Stav was satisfied with the post-mortem investigation so far, and he left Dec, Res and Sheepdog alone to get some rest. He wasn’t finished yet, there was one major thread that still needed to be tied off. It was Jackson’s turn. Regardless of how late it had become, Jackson wouldn’t get to rest until this final interview. “Sharp, bring in our patient now,” Stavros boomed, and Stav rolled Jackson into the room affixed to an office chair, parking him directly in front of Stav’s desk. Jackson was coming around again after passing out earlier, with the assistance of some smelling salts under his nose. He looked tired and haggard, sweat-soaked from the night’s consequences, with a mostly-clean gauze padding taped over his artskin-enhanced shoulder wound. “Cigarette?”, Stav offered, doing his best good cop impersonation. Jackson nodded yes, and Stav placed a cigarette in his mouth for him, lighting it with a single strike of a Zippo lighter. He clicked it shut and placed it in his front shirt pocket. Jackson took a long draw off the cigarette and motioned for Stav to retrieve it since his hands were bound. Stav leaned back and let the uncomfortable silence do some of the work for him. He patiently waited for Jackson to say something to break the silence. “Are you guys gonna kill me or what? You’ve done a lot of work just to kill me, but let’s get on with it.”, Jackson cracked. Stav didn’t answer him directly; it wasn’t out of the question just yet, and Stav preferred not to lie. “We probably won’t kill you, but we need you to do a lot of talking. Singing for your supper, as they used to say. Afterwards? We’ll make a decision, and it will be fair. You’re driving; map out how you got here.”, Stav said.
Jackson glanced down, his heart pounding. He took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his situation pressing down on him. Every scenario played out in his mind like a grim chess game. If he gave Stav all the information, he’d become expendable—a target for elimination. But if he held back, Stav would sense his deceit, and the torture would be inevitable. Jackson wasn’t trained for this. He wasn’t a hardened operative; the fear gnawed at him, making his stomach churn. He knew that under pressure, he’d crack eventually.
Caught between a rock and a hard place, Jackson weighed his options with increasing desperation. His hands trembled slightly as he made his choice, throwing the dice and hoping against hope that luck might favor him this time.
“Like I said earlier, this was a contract job. My team basically won a bid on the undernet. An anonymous, encrypted request hit the wire with the target descriptions and an address. There were no treatment instructions other than ‘the subjects should be taken alive and interrogated. No authorization of deadly force’. Once we accepted the contract, we got paid half, suited up, and headed to the location.” Jackson paused and wondered if he left anything out. Stav leaned forward on his elbows, narrowing his eyes as he listened, trying to work out how much of the story was true. “Sure is coincidental,” Stav said, “how an AI just happened to notice all this activity after the plan was in motion.” “I don’t know much about all that fancy future shit,” Jackson shot back, “I figured they had enough digital brainpower to watch anyone anywhere. Which makes me wonder why it kicked in a little late. Was it watching us, or them?”
The question was purely rhetorical. Jackson was buying time. Fifteen wasn’t aware of this team until it noticed the men approaching from outside Sheep’s building. Three armed men disguised as some kind of SWAT team would raise suspicion to anyone on the building’s camera feeds. Jackson was starting to feel like this whole thing was a huge mistake, but bounty hunters weren’t picky. No doubt some other team would have grabbed the targets alive and escaped before Dec had a chance to stop them. This was all Gruff’s fault, and he resented him for it. The pizza man? What a joke; but Gruff fell for that gambit despite calling bluffs all night up until that point. No Gruff, no Dec, no major shoulder injury trying to heal.
Jackson refocused. He already made the decision to stop protecting his crew. They were dead anyway, and he didn’t care to join them. “What else do you wanna know?”, he asked Stav.
Stav started again, not giving Jackson long to think. Memories were faster than lies. “Tell me more about this undernet. An encrypted channel for bounty hunters maybe? How does it work?”
Jackson spilled the beans, describing the structure of the undernet and what bounty hunters and teams needed to do to register, to find jobs. It was like other social media with rankings and bidding. Seemed like a small, easy job, and it would have been if those two weren’t so well protected. Not only did the targets see it coming, but their ex-military friend and his exotic weapons just happened to arrive on time. Even 75% of the way through the job, Jackson and his crew were convinced that they’d be walking out of there unscathed with the targets. Now two were dead; Jackson was seriously injured and he was deep underground in some hidden bunker, completely at the mercy of Stav’s crew. Public opinion had to be against him, but he couldn’t risk sounding too soft and apologetic.
“Like I said, this was just business. No intent on harming the targets; we wanted to get paid the full amount. Things just went upside down. People get snatched every day in this city, interrogated, and set loose miles from home. This wasn’t our first rodeo, but we weren’t stupid…our rifles carried dummy rounds, good for noise and a scare tactic.”, Jackson stammered.
Stav leaned back and slowly nodded. This was the truth; he was satisfied with the story he was hearing. There was an unspoken understanding here. Jackson’s only chance at leaving here in one piece was the truth, and he knew it by now. If they just wanted Jackson dead it would have happened back at the apartment, a mess for Mr. Clean to deal with. Down here, it would be a bigger mess to handle at the expense of giving up 242’s location. It was highly restricted info to even know about this place, let alone access it. Stav yelled at the door. “Res, come in here. Someone wants to talk to you.” Momentarily, the door opened, and Res stood in the doorway holding an ice pack to her cheek. “Well, let’s hear it,” Res said impatiently, “ain’t got all night.” Jackson knew this was the final test. “Listen, we had a job to do, and you shooting me wasn’t part of the job description. I was angry, and it hurt. I’m sorry if I…overreacted. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction, after all.” Res contemplated this half-assed apology for a minute before admitting, “to be honest, I hadn’t planned on shooting anyone either. You spooked me and my training kicked in. I thought it was a life-or-death situation.” Jackson breathed a sigh of relief, like two boxers touching gloves after the fight. “I guess you’ve suffered enough,” she added, “so let’s call it even. We’ll heal.” They would have shaken on it if Jackson wasn’t tied up. Jackson managed a crooked grin and said, “look at us, a couple of victims of circumstance.” “Nah, victim of you smashing me in the face with a rifle butt. You’re lucky you didn’t break my nose. Wouldn’t be as pretty for Dec,” she said as she glanced over her shoulder towards him. Dec was busy tearing into Res’ cooking and didn’t look up.
