"You're going to get me in REALLY big trouble, Sean." The walls were whitewashed and bright, clean as a whistle and drab as all hell. The long corridor resembled what a toothpaste box might look like from the inside, in shape and almost complete featurelessness. Tiled floors, flourescent lights, the deliberate lack of decoration; the architecture of convalescence. "Not if you hurry the fuck up so I can get in already." Two armed guards flanked the office table that sat at one end of the lit hallway. In between them was a heavy steel door with a rotating lock reminiscent of a bank vault's. The dull hum of medical equipment and airconditioning could be heard from behind it. "You really shouldn't rag on me on THIS one, pal-- it's compulsory. No exceptions, not even for you, Sean." Two more men were standing in the corridor, both of them to the front of the office desk. Piece by piece, a small pile of assorted items began to grow on the polished surface of the table, an amalgam of small things that fit in a pocket; car keys, matches, business cards, a bar napkin with a lipstick smear and a number on it. "GOD, but you're a slob, Sean. And I thought you quit smoking?" "Hey, if I need my personal hygiene criticized, I'll call home, 'kay? And why do you have to take my pen, too? How am I supposed to write important shit down? It's not like I'm gonna stab her to death with a goddamned Parker ballpoint." "Oh, it's not HER I'm worried about..." A large, burly man in the white smock of hospital orderlies took his hands out of a smaller man's coat. The smaller man put his arms down and eyed a large item lying on the desk. Afterwards, he glanced at the pile of smaller objects beside it. "So THAT'S where my library card went." "You've got an hour. If anything happens in there, we'll know it, we'll get in, throw YOU out and lock it all up. Clear?" "You'd just better have all my stuff here when I get back." "I'm not interested in your fucking Lifesavers, Sean." "Fair enough." As the sentries began to work on the door mechanism, Sean Willis had some time to reflect on the circumstances that brought him here, a rueful smirk on his rugged face. This would be the second time in a week he'd be visiting someone through favors. Someone in a hospital bed. Someone who might know what the hell was going on out there. He sincerely hoped this didn't portent some kind of new trend for him. Well, at least this time, there was a distinct difference. His witness wasn't about to die. The reflective metal portal opened, revealing a small chamber almost as barren as the corridor that led to it. There was a chair and a small table. There was a flimsy wheeled cart with medical electronics on top, along with random implements the functions of which he could only make a vague guess at. And in the center of the room, pushed against the far wall, was a bed. On it was a body strapped across the chest and arms, the waist, hips, and feet with thick loops of leather secured by metal bolts to a solid iron bedframe. A head was propped up slightly by a single pillow, a head topped with rich, dark black hair. A head with an exotic face that stared balefully out at the detective as he stepped inside. Sean immediately knew what the look in those muddy brown eyes was. He had seen it regularly in the eyes of the various perps he had busted himself. He had seen it all too many times in the faces of smalltime criminals, those law-abiding members of community who had strayed but once, at the cost of the hope of ever being successful in a society that would condemn them forever-- jilted lovers turned frustrated murderers; spontaneous drug users; the odd embezzler or two. Mostly, it was the look he saw in the expressions of those who had placed their lots against the odds, those who had pitted their all against fate... ... and had lost. It was the look of defeat.    tHe bLacK pAcK    Part 9, Day 15: The Fallen   impro begun by MtB; 7/22/2-7/25/2 herein continued by same; 3/26/3-4/1/3 the canon alternate to the April Fool's Day Special-- got you good, didn't I? XD   "Well... fancy meeting you here." The joke fell flat in the buzzing room. The woman on the bed curled her lip slightly, but otherwise didn't respond to the attempt at humor. Sean smiled a little, shaking his head and scratching the back of his neck as he walked over to the chair by the side of the bed. When he dropped himself on it, the woman's eyes stopped tracking him and a resigned air seemed to take over; she rolled her head to the opposite side, as if to dismiss the