Chapter Six

Dialogue

Uploaded on 3/13/07

Life for upper class field agents was not one of stability; whether they lived on the compound -- which was the case for most people who'd lost everything during the war -- or had their own home on the outside, they very rarely were there for any extended period of time. Locations of assignments varied and it was not uncommon to find yourself in California one day before being flown out to South Africa the next. There was a saying that every rookie was told before they officially began their training: "There are three things that become very important to an agent when they're out on the field; e-mail because you'll never have access to a safe phone line on the outside, coffee because you'll never have time to sleep, and hookers because you'll never have a real relationship again." Most people didn't take the warning seriously but after a year, assuming one went up in rank; the reality of the situation became very apparent.

Despite the fact that he was anything but a rule-abiding agent, Sin was a class ten which was the highest rank an agent could achieve; and he'd lived the reality of the field agent lifestyle since he was fourteen years old. However, he'd never found himself afflicted with the anxiety and stress that other agents always became plagued with. He'd never had or wanted a relationship of any kind and the lack of a stable home had never particularly bothered him. After coming to the Agency following his father's death he'd been taken on as a ward of General Carhart; due to his age they'd mistakenly considered him a child who needed to be watched over. However, as he grew older his behavior became more erratic and the administration began to consider him a threat; downtime between missions had found him locked in a cell in the detention facility where he was monitored at all times.

He didn't know why they'd decided to change their method this time around; perhaps because of the collar he wore or the fact that his entire apartment was most likely under surveillance at all times. Maybe they felt safe in the knowledge that one way or another, with as little as the click of a button, they could have him under control. The amusing thing about the situation was that the only time they truly needed to 'control' him in the compound, the only time he flew into a rage and became the violent monster they feared, was when someone actively went out of their way to physically or verbally attack him.

Sin wandered around the large, empty apartment with his hands stuffed into his back pockets. He gazed emotionlessly at the blank, white walls and reflected on his current situation; the irony of it did not escape him.

They kept him on as an assassin yet they feared him because he was too good of a killer. They'd bestowed the top rank on him at the age of fifteen but then they'd decided that he was mentally unstable for being so adept at murder at such a young age. They told him how valuable he was to them because of his skill and lack of curiosity or opinion of their methods, but then they locked him in a square box barely big enough for him to stand in, drugged and chained with an IV and a toilet, whenever he 'acted out.' Of course the use of the box as opposed to a real cell was a fairly recent development but he hardly understood how they expected him to be mentally stable when they constantly put him in situations that caused him to lose control. He wasn't particularly in denial about the state of his mental health but he didn't feel the need to take pills and categorize himself, especially since none of their ridiculous doctors understood his condition.

First, they'd said he was a sociopath or had an antisocial personality, unable to feel emotions and therefore unable to empathize with anyone else, which they claimed explained his behavior and complete lack of remorse. Then of course they'd witnessed the episodes and decided that he suffered from DID; child abuse caused him to become another person when he was in danger and that explained his sudden, violent behavior when threatened. Then he'd been schizophrenic, bipolar or a combination of both as they struggled to fit him into one of their labels, failing every time. Of course his lack of cooperation didn't help at all and he began making things up when in therapy just to see what they would call him next. He was still waiting for the day when they claimed he had postpartum depression; it was the only thing they hadn't diagnosed him with yet.

No, the irony did not escape him at all, but he felt no particular reason to change anything because most of the time he simply did not care. He did what he was meant to do, he did what his father trained him to do, and that was all there was to it. He didn't require the comforts or companionship that other people did and therefore their punishments didn't particularly faze him.

Or at least, that had been the case before the introduction of the box.

It was such a simple tool, yet his severe claustrophobia, the chink in his armor, turned it into unbearable torture.

In some ways his apartment reminded him of the box. The walls were blank and white and despite the fact that it was very spacious, he felt caged. There were times when he'd wander around aimlessly, almost enjoying the feel of the carpet between his toes, but then he'd imagine Marshal Connors or General Carhart watching him and the brief pleasure would quickly disappear.

In reality, he had almost no use for most of the space. He didn't use the bedroom due to his paranoia of sleeping so far from the door, and the kitchen was pointless since his main sources of nourishment typically came from vending machines. Despite that there was still something interesting about having his own quarters and he found some peace in the isolation and the silence of it.

Sin stopped pacing and stood beside a large bullet proof window that spanned an entire wall, staring outside as he waited for his babysitter to arrive. In all honesty, he was surprised that they'd actually followed his advice about choosing Boyd for his partner. His past partners had been abrasive field agents with more testosterone than brains; instead of seeing Sin as a partner they'd seen him as their pet that they could control or abuse at will. It hadn't been particularly surprising to him; he knew most people thought of him as an animal and he knew that Connors didn't go out of his way to disillusion people about the fact that he was neither a serial killer nor a rapist, as the local police had claimed. He was far beyond caring about anyone's opinion of him or even trying to explain himself, but he only put up with so much before snapping and becoming the thing they claimed he was. He didn't expect anything else from people and he didn't think this situation would be any different.

However, there was something interesting about the Beaulieu kid. His empty gaze and seeming lack of emotions had almost reminded Sin of himself. His actions and reactions during their brief meeting had served to put him on an entirely different level than past candidates but Sin wasn't entirely sure what that level was.

Despite Boyd's fragile and almost feminine appearance, he was surprisingly strong and capable. He didn't seem to be easily intimidated but that could be due his apparent disinterest in the world around him. While he did not appear overly critical of the Agency, he seemed to find their methods of handling Sin distasteful and there had been a couple of times when it'd seemed as though he were acting in Sin's defense. Boyd's lack of fear regarding his job and partner led Sin to believe that the kid was either completely apathetic about his own welfare, he didn't believe the rumors surrounding Sin, or both.

Either way, Sin was almost curious about Boyd and wanted to know what made the kid tick. He wanted to know what would make him angry or scared, how far he could be pushed before losing his grip on the control he had of himself, how long he'd last before falling into the behavior patterns that everyone else was so prone to. Sin wasn't often intrigued but the first time he'd seen Boyd, the odd one out of the candidate pool, he'd wanted to know more. Wanting to know more, however, did not equate to wanting a partner. Sin neither needed nor wanted a Tactician and he enjoyed being alone. His interest in Boyd was like the interest a child had in a strange, new bug; he wanted to trap Boyd under his magnifying glass and poke him until he figured him out, and the easiest way to do that was for him to temporarily be in Sin's presence.

He hadn't picked Boyd because he thought they would make a good team; he picked him because he was the only one of the bunch who could provide him with any entertainment during this probationary period. During the brief time he intended to spend in Boyd's presence, Sin did not plan to make himself vulnerable to him at all. Despite the fact that his behavior differed from everyone else, he was still a Beaulieu, still worked for the Agency and was still not to be trusted. Since trusting Boyd was not an option, cooperation wasn't either.

Sin continued to gaze out at the dust colored fog that permanently shrouded the sky and wondered if there was some specific time table on their first assignment. As usual, he hadn't read the entirety of the mission outline but Boyd was supposed to pick him up at some point that morning. It was their first official assignment together and it would only take them eighty miles outside the city limits where they would negotiate with one of the many post-war political factions. Negotiate was the PC term for it, anyway. "Silencing" would be a more effective expression if the group did not end their campaign to "expose" the Agency and partner themselves with Janus.

