"Do you morons need pictures? Don't you understand the notion of identical twins?"

A painful pounding overtook Sam's entire being. Words. There were words he couldn't make sense of, but they ignited an ache that spread over his numb body.

"Does he look like any of them?"

Something wasn't right. Where was he and why? Fighting against the slight nausea and the general soreness overtaking him, Sam focused on his muscles. They were heavy and unresponsive, but he could feel himself existing. If he had a sense of self, then he could extend his focus on his surroundings.

Before opening his eyes, there was the matter of figuring out his position. The angry voice meant danger, so until he came to properly, he wasn't giving himself away.

With inhuman effort, he forced his fingers to dig deeper into the surface he lay upon. It was hard and rough. A clenching of his hand confirmed it was stone. The air around felt stiff and a little cold. Where the hell was he?

"You bumbling idiots!"

Left with no other information he could gather without moving, Sam cracked open his eyes. Dull grey stone and a set of iron bars came into view. Outside his prison, there were three sets of feet, one wearing dress shoes, and the other two, dusty work boots. There was also a body wearing dark clothes he couldn't make out properly. He couldn't see who it was, but they were limp and unresponsive.

Even if he dreaded the outcome, he forced his mind to join the world of the conscious. There was no way he could ignore the danger. More details assaulted him, adding to his headache. The suited man was Von Crooken and the other two were a bunch of random goons Sam had seen before, but didn't know the code names of.

Great, it was Snitch Gravel who had kidnapped them, not the Agency. It didn't make things better.

"He's useless." Von Crooken released the body, and it fell to the floor completely.

The breath caught in Sam's throat. It was Herrison. Or at least what was left of him. Half of his face was a purple mess, and both his eyes were swollen and closed. From the dirt and blood on his face and the boot marks on his clothes, it was obvious that the goons hadn't been gentle with him. His nose seemed to be broken and there was a deep gash on his cheek.

A crippling sense of fear took over Sam as he realized he was most likely alone in his cage. Where was everyone else? Were they all in the same shabby condition as Herrison? He tried to focus on his own body, but he couldn't tell if the pain came from the drug or being abused in some way while he'd been knocked out.

The desire to do something to fix this battled with the need for self-preservation. There was nothing he could objectively do to help Herrison right now. Not when he couldn't move and they were separated by iron bars. Was he the one locked up or Herrison? The world was to squed for him to tell.

Herrison's eyes managed to somehow crack open. There was a very slight widening as he realized Sam was awake. With obvious effort, he reached out one of his hands, as if he hoped Sam would pull him to safety.

It was stupid and logic told Sam there was no way he could reach Herrison. He was too far away, and even if he did manage to take his hand, it wasn't like he could pull him between the iron bars. And yet, he couldn't help it. The terror and despair in Herrison's eyes left him no choice. He reached out as well, even if just to give Herrison the least bit of comfort.

"Boss." One of the goons nodded towards Sam.

"Ah, he's awake." Von Crooken moved closer to the bars of the cage and crouched, his foot stopping an inch from Herrison's head. "It's the little snitch."

Sam wished he wasn't numb and parched so he could spit in Von Crooken's face. As it was, all he could do was glare.

"I was just telling my men how they fucked up." Von Crooken took his gun out and leaned his elbows on his knees as if it was no big deal. "You see, they had clear instructions. Don't bring you in unless they got you all. Two pairs of twins, that freak brother of yours, and four women. They almost got the counting part right. By the way, I heard about your  lovely new wife. Isn't life a bitch?"

Sam's fist banged against the stone and he managed to half-raise off the floor. "Shut up." His elbows shook and his voice was croaky, but the paralysis was broken.

With the freedom of movement came a terrifying thought. Sammy. Where was she? Who was she with? He couldn't remember. As much as he tried, he had no idea and it threatened to smother him. Von Crooken continued talking, but Sam couldn't focus. Not when he had no idea if his daughter was okay.

Christine. She was supposed to be with Christine, except...

He looked to Von Crooken. "Four women?"

The asshole faltered. "Do you have news for me?"

"If you knew my wife was dead, why did you assume four women?" 

Angie had been gone for so long, he'd gotten used to stop counting her. Maybe they'd tried to snatch Jessie as well, but that still didn't explain the number.

Von Crooken seemed to have had a revelation. "Aaah, I see."

"That's what we were trying to tell you, boss," one of the goons mumbled. "His twin is also single."

"Well then. Interesting indeed. Only blondie remains of the originals?" Von Crooken looked fascinated by the little detail. "I'm not sure that will do." He shook his head. "And poor Cannon will be so disappointed."

It made Sam nauseous all over again.