officer. Unperturbed, Sean made himself comfortable. "So I suck at small talk, okay?" he said casually, leaning on his knees. "We both know I'm here to have some questions answered. Let's start with names. What's yours?" The woman remained silent, faced away from Sean. She looked small in the plain, sky blue hospital clothes that she had been made to wear. "Well, shit. I forgot my manners," Sean sighed, rubbing at his chin absently. He wasn't exactly clean shaven at the moment, but he'd tried his best. It was kinda hard seeing to one's physical appearance when juggling both legitimate cases he was officially handling, AND cases he was *unofficially* handling at the same time, but Sean believed he was doing fairly well, considering. He grinned bemusedly and went on. "Good morning-- I'm Detective Sean Willis. A couple of days ago, my boss, the local chief of police, was asking about you, seeing as that I was the one who first brought you in. To be honest, I didn't know shit about you, but I guess it was my mouth that made O'Neil go through the roof more than anything else." He chuckled softly and then continued. "I'm not even supposed to be here, not really-- after you escaped, you weren't my concern anymore, as far as jurisdiction goes." Sean paused for a moment, as if in thought. His eyes ventured upwards, towards the ceiling. "I guess my interest goes a little further than jurisdiction." Sean leaned over closer, eyeing his interviewee for any sign of a reaction. He found none. Undaunted, he pushed on. "Strangely enough, not a day after you broke out, you were found once again at a major crime scene... the Garamond and Slate office complex, to be specific. Once again, you're surrounded by bodies, most of which you weren't even responsible for this time." Sean drew in a breath, eyes fixed on the thick roll of bandaging that covered the woman's exposed neck. "And once again, you were found half dead, sprawled on the mat like Foreman after Ali was through with him." Sean felt gratified when the woman finally turned her head to stare at him expressionlessly again. He suppressed a smile of triumph and inched closer to catch anything the woman might want to say. "Struck a nerve, did I?" he asked quietly, goading the woman to speech. They stared at each other for a while, casually, as if they were old friends or acquaintances. "Sean Willis, yes?" the woman asked after a moment, her voice steady and surprisingly amiable. "It's on my birth certificate," Sean quipped. The woman smiled. "Fuck off, Sean Willis." At that, she turned her head again, discouraging further questions with a finality that seemed specifically engineered to rankle the cop in the room. Sean leaned back on his chair and sighed. "Guys at the precinct DID say you were quite the charmer," he mumbled sarcastically, referring to the men who'd first interrogated the black- haired woman at the city P.D. Her answers to their questions had been terse and unhelpful, calculated to aggravate and irritate. Disgusted, they'd finally thrown her into the penitentiary, where she could cool her heels a bit before round two. They never did get that second go. For a few seconds, neither of them broke the relative silence of the room. Sean looked about among the bleak furnishings of the chamber for something interesting to look at and failed. Grunting, he took a cigarette out of his vest and held it up before the woman on the bed. She didn't look. "Looks like Kyle missed one," he said with a self-satisfied air before sticking the filter in between his lips. He instinctively reached into his coat pocket for a lighter before stopping short when he remembered that his Zippo lay on the desk outside. "Fuck," Sean cursed under his breath as he patted himself in places where he might be carrying a match or two. "It'd just figure that I can't LIGHT the damn thing..." Sean swore and gave up. "That's a filthy habit," came the leaden voice from where Sean's new best friend was lying. Sean blinked a couple of times before his brain even registered that the prisoner had spoken. It took a few more seconds for him to come up with something else to say. Snatching the cigarette from his mouth, he cleared his throat in embarrassment a little before going on. "Well, yeah... I suppose. One of the nastier things I picked up when growing up on the streets," he said apologetically, though unable to hide the elation he felt at the prospect that he was finally getting somewhere. "So... feel ready to give me your name?" Sean was no stranger to the workings of the underworld, and