Jack laughed in his face, a smirk spreading across his mouth. "You can't be serious, mate."
The man didn't move, hands in his suit pockets with an unamused expression on his face.
Jack began to feel a little nervous, he wasn't exactly used to getting no response out of someone even after provoking them. He waited another second or two, and when he was met with the same empty eyes his mouth flat-lined.
"We're not exactly the military type. I don't see us fitting in."
The man pinched the bridge of his nose now and sat onto the couch, unbuttoning his suit-jacket and folding his leg across his knee. Jack gave him a suspicious look but follow his example, sitting in the couch across from him, folding his leg across his own knee.
"Are you aware of how many people you've killed Mr. Taylor?"
His voice was forceful now, Jack swallowed and smiled again, giving a shrug, but silently, he knew he wasn't liking the way this was going. It was becoming less and less an offer.
"And you realize your own expertise in the art of killing I hope? We've all viewed some of your best work. Taking down military trained operatives? I hate to inflate your ego, but that's not a skill that goes unnoticed. Coming from the Commander in Chief himself, full pardons. All around. If you agree to my former proposition, Mr. Taylor."
Jack straightened out his light blue tie, thinking through his fake compliments and empty bigheadedness. "Full pardons, eh?"
The man raised his eyebrows, nodding, "You realize the immensity of that, don't you? You're a smart man after all. An idiot wouldn't be running the Saints."
"You want my entire crew in the sad dunes? I'm just clarifying here, mate."
"Oh, right. But, no. Just you and five of your most trusted people, or high-ranking. However you do it."
"I've only got four that I trust."
"That'll do fine." He slipped a paper passed to him by the military officer behind him, over to Jack. He was about to grab his pen but Jack grabbed his own out of his dress-shirt pocket and hovered over the line.
"All you gotta do is kill some terrorist-sons-of-a-bitches. Full pardons."
Jack pressed his pen to the paper, and finally, signed across the line.
Jack's eyes slowly opened, his head was swimming and he took a shaky breath.
He coughed, sputtering out some dust that caked his mouth and he swallowed, which turned out to not be a good idea. Leading him into a coughing fit.
"Ah, I see you are awake, Mr. Taylor."
"Let us not play games. We know what you're after, but we're after something just as valuable."
"Mate, I have no fucking clue what you're talking about…"
He looked up from his place on the floor, pushing against the ground to try and sit up. A boot on his back slammed him back into the ground, "You are my prisoner now. You will understand that."
"I already got the memo, don't worry." Jack murmured hoarsely, he looked around the large and rather empty room. There was a pit and an empty cot but the rest of the room was dark save for a couple burning lanterns which did little to illuminate.
"Where's my people? That I came with?"
"You shouldn't be concerned about them, they're all fighting for themselves at the moment. What I need, comes from you."
"Alright, alright, let's see if I know what you're jabbering on about. Throw it at me. What're you looking for, exactly?"
"You should already know.." He drawled though his thick Afghani accent, "…considering you are high ranking military man, yes? So, I will play along while my good mood lasts, and ignore your blatant fake ignorance. You are in possession of my brother, you have caught-en him one week ago. I want him returned, alive. You have the power to do this. But I'm in giving mood."
He nodded to himself, Jack watching through his doubling vision as he walked back and forth, five men in the background with guns pointed towards me.
"…I will settle for location and your promise he's there."
"Mate, honestly, you've gone bonkers or-"
"We'll have to do this hard way, Mr. Taylor?"
"I don't fucking know what you're talking about! I'm high-ranking, sure, but-"
"So then you should know, there are no excuses! Do not attempt to fill my head with lies. I have had enough of this…Americancy! You spread lies and conspiracy. You destroy my people and their beliefs, crush them like little scorpions in the sand." His voice grew quieter as he came closer, "I won't have for one more lie. One more self-serving American."
He cut the distance and kneeled down in front of him, and even still, he was looking down at him. Truly flaunting all of his power.
Power trip, much?" Jack joked dryly.
He roughly took him by the shoulder, pulling him up and pushing him against a wall. He held him tight but Jack knew that any attempt at escape at this point would be futile. He didn't have a weapon, and whatever drugs they'd so obviously pumped into his system by this point was making him weak and nauseous.
"What've you done to me..?" Jack groaned, looking for any kind of injection sights that he might be able to see, even through his obscured vision.
The man before him held him by the throat, and smirked. "Good. I was thinking it had not worked by listening to your mouth run and run."
He let him drop to the floor, and look back at his men. "Just don't kill him."
And walked out, the other five men dropped their guns, and smiled. But it wasn't a smile he could trust, it wasn't a friendly grin to assure him everything was going to be all right. It was a menacing one, and he wondered.
He wondered just briefly, if his friends, his partners in crime, his family, was actually still alive.
They begun to speak in a language he couldn't make out, but at least he was pretty sure that it didn't have anything to do with the drugs, he was almost positive they were speaking their mother-tongue, but how could he know for sure?
A man left and came back moments later, pulling in a chair behind him and some rope. He didn't know if he could say anything to change their minds, or do anything, so he sat there like a dumb fool letting them tie him up to a chair, gag him with a dirty cloth, and each take their turns at punching him in the face, arms, gut. Whatever they felt like.
Until finally, on the second round, he couldn't take anymore, and closed his eyes.