Despite what people said about love and understanding and compassion making the world turn, the simple fact was that it wasn’t true. The truth was that there were only two things that made the world turn and it wasn’t something as cheesy as the power of love and compassion; and it certainly wasn’t some idiotic notion about trying to understand your neighbor. No, the truth was that the substance that greased the wheels of the world machine was comprised of two very simple ingredients, ingredients that the man known as Poseidon held in abundance.

The first of these multi-faceted ingredients is one that is the most universally understood; money. Whether it came in bricks of green, gold, or binary digits, the simple truth was that money held far more power than love or compassion could ever understand. When slipped into the appropriate hands or offered at the most desperate of times, it held such a powerful sway over the human soul that it could literally make a global leader from a moron. Money spoke volumes louder than anything else as, thanks to the commercialistic society mankind has become. Those with surplus of the stuff found they could do absolutely whatever they wanted.

Even purchase the morals of other men. It was a regular practice of Poseidon to offer funds to those people in situations that he didn’t have a firm grip in. One of these institutions he was still trying to infiltrate was the government organization known as S.U.P.E.R. They were mutant hunters, stepping over the boundaries where homo sapiens should never tread. It made Jorge sick to think how much influence that they had and the hell that they inflicted on mutantkind. However, S.U.P.E.R. was still a government institution and those were wrought with holes and gaps just waiting to be exploited.

One of those exploited openings came in the form of a soldier by the name of Delta 9.

Some time ago Jorge had put out feelings, trying to scope out and pick the correct individuals to be approached. It was a careful process, one that required subtly and patience. As much as the businessman didn’t like to be in the dark, he knew it was something he couldn’t rush. The wrong person approached could alert the organization and there would go his only window. No, Jorge waited with all the bated breath of a fisherman sending out his line and awaiting the perfect nibble; low and behold his prized fish had arrived.

William Cole, Delta 9. A mutant who worked for S.U.P.E.R. but also made it clear that he was interested in whomever could actually afford him. He turned out to be one of Jorge Cervantes’ greatest investments. Of course the man wasn’t necessary up to par with the time of associate that Jorge worked with, the fact was that he was loyal to whomever had the right amount of money. Jorge had the right amount of money in spades. Though it may be dangerous to work with someone who could be so easily bought, so long as the cash came in, he was willing to take the risk.

For a bit now the two of them had a working relationship. And sure enough today was the day for payment.

Jorge sat at his desk in the Atlantis Club, casually going over notes and messages that had been passed along to him earlier in the day. A glance out the one-way glass and he could see the patrons of his club were fat, happy, and wealthy, enjoying a live performance on stage. A young man sang a deep and throaty song of seduction. The couples out on the dance floor had hands all over one another and the businessman could only grin in satisfaction. Happy customers meant more money and that was all that mattered.

A ping echoed from his desk. Check the small computer he had situated there, he tapped a few keys to see that he had a visitor – Mr. Cole was right on time. Nodding his head, Jorge typed out a quick response for the security guard to step aside and show him to his office (not that the man didn’t know already). As he awaited the man to appear at his door, Jorge turned and headed to a small, silver tray that was situated on a table against the wall. Remember before where it was mentioned that it was two things that made the world go round? On this table say the other – scotch.

At the sound of his door opening, Jorge didn’t even bother to look up as he smirked and pulled out two crystal glasses. Plucking the bulbous top off the decanter, he poured two drinks of the finely aged scotch and glanced over to the man who entered with a grin and held up one of the glasses.

”Single? Or would you prefer a double today?”

Oh man, did he love this place. Walk in, hot chicks left and right, everyone dancing, or drinking. They were classy broads, too. This wasn't a trashy dive, hell no. This place was where money went to have a good time. He had money, too. He drove up in an honest to goodness Lambo. He was wearing a nice suit. People measured him and everything for it.

Did he like dressing like this? Not really. It was a @#%$in' bother.

