"Well, if it isn't one of the Cheeseburger Twins," Wylder sneered as Q stepped into the room containing his holding cell. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Trust me, this won't be a pleasure," Q promised, meeting the man's gaze with a stone-hard stare.
His cold look only made Wylder laugh, seeing very little threat in the beanpole standing before him. While the Quartermaster was certainly a formidable opponent who had bested him in the cyber world, he by no means created the same threatening image as one of his 00 agents. Whatever the man wanted, he certainly wouldn't be able to scare it out of Wylder; and besides, he had already told MI6 everything they needed to know. There was nothing left of importance that their Quartermaster hadn't either been told from Wylder's confessions or that he hadn't figured out on his own with the aide of his little American sidekick. So, with a confident air, Wylder folded his hands behind his head and simply relaxed, somewhat glad for what was surely to be an entertaining visit from his current guest.
"You are going to tell me why Riley Poole was kidnapped and tortured," Q stated in the same cool, dry tone he used on his agents when directing them through the field, the one that said he was absolutely certain that his commands would be followed with little to no argument.
Wylder snorted. "Why would I know anything about what happened following my incarceration? I was privy only to the information needed to fulfill my personal role in the organization's plans, and at that I failed. I am nothing. You should be asking your questions of the people who were actually holding your little pet."
Q blinked with an uncaring nature as he simply stated, "They're dead," with the same disregard as if telling someone the time.
The comment had Wylder dropping his arms down to his lap, now feeling slightly more uncomfortable with his situation. MI6's Quartermaster might not have been physically intimidating if one was judging him by only his physique, but there was definitely something behind those intense green eyes and that unnaturally emotionless tone that said he was not one to be trifled with. Wylder, unfortunately, had trifled.
Any other time and Q might have been pleased to see that he had caused such discomfort in a known criminal by doing little outside of talking, but such small victories left him feeling no joy at the moment, not while Riley was stuck in a hospital bed in an induced coma. Q had waited with the Gates for hours while their friend had undergone highly invasive surgery to repair multiple areas of internal damage, all due to violent acts of sheer blunt trauma. While Riley's lungs had remained miraculously unscathed outside of some bruising beneath the cracked ribs, the blood he had been choking on as Q had held him was the result of several strikes to his abdominal area, critically damaging the soft, relatively unprotected organs underneath.
Riley, in essence, had been slowly drowning on his own blood as his body tried to expel it, and he was too out-of-sorts to prevent himself from breathing it back in.
The thought cast an even darker shadow over Q's features as he set his bag on the table in front of Wylder's cell. The part of him that was trying to tell him that he shouldn't be there, that he should be in the hospital still with his partner, quieted abruptly. Riley's family was at his side, the two of them taking shifts, no doubt, until which time the doctors felt it safe to waken the hacker from his induced state. That could take days, and Q had no intention of just sitting around moping until that happened. Riley was in his sorry state because of Q, he had said as much, and the Quartermaster needed to know why. What had he missed? What was so important about him, specifically, that had resulted in the near-death of his international aide?
A bitter chuckle escaped Q's lips as that last thought struck home. He had borrowed valuable equipment of sorts from another nation, and he would be returning said equipment horribly broken. It seemed he was no better than his own agents in that regard. Perhaps he would go a little easier on them in the future whenever they returned his gear in shambles. Anything more would be hypocritical, given as how he had just successfully mangled a person who was assigned to his care. His 00's would never let him live this down, that much was certain.
Wylder, for his part, sank down more into his chair as he watched the Quartermaster laugh eerily, a dangerous smile teasing his lips as he punched a few keys on his laptop from the safety of the little table outside the glass-enclosed cell. Not two seconds later, there was a slight hissing sound coming from the vent - no visible smoke or anything half as flashy, just enough that Wylder would be aware that Q had done something the terrorist was surely not going to enjoy.
"You should know that I'm down here under my own duress," Q informed his captive with his ongoing nonchalance. "I will not be discovered for as long as I see fit, and neither will you. As far as anyone topside knows, you are sleeping quite peacefully on your cot."
"What are you going to do to me?" Wylder asked in a bit of a panic, his eyes darting from Q to the vent.
The Quartermaster smiled, a full one this time, but no less disturbing than the one he'd been sporting before. "Putting you to sleep, of course. Despite what I do for a living, I don't actually particularly like lying, so I'm merely matching what they see-" he tilted his head slightly towards the cameras, "-to what I see. With the unfortunate exception of the part where you're on the cot. I'm afraid you won't make it that far. Goodnight, Mr. Wylder."
Before Wylder could even form a coherent thought around what Q had just said, he found himself lilting slowly to the side, unable to stop his own body from falling with a muffled thud to the floor. His brain managed to linger for a second on the fact that his clumsy landing hadn't hurt, but that was the last piece of reality he was able to latch onto before he wasn't feeling or seeing anything else at all.