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The island humidity is stifling.
You are here on a mission from the Bureau. You didn't really need to get a ticket from Marius, but it was the perfect chance to taunt him, and you couldn't resist. I can help upgrade your event's electronic security systems. Let's avoid a repeat of the Big Data Lab and not have a kid hack in. (Hey, it wasn't your fault the kid was a genius. If Marius didn't want you make a game of breaking his firewalls, maybe he should make better ones.)
The others know better than to ask you questions about your missions. They know you're here because of the heist from ten years ago--Vyn, you're sure, knows more than that, because he tipped his hand on the ship. (For such a smug psychologist, he really picks the worst angles with you. Does he really think the NSB's trump card is so easy to crack?) But it doesn't matter in the end, because they have no way of knowing what your actual goal is.
One man does, though. One man knows exactly what you're looking for. And that's the man in front of you, lying bound on the grass, slowly starting to regain consciousness from the tranquilizer you shot him with earlier.
As he stirs, you turn to your companion, smiling gently.
"It's almost dinner. There's some pretty tasty fruit in this part of the forest. Can you go pick some for me?"
She looks hesitant to leave you, but you know her: She doesn't want to get you in trouble by overhearing something confidential. That's not why you're sending her away, but it works in your favor. You promise to call her if needed, and you watch her walk away, illuminated by the slowly setting sun.
Ten paces. Twenty...
Once she's out of earshot, you let your expression go cold. You turn back to Joshua and kick him, none too gently. He trembles, staring at you with wide eyes.
"Who are you? Why did you kidnap me? Let me go!"
"Joshua Ott," you say, toneless. "33 years old. Your mother died early and your father was imprisoned for robbery. You dropped out of high school before you joined the gang called the Golden Lions." The corner of your mouth quirks up. "I have to say, you've really inherited your father's profession. You're doing a much better job than he did. You earned more after one job than your father did in half his life."
He watches you, wary. "You know me very well. Did you look me up?"
You ignore him. "In the Great Gold Heist 10 years ago, your entire gang died, and you were the only survivor. Now you're using this treasure hunt as an opportunity to retrieve the loot, right?"
He denies it, as you expected. Men like him always do. But you have no interest in playing along right now. So you crouch down, closer to him. His face gets impossibly paler; you've been told that when you're like this, all the light leaves your eyes. "Ott," you say softly. "I can't keep my partner in the woods for very long. Even though it's safe around here, look-- it's almost night. She'll be afraid by herself. So I don't have much patience for you."
"But I really don't-- agh!"
"I said," you repeat calmly, "I don't have time to play games with you. But don't worry, I don't like employing excessive force. It's just a joint dislocation." You pause. "Of course, if you keep refusing to talk, this will be the least of your worries."
You speak a little more as the sky darkens, but he doesn't budge--he seems too scared of you to focus. How annoying. You don't want to waste any more time on this than you have to, so you change tactics.
"Oh, right. I forgot to tell you: that Jack person you want to take revenge on is nearby. I'm guessing you were planning on killing him. What if I tell him that you're here?" You take out your phone, showing him the GPS marker labeled with Jack's name. He stares, silent, so you keep going. "Before I leave, I'll give you a muscle relaxant. You'll retain your mental faculties, but you won't be able to move an inch."
You let his hands go to open your backpack, taking out a medicine case. You open it up and set it on your leg, so that he has no choice but to see the syringe inside.
Idly, as if you're pondering the weather, "Do you think he'll do to you what you did to his father?"
---
Finally, he talks: all lies, of course. But it doesn't matter. You've scared him into going for the treasure himself, and all you've needed to do is follow him. And that's led you here to this cave, where the two of you watched Joshua trudge out from the water empty-handed and furious, throwing his former lover under the bus without hesitation.
Finally, he says, "Now you know that I can't find the gold either. Can you let me go now?"
It's almost funny. He really has no idea who you are. "Let you go? That's impossible. Aside from the gold, you're a murder suspect."
"What murder? I've been busy looking for the gold and getting away from you ever since I got here. I didn't kill anyone!"