Did he like the way the ladies looked at him when he dressed this way? Yeah. Yeah he @#%^in did. He gave a girl the brows as he headed toward the back. He'd be checking her out on the way back to the hot red ride. It had two seats for a reason.

The scene of the lively floor became much more business like as you passed into the back of the club. He ran into a security guard. He rolled his eyes as the man stopped him, gave him some lip, and then nodded and made a smug comment as the man agreed to show him back. The man moved to open the doors to the for him, but he shoved him aside, and invited himself in.

Thump! The door opened up wide, and he strode on in confidently. Not a lot of people walked into this office like that. Most people were scared stiff looking in the general direction of it. One might argue that William Cole wasn't bright enough to be. He didn't agree. The way he saw it, this guy needed him. Enough to treat him like he liked him.

He stood in the doorway for a moment, and spread his arms wide. "Hey buddy!" He strode on in, and plopped into the seat on the other side of the desk. "Heh... You always got the good stuff. Double."

"How's business?" He asked, taking a moment to run his tongue over his teeth. He looked around the office, and then out the little one way mirror. "Place is packed tonight."

There were certain individuals that Poseidon made sure to align himself with. These individuals were varied but there were common threads that always reflected the crime boss’ state of mind. Politicians, actresses, mutants with influence – they always managed to find a spot just outside of the mans’ spotlight. However, every once and awhile there were those people who were spotted near him that made others wonder just how the hell he or she got there? Luck? Twist of fate? It could have been any of those options but the most likely was that they were being paid.

William Cole was one of those people. A member of a hated organization known as S.U.P.E.R., he was deep in the pockets of Ragnarok, or rather, Jorge Cervantes. It would remain that way so long as money was made available to him. So far that wouldn’t be a problem, as long as the man continued to prove his usefulness. He may strut into his club with all the swagger of a highroller expecting to break the bank at a casino – but to Jorge he was little more than a guppy swimming through shark-infested waters. It would only be a matter of time before he said or did the wrong thing. And then would be the point where Jorge would have to roll up his sleeves and educate him.

Until then, as long as information was given, as long as William didn’t draw attention to their arrangement, Jorge would treat him as the old friend he never had.

>> "Hey buddy! Heh... You always got the good stuff. Double."

Poseidon nodded, pouring the man a double scotch and himself the same. Once the drinks were poured, he picked up both and returned to his desk, leaving his guest’s upon the table top within reach and liftin his own to his lips. Standing at the one-way glass window, he peered out over the club and sighed as he felt the sweet burn of the liquid as it coursed down his throat. Of course he only ever provided himself with the best.

>> "How's business? Place is packed tonight."

”Fairly well,” Jorge replied with a twisted grin. ”We have a new headliner. A white-haired young woman by the name of Seraphina. Absolutely angelic voice.” He then turned to William, a devilish grin on his face. ”And a body made only of the purest sin.”

He gave the man a knowing wink. He knew William, well, at least he knew the type of man he was. He knew what appetites men like him were driven by, what visions were bound to pull their attention. One of those delectable goodies was already taking to the stage. And the other, well…

Jorge moved over to his desk, hefted up the manila envelope that looked as if it had a brick in it. The man only dealt with cash as digital funds were too easily tracible. Well, that and Mr. Cole here wasn’t the whiz of computers that Poseidon would have preferred. Besides, ten-thousand in cash looked a hell of a lot more impressive than a bunch of zeroes on a screen. With the payment in hand, Jorge handed the envelope over to the man with a grin.

”Of course, this is yours,” the businessman said in a low voice. ”Your…work…has been exemplary as always.”

He got his glass, and imbibed promptly, setting it down an appreciating the burn for a moment. Jorge mentioned the new help, and his face expressed piqued interest. "Oh?" He turned out again, maintaining the drink his his hand as he watched the woman take the stage.

"Georgie boy, you tappin that? Like a @#$$in work of art." He grinned, taking another drink, and then setting the empty glass on the counter. "You do me a favor and lemme know when I get a turn on that ride?" He chuckled, and then smiled as the business owner placed the money envelope in front of him. He stared at it a moment, and then looked up, that same smile on his face, but with a little hardness in his eyes.

