Sun filtered through the office blinds in what seemed to the unwilling visitor to be aggressive blades of light. He winced and raised a hand to shade his eyes, half-glaring at his boss lounging in the chair with his tastefully shoed feet crossed on the desk.
"Are you listening to me, Vaas?" Hoyt snapped suddenly, with all the impatience of an agitated headmaster. The young pirate raised an eyebrow, his headache intensifying with every small movement.
"Of course. What do you think I am, fucking retarded?" He grumbled.
"What I'm saying is that you've done such good work for me over the last couple of years." Hoyt rested his fingertips together with an amiable smile, eyes darting over Vaas' attire. The red wifebeater and blue trousers his subordinate always wore were filthy and his Mohawk was drooping slightly, the shaved sides getting a little long and tufted. A bad couple of weeks with the acid, as far as Hoyt could guess. "This is a little unusual of me but do hear me out." He raised a finger. "I propose a reward. No, shh." He gestured at Vaas roughly when he opened his mouth to talk. "Let me finish. A product handpicked by myself for you. To do with as you wish."
Vaas narrowed his eyes and cocked his head, trying to quench his usual annoyance at Hoyt's sing-song South African accent in favour of interest at his offer.
"Okay, I'll hear this out."
"Of course you will. A wonderful arrangement, at severe personal cost to me, mind you. This one may have fetched me quite the pretty penny so I do trust you'll enjoy yourself." Hoyt busied himself with various papers and waved a hand dismissively. "You may pick him up on your way out."
Vaas paused as he was rising from his chair and his boss raised an eyebrow, daring the young Hispanic man to say a word. "Is there a problem, Vaas?"
"No boss. Thank you boss." Vaas bowed extravagantly and strode from the office with more force than was necessary, taking the time to slam his hand into the face of one of his boss' soldiers, sending the startled figure crashing into a wall. His comrades stopped Vaas at the door of the building, wordlessly steering a figure in a hood and trussed up with cable ties towards him.
The boy- for he wasn't much of a man, Vaas decided, such a skinny little runt- made no sound or movement, so he must have been imported. Tame. He clicked his tongue, thoroughly bored with the whole affair, and grabbed the boy by the arm, tugging him roughly into the sun.
Several hours later, that same unrelenting heat and light was dying down over the trees of the jungle, staining the sky and sea shimmering hues of pink and orange. Vaas sat enjoying a joint and a beer in the last light of the evening as it cast a spotlight on himself and the boy through the windows of his den. The pirate reclined on the piled up mattresses, porn, sport and music playing soundlessly on the various televisions lying around. He hadn't removed the hood, it only just occurring to him that his charge likely hadn't eaten or had a drink for a while before he'd picked him up. With a grudging slope in his shoulders he suddenly abandoned his substances and drew his machete, cutting through the cable tie around the boy's neck. The plastic gave almost instantly and snapped off. With a flourish, Vaas tugged the black sack away and tossed it aside, getting to work on the ones around the boy's wrists.
"What is your name." He demanded quietly. A pair of wide green eyes, unfocussed slightly by pain and hunger, rose timidly through a slightly dirty and matted fringe of peroxide blonde hair and auburn roots that showed through neglect. A snub freckled nose wrinkled at the unwashed scents of Vaas' and his own body as the boy licked his dry lips and rubbed at the slices in his wrist from the makeshift bonds.
"Corey." His voice wavered. "My name is Corey." His accent was high English, clear as a bell and perfectly enunciated. Vaas backhanded him roughly and grabbed his slightly sallow cheeks.
"No it's not. You don't have a name until I give you one, and I might never want to. You got it? You are nameless." He brought his face closer to Corey's terrified features. "You are nothing. Without me, you have no name, no identity. Do you understand me?" Corey nodded, bobbing his head as quickly as the question was asked. "I'm glad we understand each other, hermano." Vaas shoved him away, walking back over to the mattress and picking up the half-empty beer bottle. He advanced on Corey, who cringed away, and placed it in front of him. "Thirsty? Drink." The boy's pale, shaking fingers reached out, earning a swift kick from Vaas' laced boots. The third knuckle of Corey's right hand dislocated, drawing a wail of pain from him as he clutched it. "What do you fucking say?" Vaas suddenly exploded. "Huh? What do you fucking say?" He raised a fist as though to strike the boy.
"P-please! Thank you!" Corey yelped, raising his arm over his face as some way of protection. Vaas sneered and struck him anyway, a loose but harsh cuff around the head.
"You're nothing." He repeated, and stormed from the den, leaving Corey to grab the bottle like a starving dog does a bone and drink down the remaining liquid, some dribbling past his eager lips to drip to the filthy floor.