it wouldn't be the first time he'd encounter the words he'd be hearing next, but still... It sent a small chill down his spine. "What does it matter now? I am a dead woman in any case," said the person on the bed. There was no remorse or bitterness in her tone-- only a dead surety that made Sean shudder. She turned her head to face him, dark eyes half-lidded, her exotic face devoid of emotion. "I am Akiko." "Hello, Akiko," Sean said seriously. "Is there any more to it?" "Even if I HAD a family name, your police net would not have my bio on file," Akiko sniffed, some of her innate arrogance resurfacing. "No, there isn't any more to it. I was an orphan. It is just 'Akiko'." "Fair enough," Sean said in a satisfied voice, putting his cigarette back in his mouth. Even if he couldn't light it, chewing on it helped. "But orphans have files, too, you know." "I was never institutionalized," was the calm response. "What did you hope to find out from questioning me? Or are you really just here for my personal history?" Sean grinned amusedly. "You're as sharp as a regular razor, aren't you?" he drawled. The police officer took a long, smokeless drag from his unlit stick, grimaced, and then went on. "Okay then... riddle me this, Akiko-- what happened at Venkman's and Garamond and Slate's?" "What did you find?" Akiko asked warily, looking at Sean with narrow eyes and tightened lips. Sean shrugged. "YOU tell ME." A silent standoff of sorts uncurled before them with exquisite slowness and charged tension. Akiko's stare was infinitely deep and strangely disconcerting, what with her focused beauty and features that seemed hardened by a hard life. Willis, however, was a tougher cookie than most-- he held her gaze easily, his pale blue eyes as chips of bright azure. Momentarily, it was Akiko who spoke first. Her voice smouldered as she related her tale, making Sean wonder if she really was as despondent as he'd first made her out to be. "I'd been tracking a particularly interesting set of quarry for the past few months. One man among them, I kept my eye on especially-- his skills are... legendary in my line of work." She stared at Sean as if daring him to respond. "There ARE no legends in my line of work," Akiko said in between clenched teeth. Sean swallowed, remembering the clean, almost undetectable job that had been done on Venkman and the poor saps at the Riot. He remembered wondering what the needles had been for when he'd first found Akiko. The autopsy stopped his wondering pretty soon afterwards. He nodded respectfully. Akiko's head sank back onto her pillow, and she said the rest staring up at the ceiling. "Venkman was a favor I did for an old friend. The dancing scum in the Riot were of no consequence," she said, as if reading Sean's mind. Her eyes narrowed into slits. "The man I wanted... was more difficult than I had earlier anticipated." She closed her eyes as if pained. She went on, voice level, but with suppressed emotion underneath the surface. "At first, I was able to rationalize my loss... convince myself that I had merely underestimated him the first time, that fully prepared and on even ground, I could win. That I could... I could..." She trailed off, making Sean strain to hear the next few words. "... that I could get a second chance," she whispered, eyes opening slowly. Again, the beaten look seeped into them, draining the life out of them, making them no more substantial than a doll's glass eyes. "There is no mistaking the outcome. Even WITH that infernal suit, I wasn't able to overcome a simple man who uses simple weaponry and even simpler methods. I am not fit to live." Willis frowned slightly when it seemed that she was through talking. "What? Is that it? What about the heavy weaponry we found in the Riot? The smuggled goods? The crystal meth lab under the office complex? The GODDAMNED giant *tank*!?" "I have told you all I will," Akiko said in a low growl. "Those other matters do not concern me." Sean fell back on his chair and ran a hand through his uncombed hair in exasperation. He sighed deeply, benign cigarette still dangling from his mouth. Idly, he wondered how long he'd been in there already. The minutes ticked past, but Akiko appeared to have said her piece and Sean seemed to be thinking deeply about something. He fixed his eyes on the tray on the medical cart beside his seat. Gauze scissors, syringes, bandages, clamps... "You're in... a rather difficult position, Miss Akiko." She didn't answer. Sean licked his lips. "No one's seen it done around here before... the