The man complimented his... work... He loved how everyone put a pause there, like it wasn't work, or something. He nodded a bit. "Yeah... Bout that... I been thinking. This nice club. All your many business ventures. I been doin a lot for you... A lot more, lately. What, four times this month I got one of your guys off the hook? And that one guy who was gonna talk... suddenly attacking me during the check up, and dying like that, all convenient like... That's a lotta work. Makes a guy like me think, with all this nice stuff you got, maybe you can afford to pay me a bit more." Cocky. As. @#$%. He smiled through the whole thing. A s#$^ eating grin. "Maybe ten a week ain't enough... Maybe 15."

He leaned back in his chair, raising his eyebrows once, and still smiling. He hadn't touched the money on the table. To touch it was to accept it. And he didn't accept 10. He wanted 15, and this son of a $#%^& could afford it in his sleep. He pulled out a black and mild, and offered him one, lighting his and puffing away casually.

"What you think about that, buddy boy?"

>> "Georgie boy, you tappin that? Like a @#$$in work of art…You do me a favor and lemme know when I get a turn on that ride?"

Jorge smirked but he didn’t say anything in response to the man’s comment. The truth was that often times he found the man to be absolutely degrading to be around, but again, he served a use. He was well paid for his services and, often times, it didn’t hurt to humor his antics from time-to-time. However, that didn’t mean that the man didn’t try Poseidon’s patience. His ability to act in such reprehensible ways was enough to make even Jorge himself cringe. Still, the man knew when to do what was good for the organization and for mutantkind, of course.

Without words, Jorge simply raised his glass to the man, a silent agreement that his “turn” would certainly be offered to him when it became available. Afterwards, the business man moved over to his desk where he plucked up the weekly payment for the soldier’s services. It was ten-thousand, quite a hunk of change but more than enough to purchase Mr. Cole’s information. The truth was that Poseidon probably could have afforded more for the continued risk the man took, but why pay for face value when you can get a bargain?

As the man looked over the envelop that Jorge had left on the desk in front of him, it didn’t escape the man’s attention that he didn’t pick it up. Normally Cole was like a ravenous toddler tearing into his packages at Christmas time. He was also so quick to count his money, even though the businessman never shortchanged him. However, this time it seemed that Cole had taken the opportunity to dip a certain pair of something he owned in brass and was now seeking to swing them about his office.

>> "Yeah... Bout that... I been thinking. This nice club. All your many business ventures. I been doin a lot for you... A lot more, lately. What, four times this month I got one of your guys off the hook? And that one guy who was gonna talk... suddenly attacking me during the check up, and dying like that, all convenient like... That's a lotta work. Makes a guy like me think, with all this nice stuff you got, maybe you can afford to pay me a bit more...Maybe ten a week ain't enough... Maybe 15."

No expression shown on the man’s face. Instead he stood there, leaning against his desk, glass of scotch in his hand. Silently he swirled the contents, staring at the soldier as he explained his very precarious position and the good deeds he had done so far. But rather than simply asking for a raise, the man seemed to be going about this in an entirely different manner. Mr. Cole was trying to press his importance in such a way that stated that it really wasn’t up for discussion.

Hrm…

>> "What you think about that, buddy boy?"

It was only at this point that Jorge sighed. And not the sigh of a man in defeat, but rather one who was…disappointed. At the end of the day, this was something that the man had become familiar with. How many times had his puppets began to have delusions that they were real boys? How many times did they attempt to cut their own string and strut up and talk in his face? It was sad, really, to see that certain types of people were just beyond help.

But, the man still grinned, he still smiled, but it was a calm before an impending storm. Taking his seat at the desk, Jorge set his glass down, gently, and leaned back in his oversized chair with his fingers tented. He seemed to be contemplating the man’s offer for a few moments before he finally returned his gaze to him. A grin pulled at his lips.