A black Audi A4 Saloon pulled up outside the gates, the driving fast and precise. After a moment of idling, a lanky blond all in black stepped out and turned to survey the building. He was far away but it still seemed as if he stared directly at Sin's window. He flashed a white ID card on a lanyard at the guards and strolled into the gates that opened before him. His hands disappeared into his long black trench coat, and Sin was able to watch as he disappeared into the building's front door. It would only be a matter of time before he appeared.

Sin crossed the apartment in three longs strides and exited quickly, leaning against the door as he waited for the boy to appear. He heard the lock click and wondered if anyone else could enter the space with their keycards cards. He knew Carhart most likely had access to anything that had to do with him. He wondered if his babysitter would also be given that authority.

He narrowed his eyes slightly as the elevator doors opened. "You were nearly late."

Boyd seemed unsurprised to see Sin there, or at least his expression did not change from the usual blank apathy. "I was not aware there was a specific timeframe," he said emotionlessly.

"I had one and I would have been exceedingly disappointed if you'd arrived late. All of my hopes and expectations about you and your character would have been shot to hell. You can tell almost anything about a person just based on their punctuality alone. Did you know that?" He stared at Boyd and then started towards the stairs without waiting for an answer. "Do you have access to my living quarters?"

"Interesting," Boyd said, stepping out of the elevator to trail behind Sin. "In the future, you may wish to relate such timetables to other parties or you will inevitably be disappointed regardless of their actual punctuality. Judging someone's character by your own subjective expectations without alerting them to the standards to which you will hold them seems an easy way to disappoint yourself." He paused as they walked down a few flights of stairs. "And I am not certain yet what limitations my pass has."

"Well in the future I don't recommend that you test out the limitations on my quarters. I haven't found a reason to kill you yet but I suspect that may give me an excuse." He folded his hands behind his back and smirked at the guards who were stationed by the main entrance. They gave him the usual suspicious looks although he hadn't actually done anything yet to warrant it.

Boyd flashed his ID card again absently, even though the guards had seen him only minutes before. They ignored him and continued to scrutinize Sin's every move even after they opened the gates to let them through.

Striding to the Audi, Boyd flicked a button on his key; there was chirp and flashing lights that signaled the vehicle was unlocked. He walked around to the driver's side and watched Sin idly with one eyebrow slightly raised. "A sad killer you are if you need to find excuses for murder. One would imagine you could manage well enough on your own without justification."

Sin eyed the vehicle for a moment before getting in the passenger's seat. "Every action has some sort of reasoning behind it," he replied. "Although a wanton killer such as myself doesn't conform to such things, I suppose. I've been known to kill people on the maintenance staff for not starching my shirts correctly. The nerve of them." His shirt, like the rest of his clothing, was threadbare, ripped in certain places and stained with what looked like old blood. It was unlikely that anyone in the maintenance staff had ever touched it.

He watched Boyd drive for a moment after receiving no response and studied the slender fingers that wrapped around the steering wheel. "I don't suppose you've ever actually killed anyone."

"On my background check, one would see the answer 'no' marked to that question," Boyd said calmly, not seeming taken aback by the inquiry at all. He seemed to follow a route he had in his mind, as no map was sitting in view.

"One would assume that I'd read your file, which I did not. I know all I need to know by looking at you," Sin said smoothly. "I know you are a lonely little child who lives in his own head and who does not have the hands of a killer. I wonder if you will even survive our first assignment. It would be a shame if you did not. I don't know how to drive stick."

"Well," Boyd said in apparent boredom, looking sidelong at Sin, "I can only assume you yourself are a lonely person desperate for attention or someone to talk to. Otherwise, if you are so certain you know me at a glance, you would not ask useless questions and continue to speak."

"We serial killers are all lonely people who are desperate for attention." Sin stared at Boyd with his eyebrows raised, looking entirely serious even though he wasn't. He waited for a reaction or expression but Boyd did nothing so he continued. "Why else would we kill people in such splashy ways? It's actually kind of pathetic, don't you think? I don't know what we're thinking. Clearly it's time for a change. How do you feel about helping me come up with a new MO?"

Boyd shrugged. "I have no opinion nor do I care to form one. You've made it this long; I'm sure you can find enough creativity in you somewhere to revolutionize your patterns."

"Fine then."

Sin studied Boyd and decided that although he was a frosty little bitch, he didn't necessarily seem angry. It was also unclear whether he was taking Sin seriously. Sin enjoyed playing games with people, saying things that made him seem more deranged than he actually was; it was an easy way of weeding out the people who actually believed the rumors about him. However, he couldn't tell what Boyd was thinking; it unnerved him that he couldn't read him as well as he should have been able to. Normally he felt that people were open books who gave him the ammunition he needed to toy with them but it was not the case here. It was frustrating but it only intrigued him further.

"You're an interesting person."

"That is one way to put it, I suppose," Boyd said uncaringly. He seemed completely unconcerned with the scrutiny from the passenger's seat, intent instead on driving them to the location. "Remembering the clutch is the most important part." The comment was almost offhanded after a long pause.

"I've never been formally taught how to operate a vehicle," Sin informed him. "Although I suppose it might be useful some day."

"Clearly a direction your future education must take," Boyd said mildly. "Unless you continue to have convenient partners or take a hostage for a getaway."

"Unless I am dealing with individuals who have the authority to operate this collar, I do not have difficulty escaping because that would imply that there were individuals left who I needed to escape from." Sin leaned closer to Boyd and studied his smooth, pale features.

Boyd saw the strange look Sin gave him, but did not seem impressed or in any way affected. He also ignored the proximity. "Then I suppose you have no use for driving lessons, do you? Just kill everyone and walk away leisurely, hoping no one notices all the blood." He looked Sin in the eyes sidelong, though his expression remained unreadable. "Correct?"

Sin smirked at him. "It hasn't failed me in the past decade but I will make sure to take driver's education courses if you feel that they would improve my craft."

Boyd shrugged with one shoulder and returned his attention to the road. "I think you could get a lot bloodier a lot faster, then remove yourself from the scene more quickly in a vehicle. The downside, of course, is that most people escape in cars so law enforcement would look for you there. Furthermore, your bloodiness would still be highly visible through the windows and you would stain the seats, which would be awkward to explain later."

He paused as he turned down a particularly rickety road and kept a watch out for anything that could puncture the tires. "However, if your MO has included escape by foot for so long, then changing it could also link you to fewer crimes until they realized you were no longer operating within the parameters they expect." Boyd glanced at him calmly. "I suppose that could be my contribution to your change."

"Mmm. Well, according to an oral agreement made with a certain blonde bulldog, I am no longer allowed to behave in such a manner so it holds no consequence anyway. My 'MO' is now obsolete. My serial killing days are officially over." Sin's pale green eyes scanned the road alertly. He took note of everyone and everything that whizzed past them, not missing even the most insignificant detail.

As they went further outside the city, the passing cars lessened considerably and there were stretches of time when there did not appear to be another human anywhere in the vicinity. If one thought that the city was a shell of what it had been before the wars, what had been the surrounding suburbs could be described as a wasteland. The earth had been scorched by the bombs and greenery still struggled to grow back. Buildings loomed like large tombstones in the ravaged towns that had served as mass graves for the people who perished there. There seemed to be a permanent burnt smell in the air, a constant reminder of the death and destruction that had come shortly after the scream of falling bombs.

