hand is clawing at my ankle, his entire body is writhing and jerking wildly. With each twist of my foot, he gives off another solid scream. I can feel the rush of power that comes from inflicting such pain on people and I quickly tamper it down. That's what makes me different from Red, even in a situation like this. I will not allow myself to get off on the power.

I finally remove my boot, Alfred curling onto his side to protect and cradle the injured limb. I slip the knife into my belt and knell down. "Safe word?"

Alfred spits at me in response.

Fast, I grab the injured arm while turning Alfred onto his front, wrenching the limb behind his back painfully. He gives off another shriek as I pull tightly on the injury. It isn't long before I've got his fingers against his scapula and he's in agony. When I finally hear the distinct sound of a spiral fracture happening, I release my grip and his arm goes limp to his side as he howls. He's sobbing into the concrete floor as I stand straight again, turning towards Red. The man's got a smile of blood painted across his face. "I need you to get something for me." I walk over to him, whispering. That shit-eating grin only widens. He nods, bounding up the stairs and closing the door behind him.

Walking back into the cell, I pull him up by his injured arm, ignoring the whimpers. I'm caught off guard though when he throws his entire weight back, knocking me to the floor. With his good arm, he descends upon me, sitting on my waist and strangling me as best as he can. I throw a punch into his sliced belly but he only growls, pressing harder. God, I was just strangled about an hour ago. I really don't need this again. Next, I throw a hit at his injured shoulder which gives the desired effect. He reels back, gasping and clutching at the wound. I pull the blade out from behind me, making to stab him but he surprises me again when he catches my arm just as I'm about to plunge the weapon into his side. The blonde violently twists my wrist, making me drop the blade with a yelp. He quickly takes it up, knife headed for my face. Twisting my head out of the way just in time, I manage to only get sliced along the cheek. It stings like a bitch but I don't have time to worry about that. He throws another strike at me and I twist myself out of the way again.

"Hold still!" Well fuck, why didn't I think of that? Try as I might, I can't get out from under him and he makes to drive the knife into my chest. I catch his arm before it can plunge the steel through my ribs. Despite being injured and an arm down, he's surprisingly strong. "I'm going to kill you for what you did to my darling Alexia!"

"Like hell you will," Using his weight against him, I forcibly drive the blade into the concrete. He sways and I wrangle him off of me before working my way out from under him. Delivering a swift kick to his face, he stammers back and I grab the blade from the ground. Dislodging it, I slide it back into my belt and wipe at the blood on my face. The cut stings and I can feel the fresh drips of blood that've splattered over me from Alfred's wound.

Taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly, I glare at him and he returns it. Hazel mixes with blue for a long moment as Alfred works his way back to his feet. In the blink of an eye, I have him turned and shoved against the wall. "Don't even think about it."

Pulling him away from the concrete wall, I kick his knees down and wrench his arm behind his back again, holding it in place with my left hand as my right arm wraps around his neck. Each time he gasps for air, I tighten my hold against him and pull tighter on the injured arm. Inside my head, I'm counting. Suffocate them into unconsciousness, you have to wait for them to wake up. Better to scare them than to render them unconscious. When I relax my right arm, he gasps, sucking in hefty breaths. "You have the power to stop this, Alfred."

"Go to hell."

Tossing him to the floor, he barely catches himself on his good arm. The blonde tries to stand, but I slam my boot against the middle of his back, successfully shoving him into the concrete. He gives off a hiss as I reach down and take his left arm. In one swift motion, I pop it out of its socket and he gives off another shriek. Letting it fall haphazardly to the ground, I listen to him sob softly. "You're letting this happen, Alfred. I'll stop as soon as you tell me what I want to know."

Giving a weak shake of his head, I can feel the venom of his words as he speaks to me, "You can never do anything to me that'll make me talk. Pretty soon, you and your master will be the ones begging for mercy from those of us who have risen against you. I'll make you regret ever doing this to me!" Famous words; not once have they ever come true.

I pull out the knife again, seeing the red stain already present there reflects duly in the light. Removing my foot from his back—Alfred is unable to push himself back up, anyway—I kneel down next to his legs, tracing the tip of the weapon up and down his leg. His shaking increases tenfold. Again, I'm counting. Psychological torture is all about timing, after all. Reaching zero, I plunge the sharp knife into the back of his knee, successfully severing the ligaments there. An inhuman scream resonates from his lungs as I twist the blade slightly, slicing and tearing more of him. I press hard, digging into the cap beneath. When I pull the blade free, he yelps, fading in and out.