”Oh Mr. Cole…” Jorge said with a breath. ”…if I remember correctly, it wasn’t that long ago that we bumped you up to ten. But that’s alright,” he said with a devilish smile. ”An oversight like that can be forgiven. However I’m afraid that staff raises aren’t until the next fiscal year. In the meantime,” he gestured to the money envelope and the door to his office. ”I strongly encourage you to take your payment, as is, and have a few drinks on the house and forget these nasty ole thoughts about making fifteen G’s a week and just leave the thinking and the big numbers to the professionals. Understand?”

”Oh Mr. Cole… just leave the thinking and the big numbers to the professionals. Understand?”

@#$^ing. PR#$K. He didn't let it get to him. He had a goal. He wasn't leaving here without achieving it.

"Ah, there we go. Now I see what our misunderstanding is. You see, pal, I ain't a member of your staff. Me? I'm you're buddy. When you first picked me up, at, what was it? 5? You were just having me tell you what was goin on in the agency. You happily bumped me up then. I did more for you. You were payin me more, so why the hell not, right? We're pals."

One leg went up and lay it's foot across the knee of the other. His while remained as he explained his position.

"But then, we got that rat... Shifty #$^% he was into, huh? Supply, right? I ain't just guessing that, either. I had to clean up a bunch of Amby and his place before the medics arrived to scrape him off the floor. And guess what he had on him?" Cole reached into his coat, and tossed a pile of papers on the table. Hastily scribbled notes. Times for pick ups. Names. Locations. This location. "S$%^, right? He had a lot of $#%^in info... You're lucky he was a violent offender in the past, no one batted an eyelash when I said he attacked me, and I had to defend myself... But this? I didn't have to clean all this #$%^ up... I ain't a janitor. What I am, Georgy boy, is a pal. I do favors for you. You. " He referred to the envelope, and the empty glass with his hands. "Do favors for me. $#&$, though, when I do you a lot a favors, and you keep doin the same... Well, even a good friend starts to feel a little under appreciated. You get me?"

He let it stew for a second before speaking again.

"15 would go a long way. If another guy like that comes along, I put him in a casket neat and clean like that poor chump, and we..." He took a drag of the thin cigar, and exhaled slowly. "Sit in this office and drink expensive scotch. Talk about how good a friends we are. You ever want more, you let me know. I get shit done. I always have." Damn, he loved to hear his own voice a lot. He was being smart about it, too. He wasn't asking for more for the same. He was offering a new service. It was enough to get him to miss some of the performance on the stage outside.

Damn, he couldn't wait to hit that.

This was always the problem with hiring people who worked outside of the organization. Eventually they started having thoughts, starting having ideas that maybe their job was far more important than they really thought they were. The truth was that for all the good work that Mr. Cole did, there were always others who would be willing to work for a fraction of the price. There were those with sick families, who hated the government, or who simply wanted to have more money who were willing to set aside their morals in order to pass off a few bits of info or “losing” some important bits of evidence. It really was as easy as all that.

For as deep and wide as the man’s grin was, the truth was that he was just another cog in the machine; Jorge Cervantes had a box full of cogs ready to swap him out for.

Still, Jorge didn’t act. He didn’t get mad (at least not outwardly). His expression remained emotionless, even his eyes were difficult to read. At this moment he was just a man observing another man and the offer that was presented to him. He let that thought mull around in his head for a few moments before he finally voice a counter offer – he’d forgive Delta 9 for his mistake and invited him to go have a few drinks. Unfortunately the moron sitting in front of him was too thick to recognize an out when he was given one.

No expression showed on Jorge’s face as he listened to the man. He started going on about his good deeds for the organization, about certain people who went missing thanks to his quick thinking. As a matter of fact, he went on to try and sell his raise by stating that he was just going to be doing more work for the price, by ensuring that people disappeared without a fuss. To others it almost seemed like a good deal, but Jorge wasn’t a stupid man. Agree to this now and there would never be an end to the extortion. There would be more reasons, more expenses, greater “risks” that suddenly cropped up.