whole needles bit, I mean... but the guys at forensics'll link it to you soon enough, I imagine. And it doesn't help that murder is still murder, no matter how fancy you do it." Akiko said nothing. "Let's review what we have on our hands, shall we? The Riot empties at a disturbance that sounded like a high-cal weapon, according to reports from the eyewitnesses. Police arrive there to find ten casualties aside from yourself-- six civilians, three of the Riot's best guns, and Venkman himself. Only the three bodyguards died of fatal gunshot wounds. We didn't find anyone at Garamond and Slate's dead from tiny puncture wounds in key organs... but there IS still the matter of the female guard at the temporary holding cell facility." He smiled without humor. "The DA can put you away for a VERY long time, Akiko." He blinked with a sudden realization. "Not that I'm threatening you or anything," he added hastily. "I'm just saying that I know the district attorney-- Clementine's a good girl, but she isn't exactly what you would call a very forgiving person... "I do know this, though-- the courts'll be lenient to whomever helps them bag bigger fish. What I'm saying is--" "You want me to enter the witness program," Akiko finished for him. "Mr. Willis... even IF I wasn't shamed and disgraced before my friends' and my own eyes, what makes you think for a moment that I would help you destroy my allies?" "Hey, don't think of it as helping to destroy your allies... it's more like saving your own hide." Akiko snorted amusedly, a wry smile forming on her lips. "There IS no saving myself, Sean Willis." She looked away, turned her gaze to the door but not seeing it. Her mind was elsewhere, outside of the four white walls. "Circumstance and caprice may have saved me once again, but that does not change the fact that I am a dead woman. They will come for me soon." "It's Lord Forsythe, am I right?" Akiko whirled towards Sean as if stung, eyes wide with surprise. Sean smirked. He breathed deeply of the menthol and tobacco he could barely taste through the cigarette wrapping, tantalizingly close and yet so far away. "Sounds to me like he's not a very good friend at all."  All Jamie knew was that they kept medicine here. It was a sweet job for the graveyard shift, really. He hardly ever slept nights anyway, so manning the register at the funky new clinic was the perfect job for him. It was almost ten in the evening, and only two people had shown up-- the doctor in attendance, and some cop who didn't want to be logged (five bucks kept the fellow's name off the books well enough). And that was during his peak hour. Jamie sat back and relaxed, already looking forward to another night of uneventful reading and TV viewing. Looking after medicine and medical equipment that more or less looked after themselves. Could there be any better way to earn fifty big ones a night? A group of men had just entered the lobby. Jamie stood up and tried to look as businesslike as he could. "Excuse me, gentlemen? May I help you?" His answer came in a sudden spray of semiautomatic fire that shattered the monitors behind his station, ripped through his cushioned swivel chair, and made him jitter and dance like a twitching marionette. The group of men, about four or five of them in all, were all dressed in what looked like a variation of SWAT equipment with their ammo belts and knives, their goggles, the loose black overalls, and the small arms slung over their shoulders. As they strode past, Jamie had only one thing on his mind even as he lay there behind his station, bleeding slowly to death. He would be okay, wouldn't he? He was going to be okay. They kept medicine here.  Visible anger and contempt played over Akiko's features. "What do YOU know about Lord Forsythe? You are but NOTHING to him! He--" A faint sound had cut through the din of the airconditioning and the dull humming of the machines in the room. It sounded like gravel being stepped on, or popping corn. Or submachinegun fire. "They're here," Akiko said, returning to a state of calm. Ricochets whined off steel from just outside. Garbled screams and louder weapons fire drowned out every other noise completely. Sean rose swiftly from his seat, brow creased. He rushed to the door and yanked it open to see three men in black reloading from the opposite end of the corridor. They spotted Sean as he dove for the overturned desk. "Shit, there's someone else in there," Sean heard one curse. "There were only supposed to be three guards--" Kyle was lying facedown on the floor, and