Sin noted a few moderately stable buildings that could serve as safe houses a few miles outside of their destination point and looked at his partner. Although most of his attempted banter was superficial, he really did wonder at the success rate of this mission. He calculated the chances of Boyd's survival if Sin became incapacitated and could not come to a conclusion due to lack of knowledge about the boy's fighting skill. Although Darrell was a pathetic goon of very little intelligence, he had made a very good point in that way. Boyd had never experienced the true chaos of an actual field assignment gone wrong and there was no way to be sure if he could actually handle it.

Sin smiled inwardly and tapped his long fingers against one fatigue-covered thigh. There was only one way to be certain and if the unnerving child did not survive the experience, it would not bother him at all.

Boyd remained silent, thinking. It was a relief that Sin had fallen quiet, although he obviously could not resist making a remark about Boyd's mother first. It did not particularly bother Boyd that she was known as Bulldog Beaulieu -- he had only learned this after visiting the Agency, so it was inconsequential to the majority of his life. However, that did mean that Sin was aware of who Boyd's mother was, and, perhaps more disturbingly, he had met her. Beyond basic driving awareness, Boyd ignored the desolate surroundings for anything but movement or the feeling of people watching them. He wondered idly if Sin had spent more time with his mother than he himself ever had in one sitting.

Flicking his eyes around the upcoming area, Boyd calmly took a right and led them a bit down an empty street. A single house had retained its structure, though it was little more than skeletal remains. Boyd pulled the car around and drove it up a well-packed ditch to the side, parking it in the muted shadows of the broken roof. He pulled out the keys and looked fully at Sin for the first time in quite a bit.

"I would assume you are aware of the rebel's location from here." He paused slightly. "However, in case you are not, it is two blocks over and half a street down, in one of the old grocery stores. You can still see the sign out front, although now it says 'gor's ats' instead of 'Gregory's Eats.' I received additional intelligence this morning prior to meeting you that stated they feel the leaders are hiding in the meat locker in back. There is a heavy door that locks from the outside, which we are uncertain they have fixed. If not, if you go in there and the door shuts behind you, you will be locked inside and possibly could freeze to death. Assuming, of course, that the freezer still works."

Sin turned his attention to Boyd. "It would be interesting if they chose to hide in a freezer with a broken door. It would actually make your job a lot easier. Frozen slabs of meat are easier to negotiate with than the American rebel factions."

He looked at Boyd, considering him for a long moment, and raised an eyebrow. "Just for your information, these people do not usually expect us." He looked around with an unimpressed look on his face. "The leaders of these rebel factions hide out in desolate locations and hope that we never find them. They claim they want to change the state of the country and that the government needs to be taken out, but they fear ever coming in contact with anyone of authority. You will find that most of these small groups are non-factors in the political world and are mainly run by small men with big mouths, only capable of minor terrorism and smear campaigns which have very little effect. Why the agency chooses to waste time on such men is beyond me. I feel that my talents are wasted here and I would much rather play with the rebels in Asia."

Sin got out of the car and smiled at his partner although it was cold and almost frightening. "These meetings normally end in bloodshed but that is because I am always the mediator. I don't feel the need to 'negotiate' with idiots who attempt to use their numbers to strong-arm me."

Boyd shut the door quietly and looked at Sin over the car in consideration. He was being patronizing, but it was justified in that there was no doubt Sin had more experience than Boyd. In fact, Boyd suspected the people he had sparred with, despite supposedly being well-trained, were all useless with the exception of his actual teachers.

There was something about Sin's mannerism that seemed a little off, as if he knew something Boyd didn't. But perhaps it was only that he was feeling cocky.

"That would be why they recruited me," was all he said as he turned and walked toward Gregory's.

Sin leaned against the car and watched Boyd walk away. His hair fell into his eyes and the corner of his mouth twitched as he pushed away and followed his partner in a walk that could only be described as a stroll. He put his hands in his pockets and took in the scenery. The store, when they reached it, was pretty large, very rundown and had a medium sized parking lot next to it. He noticed an old Bronco parked in the farthest corner; it was rusty and had eleven year-old stickers, but the dried mud on the tires gave away the fact that it had been recently used.

They bypassed the main doors and went around the corner to what appeared to be a maintenance entrance. The door was unlocked, which was not surprising since it was currently being used by individuals who did not have the key, and it gave a long, loud whine when Sin opened it.

There were rusted cans of soup and vegetables rolling along the floor and the air smelled strongly of rotten meat and dead rodents. Sin noted that there was a staircase that led to an upstairs office and that it was on the opposite side of the store as the meat section.

Sin looked at Boyd with a slightly raised eyebrow.

Catching the look, Boyd resisted the urge to give him a quelling stare. If the rebels had not realized they had intruders, they would now. That door worked quite well as an alarm system, really. Initially, he intended to scout the area out, but Sin walked up to the door and touched it before he could say anything. Either he was stupid or confidant enough in his abilities to not fear an ambush.

There was no doubt that they would have been better watching the area first, looking for other ways in, trying to track a few of the people to make sure this was not a decoy. But they were here now and as he understood it the Agency considered the rebels to be only enough of a threat to be dealt with quickly, and not enough to be dealt with cleanly.

Looking suspicious now would only enhance the chances of them being ambushed. It would be better to confuse them.

Boyd pulled his hands from his trench coat pockets and strolled into the store, looking around as if he was supposed to be there. Dust caked the ground, reminiscent of snow but not nearly as pristine. He could see scuffed footprints everywhere, but the heaviest traffic seemed to lead straight to the meat freezer, with the secondary emphasis being to the staircase. If they were trying to trick intruders, they would lead them to the freezer with false footprints. But Sin said they were not expecting anyone, and though he did not particularly trust him, he still had to acknowledge that Sin was supposedly a professional. Thus, he had to take the information into account and weigh it accordingly.

He didn't know if it would be better to stay quiet and surprise them, or be loud and throw them off. He had no practical experience, and he doubted Sin would help much. This was probably a test, as no doubt the Agency and his own mother looked at it too. If that were the case, he had to assume the rebels were long ago alerted to their presence, and his greatest asset would be acting in a manner they did not expect.

Boyd idly picked up a few cans as he passed by, old things that were half-corroded but he slid into his trench coat pockets anyway. He noted the placement of anything that may be useful in the future: a broom lying on its side near the meat door, a length of rope coiled by the stairway, the dirty bags of flour on the lower right shelf.

"Hey," Boyd called out suddenly, his voice pleasant and a tinge pleading. "Is anybody here?" He stopped at the end of the aisle and looked around anxiously, shifting his feet. "I really gotta use the bathroom and nowhere else looks like it's working..."

Boyd waited for a few breaths, but heard nothing. He did not look in Sin's direction; he found his lack of inspiration for a more professional line a little embarrassing and did not want to see Sin's mocking expression. At the same time, he had to do something quickly to avoid being suspiciously quiet, and that was the first topic that came to mind.

He was not particularly used to emoting, but he attempted to put the right amount of urgency into his voice and mannerisms, while concentrating on 'dumbing down' his speech. Although he had not displayed many emotions for years, it did not mean he had always been this way. He was also quite good at doing what it took to accomplish his goals.

"Seriously! Please, is anybody here?"

Boyd walked closer to the meat locker, being sure to make it look like a random destination, and spoke in a loud whisper as he glanced nervously over his shoulder at Sin. "C'mon, man! This guy just started following me awhile back, and he kinda freaks me out. I refuse to take a piss in front of him, get what I mean? But he won't leave. So... if nobody comes to help I'm just gonna look for bathroom myself, 'kay? No hard feelings?"