Sadly it would seem that Mr. Cole needed to be reeducated on his place in the food chain – a lesson that Jorge was both experienced and well-versed in teaching.

After heaving a heavy sigh, the man suddenly looked quite defeated. Delta 9’s argument couldn’t be toppled, clearly. It was heavily thought out, it was perfected upon, a sheer masterpiece of eloquence that the experienced crime boss simply couldn’t defend against. It was clear that the solider here was holding all the cards.

Shaking his head in defeat, Jorge finally relenting, hanging his head. ”I guess…fair is indeed fair, my good friend.” With a nod he pushed himself back from his desk and reached door to open one of the drawers. A glance inside would show several, neatly organized stacks of cash, at least twenty times what the good soldier was asking. As Jorge rifled through it, it nodded to the man again, gesturing to the table where he had gotten the scotch. ”Let me count this out for you. But first, mind grabbing me the seltzer bottle? Need to calm my stomach. Doc says to lay off the rich foods, but that’s what they’re there for, right?” He gave the solider his most charming and disarming smile.

The smile on his face remained as Poseidon conceded. Good @#$%.

"See, I knew you'd see what I was getting at. I can get you the rest of the papers after we're done here. Guy was a messy mother@#$%er, and I didn't want to walk in with a #$%^in box, you know? That sh^%'s rude." He nodded as Jorge asked him to grab the seltzer. "Sure thing, pal. Heck, I was figuring the new wage could start next week, but if wanna grab it now I ain't complainin." He stood up and paused for a moment, turning to grab his glass, reaching over to get Jorge's as well.

"You want another drink? You don't mind if I grab myself another?" Either way, he would head on over to the table, and grab the seltzer bottle, thumb over the top like he was a wino that lost the cork. He turned and leaned against the table.

"Prolly should get to the briefing, huh?" He looked up to the ceiling. "I ever tell you about Wick? Guy's a real case. Kappa 5..." The SUPER soldier turned around again, and went to pour the boss a glass of seltzer, speaking casually about the adapted super agent as he did.

While being shaken down and, essentially, blackmailed for more money was a rather grave nuisance for someone like Jorge Cervantes, there was one gratifying thing about most of these instances – the people attempting to blackmail were usually morons. Sure every once and while there were those who tried to gain the upper hand that actually had a few marbles rolling around up there, but the truth was that those were few and far between. In the end, vast majority of those people whom attempted to shake the down the god were…sorely lacking.

Jorge played his part well. He knew how to act, he did so every day he was out in the public. He painted the picture of man who had been verbally bested and was left with no other option to comply. However with a series of careful distractions and subterfuge, Jorge managed to place Mr. Cole exactly where he wanted him to be. The drawer full of cash, the light-hearted comment about his doctor, and his need for some seltzer were all enough to place the soldier in the most dangerous position on the board. Already the businessman’s senses had reached out and snagged the carbonated liquid inside.

Delta 9 seemed pleased with his efforts. He chattered one about what he had accomplished in regards to that mutant who was getting out of line. He even tried to dissuade Jorge into thinking that he would have been fine with waiting for the pay bump a week. But as the man busied himself with grabbing the glasses, pouring drinks, and reaching for the seltzer bottle, Jorge had not made one move towards counting out the extra five thousand he claimed he was going to give. Instead he merely sighed, keeping his fingers tented in front of him.

>> "Prolly should get to the briefing, huh? I ever tell you about Wick? Guy's a real case. Kappa 5..."

Snap!

CRASH!

A snap of his fingers. In a split second, the sound echoed loud and reverberated throughout the entire office. However the sound of the snap was quickly overshadowed by something far louder, and far more dangerous sounding. The glass seltzer bottle shattered, splinting into jagged shards that flew in all directions thanks to the sudden explosion of pressurized water within the vessel. A shower of droplets and shrapnel filled the air. But as the majority of the shards fell to the ground in surprise, it was the carbonated water itself that defied gravity.