blood was staining his shirt. One of the guards had slumped over the chair, while the other was leaning against the wall, staring lifelessly at the ceiling. A large red smear, stark against the white of the walls, was spread behind his hair. Willis fought down an urge to gag. He shoved Kyle's body aside and found what he was looking for. "WHO GIVES A FUCK!?" came the roar from another of the men. "He's--" "Hey, shitheads." Sean was standing in full view behind the desk. His cigarette was lit. In his hands he held a cocked and ready Ingram Mac-10. "Not exactly standard issue," he drawled, blowing out a plume of smoke from between his pressed lips. "But it works." Sean's first volley hit one of the men below the knees, making the man fall screaming to the ground. After a moment's shock however, the other two quickly brought their weapons to bear and began firing. Even the fellow on the floor wasn't completely out of commission-- from his place, he tried his best to aim at Sean and managed to get a few bursts out, forcing Sean to retreat. "Fuckers're pros," Sean muttered under his breath, muscling the door closed behind him. He looked in Akiko's direction as he changed his weapon's clip. "Friends of yours?"  "Get that fucking thing open RIGHT NOW!" The door inched open with a protesting squeal. One of the men grabbed something from his belt and pulled the pin before tossing it inside the room. A bright white flash silhouetted the figures outside for a splitsecond before the sudden light vanished. The lead man nodded, and another took point, placing a foot inside the room and then pushed the door aside with his shoulder, weapon raised. Durable suture twine, tied to one of the door's handles from the inside, tightened at the movement, jerked the trigger of the rigged Ingram secured to the bedpost. The muzzle belched fire and the burst managed to hit home at the man's chest before going wide and pouring lead into unyielding steel. The stricken man tumbled back just as the man behind him kicked the door hard inwards, yanking the boobytrapped Ingram from its perch. He shoved his comrade down and stepped inside training his weapon at the side of the bed, behind the chair and the steel cart where their lone assailant was expectedly hiding. Sean wasn't there. The lying figure on the bed suddenly sat bolt upright, throwing the white blanket it had had on top of it. Rid of the sheet, Sean's dark brown coat, messy hair, and stubbly jaw were plain to see. And so was the Colt 45 he held in one hand. "AH, SHI--" The automatic pistol barked and two .45 centimeter slugs smashed into the man in black with enough force to throw him backwards a few inches before he tripped over his friend and was sent sprawling. The third man leaned aside to avoid getting knocked over. He grinned from underneath his suit mask and goggles-- the rigged Ingram had been disabled; Willis was wide open and defenseless on the bed. He moved in for the kill, uzi chattering evilly. Sean leapt aside, grabbing the metal medicine tray on the cart beside the bed and then hurling it at the oncoming assassin. The fighter raised his arm to deflect it, and it smacked against him flatly, obscuring his sight. The small distraction prevented his strafe from reaching Sean-- the detective knelt from beside the bed, arms over the chair, firing at the intruder through the thin aluminum tray. With a final gurgle, the third hitman collapsed in a heap on top of the rest of his beaten strike team. Sean ejected his clip and reloaded. He bent over slightly to peer at the shape underneath the bed. "You okay down there?" he asked. Akiko shoved the man aside and crawled out on all fours. She rose slowly, dusting herself off and looking a little indignant. "I do not see the point," she muttered. "If they know my whereabouts, they won't stop until they kill me. You merely delay the inevitable." "Hey, *I* thought I did pretty good," Sean shot back, miffed. "And why are you so EFFING sure that they'll kill you, huh?" Akiko lifted her head so that she was staring straight at Sean. Still slouching slightly, she drew her arm across her chest and whipped it forwards in a powerful one-armed throw. "JESUS!" Sean cried, ducking. A few meters behind him, in the corridor, the first man in a black SWAT suit, the one Sean shredded at the knees, dropped his raised carbine to claw futilely at his throat, where what looked like half an injection was jutting out of. "Because," Akiko began, drawing her arm across her chest again. "Lord Forsythe sends people like