They would have to be pretty stupid to believe him, but if he could get some idea of where they were right now, it was worth it to sound like an imbecile.

Sin raised an eyebrow at this unexpected turn of events and shadowed Boyd silently, like the urine obsessed stalker that he was apparently meant to be. The boy's approach was unsophisticated but amusing and it further motivated his plan. He ran his fingertips along Boyd's shoulder and raised a finger in the air, twirling it slightly and making a couple of other gestures before turning around and heading in the direction of the staircase.

Even the brief touch of Sin's fingers caused Boyd's entire upper shoulders and back to tense. He looked sidelong at Sin, tilting away to keep himself out of reach, and tried to interpret the silent gestures. As he did not feel like deciphering the code, he just assumed that meant Sin intended to look around and would be back. The staircase was a good choice. Knowing Sin was doing recon, Boyd completely dismissed his presence and turned back to the meat locker.

He highly doubted anyone would be stupid enough to believe him, and especially stupid enough to hide in a freezer, but...

The door creaked open, a heavy metallic sound that rivaled the volume of their entrance. Some fingertips appeared around the edge just seconds before a grubby round face peered around the side. Brown eyes flicked up and down Boyd quickly then darted behind and around him as if searching for something.

"That guy gone?" the man whispered.

Boyd stared at him just for a second, dumbfounded by his gullibility. "Eh-no. He went to find some chips." Was this entire situation going to turn into one stupid excuse Boyd created after another? He clearly needed more lessons on subterfuge. He was terrible at this.

"Listen, you got a bathroom?" Boyd asked intently, and suddenly peered around the edge of the door. "Is it in there?"

The man jerked the door back, nearly slamming his fingers against the frame, and narrowed himself to just a pair of eyes. "Oh! Uh, no. It's not. This is just meat. You know. The locker. But," and he brightened, "we do have one. I can show you, but you have to move back a bit first. We have to preserve the cold in here, you know..."

"Oh, of course!" Boyd stepped back immediately, though he knew those were all lies. For one thing, the freezer itself was clearly broken, as there was no telltale rush of cold with the door tilted open as there should be. Furthermore, in the moment he had glanced inside, he noted maps taped to the walls, effigies hung from the meat hooks, and at least half a dozen men crowded around a table halfway across the room. Most of them seemed preoccupied, though one did glance his way. They had briefly made eye contact, and though the man looked suspicious of Boyd's presence, he still dismissed him in favor of speaking to the others.

Boyd had also noted a few dark boxes - the glance had been too quick for his mind to process them properly, but he wondered if they might be a transmission system. Perhaps to communicate among the members or to transmit meetings of the lower ranks to the upper ranks? Boyd was certain after that glance that the leaders would not be in there. Something in his gut told him this, and he saw no reason to disagree.

"I'm Terry," the man offered after he managed to squeeze his beer belly out the door just before he shut it behind him.

"Brian," Boyd said with a nod. "Thanks about the bathroom. I really appreciate it." He looked around innocently. "I didn't see a sign or I'd have just gone on my own..."

"No, we took it down awhile ago," Terry said a little distractedly, glancing nervously toward the staircase as he led Boyd toward the back of the store, away from it.

Boyd swiped a few more items from the shelves as he passed, and was sure to keep them out of view every time Terry glanced back. He was a rather jumpy little man, which led Boyd to believe that he had answered the plea for a bathroom against the better wishes of everyone else. They probably only appeared to be ignoring him. He would have to be careful, obviously.

"It's just around the corner," Terry said helpfully as they stopped at the front of a small hallway. He turned to Boyd and smiled amiably.

"Thank you," Boyd said and started past Terry. He didn't make it very far before he suddenly stopped and shifted his feet. "Hey, you won't get in trouble for this, will you?" Terry started to shake his head, and Boyd frowned with a brief glance past Terry's shoulder in no particular direction. "Because I think I see your bosses and they look pretty mad..."

Terry's eyes widened. "Shit!" Immediately, he whipped around, staring in fear at the top of the staircase.

Perfect, Boyd thought, and hefted one particularly heavy can of rotten peaches in one hand. Terry's head snapped forward when Boyd slammed the can into it, and the man wobbled for a moment before collapsing on the floor. He made more noise than Boyd hoped for, but this whole situation had been one unprofessional moment after another so it was not surprising.

Sliding the can back into a pocket, Boyd slipped down the aisles, watching for movement and straining his ears for sound. He did not see Sin, but he may just be somewhere else.

Preoccupied, Boyd did not even notice the presence until a knife blade suddenly appeared at his neck. He would have walked right into it if his attacker had not gripped his shoulder.

"Bathroom's that way, blondie," a voice drawled in his ear, and Boyd held himself very still.

"Ah," he said after the moment it took to consider his situation, "I got lost." He did not like knives very much so he tried to hold himself away from the blade.

A soft snort blew tickling hair against Boyd's ear, and the knife pressed closer to his throat. "I bet."

Being sure to stay perfectly still, Boyd flicked his gaze around for any sign of Sin. He was supposed to be the fighter, after all, not Boyd. He would probably appear within seconds to incapacitate the man as was his duty.

"Looking for your friend?" The man sounded amused, but darkly so. "He left while you were following that idiot." When Boyd said nothing, the man seemed to think he did not believe him. "All of us saw him walk right out. Made some stupid gestures to you, and left. He ain't comin' to save you." It was so matter-of-factly said that Boyd knew it was the truth.

"That's unfortunate," Boyd said after a moment, and he meant it. It was possible that Sin was cleverly trying to confuse the rebels and planned to double back with some brilliant rescue plan in mind, but Boyd highly doubted it. Sin abandoned him, probably playing with him just as he had in the spar. It was as if he were saying, I know you're not good enough, but let me watch you anyway. I want to see you struggle. Patronizing bastard.

"Your hands," the man said idly, and Boyd lifted them harmlessly in front of him. "Move."

Boyd was pushed from behind and he walked down the rest of the aisle, the man holding the knife at his neck still. The other men were in a half-circle in a wider space, looking at him with a collection of anger and smug amusement. More patronizing looks, when one got down to it. No one believed Boyd capable of anything, apparently. It was a little annoying. He was not a completely inferior being, after all, and they would all be fools to judge him solely by his sloppy attempts at subterfuge, and his slightly feminine appearance.

"I'd like to meet your leaders," Boyd said suddenly when he was in full view of everyone.

His proclamation met a beat of silence and a bout of laughter that rolled across the men. "Is he serious?" one of them asked another, and Boyd felt his eyes narrow.

"I am," Boyd insisted, and the laughter only grew.

"Yeah right," the same man said, stepping forward. His hair was cropped short, a dark brown that matched his shirt. "You think we're stupid or some shit?"

"I have vital information," Boyd said calmly, keeping his hands relaxed and held up in full view. "They will be.. displeased if they find out later you stopped me from passing it along."

"The only 'displeasure' they'll have is if we let some dumbass like you anywhere near them," one of the other men said with a snort. He glanced at the others. "I say we just kill him."

Boyd said nothing, and a red-haired man smirked at his narrow-eyed expression. "Your 'vital information' - what is it?"

"I won't tell you," Boyd said with a suitably imperial tone that made the men only laugh again.

"Only for the bosses' ears, huh?" the red-haired man said. He stepped closer, a long, sharp knife dangling from his fingers.

A brief glance was Boyd's only response to the weapon, though he could not help wondering why everyone seemed so intent on using knives. "Precisely. I can't trust the messengers."