Delta 9 wouldn’t even be given a chance to react. Before he knew it, Jorge manipulated the burning water to completely cover the soldier’s face. While there wasn’t enough to form a complete bubble of water around the man’s head, that really wasn’t necessary. The carbonated water immediately filled ever orifice in the man’s head, flying into his nostrils and into his throat. With precision-filled practice, Jorge formed a seal of water in the soldier’s throat, just above the swallowing reflex and blocking his airway. The water that poured into the man’s sinus immediately began to course throughout, pooling into the more sensitive areas of his face – particularly behind the eyes. Every actually snorted soda? Imagine that burning, but everywhere.

Standing up from behind his desk, Jorge sighed as he walked slowly over to Delta 9. He didn’t say anything at first, instead keeping the water choking him out and the liquid in his nostrils to continue to seep behind his eyes. The ears, though, well, the ears he didn’t bother with – those he wanted to be nice and open so he could be heard loud and clear.

”Mr. Cole,” Jorge quietly said. ”You and I seem to have a disagreement about something. Mainly the fact that you think that you are not on my staff. The truth is that I own absolutely ever part of you.” He turned his cold eyes onto him. ”Every transaction, every purchase, every time you’ve snorted, drunk, or ****ed, I have evidence of all of it.” He stopped and fully turned to face him. ”Tastefully censored, of course, to keep my own name out of it. But I have enough connections in the right places to ensure that S.U.P.E.R. will no longer want the services of an easily corrupted soul such as yourself. What do you suppose they do with such people?” He began to open a pinhole in the seal of water he had in Delta 9’s through, just enough to keep him alive but unable to fully breathe. ”Maybe put you back in the labs? Poked, prodded…sterilized maybe?” He chuckled. ”You have a good thing going here, Mr. Cole. Plenty of money and vices to spend it on. I wouldn’t jeopardize it by thinking too highly of yourself. Especially…” He clenched his fist. The seltzer water pooled behind the man’s eyes began to pound against them from the inside, building up pressure, pushing and shoving, causing them to partially bulge. ”…when I can pop out your eyes like ****ing champagne corks.” He kept the pressure going, though his cold expression had shifted back to that of devilish charm. ”Do you understand me, friend?”

Delta 9 had been around the block a few times. You learned a lot in the special forces. You developed a good eye for bull#$%^. You learned how to stay alive. You learned never to trust anyone. Did he trust that this man was going to react well to this whole situation? Not a damn bit. Did he think he would comply? Sure.

Did he walk up with his invulnerable side facing the man as he poured him a drink? Yes. Was that foolish, considering Jorge's abilities? How could he know? No one knew exactly what Poseidon was capable of. No one here, at least. The water manipulator didn't know exactly what he could do, either.

Snap. His eye widened a bit.

CRASH! In a flash of movement, his body spun, and the many shards of glass meant to harm hit skin they couldn't hope to pierce. "Son of a b-UHKH-" He felt the liquid coming, but was to surprised to do anything about it as the burning liquid forced it's way down his throat and into his sinuses. It was easily one of the worst sensations he'd ever felt in his life. The man sunk to his knees, struggling to breathe for a moment. "Kthuhkc Yhhick-" after a short moment he realized exactly what was going on, and ceased his struggle to breathe.

This was torture. He knew, because he'd done it before, and he'd endured it as well. His instructor's voice rang deep in his mind as his coping mechanisms kicked into play.

"Got yourself in a mess, son..."

Affirmative. Master Sergeant, He got the drop on me.

"Well, you ain't dead yet. That's a good sign. What's your contingency, if this goes souther than you already #$^ked it?"

Glass in my hand, Master Sergeant. Grabbed it from the explosion. Enough energy to send it through him a couple times over.

"Good out, but we ain't gonna do that unless we have to, right son?"

No sir. I wouldn't make it out of this establishment alive if I did.

"That's right. And that's the most important thing. You're a goddamn beret. Nothing #$%^s with you. You understand that? You survive this...You wait... And then you make this son of a bitch regret the day he was born."

Hooah.