Too much pain for him. All talk, I guess. Standing, I kick the blonde man's form over onto his back. I drop down on top of him, taking the blade and slicing right along the jaw line, immediately waking him up. "Can't go to sleep yet, Alfred. You've still got something to tell me."

He just shakes his head, causing me to sigh. "You've got a knee left before I start going for fingers and toes." His eyes widen marginally but he still shakes his head. That's when the door opens from above and the sound of Red's heavy feet clomp down the stairs. I look at the man directly and sincerely, "You're not going to want to see this. Please, Alfred, just tell me." He's hardened himself, I suppose, to this torture and refuses to give in.

So be it.

Standing again and walking to the door, Red hands me the large item in question. When I turn towards Alfred, item in hand, his eyes go wide and I can see the realization hit him like a ton of bricks.

In my years of being a CIA operative, the one thing I've found to be truer than any other is that physical torture can only get you so far. People can harden themselves to the pains inflicted upon themselves. They know that, in time, the pain will ebb away, that if they're tortured long enough their mind will begin to shut down. That's why psychological torture is much more effective. Even the most hardened of jihadists have something they're not willing to lose. It's part of being human. We aren't made of strong stuff, we're meant to break down. Psychological torture is about finding that first brick and taking it away, making the house tumble down.

Alexia's body is heavier than it looks, the mashed up remains of her head still present but dry. While the majority of her face is still there, bloody and make-up smudged, the entire back of her head is gone because of my bullet. Her purple dress is stained crimson, traces of blonde hair dyed red. I sit the body down gently against the opposite wall of the cell, Alfred unable to take his eyes off of her. "W-What are you going to do to her?" I don't say anything as I pull out the knife. "Leave her alone!"

The sharp curve of the knife is meant for butchering, which is exactly what I intend to do with it. Jabbing the long blade into the side of her cold neck, I begin slicing through the flesh and meat as Alfred gives off an anguished gasp. Thankfully, the blade is sharp enough to cut through her effortlessly. I've had to saw people apart before and to be honest, it's almost more traumatizing to me than to the person witnessing it. Of course, once I hit bone, I've got to start sawing like a lumberjack. The mixture of bone cutting and Alfred's pleas sickens me but I swallow down the taste of bile like I always have and keep going.

I can't even distinguish the words the man behind me is saying, only that he's begging for me to stop. When I'm about half way through the spinal cord, though, I finally hear it. "I'll tell you! Please, stop! I'll tell you!"

Halting my sawing, I turn to look at the man. Unable to move, unable to wipe away the tears, he's a mess. "Please, I'll tell you who's behind the conspiracy. Just leave Alexia alone…" The nauseating sound of yanking the blade free from bone and flesh comes as I remove the tool and stand up. Stepping over to Alfred, whose tears are mixing with the small pool of blood on the ground, I straddle him again.

"Talk," I deadpan. I can see from the corner of my eye that Red has come closer. He's stepped into the cell now, eyes analyzing me.

Alfred sucks in a shaky breath as he glances over at the halfway decapitated woman on the other side of the room. "We were approached by a man in sunglasses. Said he was the infamous 3 of Insane City."

Red storms over, glaring at the helpless man, "And you're sure it's 3?"

Nodding quickly, Alfred adds, "That's who he said he was! I don't know why he'd lie!"

I throw a quick warning look at Chris and for the first time ever, he actually took it without a fight. He steps back a bit as I speak. "So 3 approached you. Did you know who he was?"

Alfred is absolutely still for a long moment, so I grab the open collar of his shirt with both hands, pulling him closer to my face. "Did you know him?"

He finally nods, "I'd seen him before. Please, leave Alexia and I alone now."

"Name."

He shakes his head, "Please, I need Alexia."

"Name. Now."

Alfred's entire body is trembling as I hold him in a death grip. Finally, through the tears streaming down his face, he says the name of the elusive 3, of the infamous beginner of the entire conspiracy to take down Red. "Wesker."

My entire body goes numb at the mentioning of the name. This has to be a lie, or at the very least, some kind of trick. Before I can stop myself, I ask, "Albert Wesker?"

Alfred nods, "Yes, now please…"

He doesn't have to say more. I stand up, letting go of his shirt, allowing him to fall to the floor. He's sobbing but his cries are muffled. Chris is beside me, speaking words I know I should be listening to but I can't force my ears to hear. My mind is spinning in a thousand circles.

This can't be right. Albert Wesker can't be 3. He can't be the one behind this conspiracy. That's impossible; he's the Director of the CIA.