BLOOD AND BONE | rewritten

15

It was not a joy to see Hunt again. In the morning following their day off, he summoned them all to the IMC headquarters for the suspect's interrogation. Frankly, Rainey had had enough of boring interrogations for a lifetime, but Hunt insisted they would keep the man's story honest. As if they knew any more about him other than the fact that he was a one-armed psychopath.

Hunt forwent a greeting when he intercepted their group and wordlessly took the lead. Several of his barrel-chested bodyguards flanked him as they passed into the front atrium, which Rainey had never seen before thanks to Hunt's inhospitable first meeting. In the center was a massive golden replica of a tree, its branches glinting under a circular skylight. Rainey imagined it was a metaphor for the endeavor of discovering endless knowledge. Or some other pretentious ideal.

At Hunt's beckon, they filed into an elevator. Rainey's nose wrinkled when she was jostled into Arlo's side. Hopefully she wouldn't catch any diseases.

When the doors shifted open, Rainey was relieved to realize they were underground. Gone were the high-ceilinged hallways, glossy exterior, and natural light. Hunt led them down a series of windowless passageways populated by agents and scientists wearing the IMC's olive green. Then down a flight of stairs. And another. For how long and complicated the journey was, Rainey expected Hunt's true plan was more twisted than he let on. After all, he had essentially kidnapped them. Strange perverted acts couldn't have been completely off the table for him.

Alas, their expedition did end in an interrogation room filled with several other IMC officials. A window spanned across one entire wall, allowing the perfect view into a larger, darker room below. All that was visible in the concrete-walled room was a metal chair fitted with wrist cuffs sitting before a small table.

The suspect was dragged in from a hidden side door, bandages wrapped around his head and remaining arm. The corner of Rainey's mouth turned up. He hadn't healed much from the fight. The place where his left arm should have been seemed gaping. Neither Hunt nor the other IMC officials made any comment about its absence to Jake. They likely didn't want to be on the receiving end of another unexpected attack, the last one having brought to light how little control they had over him. It served them right for enlisting an actual nutcase into their team rather than throwing him into the madhouse he belonged in.

The man complied as his arm was cuffed into the chair, his legs bound. His pale face had a thin sheen of sweat, but was completely blank, as if he did his best to keep it that way. Just like Gigi.

A psychiatric doctor with a head of curly black hair entered before the suspect with a briefcase. The two were alone. Rainey watched the suspect's face closely as the doctor told him, "I will be evaluating your mental state and how it interacted with your actions from days prior. Answer every question I ask honestly, and there will be no issue."

The doctor sat, organizing his notes on the table. "What is your full name and age?"

"Azarius Bryson." His voice was predictably bland. "Thirty-five."