Jorge was still talking. Something about how he could ruin him. Had this #$%^er not listened to a damn thing he'd said? If they gnabbed him for poking with sticks, Jorge's name would be the first one out of his mouth. His #$% wouldn't get out of that situation unscathed.

Through the burning he felt in his sinuses, he felt the pressure behind his eyes. His teeth gritted as he bore the pain. The lack of air was starting to get to him as the man pushed on his eyes, making them bulge, and his right hand landed on the floor, bracing him up as he nodded in response to the question. He didn't make eye contact. That pissed people off. He didn't look angry. He looked tensed, surprised, and very aware that he was in deep shit.

Oh, they were $#^&ing clear, alright. He got it.

This @%^#er was a dead man. It was only a matter of time.

It was a messy thing to watch. Standing above the man in obvious pain, Jorge remained still, grinding glass under his finger Italian shoes and into the overly expensive rug. It was already soaked through with some of the water that had spilled, but it didn’t matter to Jorge; he would get someone to clean this up. He always had people to clean this stuff up because, more often than not, the man had to teach lessons just like this. It was one of those unfortunate things of being a figure in power – there were always people who wanted to take a piece bigger than they should.

Delta 9 was one of those individuals. While Jorge knew that he was being slowly taken advantage of, the man allowed it, hoping that Mr. Cole would be smart enough to not push things too far. However, as always, the man proved to be a victim of his intelligence, or lack thereof. He wanted to reach for the stars so Jorge was just going to have to break his arms to remind him of his place. No bones would be broken right now, though, but a burst retina or ruptured optic nerve were more than possible depending on the man’s answer to his question.

Though no words came out of him, the solider nodded his head that he had understood Jorge’s words. He knew it was a gamble, to let the man go after this. If anything he planted the seeds of betrayal in him. It would be best to end his life and dispose of the body. But Jorge was a man who believed in second chances, of course. Why not offer the poor, suffering individual on his knees a chance at redemption? After all…he would always kill him later.

”Good…” Jorge said once the man nodded. ”Its good when friends can discuss disagreements like this civilly.”

With the confirmation that the solider understood, Jorge snapped his fingers again and seltzer seeped out of the man’s nostrils and throat in a current. Jorge continued to stand, watching him for a moment before he sighed, pulled a handkerchief from his jacket and tossed it upon the soldier’s face.

”Clean yourself up...” Jorge said with a grin. ”...we have a certain image to keep up.” Reaching into his desk drawer, he thought for a second before he pulled out a small brick, this one consisting of only five-hundred dollars. This he tossed on top of the enveloped filled with the ten-thousand he offered earlier. ”I’ll bump you up an extra five-hundred a week,” Jorge conceded. ”I presume that will suffice? Unless you have something else to say on the matter?”

@#^$ break here spouted out a line in reference to their friend talk before. He clenched his teeth, still trying not to struggle to breathe. He gagged a bit as the burning water was pulled from him. D9 choked in air and forced it out through his nose, unable to shake the irritation.

There it was. The pr#$k thought just cause he got the drop on him once he was some sorta god on the battlefield. He'd #$%&ed up. He'd lost his one chance to win that fight. Cole stayed in his kneeling position for a moment longer as he gathered himself. He caught the cloth in his hand without looking up at it. Slowly, he wiped his face.

When he looked up, it became clear that he'd burst a blood vessel in his eye, leaving a red splotch on the off-white of his sclera.

He opened his hand, looking down at small shards of glass in it. He still wanted to. It'd be real #$&%in satisfying to make a mess of this fool right here and now. He gritted his teeth and dropped the little pieces on the ground. Someone would clean it up.

"We're good. @^%&... hate to see how you treat your enemies." He grumbled as he walked over and grabbed his envelope, turning to walk out.

From here, he would do what he'd been doing before. Working hard. Being useful. Dependable. Waiting until he was needed. Because when this man slipped up, and he would... @#$^ers like that pissed off the wrong people inevitably, Delta 9 would be there.

And he wouldn't be there as a friend.