"So you got the number right after all." Von Crooken stood and gave Herrison an absentminded kick. He let out a small moan which the man ignored. "Though you still suck at identifying people. He's of no use, and neither is that other woman you brought in, apparently, since she's not red."

"Boss, it's his ex." And the man nodded towards Sam.

With a tremendous pain to his temples, Sam finally remembered. Christine had been with him when they were kidnapped. She wasn't with Sammy. His baby was with his mother. Alone and unprotected. Because all the counting finally made sense.

The five of them and four women. They wanted Jimmy and Jessie as well. They also wanted Angie. Except the goons knew Angie was gone so they thought three women were enough.

They'd mistaken Herrison for Jimmy and Christine for Jessie.

"Why does Snitch Gravel want all of us?"

Von Crooken grinned, but didn't answer.

"Where is he?" Sam tried again. "I need to talk to him."

The men sniggered while Von Crooken let out a sarcastic laugh. "I'm sorry, brat, but he's not here. He just instructed us to collect you and bring you over. He didn't say anything about making you comfortable, however." He bent over, sank his hand into Herrison's hair and pulled his head off the floor. "He also didn't give instructions regarding trash that has no business being here."

"Just stick him in a cage, asshole."

Sam jumped at the sound of Tom's voice. A wave of relief flooded him, knowing that he wasn't alone.

"Oh, look, you're all starting to surface." Von Crooken glanced over his shoulder even if there were only worn wooden doors behind him, not cages. "All the better. You can see what we do to things we don't need."

"Seriously, you can use him." Sam managed to turn his body and sit up. "He's Agency."

Von Crooken's grin was pure evil. "He's not the kind of Agency we need. He's on your side. Don't you think we already have our moles?" He reached out his gun with the handle towards Sam.

Even if he didn't want to look or be certain about the level of corruption within the Agency, Sam knew what he was being shown. A small red square with what looked like an eight in it. Sam's own gun had the same marking, proving it came from the same supplier. One which they'd supposedly stopped from making a deal with Snitch Gravel.

Von Crooken shook his head. "After all this time and how smart everyone thinks you are, I thought you'd know better."

Sam did know better. He'd also refused to get into this because he was with one foot out of the Agency. He had other priorities in his life right now.

"So you see," Von Crooken continued. "We truly have no use for him."

"Please," Herrison whimpered, the word distorted and filled with pain.

"What's that?" Von Crooken pulled his head higher, looking into his face. "You want us to be done with it?"

"No," Sam and Tom both said at once.

Herrison didn't listen. He just nodded, his eyes teary, as if his enemy offered an escape, and not execution.

Before Sam could open his mouth and argue further, Von Crooken stuck his gun to Herrison's temple and pulled the trigger.

Blood splattered between the bars and hit Sam full in the face. The echo of the shot mixed with a string of curses and bangs, but he could no longer focus. He wiped the mess on his face out of reflex, before he could fully process what he was doing. The moment he looked at his hands, his stomach heaved. He barely managed to lean over before vomit made its way up his throat.

The sound of his own retching mixed with Von Crooken's sick laughter.

"I thought he had a tougher stomach."

Sam didn't care. He couldn't open his eyes again. Didn't want to think about anything. But even if his heart pounded and his breathing was heavy, he could still hear the sound of the goons dragging the body away, the horrible squelching sound their boots made as they stepped over blood and brains.

"You cowardly pieces of shit!" Tom yelled at them.

"Please be quiet," Sam whispered. He couldn't speak at full volume, could barely breathe. His pulse was too fast, threatening to throw him over the edge. Bile rose to his mouth again and a second round of vomit followed.

"Shut up if you know what's good for you!"

"Good for me?" The sound of a hit against iron bars reverberated through the corridor. "Come here and I'll show you what's good for me."

Sam shook his head, tears in his eyes, his throat raw from the vomit. Don't do this. Please don't do this. I know you want to, you need to, but don't. Tom couldn't be next.

"Just let him out if he's so adamant to join us," Von Crooken said.

On shaky knees, Sam forced himself to crawl closer to the bars and look beyond the blood, to his left where all the commotion was coming from.

Von Crooken was still in the corridor, standing next to the bloody bundle that used to be Herrison, while the two men had entered the cage next to his. There were sounds of a scuffle, but Tom couldn't be in much better shape than Sam was. As a result, after only a few thumps, the two came out, dragging Tom by the ankles.

He didn't seem to be unconscious because he wasn't making it easy for them, kicking and twisting, but he didn't have the strength to fight either.

Sam wanted to call out, but he couldn't. Fear was smothering him, making it hard to breathe.

"Stop fussing!" one of the goons called.

"Suck it, asshole," Tom replied in good humor, kicking him in the ass.

