Dead Men Have No Legacies: Stories of a Seasoned Bounty Hunter

Chapter 46

(One week later...?)

A ragged gasp erupted from my chest, and I felt myself rage against my restraints. I had been in this room for...An hour? Three hours? An entire day? I...Can't remember. Time...Has been lost to me.

When I learned that Mayfield was the one who had ordered Lance's execution on the second day of my incarceration, I felt a part of myself wither away. With each interrogation–With every session of torture, I felt my mind crack further and further.

F...Father always told me to never scream when he locked me in a closet or when he beat me with a golf club. H...He always told me to stay quiet and take it like...like a good little boy...And so I did...

Speaking of my father, the sadistic bastard came back with a vengeance. After Mayfield was done with me six days ago and I was tossed back into my cell, he was there sitting on Lance's mat.

"How ironic: you're in prison, and the only friend you made was killed."

I didn't respond–I couldn't.

He rolled his eyes and stood up. "Ignoring me won't solve your problems, boy. Now that your beloved Alannah isn't here, I can have you all to myself."

From that point onward, my father goaded and mocked me, saying that I was a fool for ever thinking I could escape him. I tried to ignore him–I tried, damn it, but my father found my weakpoint when he said Alannah will never forgive me for this.

"She'll move on sure enough," he had assured me, "And you'll be left here all alone to rot."

And so...I was left with the voices in my head. Not just my father, but the countless people I've killed. They came back to mock and degrade me, but I wouldn't give them what they wanted–I couldn't. To snap like this would surely catch Mayfield's attention. He would exploit this weakness to hell and back until I was reduced to a raving madman. I...won't allow that to happen. I need to stay strong...

By day four of my incarceration, I was being barraged by the ghosts of my past.

"Now you understand the vileness of the United Terran Federation,"  Dr. Oliver Hendricks had said, sneering at me, "They don't give a damn about people like us. All they want is for you to be their lap dog and serve them until they grow tired of you. After that, they toss you out like refuse."

"Even the mightiest of predators fall," Christopher Arestosos growled, not removing his gaze from me "You, of all people, have taught me and my wife as much."

"Your efforts to help our son will be in vain. In the end, he'll end up no better than you did." Leanne added in.

"Listen to the whispers, old friend," Gavin chimed in, shaking his head sadly. "They do not lie."

I didn't allow myself to respond–I couldn't–I couldn't! I...Can't...Break...I won't allow it...

When my mind continued to fall apart, I...allowed a part of myself to die. Even without my armor and my helmet, I became little more than a shadow–a spectre lingering in the back of the room. At one point–I don't remember any more–I stopped eating. I just sat at a table near the back of the room and stared at nothing. Several people attempted to illicit a response from me, and some even tried to rile me up. However, a quick punch to the throat silenced them. After Lance's execution, I sat alone. Anyone who sat near me was smart enough to move away, which effectively gave me what I wanted: Solace...

In this solace, I couldn't help but think about why I did this–typically, I was so fucking thorough, so to slip up so majorly begs the question: why? Why, damn it? Why did I throw away the life I had been handed? Why did I look at the ones who loved me and turn my back on them? I had everything, and I threw it away! Was it pride? Complacency? Foolishness? I don't know–and I don't care. What's done is done, and here I am–trapped in my own personal hell for my failure to realize I had been led into a fucking trap. The most I can hope for is that the woman who stole my heart, the partner who put his family on the side to help me, and the kid who deserved a better life were able to get away from the Federation. Even if I fall, I will take their secrets with me. That much I can promise.

This pattern of soul-rending activity continued up to the present moment. 

For today's session of torment, Mayfield dunked my head into a tub of ice-cold water when I didn't answer any of his questions. Of course, that meant I was submerged in a tub of frigid water for the majority of the time. I would be allowed to get a quick breath, only for Mayfield to ask me a question. When he realized my only answer was silence, back into the tub my head would go. For the first stretch of the interrogation, I had been able to keep myself together. Unfortunately, I started to lose it in the later half.

"Fuck's sake!" Haydn barked as he let go of the back of my head. "Why don't you just do yourself a favor and rat your friends out? That'll make your death so much easier!"

"N-Never..." I slurred, feeling a lopsided grin adorn my numb face, "N...Neverrrr..."

White-hot pain blossomed across my face when the general slapped me. "Robinson, take this bastard back to his cell to rot! I want him back in here within the hour! Drag him if you have to–I don't care."

Instead of two guards stepping forward to collect my sorry ass, a lone figure stepped forward to undo my restraints and lift me up. Right as I passed by Mayfield, I rose a shaky middle finger in his direction. In response, he drilled me in the stomach. A soft gasp escaped me, but I focused on the pain–Used it to bring some clarity back to my splintered mind.

"You'll crack soon–I can already see you folding," he growled, a manic light entering his pale blue eyes, "You can't last for much longer."

My father stood behind Mayfield and shook his head in disappointment. "Just give up, boy. At least you'd be allowed to die with some dignity."

I shook my head in response. "I...Will give you n-nothing, Mayfield. Y-You're better off killing me."

A dangerous light entered the general's eyes as he grabbed me by the throat. "Don't try giving me any ideas, Mortifer. You won't like what comes of it."

"D-Dead...Men h-h-have no legacies." I recited, my head lolling to one side. "W-We...Hunt. We...Kill. We...D-Die. O-Our secrets die w-with us."

Mayfield's face contorted with rage, and he let go of me. "Get this filth out of my face, Robinson. Now! Now, damn it!"

I...Will not bow. I reminded myself. I...Bow to no one. Not to my father, not to Mayfield, not to the fucking UTF. If I die, who cares. I will...I will not let Alannah or Boreas or Danny or Janet or Alex die. If I die, I don't care. You lose either way, Mayfield. In the end, that's all I care about. That's all the closure this broken soul needs.