Made In Basalt

The Terrible

There was a very specific, charming, slightly flirtatious little smirk that had never failed to get Axl into just about anywhere he wanted. A girl's bedroom, a nightclub he was too young for, a Human Resources filing room...they were all the same to him. But that expression had long since worn off. He may have just about managed to persuade the unimpressed secretary that he had a valid reason to be here, but time was running short, and there was nothing in Nikki's file that really stood out as blackmail material.

Shoving his hair back in exasperation, he pulled the file up and scanned the text with narrowed eyes, nose scrunched up in concentration. Surely there was something here that he could dangle over that rat bastard's head that would make him shut up and let Axl cook his fucking heroin in peace. He was making good money - great money, in fact - and he was not ready to give up his side hustle. It had been several months since Nikki had asked him to stop, and he had, for a while. But he was starting to get the itch. After the fear of being caught had subsided, the reasons why he'd started doing it in the first place started calling to him again. And there were plenty of reasons, but the most important of them was that - shit, he liked it. He liked that thrill of cheating the system, formulating illegal drugs on government property while he was on the clock. He liked being the best. He liked the way Jimmy practically worshipped him now, talking him up to all his friend so he'd acquired almost mythological notoriety (although he was adamantly cautious that Jimmy never revealed his full identity). Jimmy had told him that the bikers had hiked the price up so high that the main punters weren't even the sad little freaks that hung around street corners anymore; no, they were now being approached by rich housewives, high-flying businessmen. They were moving up in the world. Nonetheless, those sad little freaks were so desperate to get their hit regardless of the price, that they did some pretty shocking things to get the money.

Well, maybe shocking wasn't the right word. Axl was not easily shocked. He did find it endlessly amusing, though. Maybe, given his new clientele, he could expand into cocaine. That drug was just as addictive, but a little more suited to the cosmopolitan lifestyle. He could also market it as a little more glamorous than heroin.

The text had started to blur as Axl's thought took over. He shook his head slightly and forced himself to concentrate.

Mick Mars.

He blinked, and craned his neck.

Mick Mars: Designated Supervisor.

Well, shit. No wonder Nikki listened to his interviews so obsessively. Axl skimmed over the missions they'd covered together in various countries. He stopped when he came across the name Vincent Carter - it rang a bell somewhere, but he couldn't remember anything else about him. Sitting back onto the floor and crossing his legs, he read on. Much of the information was redacted, and even the information that was there left many gaps as if to assume the reader would have a certain level of preliminary knowledge, but Axl forced himself to digest the salient facts.

His exact role wasn't stated, but Axl guessed that he was part of the agency in some capacity. It appeared that he'd worked with Nikki several times, and that the two of them had come up together.

Axl straightened his back and lifted the file closer to his face, his finger following the text as it revealed to him that Carter had betrayed the agency somehow - something about selling information? He wondered if he should try and find Carter's file to try and shed more light on the topic, but he could always do that later. Nikki had been the one to discover what Carter was up to, which resulted in what the file described as 'prolonged interrogation.'

The euphemism made him smirk a little.

Carter had then somehow managed to escape. The text gave no clue as to how, but it was noted that his escape had led to 'dire consequences.'