(A/N) Hey! Once again, sorry for the late update. As I said, exams are making it hard for me to be online at times, and going to see the Lion King musical last night didn't help. (It was awesome). Here's a chapter that I know you'll all enjoy, brought to you by the amazing (have I used that adjective recently?) Avalanche Wolf, as always, for Agent Alaska. Personally loved this chapter. Alaska is just such a…psychopath? Something along those lines anyway!

Enjoy!


Chapter Thirty-Three – Loose Tightlip

Agent Alaska

Written by Avalanche Wolf


"It is in my professional opinion, no matter how much the Director disagrees, that the subject is mentally unsound, however, still fit for duty. He seems to find pleasures where a normal person simply would not. The incident with the Insurrectionists is evident enough. But yet...there is a certain strength to him."- From the medical logs of Counselor [LEVEL ZERO CLEARANCE REQUIRED]


Tacky. That's the thought that came to Alaska's mind. The room wasn't all that impressive. He's been in bathrooms that looked better than this. But enough reminiscing. He tried to remember everything that happened. He remembered that they got surrounded. Some guy hit him on the back of the head, about five foot five, brown hair, scar on the right cheek, and everything went black. He woke up with his armour missing and his weapons. The other Freelancers were there as well, all restrained.

Alaska looked around the room again and finally spoke. "This colour is horrid."

York's voice rang out as soon as he heard Alaska's. "Well, it looks like the last of us is awake."

Carolina spoke as well. "I think we have more to worry about than the colour of the room."

Massachusetts moved slightly toward him, leaning in as if examining him. "Are you hurt anywhere?"

Alaska rolled his neck, letting some faint popping sounds come from it. "My head seems to be a bit sore."

Massachusetts sighed and leaned back. "Doesn't seem like a concussion. You should be fine."

Alaska noticed something as she moved away from him. "Those are some pretty nasty cuts you have," he noticed that she looked down to her arm and tried to hide it, almost ashamed. Alaska leaned his head slightly to the side. "Care to tell?"

She almost instantly shook her head. "No. I don't." Personal. That was one of the only reasons. The Innies had evidently already been busy.

The door opened and a pair of Insurrectionists walked in. They grabbed York and left, dragging him out. Alaska sighed. "Interrogation. Or torture. I would say the latter."

Massa looked at him. "What do they want?"

Carolina swiftly answered. "Probably looking for information about us and the project. My question, it was just us four in here. Where's 479er?"

Alaska leaned back. "Separation. Breaks the moral, limits communication, separates command structure, keeps us in line, might make us more compliant."

Massa stared at him. "How do you know that's what it's for?"

Alaska smiled as he looked at her. "Because it's what I would do if I caught you."

After a while, the men brought York back, throwing him onto the floor. He was in bad shape. Barely breathing, bruises and cuts all over him. They must have done a number on him. An example. They didn't really ask him any questions, just beat the shit out of him and tossed him back to break hope. A classic technique. One he used a lot. The men decided it was Alaska's turn. They grabbed him by the arms and lead him out the door.

He didn't think it was possible, and it was very unlikely, but the hallway was even worse than the room he was being kept it. It lacked any colour. Alaska could handle grey, but this hall even lacked that. It was down the hall and the third door on the right. That was where they took him in and chained him to a chair and table. Alaska looked around, observing the room around him with an air of genuine interest. "You guys seriously need to get an interior designer. This place is horrible. Not even grey. I didn't think it was possible."

A large guy with no shirt, or hair walked up and looked down at him. Alaska looked up at him, his face with a slight mix of surprise and shock. "Mr Clean? What are you doing here? I thought you died years ago."

The man hit Alaska in the face. It felt like he just got hit with a dump truck. He shook his head and looked back up at Mr Clean. "This is your first time, right? You never start with the head. That's basics. The victim gets fuzzy after that. Then he can't feel the next hit."

Mr Clean brought his fist down hard on Alaska's arm, but he showed nothing. "You see? It's basics."

The man walked around him. "Who are you with? UNSC? ONI?"

Alaska sighed. "Yes. You caught me. I admit it. I was the second gunman on the grassy knoll."

The man smacked Alaska in the head and kept walking. "That armour we got from you is like SPARTAN armour. Is that what you are? SPARTANS?"

Alaska shook his head. "Spartans? No. I don't like that name. I prefer Centurions, or maybe Samurai." He was struck again as Mr Clean pulled the table away.

"Who is in charge?"

Alaska looked up, his lip bleeding and his eye beginning to swell. "A lovely man. Very inspiring. You might know him. He teaches a lot. His name is Captain. Captain Kangaroo."

Mr. Clean punched Alaska in the chest and grabbed him by the hair. "You better start talking, or I'll rearrange your face."

Alaska looked worried, with a smile. "Oh please don't. Not my face. I have a very important date soon. She's a very classy lady. Already wants to be with me. Speaking of which, I was wondering. How is your sister?"

Button pressed. Mr. Clean lost it. Alaska was being hit one after another. This must have been the guy that worked on York. He finally pulled out a knife and held it to Alaska's throat. "I'm going to fucking kill you! Talk!"

Alaska looked up at him. "You are terrible at this. Your whole technique is horrible. I'll tell you what, when I get out of here, I'll teach you how to properly interrogate someone. You can practice on each other."

Mr. Clean brought his knife back and stabbed Alaska in the gut, twisting the knife before pulling it out.

The knife showed Alaska exactly what this guy was. He was the kind of guy who liked to pull the wings off flies. The kind of guy who was easy to anger, and went blind when he was mad. Alaska was the type who was calm, no matter the situation. Mr Clean was gonna be fun. Very fun in his hands. Secretly, he hoped that the others would catch him and the Director kept him alive. Alaska wanted to have more fun.

"Get this piece of trash out of here. We'll question the others later."

The men grabbed Alaska and pulled him out of the chair and down the horrible hallway again, throwing him into the room with the others. He was moved to a wall and Massa had her hands to her front, using a torn piece of her uniform to make a dressing on his stab wound. "Al, are you alright? You look horrible."

Alaska looked down at her. "It was horrible. It's unimaginable. It's the worst torture in the world. The hallway was worse than this room itself."