The guy turned and kicked Tom in the ribs, then pulled harder, and they were gone. Sam wanted to just cry and throw up all over again. But with how his senses were improving, he was sure he'd know it the moment Tom died.

🏯

As it turned out, Tom was not murdered for his defiance. What felt like hours later, he was brought back bruised and barely breathing, but alive.

Sam wished he could ask how he was, talk, but the cages were so large, it was impossible to do so without shouting. He had other things to occupy his time with, however. The moment Tom was thrown back into his cage, another goon with a gun came to Sam and threw him a bucket and some cloths so he could clean up the mess he'd made.

Fighting the grief inside him and the vomit threatening to resurface, he scrubbed Herrison's blood and his own sick off the stone floors of his cage as well as the corridor, an armed guard keeping him company. All throughout this, his mind tried to stray away from the task and come up with a plan.

He had nothing.

Once his senses were on full alert, a lot of things became clear. Like why there were wooden doors across the hall as opposed to cages. His own prison, which turned out to be a cavernous room, had such a door as well, only it was placed on the opposite wall from the bars, on top of a set of steep steps.

Sam had climbed to explore and, through the tiny window in the door which was about the size of his palm and barred, he could see a corridor identical to the one he now considered his. For some reason, wherever he was had cages displayed in what appeared to be an amphitheater design. He supposed that the wooden door in front of his bars also sloped down into another cell.

The one advantage the size of his cage brought was that he had a spot between the stairs and the wall to the left where he could retreat unseen and think. It especially came in handy once another thing became clear.

Von Crooken was not allowed to kill them by order of Snitch Gravel, but that didn't mean he couldn't do everything else.

Mere moments after he'd finished cleaning up the blood, vomit and brains off the floor, Sam had been taken down the hallway as well. He'd managed to catch a glimpse of Tom, lying on his side, bruised and bloody, before he taken down two set of stairs and was thrown inside a tiny room. Seconds later, someone let a high pressure hose loose on him.

For a second he'd thought he'd get hypothermia from the freezing water, but the next moment he realized he might drown or break something long before that. By the time the water finally stopped, he was almost unconscious.

Once back in his cold, empty cage, he'd taken his clothes off and lay them out to dry, then retreated into his corner and fell unconscious.

Food came once a day, he supposed. Without daylight, the passage of time was hard to grasp, especially since their watches had been taken away. And once or twice a day, a patrol of goons would come and drag him out for more lovely torture.

Hosing him down was the lesser of the evils, easier to bare than hits, cuts and especially the drowning. They liked that one, shoving his head inside a tub filled with water and forcing him to stay there until he was a second away from drowning. They also liked to throw him inside a room that had maybe a square foot of floor left as the rest of the building seemed to have collapsed into the void below.

His fear of heights made him lose consciousness before he could focus on gathering some useful information about their location. Not that he could. It was always dark, cold and foggy.

The fear, the uncertainty, the loneliness were driving him insane, killing his hope. If only he could get news about the others. Kyle and Jerry, the girls. He had no idea if Christine was still alive, and the thought that he'd caused her death made him want to throw up all over again.

But he'd rather think about that, about Sammy and his mother, about Jimmy and Jessie, than remember what had happened to Herrison.

His nightmares weren't as kind. It became impossible to sleep, so he spent his time digging his fingers between the bricks separating him from Tom while reciting Skye's letter inside his head. It was the only bit of solace he had, the only thing keeping him sane through the loneliness and the rounds of torture.

I can't believe I'm thinking this, but I'm so glad you're safe, that you're not here, tortured and separated from me. Even if that means you're already dead.

He was definitely going insane.

It took him two days to dig deep enough for a tiny portion of the brick to crumble and create a small hole. The moment draft made its way between the stone, hope nestled back into his heart.

Tom immediately noticed and came to the whole. "Can you hear me?" he whispered.

Sam almost felt like crying. "Yes, thank God, because I think I'm going insane."

"I'm so sorry, Sam. I know you must be worried out of your mind about Sammy. But think about it. It's Von Crooken. If they had her, he'd gloat."

Tom had a point, and the unease inside Sam lessened the tiniest bit. But it made no sense. She was with his mother at her house. Why hadn't they gone for her?

"You're right," he said, more to convince himself. "You have to be right. Do you know anything about the others?"

"I saw Jerry. They brought him in once while they were taking me out. He said his cage is next to Kyle's. I think they might be across the hall from us."

Sam could let out another breath of relief. "What about the girls?"

"I'm sorry. I don't know anything about them."

Sam nodded to himself, hoping against hope that at least Kyle and Jerry had news. If not, they must've been going insane.

"They're looking for Angie," Tom suddenly said.

"What? How do you know that?"

"They keep asking me where she is."