The blade pressed lightly to Boyd's throat, the man behind him holding him closer. "Balls of steel, saying shit like that with a knife at your neck."

"Or maybe he's just too stupid," the red-haired man said, stopping in front of Boyd. He studied him, twirling the knife idly around his fingers. "Which is it, boy?"

Boyd said nothing; he did not even blink. He retained a steady, unreadable expression and kept his hands and posture perfectly relaxed. The red-haired man lifted the knife, hovered the point in front of one brown eye and moved it in close enough that when Boyd automatically blinked, his eyelashes brushed the tip. The knife was held there for one long moment, and Boyd's expression did not change at all.

The red-haired man smirked. He pulled the knife back suddenly and in the same movement sheathed it at his side. "Search 'im," he idly ordered the others, pivoting on his heel. "I'll let the bosses know. Three bucks says one look and they shoot him."

"Five bucks says he's gutted instead," the brown-haired man said with a grin.

"Nahh, too sloppy," one man said before grinning eagerly. "I'll bet first dibs on the next assignment they torture him."

"That ain't a death," another man said, annoyed.

"It is if they rip his tongue out and he chokes on his own blood," came the snapped reply.

Soon, the room erupted in men offering their own bets and predictions of where or how Boyd would be killed. Boyd was mildly impressed to see that the spectacle of his murder eventually became a bet of twenty dollars and a week's ration of a type of fruit that had gone nearly extinct since the bombs.

The man behind Boyd laughed softly again, the same tickling puff of breath that stirred the hair near Boyd's ear irritatingly. "Wanna make a bet on yourself?" he asked in a light taunt.

"Why not?" Boyd murmured, trying not to move his throat too much as the blade dug a little deeper in his skin. "I will bet your deaths that I escape unscathed."

"Hmm," the man said. Within the space of a breath the blade was gone and a fist flew at his jaw. Boyd raised his arm just in time to deflect, but the strength of the blow and his poor footing sent him stumbling to the side, where another man kicked him violently in the side. He fell back and someone else hit him so hard on the throat that he fell to his knees coughing.

The man with the knife casually walked in front of him, studying him. He crouched, his arms idly resting on his knees, and a slow smile pulled at his lips. "Looks like you already lost," he said with soft cruelty. "That pale, girly skin's gonna bruise."

Boyd looked up at him from beneath his eyebrows, his hair half-covering his face, but he said nothing. His expression remained as perfectly blank and unreadable as it had the entire time, but one hand curled near his throat protectively. His neck and side hurt, and the cans were a sharp, bulky annoyance in his coat pockets.

"The fuck're you doing?" the red-haired man said, reappearing abruptly nearby. "Did any of you jackasses actually search the kid, or were you just fucking around?"

General indignation and snappiness followed, and the red-haired man just looked annoyed. "Can't fuckin' do anything - Johnson. Bring 'im. We'll just do it there; the bosses're waiting."

Johnson, the man with the knife, murmured an assent and dragged Boyd to his feet by the collar of his black long-sleeved shirt. Boyd half-choked as it interfered with him trying to regain his breath and looked at Johnson with a sidelong, discontent expression. Johnson only smirked and dragged him to the staircase, forcing him up them with sudden shoves on the small of his back that almost made Boyd lose his footing.

The hallway was long and dusty, and Boyd noticed a complete lack of footprints fitting the pattern that he had noticed earlier matched Sin's boots. So the men hadn't been lying when they said he left. There was, of course, the possibility that Boyd simply misinterpreted Sin's code, but he doubted it. Sin abandoned him, and that was the end of it.

He did not really feel anything at the conclusion. Sin was not exactly known as prime partner material, and was probably used to working alone. Even so, it was a little disappointing and frustrating. Here Boyd was doing his job and Sin had already given up and walked off. No doubt to laugh at Boyd's expense elsewhere and do his own game of Guess How Blondie Dies.

He was pushed into a room rather abruptly, but this time he did not stumble. Much.

It was dark inside and a little smoky; very reminiscent of the mafia films he vaguely remembered watching from long ago. He guessed there were about four men in chairs with tall backs arranged in a half-circle. A light flickered in the far corner, giving some indication of features through the gloom.

There was a long beat of silence while Boyd straightened to his full posture, and the red-haired man closed the door behind Johnson. The tension felt disapproving and disappointed.

"That him, Ben?" a deep voice asked finally.

"Yes, sir," the red-haired man said deferentially, and Johnson reached forward to tightly hold Boyd's shoulder.

"Search him," a second voice said with distaste, obviously noticing the bulky pockets. Hands shoved Boyd's arms up and to the side then quickly patted him down. The cans were found and removed, of course, as were the few other miscellaneous items he had swiped from the store. Boyd did not bring any weapons in with him because he didn't know what he would need. As far as he was concerned, weighing himself down with useless items would only have slowed him down since he could steal anything he needed from others anyway. The only thing he brought with him was ninja wire curled into a small contraption that looked completely innocuous and rested near the edge.

The pile of stolen goods was motley and pathetic when set on a rickety table to Boyd's right; the men all stared at it in silence. "Is he a thief or a spy?" a third man asked, sounding a bit disappointed.

"You said he had information," the first man rumbled pointedly.

No one spoke at first, and Boyd did not say anything until he was prodded sharply in his lower back with the flat of Johnson's blade. "I do," Boyd confirmed calmly.

Another bout of silence in which they waited for him to answer.

When Boyd was not forthcoming, the second man demanded, "Well? Out with or we'll just kill you now."

"No you won't," Boyd said with idle confidence. "There would be no point in bringing me up here if you intended to kill me before you heard what I had to say. You clearly are curious."

"Maybe we just wanted to see your blood," one of the men said and tilted his head forward in a slight nod. As if following an unspoken direction Johnson was suddenly at Boyd's back again, this time with the knife digging into his skin.

Boyd could feel a light burn when he swallowed; he was probably going to have a cut there. He did not change his expression, though. "So you have no security cameras installed in the building," he said, noting the information. He had assumed this was the case, but now he was certain.

There was a beat of surprised silence, and the third man said with a snort, "No, we just like to see it in person."

Boyd made a negative noise deep in his throat, ignoring the increased pressure of the blade. When he spoke, he was confident, and almost bored. "No. You have no camera system and apparently nothing to transmit audio from the main store to here. You also do not have a line of sight from this meeting room to the main room, or 'Ben' would not have had to make the trip up here to inform you of the situation. This entire building is one security mistake after another.

"In fact," Boyd continued while everyone stared at him, "I would go so far as to guess this same lack of control is projected onto the governance of your 'troops.' You rely on your men to report to you because you never follow them to the field, am I correct? You probably don't even know them all by sight. How easy would it be for someone to infiltrate your organization, come visit you supposedly with information, and kill you all while you sit there fat, lazy and ignorant in your chairs?"

Silence followed his words once again, but Johnson did not wait for an order. He jerked Boyd's head back with a grip on his hair, pressing the blade against his throat so he could actually feel a bit of blood swell and drip down his neck. "You wanna die?" he hissed into Boyd's ear, sounding furious.

Boyd did not answer, though this time it was mostly because he did not want to deepen the cut. Explaining the bruises was already going to be enough of a discomfort; adding other stupid injuries would just increase the likelihood of him being labeled completely incompetent.

