First rule of going on missions: Always withhold information if caught. Second rule of going on missions: Always withhold information if caught… Borrowing from Fight Club? …Never!
"I don't know what you're talking about." Jensen spat as they forced him to his knees, and everyone knew it was bullshit—you don't wander into restricted areas on accident. None of them could convince him that they knew otherwise, though, because to him, information withheld could mean the difference between a mission's failure, and its success.
And the mission's success was a matter of life and death—always.
One of the men in front of him scowled, and Jensen matched it with the cheekiest smirk he could manage—trying to not show how nervous he really was. At a nod, one of the men kicked him in the stomach, while the other two restrained him. He coughed, gagged, and swore. But when they asked him again, his answer was the same. "I don't know anything, fuck you."
It wasn't that he had a death wish, on the contrary. He wasn't stupid, which was less than he could say for his new "friends"—he could hear quite clearly through the earpiece that they had yet to notice he was wearing.
Aisha asking if Cougar had eyes on him, Cougar's negative response. And then Clay, hot-headed as ever: "Fuck this, I'm gonna shoot 'em in the fucking face."
So no, he wasn't stupid, and he didn't have a death wish. He would rather take a few broken ribs than tell them anything that could end up costing the mission, or one of his team mates.
Besides, broken ribs were awesome… although not as awesome as gunshot wounds. He was still up for doing that again.