"I could really use some fresh air" Sam says, looking at the bearded chunky man sitting a few feet from him.
"No", the man denies, " no , no ,no and don't even think about begging , for I feel no pity" he adds.
" Pretty please" Sam pleads.
"I care not whether your please is pretty or ugly, the bottom line is, no!" the man slams his fist on the table as an indication of finality.
"What about the top line, what does it say?" Sam asks,earning himself a deathly glare from the fuming bearded fellow. He instantly notes that the 'top line' is a touché subject and promises that he won't speak of it any further. Sam and the bearded man are the only occupants of the windowless room. The events of his abduction are coming back to him in small fragments, which slip out of his mental grasp as soon as they come. He then thinks of his parents, wondering if they're still among the living.
******************
The day feels empty for Darla Martins. Sam is not there to walk her to class, nor is he there to sit with her during Biology. Despite her friends trying to lift her spirits, she can't help but feel gloom and despair. She cannot shake off the nagging feeling that something terrible has occurred to him. The fact that he has not been answering her calls further aggravates her state of unrest. She has went over to the Blake home numerous times, each time being answered by silence upon ringing the doorbell.
***************
The whole room goes silent as Wiley Jones gracefully enters, one foot after the other, muscular henchmen on either side of him. Realisation strikes Sam when his eyes land on the man. That must be the big man, he thinks to himself.
"Hey uhm....,oh, my bad, uhm h-hello, good evening big man....sir" he stutters, earning himself astonished glares from the whole room. Wiley scrunches up his nose slightly before casting a deathly glare towards one of his henchmen, the one who has been watching over Sam in his absence.
"Declan!"
"Yessir"
"Why didn't you notify the boy on the rules of behaviour in the presence of the big man? Let me read out these rules for the umpteenth time so that all may hear: first rule, you do not speak to the big man if he hasn't spoken first. Second rule, you do not speak of the bigger man while the big man's around. Third rule, you do not cry in front of the big man, unless you want some crack. Fourth rule, you do not question the big man's actions. Sixth and final rule, you do not dare call the big man by name, unless you're the big lady. Now it is clear as day that you did not read them to the boy as per the kidnapped-hostage guideline pinned onto the wall behind you"
Declan feels his blood go cold, his hands tremble uncontrollably, a trickle of cold sweat runs down the side of his face as insurmountable fear overwhelms him. He knows what's coming next. He knows that the big man accepts no apologies. He also knows that this very moment might be his last, but something compells him to make one act of defiance before his inevitable demise.
" Ehem", he starts, " before you uhm punish me, which is technically killing me, decapitation style. I just want to let the whole room know that you, Wiley, yeah I called you by first name, are a dimwit and a douchebag with the IQ of a dead snail. That's right folks, Wiley here, doesn't even know what the atmosphere is."
The whole room gasps in astonishment, some secretly admiring his bravery.
"And oh by the way, Willey Willy Wiley, what is the atmosphere?" he asks, a daring smile on his face.
" As of now my blade shall do the speaking for my dear Wiley" Claire Martins interjects, drawing up her terrifyingly sharp blade from its sheath, "and I fancy it is very fond of you Declan" ,she continues.
Then an earpiercing desperate cry is heard, followed by a slashing sound after which an object hits the floor with a thud. Remembering the third rule, David Maverick holds back his tears as he watches the lifeless eyes of his childhood friend stare at him blankly. He then remembers that there's an exception to the rule and decides to use it to his advantage.
"I want some crack!" he cries out.
Sam watches all the events unfold before him. He wonders how they all remain Wiley's henchmen despite his merciless ways. He gazes at the ceiling, as if an angel might burst through it and come to his rescue.
"Now, does anyone wish to get something out of their chest before we proceed?" Wiley asks, his eyes roaming the whole room, "Good, I hope we won't be witnessing any more....uhm...murders" he adds. Wiley's cold glare remains fixed on Sam, " Bring them in" he orders one of his henchmen. Then, to Sam's horror, two chubby men dressed in black tuxedos emerge, roughly holding his father in the manner in which two guards hold an inmate.
****************
"We haven't heard from them or heard anything about them for three years now. New intel suggests they're playing for the other team . It would be catastrophic to have agents of such expertise working for the opposition." Murphy addresses the room with an air of authority. Invaluable experience evident in both his face and manner. His eyes roam around the room as he speaks, each agent slightly flinching at his gaze and composing themselves after his eyes have passed. His greying hair is perfectly combed as always. His green eyes still sparkle with life and at his age he still fancies himself a charmer. He is a fatherly figure to the young inexperienced agents and a source of inspiration for the older ones. He always gives the best advice and looks at every situation in a careful and articulate manner. He is never one to take sides in arguments, even when one of the two parties is in the wrong. Such is why he receives full attention when he speaks.
"We're talking about highly-skilled professionals here, who will go to unfathomable heights to get the job done. Nonetheless I groomed them, I trained them and I , Frederick Murphy, will put an end to them if needs be."