"Johnson," the first man said after a long silence in which Boyd's neck started to crick. That one word was all it took for Johnson to release Boyd's hair and step away, taking the knife from his throat. Boyd drew in a deep breath gratefully, but otherwise did not react. He did not even wipe away the blood trickling slowly toward his collarbone.

The fourth man spoke for the first time. "Johnson, Ben; you're dismissed." His voice was deep like the first man's, but smooth instead of an almost comforting rumble.

Johnson and Ben hesitated just a moment, both looking at Boyd suspiciously. But they saluted and left anyway. The door shut behind them, and the four men sat in silence until the muffled echoes of their footsteps could not be heard any longer.

The four men studied Boyd intently in their own fashions, at least as far as Boyd could tell in the dim light. He could not see any of their faces, but they could see his a little with the flickering light. It was stupid of them to leave it dark in there, but that was fine. It worked to Boyd's advantage that they were too chicken-shit to share their identity with their men. What did they think would happen? The men would kill them out on the street for something they were ordered to do? Did they have that poor a rapport with their people? Or perhaps they were just insecure idiots; like kids playing at General and Captain when they were really just too weak to even be Soldier.

"Is that what you wanted to tell us?" the third man asked intently when it became apparent Boyd would not speak first. He leaned forward in his chair. "That there's a spy?"

"Not particularly," Boyd said with a slight shrug. He shifted his weight casually, bringing one hand up to rub at his neck. "But it is quite plausible. Even if you chose this building because it is one of the few left standing, there were any number of precautions you could have taken to enhance your security. Clearly you chose to avoid the matter and here I am. A case-in-point." Seeming a little distracted, he looked down as he wiped the blood off on his pants.

The second man snorted derisively. "Case in... What the hell do you mean? You aren't a security threat." He sounded as though he could not imagine a stupider thing Boyd could say.

"True enough," Boyd said with a nod, his hair half-hiding his expression. He slid his hands into his pockets and shifted his weight again.

He moved so fast that it took a moment for any of them to even realize what happened. He was there, and suddenly he was behind the fourth man, ninja wire held tight around his throat. "But now, not. How easily the situation changes. This is why I am a case-in-point."

"What the--?" the second man said loudly, nearly a yell. The other two shifted, looking ready to jump forward and attack.

Boyd looked at them sidelong, and even if they could not see his expression, somehow his warning was evident in the tension in the room. "I suggest staying very still and listening closely." He sounded almost bored, though his voice dropped to a slightly wry murmur. "After all, I am holding the true leader hostage right now. Am I not correct, Mr. Daniels?"

The man was silent for a long moment, and even then he held his hand up before he spoke, cautioning the other three to sit back in their seats and wait. Boyd loosened the wire enough for him to speak. "You know my name."

"Of course I do," Boyd said in a soft, emotionless voice. "I also happen to know that your daughter is named Rachel, she has red hair she keeps in a single braid down her back, she currently lives with her mother-your estranged wife Evita-and both of them happen to be deathly afraid of mice." Boyd paused briefly as Daniels tensed. "I wonder what they will do when they find themselves locked in a cell with starving rats. Do you suppose they will rip their nails out trying to escape? There are cases of people bleeding to death that way, though I would venture that the rats would eat them first."

"What do you want?" Daniels asked with a cold edge to his voice now.

"A dialogue," Boyd said calmly. "You listen to what I have to say and I will give the signal that they be released. Any heroes who decide to kill me before I alert the captors will condemn them to such a death. Interestingly, in similar custody we have Mr. Anderson's son," the third man made a startled noise, "Mr. Kerrigan's twin daughters," the first man gripped his chair so that the sound was actually audible, "and Mr. Landon's pet Rottweiler, because he cares more about the dog than his wife who he beats nightly." The second man growled furiously, and Boyd knew he had their full attention.

"It is good to know I am being taken seriously finally. Now, onto business." Although his tone was actually almost pleasant through the blandness, Boyd did not release the wire from Daniels' neck, and there was a constant feel of threat from his form. "I represent an Agency that highly suggests your group either disbands immediately or works undercover for us. If you disband, we will simply leave you be although surveillance should be expected. If you help us infiltrate and take down other rebellious groups, in return we will give you a lump sum of money up to, but not exceeding, the equivalent of one thousand dollars per each of your underlings and three thousand for each of you."

"Not a lot of money considering what you're asking," Landon said with fury vibrating his voice lowly. "We act as moles, we could get killed."

"While it is a possibility down that route," Boyd allowed, "short of disbanding, it is a certainty with your disagreement."

"Yeah?" Landon demanded, "And who's gonna kill us? You?"

"I certainly could if I wished," Boyd said emotionlessly with a shrug, "but I hate to get my coat dirty. There is a distinct lack of good dry cleaners. No, that honor would go to my psychotic friend that you did not, due to your poor security, likely even know was on the premises."

"One man's gonna kill us all," Landon said flatly, challengingly.

"Mm," Boyd murmured in soft agreement. "One man would kill you all before you could blink, and then he would kill your men, and then he would be lost in the enjoyment of the act and would accidentally kill passersby no matter their innocence. Then, because he is a very thorough person, he would track down your families and kill them too. And their friends. And their pets. Possibly, he would burn your houses. Most likely, he would bathe in your blood."

"Yeah right," Landon said, though his voice was too full of bravado not to have some shakiness he was hiding. Perhaps it was due to Boyd's completely matter-of-fact tone and his confidence. He gave absolutely no indication at all that he was exaggerating, even though he was.

He thought, anyway.

Sin was certainly prone to psychotic fits and apparently more than capable of mass murder, but would he go so far as to do everything Boyd bluffed he would? Truly, Boyd did not know. Perhaps his predictions were more accurate than even he realized.

"I don't believe you," Anderson said after a moment.

Boyd shrugged idly, sounding almost bored. "Fortunately for me, I am not asking for a vote of confidence. I am telling you your options and you are telling me your decision. Choose now: defiance and death, disbandment and life, or cooperation and a small amount of security?"

"Fuck you," Landon said, his voice shaking; though whether that was from fear or anger Boyd did not care to interpret. "I'll fuckin' kill-"

He started to stand and though Boyd did not react yet Daniels spoke up firmly.

"Landon. Sit down."

Landon's furious glare could be felt in the tension in the air, but after a moment of telling silence he dropped into his chair with a grumble. He crossed his arms and waited with the air of a temperamental child.

"We'll work with you," Daniels said after a long moment, "but only if you guarantee the safe-"

"I must not be making myself clear," Boyd interrupted him blandly. "This is not a negotiation in which you add caveats to my proposal. You do what I say or you face the consequences; that is the situation we are currently in. There is no 'yes, but...' involved. It is yes or it is no, and from there I will make my own choices and have my own actions."

Daniels' silence was icy this time, and it was Kerrigan who spoke before anyone else. "I believe I know what Mr. Daniels was saying and you do too. Just so we are clear, let me ask you this. You will not even guarantee the safety of the hostages if we do agree?"

"Why would I do that?" Boyd asked, the mildest of innocent confusion lilting his bland tone. "I am only telling you what will happen for certain if you say no. I have no reason to promise to protect humans and animals too incompetent to even keep themselves from capture."

Landon growled again and Daniels was as ice cold as a mountain's top. Kerrigan and Anderson were silent and disapproving as well and the tension grew in the room until it nearly hummed against the skin. Boyd did not appear concerned at all; his posture remained as relaxed as possible while he held Daniels' neck within the wire.

"Fine," Daniels said after a long, angry silence. "We'll work with you."