ME." Without looking, she whipped her arm outwards again. A fifth man in the hall appeared to suddenly grow a pair of gauze scissors from the right lens of his goggles. His head jerked backwards as he staggered in a final paroxysm and then thudded on the floor. "This was merely the advance party," Akiko told the blinking Sean, who was whirling about in an unsuccessful bid to stare at both her and the dead man in the hallway at the same time. "They're mostly just to know where I am generally located." She regarded Sean gravely. "He WILL kill me." "But you don't want to die," Sean said, glancing pointedly at the cooling corpse outside. Akiko stared at the floor. "I don't know." Sean picked his Ingram up, checked it for damage, nodded, and then readied it. He slipped it inside his coat before double checking the pistol in his hand. "Can we expect any more of these jokers?" "If the advance party fails, he will send one of the liquidation teams next in a day or two. A week perhaps. However, I doubt he will depend on them entirely. In case they fail as well, he will already have somebody... special... standing by. "Maybe I want to die. Maybe I do not. The matter is moot." Her eyes flashed. "If I somehow manage to escape the teams, he will send the Bishop." "Perfect," Sean sighed deeply, exhaling grayish fumes. He flicked his cigarette butt away, done with it. "I haven't had confession in years."   Author's Notes  'The Bishop' is, of course, a referrence to the strangely contrived chess board mentioned in Part 6, 'White Lady, Dark Lady'. I advise future authors to feel free with their interpretation of the Bishop's appearance and abilities, as long as they remember to stick at least tangentially to previously established contexts. Give him a gimmick of sorts, a strange weapon, or a strange new way of using an old one. A chess bishop moves diagonally on squares of a single color. Perhaps something can be derived from that. ^_- (NOTE: 'Strange' must NOT be construed as: metallic tentacles of doom, flying killer robot drones, cybernetic implants, etc. Rather, I recommend the following-- turn of the century firearm, such as a Thompson submachinegun; double-barreled, pump action rifle; chains; a knife with no handle; etc. Think Trigun or the similar. ^_^) I neglected to explain something rather impro-tant in my last Author's Notes section, so if you will indulge me, I will do it here. I have to say, the current pace of the BP leaves me quite satisfied-- happy, even. Even if this had won as a limited term impro, the present run of things almost *promises* to bring the whole thing full circle in one or two more full queues of authors. Now, this would be perfectly fine, except that it won as a *Regular* starter, meaning that its projected life expectancy is... well, supposed to be a little longer. As it stands, each Black Pack episode is action-packed, funny, and even manages to advance the plot almost EVERYTIME... something almost unheard of for an impro. Written properly, a few more parts and the damn thing's finished. However, as it IS a Regular Starter, I thought it fair to add something to maybe slow it down a bit-- hence, the introduction of Remy's bizarre chessboard. Not that I mind it finishing early, though. ^_^ The chessboard was specifically tailored to be non-restrictive-- there can be more than one Queen, more than two Rooks, a complete absence of Horses, or what have you. The point is that it'll encourage a kind of order in the opponents sequentially presented to the BP. Not that this'll become a villain-of-the-week thing. It'll be more like a villain-of-the-month thing, with major battles interspersed in between by smaller encounters with your generic hoodlum armies, that kind of thing. This can't go on for too long, though-- Remy'll be fed up sooner or later and, who knows? Multiple chess pieces simultaneously? Ooooohhh, the possibilities. ^____^ Now, at this juncture, one might be thinking that I, in some way, seriously predetermine the plot flow of the Black Pack by saying all these here-- because I am. I think it's a necessary evil. The past has taught me that, more often than not, people want to KNOW. Keeping silent will usually result only in misinterpretation, and you know where THAT leads. Everything I say here, like the part itself, is just something for you to chew on-- it's up to you if you want to swallow. So, here's a few more things for your palate. Akiko is now an outcast of sorts from Remy's circle-- will she attempt to regain her sempai's trust? Or will she rediscover