You don't roll your eyes, but only because you're a professional. "I'm not talking about today, of course. But what about 10 years ago?"
He frowns. "I didn't kill anyone from our gang back then..."
"Didn't you admit to Jack--" you begin, but then his phone rings. Ah, the accomplice.
You didn't want her to see you like this, but it can't be helped. So you close off your heart, pull a dagger from your waist, and rest it gently against Joshua's neck. "Answer and put it on speaker mode. I'll let you decide what to say."
Once again, he starts to shake, terrified. You watch him fumble, nearly dropping the phone in the water, before he manages to answer it. A part of you wonders how he ever managed to murder 17 people, if he crumbles under threats so easily.
"Joshua, where are you?! Come to the Temple of Death in the west. Get rid of some trouble for me!"
That must be the rest of the team. Joshua looks at you, terrified--you gently trace his artery with the tip of your blade, silent. As you watch him, you wonder how you must look to her. She'll never see you in the same way, will she?
Joshua swallows, and the motion causes the blade to nick his skin. Impossibly, he shakes even more. "I've almost got the mask," he says into the phone--that's one lie abandoned, finally. "I'll go over once I get it."
"No, you have to come now. Day's breaking! The immortality ritual can't be completed without it. The God of Death's scepter's long been lost, but the golden mask might still work. But if it ends up in someone else's hands, then your diary of sadistic hobbies will show up on the police's desk."
"Hey, Bryce--!" But the call is over; Joshua's here, stuck with you, blood trickling down his neck.
"Right," you say. "You were saying there's no evidence of you killing people. I guess there is now. That diary, am I right?"
He must finally hear something in your tone, because he looks up at you again, searching. "Who are you exactly?"
You press the dagger harder against his neck as you lower yourself towards him. But as you do, you can't resist stealing a glance in her direction. You aren't sure what to make of the look on her face--but you have to finish what you've started. So you turn back to him, weaponizing the sinking feeling in your chest, turning it into the ice with which you coat your words.
"Joshua Ott, stop playing games. It doesn't matter who I am, but if you ever lie to me again... I don't mind being the God of Death."
You are here on a mission from the Bureau. You didn't really need to get a ticket from Marius, but it was the perfect chance to taunt him, and you couldn't resist. I can help upgrade your event's electronic security systems. Let's avoid a repeat of the Big Data Lab and not have a kid hack in. (Hey, it wasn't your fault the kid was a genius. If Marius didn't want you make a game of breaking his firewalls, maybe he should make better ones.)
The others know better than to ask you questions about your missions. They know you're here because of the heist from ten years ago--Vyn, you're sure, knows more than that, because he tipped his hand on the ship. (For such a smug psychologist, he really picks the worst angles with you. Does he really think the NSB's trump card is so easy to crack?) But it doesn't matter in the end, because they have no way of knowing what your actual goal is.
One man does, though. One man knows exactly what you're looking for. And that's the man in front of you, lying bound on the grass, slowly starting to regain consciousness from the tranquilizer you shot him with earlier.
As he stirs, you turn to your companion, smiling gently.
"It's almost dinner. There's some pretty tasty fruit in this part of the forest. Can you go pick some for me?"
She looks hesitant to leave you, but you know her: She doesn't want to get you in trouble by overhearing something confidential. That's not why you're sending her away, but it works in your favor. You promise to call her if needed, and you watch her walk away, illuminated by the slowly setting sun.
Ten paces. Twenty...
Once she's out of earshot, you let your expression go cold. You turn back to Joshua and kick him, none too gently. He trembles, staring at you with wide eyes.
"Who are you? Why did you kidnap me? Let me go!"
"Joshua Ott," you say, toneless. "33 years old. Your mother died early and your father was imprisoned for robbery. You dropped out of high school before you joined the gang called the Golden Lions." The corner of your mouth quirks up. "I have to say, you've really inherited your father's profession. You're doing a much better job than he did. You earned more after one job than your father did in half his life."
He watches you, wary. "You know me very well. Did you look me up?"
You ignore him. "In the Great Gold Heist 10 years ago, your entire gang died, and you were the only survivor. Now you're using this treasure hunt as an opportunity to retrieve the loot, right?"