"Excellent," Boyd said and he removed the wire in the space of a second. He stepped away from the chair toward the table, seeming completely relaxed with the world. "Our people will contact you soon with the specifics of what we want from you and after you have successfully completed your first mission we will pay you."

"Yeah, and what if we fucking die on that mission?" Landon demanded furiously.

"That is our hope," Boyd said with a casually inclined nod. "It is less money we have to pay and fewer idiots to deal with."

"You motherfuckin-!" Landon jumped out of his seat, and before anyone could speak (which, interestingly, none of the three did), he had launched himself at Boyd with his hands outreached to strangle him to death. Boyd simply slipped past his reach, kicked him in the back of one knee so that his leg buckled beneath him, and casually dropped onto his back. Landon fell to the floor, facedown and furious, and Boyd held him there with his weight.

Before Landon could shove him off, Boyd pushed his face into the ground. "There is something I have been meaning to discuss with you," he told him calmly, hefting a heavy can in one hand. "You have very poor manners."

He slammed the can down so hard on the back of Landon's head that it made a resounding cracking noise. When Boyd tossed the can to the side with the corner coated in blood and Landon did not move at all when Boyd stood and moved away. He looked at though he was still breathing, but it was hard to tell in the dim light.

The other three remained totally silent and still even as Boyd moved to the table and calmly filled his pockets with the miscellany he had stolen earlier. Stepping over Landon's prone body, Boyd walked toward the door. "I suggest one of you tell your men downstairs to not harass me as I leave or I may forget to keep your loved ones from danger." He stopped as he pulled open the door, looking at them sidelong as the dim light from the hallway lit his profile. "I can be forgetful like that."

Anderson stared and suddenly jumped up, rushing ahead of him. "Right," he said, though he sounded distracted and unhappy.

Not entirely unexpected emotions, really, so Boyd said nothing about it. He trailed behind him and was unsurprised to see startled looks from the men when Anderson ordered them to leave him be. They may not have even truly known what the man looked like. Or perhaps they just expected him to leave a lot bloodier and in more pieces.

Boyd made a point to pass by Johnson on his way out. He paused just long enough to murmur, not even looking at him, "I suppose we both lose the bet, as I refrained from having you killed. Next time, perhaps I will bet more intelligently. Or not be so generous. It will be interesting to see what happens."

Johnson stared at him, a hard, sidelong glare that showed his irritation and complete lack of amusement, but he said nothing. Boyd shrugged, and started walking out. He noticed Terry, standing half-hidden behind the others with a hand to the back of his head. He looked startled and suspicious when Boyd looked his way, maybe also a little betrayed. Boyd swiped a small packet of crackers from an inside pocket of his coat and tossed it to him without saying anything as he passed.

Terry caught it automatically, his expression turning to surprise when he read the name. It was a company that completely disappeared when the bombs hit, and somehow the crackers had become yet another rare, well-sought item. Boyd had simply noticed it on the same table as the items he swiped earlier, and decided he would take it as well. No doubt the four men planned to keep all the rare items like that for themselves. Even something as insignificant and stupid as a packet of rare crackers showed their power over others; the luxury one in power had over those who worked for even the dirtiest of crumbs.

"Th-thanks," Terry stammered, still a little startled and confused.

Boyd glanced at him just before he left the building, and he tilted his head forward slightly in a nod. That would be his apology for hitting the man on the head when he had only been trying to help. Regardless of the idiocy of his act, it also got Boyd to the people he needed to see. That was really all that mattered, even if the whole situation was one embarrassment upon another and it took him longer than he'd wanted.

He didn't even bother looking for Sin once he left the building, nor did he look over his shoulder to make sure they weren't aiming to attack with his back turned. Anderson would stop them; he was certain of that. Perception was all that mattered. Later they would realize that Boyd did not actually have any of those people in his custody; though he had, of course, researched their loved ones on his own so he could use it as a threat if need be.

But their perception now gained him a spoken agreement, and even if they later tried to rescind it, they would be killed. Another probable outcome was that there would be dissent among the leaders and the subordinates due to lack of action and the easy compliance to the enemy; if that were the case, the group would most likely crumble within months. They did not seem stable enough to handle a battle for leadership, especially when many of the men had no real reason to feel loyalty towards their leaders or their peers.

He strolled idly down the street, his hands in pockets filled with crappy old food, and headed toward the car.

---

Sin was perched on the hood of Boyd's car, swinging his legs absently and letting his steel-toed boots drag across the ground. There was an empty pack of Goldfish crackers on his lap and a .45 Ruger lying next to him. His eyes were half closed and the blankness of them gave the impression that he wasn't even fully awake. In truth, he was aware of everything around him.

He'd left the building as soon as they'd split up and thirty minutes had passed since then. He supposed that he was testing the boy to see how skilled he was at either negotiation or battle, but the fact that he did not plan to keep this partnership for long made the need for such a test pointless. It wasn't that he wanted Boyd to die; it was more that he was curious whether or not he would. He fully intended to finish the mission if Boyd failed but he did not plan to get involved until it was obvious that Boyd was not coming back.

After a few moments he felt the presence of someone in his vicinity and his fingers automatically brushed against the gun. He continued to sit calmly on the car as footsteps began advancing towards him. After a few seconds of listening to the person walk he recognized Boyd's tread. A half smile tugged at his mouth and he closed his eyes entirely. "Bravo."

Boyd did not bother replying at first. Noticing the package on Sin's lap, he dug out another package of Goldfish crackers from his pocket and tossed it at him. "Get off my car," he said calmly as he walked past, reaching for the driver's door.

Sin caught the crackers and tucked it in a pocket before sliding off the car. He stuck the gun in his belt carelessly and opened his Goldfish before getting into the passenger's side of the car. He noted that although Boyd looked a little worse for wear, it was obvious that he had no serious injuries and had escaped almost unscathed. Sin studied the smeared blood on Boyd's throat and chewed thoughtfully on a cracker. They were horribly stale but it didn't matter much to him; he'd eaten worse. "So, are our rebel friends still in the land of the living?" He knew that Boyd did not have a gun but it wasn't completely impossible that he'd been able to take the small group out.

Boyd checked the rearview mirror and revved the car. "It's a secret," he said in a bored tone, and drove them down the street in a different direction than the main city. The rebels were probably still watching and he wasn't about to lead them straight to the base. He did not feel the need to add more moments of supreme unintelligence to his day.

"It won't be a secret for long considering the mission report that needs to be written. Of course, I never bother to write it but they'll expect you to. I'm surprised you survived. No offense, of course." Sin offered him a cracker.

Boyd looked at him sidelong. "I meant it was a secret from you. I don't need a cracker from a package I just gave you, either." He turned his attention back to the road, and though his voice was mostly the same usual blankness, there was the slightest hint of an impatient edge to it.

He was a little annoyed. Whether or not Sin was testing him, just leaving was still reckless. He endangered the mission. Assuming for a moment that Boyd had failed spectacularly and was killed, the rebels would have been alerted to the fact they were being watched. Even if Sin appeared and killed everyone, there would still be the chance someone escaped prior to that. Boyd and Sin were special agents who tried to quell the rise of rebel groups, but that would not work as well if others became aware of their identities. Even with negotiations and agreements there was still the chance that details about them would spread to the other factions, but it was minimized when the group was under the control or protection of the Agency. After all, why bite the hand that feeds them?