her human side with the aid of the rough, tough Sean Willis? Heehee. XD The part previous, while nicely written, commits a small continuity inconsistency-- it mentioned Akiko with a crossbow. The logic is easily understandable, of course-- having a crossbow would lend believability to Akiko's choice of weapon. Interesting to note here is that when conceptualizing the whole 'needle throwing' schtick, even *I* thought it was somewhat of a stretch... until I was told about a short feature on Star World. Apparently, they were interviewing a former Chinese assassin who utilized-- get this-- ordinary *needles* to take out his targets. They asked him for a demonstration and, old as the fellow was, he managed to throw from a considerable distance, a single needle almost straight through a thick pane of glass. So, yeah, I'd say a crossbow would be unnecessary. ;D I have to apologize for skirting mention of the Black Pack itself in this part, though. I have to admit that the more difficult challenge in writing for this impro is figuring out two things-- what Foster's bound to do next, and more importantly, his motives for doing what he does. Having my hands empty in that regard, I decided to just expand on an idea I had, which, I think, was more than enough for a single part anyway. =p For those of you who join us late, this part was finished at the same time as an April Fool's Day part, a part which was displayed for public consumption a few days prior to the posting of this actual part. The spoof part can now be seen in the Omake section of the page. Lawrence Chu, you rock. I couldn't have done this dastardly deed without you. XD ... but it'd just FIGURE if people like the gag part better than this actual part. XD Godspeed! -MtB  The Black Pack was the furthest thing from his mind. Contrary to popular belief, syndicate heads did not spend the majority of their time plotting the demises of their adversaries. It'd only make sense that to remain syndicate heads, they would have to... well.. head their syndicates. Remy read through the display on his laptop with sleepy eyes. The lethargic demeanor belied swift calculation, sharp analysis, and a penchant for ruthless sacrifice. Behind him was a large ovoid chamber. It was metallic, sealed, with a locked door on one side. The porthole revealed a hollow interior painted in bright white. Inside was a man. He appeared to be screaming. Remy took note of the condensed status updates from the more critical nodes of a control network that spanned the country. It was as he had hoped-- the effect that Foster and his group had on operations was minimal, and mostly localized. This was good. A hobby must never interfere with one's responsibilities. If anything, the effects that had managed to ripple through to the rest of the Maccivelli was largely beneficient. Everyone was terrified of being sent for the Demon next. And Remy knew that fear was on of the finest goads for productivity ever devised by man. Among others. The man inside the eggshell prison behind him had been known to be fearless, unblanching in the face of death and severe pain. He would not talk. Only dimly acknowledging the agonized cries behind him with his conscious thought, Remy adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose and reflected that pain seldom really had to be severe to get results. The unfortunate fellow had made the mistake of acting as a double agent for one of the Maccivelli's competitors abroad. The usual methods hadn't worked-- the name of his employers would not be beaten out of him. He had no family, no friends, no fiancees to hold over his head. There was simply no way to get the information out of him normally. So he had been sent to Forsythe. It had been almost a week now. A little more time-- a day or two perhaps-- and he would be ready. Forsythe was patient. He was in no hurry. Whoever sent the man would still be there in three days' time. The agent had laughed at first. The pressurized little chamber was supposed to make him cower!?, he had demanded. Well, he said, he would play their little game. He wasn't afraid of a little buzzing in his ears. Remy made a quick mathematical sorting as he scrolled up and down, clicked, and read. He'd been increasing the pressure ever so slightly in the chamber everyday for the past few days. The buzzing would have evolved to an unbearably constant droning by now. "PLEASE, GOD! MAKE IT STOP! I'LL TALK, DAMN YOU! JUST LET ME OUT OF HERE!" Remy paused in his work and smiled. Sometimes, all it took was a little subtlety.