He denies it, as you expected. Men like him always do. But you have no interest in playing along right now. So you crouch down, closer to him. His face gets impossibly paler; you've been told that when you're like this, all the light leaves your eyes. "Ott," you say softly. "I can't keep my partner in the woods for very long. Even though it's safe around here, look-- it's almost night. She'll be afraid by herself. So I don't have much patience for you."
"But I really don't-- agh!"
"I said," you repeat calmly, "I don't have time to play games with you. But don't worry, I don't like employing excessive force. It's just a joint dislocation." You pause. "Of course, if you keep refusing to talk, this will be the least of your worries."
You speak a little more as the sky darkens, but he doesn't budge--he seems too scared of you to focus. How annoying. You don't want to waste any more time on this than you have to, so you change tactics.
"Oh, right. I forgot to tell you: that Jack person you want to take revenge on is nearby. I'm guessing you were planning on killing him. What if I tell him that you're here?" You take out your phone, showing him the GPS marker labeled with Jack's name. He stares, silent, so you keep going. "Before I leave, I'll give you a muscle relaxant. You'll retain your mental faculties, but you won't be able to move an inch."
You let his hands go to open your backpack, taking out a medicine case. You open it up and set it on your leg, so that he has no choice but to see the syringe inside.
Idly, as if you're pondering the weather, "Do you think he'll do to you what you did to his father?"
---
Finally, he talks: all lies, of course. But it doesn't matter. You've scared him into going for the treasure himself, and all you've needed to do is follow him. And that's led you here to this cave, where the two of you watched Joshua trudge out from the water empty-handed and furious, throwing his former lover under the bus without hesitation.
Finally, he says, "Now you know that I can't find the gold either. Can you let me go now?"
It's almost funny. He really has no idea who you are. "Let you go? That's impossible. Aside from the gold, you're a murder suspect."
"What murder? I've been busy looking for the gold and getting away from you ever since I got here. I didn't kill anyone!"
You don't roll your eyes, but only because you're a professional. "I'm not talking about today, of course. But what about 10 years ago?"
He frowns. "I didn't kill anyone from our gang back then..."
"Didn't you admit to Jack--" you begin, but then his phone rings. Ah, the accomplice.
You didn't want her to see you like this, but it can't be helped. So you close off your heart, pull a dagger from your waist, and rest it gently against Joshua's neck. "Answer and put it on speaker mode. I'll let you decide what to say."
Once again, he starts to shake, terrified. You watch him fumble, nearly dropping the phone in the water, before he manages to answer it. A part of you wonders how he ever managed to murder 17 people, if he crumbles under threats so easily.
"Joshua, where are you?! Come to the Temple of Death in the west. Get rid of some trouble for me!"
That must be the rest of the team. Joshua looks at you, terrified--you gently trace his artery with the tip of your blade, silent. As you watch him, you wonder how you must look to her. She'll never see you in the same way, will she?
Joshua swallows, and the motion causes the blade to nick his skin. Impossibly, he shakes even more. "I've almost got the mask," he says into the phone--that's one lie abandoned, finally. "I'll go over once I get it."
"No, you have to come now. Day's breaking! The immortality ritual can't be completed without it. The God of Death's scepter's long been lost, but the golden mask might still work. But if it ends up in someone else's hands, then your diary of sadistic hobbies will show up on the police's desk."
"Hey, Bryce--!" But the call is over; Joshua's here, stuck with you, blood trickling down his neck.
"Right," you say. "You were saying there's no evidence of you killing people. I guess there is now. That diary, am I right?"
He must finally hear something in your tone, because he looks up at you again, searching. "Who are you exactly?"
You press the dagger harder against his neck as you lower yourself towards him. But as you do, you can't resist stealing a glance in her direction. You aren't sure what to make of the look on her face--but you have to finish what you've started. So you turn back to him, weaponizing the sinking feeling in your chest, turning it into the ice with which you coat your words.
"Joshua Ott, stop playing games. It doesn't matter who I am, but if you ever lie to me again... I don't mind being the God of Death."
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