But if Boyd was killed and Sin let someone escape, then right away at the first mission there was a serious breach in the potential security of future agents. The rebels would possibly remember what Sin looked like and know anyone he appeared with was also an agent. Boyd did not entirely care about the goal of the Agency, but it did irritate him a little to think that his name could be attached to such an abysmal failure of a mission. It would be assumed he was somehow involved, especially since he was the newest agent.

"Clearly you didn't expect me to survive," Boyd said after a moment, watching the road with slightly narrowed eyes, "and I can't honestly say I expected much else from you as far as your actions go. But if you're so curious about what happened, next time stand there and stare like an idiot from the sidelines, or read the report. I'm not going to give you a detailed account to something you should have been present for."

"Well, there's no need to be rude," Sin replied blandly and decided that in the future there would be no more offering to share food with Boyd. "And I'm not sure what I'll do next time. I suppose we'll just have to wait and see." Something resembling a smile ghosted across his face and he wondered why Carhart ever thought that he'd be cooperative in these situations.

"You enjoy being impossible," Boyd said under his breath.

Raising an eyebrow, Sin gave Boyd a look as if he thought he was stupid. "Did you expect anything less?"

Looking over sidelong, Boyd considered him for a long, unimpressed moment. His voice, when he spoke, was completely calm and offhanded. "I realize you are likely used to special treatment, even if that treatment is negative, simply due to who you are. As far as I am concerned, you are just a person. You are not frightening, you are not intimidating. If you act like a child, then you are a man acting like a child. I don't particularly care if you get your entertainment by sending me into missions alone, nor do I care if you go in alone yourself. I just want you to know that I am not fooled by your act, so feel free to save yourself the energy in my presence."

Sin raised an eyebrow at him. "If I was trying to frighten or intimidate you, do you really think the tactic I'd use would include offering Goldfish crackers? And I don't care enough about you to put on some act to impress you. I don't care if you live or die at this point. You are merely a person who exists to infringe on my personal space and job. I thought at first that your existence would provide some entertainment, which is why I wanted you in the first place, but I am quickly realizing that you will be just as tiresome as the others."

"Ah," Boyd said mildly, watching the road. "How unfortunate that my existence does not even provide you with any amusement." He paused. "I didn't say you were trying to frighten, intimidate, or impress me per se; I believe it is more you try that on everyone."

He looked over, watching the road with his peripheral vision. Not that it mattered; they were nearly out of the remnants of the suburb and there was nothing as far as the eye could see. "Why am I suddenly so tiresome if I wasn't before?" He actually was mildly curious about that. He didn't find the comment offensive, but he had some theories about Sin's personality and he wondered if he was correct.

Sin almost disagreed with the assumption that he put on a show for anyone but something stopped him. His behavior had changed drastically a few years after he'd been formally recruited by the Agency; he'd gone from a completely silent child to someone who responded to everything with sarcasm and mocking smirks, because the latter seemed more infuriating to others. While he was pretty sure that he would not act in such a way with people he trusted, there existed no such people so he could not say for certain.

He ignored the question for a long moment and continued to eat his snack. He'd assumed from the interview that Boyd would understand him, his behavior and that he would not be upset because of it. The idea of playing with a brat so difficult to provoke had been interesting but now he wasn't so sure. Now it seemed like Boyd would be like the others; he would expect Sin to do what he said and follow his rules and he would reprimand him if he did not. "You seemed interesting in your interview."

It took Boyd a moment to respond. He knew that he had been alone in the interview room with only the interviewer, but there was a large mirror to the side that he had felt quite certain was a two-way. He had assumed someone was behind there, but he thought it was just ranking officers. It had not occurred to him that Sin might have been there as well.

"You were behind the glass," Boyd said finally, more a statement than a question. He regarded Sin for a long moment of silence, considering what that meant and what Sin heard him say.

He didn't particularly know what to think of Sin, and truthfully it was a little surprising that he had thought to lecture him at all. Generally, he didn't care what people did around or to him. Other than the fact that it made him seem incompetent if the mission failed, he didn't think he cared about Sin leaving him alone in there. In a way, it was good; it gave him a chance to see what he was capable of without anyone there to save him. Provided the entire mission was not a failure and the loss was attributed to his name as the reason, he didn't mind. Yet when he got in the car, he found himself berating Sin for acting the way Boyd more or less expected him to act.

What sort of behavior was that? Especially from Boyd, who had spent so many years letting the world pass by unnoticed? Maybe it was that Boyd had expected something else? Or hoped for? But he didn't even know what that could be, or if he did. He didn't have emotions anymore, really, and if he ever had them, it seemed like he didn't truly feel them. He didn't know what they were. Everything was too removed, so he had to assume what his emotions were by analyzing his actions, just as anyone else would have to. Did this mean he was disappointed or upset? But why would he be?

It wasn't as though the concept of Sin hit him unexpected. He already had three main theories.

The first was that Sin was afraid to let anyone get close, and so he had created an act. It was in the cocky little smiles, the knowing comments and the polite tone of his voice while he said something cruel or uncomplimentary. These contradictory mannerisms made a person feel he was unpredictable, uncommon; even unfathomable. Strangers would remain removed because he had alienated them, and, perhaps in the process, alienated himself.

The second was that Sin truly did hate everyone, and perhaps he wanted to hurt them. His mannerisms and personality were a way to do that actively, to constantly get back at those who had gotten to him. In such a case, abandoning Boyd as he did was a way to bring him harm, or show that he cared little about his existence. Alive, dead, what did it matter? He was just another body in Sin's way. But if that were the case, it was true that there was little point in offering the Goldfish. Unless they were poisoned, which Boyd did not think was true.

The third was that Sin saw others purely as objects. He enjoyed playing with them, as a child that throws away a broken toy the second it stops interesting him. His reputation as a cold-blooded monster of a killer would be due to him having no respect for the other's life.

Boyd looked to the road again and inclined his head slightly, contemplating this. His hair fell forward on the side opposite Sin, so it did not hide his expression, little that there was there. With Sin's reactions, he wondered if perhaps Sin felt Boyd had done him a disservice. If he saw the interview, then it would have seemed to him that Boyd understood from the beginning that he was not particularly interested in the well-being of others. And yet, on their first mission, Boyd already seemed upset for him acting exactly within those parameters.

Boyd remained silent for a few breaths, thinking about this. It took him a bit, but he finally came to a conclusion. He was acting foolishly and out of line. What did he expect from Sin? Why should he expect anything at all? Perhaps this was something that was not Sin's fault, but Boyd's, and he was projecting his disappointment unnecessarily. What he was even disappointed about, he had no idea. But he had to assume he must be to have acted this way.

"I apologize," Boyd said finally. "I seem to be insinuating something about you that I don't know if I really mean. I do actually find you interesting as well, or I would not be talking to you at all." A very brief pause. "I tend to ignore everyone."

Sin only responded with a one shouldered shrug. He was completely silent for several long moments, his face completely unreadable during the lapse. It was a change from his previous mocking smirks and amused expressions and almost proved the fact that he had been putting on an act before.

The silence ended when he looked at Boyd with an almost calculating gleam in his eyes. "Just don't expect much from me and we'll get along fine for the time being."

"I don't expect much from anyone," Boyd said calmly. Sin said nothing in response, and the rest of the ride passed in silence. Boyd dropped Sin off back at the facility, and wrote the mission report later on his own. He didn't know if Sin ever bothered to read it, but somehow he doubted he did.

Continue to Ch 7 ~ Self-Reliance