"But you don't know where she is."

Tom huffed. "They don't know that."

Sam wanted to punch through the wall just to get to his twin and shake some sense into him. Because his marks and the torture he was subjected to had nothing on how bad Tom looked.

"You're taunting them, aren't you?" The silence that followed spoke volumes. "Tom! You're letting them think you know where she is, aren't you?"

"Yeah, maybe a little."

"Why?" Sam knew Tom wasn't necessarily in a good place, but it was like he was inviting death.

"Because if they think they'll get the information out of me, they don't search that well."

Sam faltered. "You're protecting her."

"Of course I'm protecting her, Sam," he answered, sounding exasperated. "I know I was angry with her, that what she did to me sucks, but all the time we've been in here, all I can think about... And Skye's letter..."

Sam had no idea what Skye had written to his twin, but apparently she'd given him her last thoughts on Angie as well. No wonder. But it still hurt Sam on some level. Sure, if he knew where Angie was, he wouldn't tell. He expected Tom to do the same. But he was actively lying, pretending to know just to throw them off her trail.

"You don't have to do this," he whispered. "They're hurting you."

"They're hurting all of us."

"Not like you. It's like you want them to kill you."

"I don't. But if I can make it as hard for them as possible... Well, all the better. And besides, I've always believed my life would be like a shooting star. LIve fast, die young, burn bright... Burn out."

His twin's words made sense, even if Sam hated them. He half-wished he had Tom's nerve and love of chaos. As if was, he did whatever he could to be boring, have the goons leave him alone. He was definitely not cut out for this.

The door at the end of the corridor opened and Sam scrambled away from the tiny hole. He could hear Tom doing the same, wanting to make sure their means of communication was not discovered.

"You!" The angry voice was directed at Tom.

"Yes, it's still me in this cage. I didn't transform in the past three hours."

The door to Tom's cage opened and Sam could clearly hear the sound of a punch colliding with his twin's face.

"You lied to us," the man said between his teeth. "You sent us to the wrong place. On purpose, you son of a bitch."

"Ooops. To be fair, you've been hitting me in the head quite a lot. I might've gotten confused." Tom's voice was a little muffled, as if his mouth was filled with blood.

Why was he doing this? Egging on the henchmen as if he wanted to get hurt. Sam scurried to the bars and wrapped his hands around them, trying to see the entrance to Tom's cage.

"You little--"

The next sound made Sam's blood freeze in his veins. He recognized the sound of metal hitting flesh and a body falling over. But to his shock, it was Tom who scurried out on all fours, holding a metal baton. The blood on it was obvious, but there weren't any fresh cuts on Tom's face, so Sam guessed the goon got a bit too cocky.

The moment Tom reached his cage, Sam almost chocked on his own breath. His twin looked a lot worse than he'd realized, heavy bruising and barely closed cuts filling his face and arms. He no longer had his sunglasses, and his eyes held a cornered look which was terrifying.

"Sam, he only had the keys to my cage." His teeth clattered. "I have to... We need to..."

"You!"

Of course it wasn't going to last and another good would show up. The sound of a gun had Sam's heart leap into his throat. Tom crashed to the floor moaning. There was no blood, because they weren't going to shoot them for real, but Sam knew how badly rubber bullets hurt.

"It seems like you're just begging for an extra session, smartass."

Tom just curled into a ball, breathing heavily, his motivation to be a smartass obviously gone.

"No, leave him alone," Sam said. "Can't you see he's hurt enough as it is."

The goon came into view, tall and shaggy, his eyes filled with hatred. Sam recognized him as the man who hosed him down on his first day.

"Who the fuck asked you?" He pointed the gun straight as Sam's face. "But you do have a point. You look way too good compared to him. A bullet to the face could do wonders for you."

There was nowhere to run, nowhere to get out of range of the gun. All he could do was cover his face and hope for the best.

Before the man could pull the trigger, the door across the hall burst open, filling the corridor with splinters. Sam lowered his hands and stared.

Kyle had decided to join the party, his anger filling the hallway and making the temperature drop. The goon's eyes widened, but he didn't even get to open his mouth before Kyle kicked him in the chest and sent him flying against the bars of Sam's cage.

The entire thing rattled, and for a moment Sam was sure the wall itself would collapse. The body fell on top of Tom who let out a yelp.

Kyle looked at them, his body shaking, obviously trying to gain control over himself again. His wrists were bound together by a heavy chain and lock. There were bruises on his face and cuts on his arms.

Sam shivered, refusing to think that they'd somehow managed to torture Kyle as well. How was it possible? What did they threaten him with? Did he let them?

"Stop right there!"

Footsteps pounded down the corridor as four men rushed towards them, guns out and pointing. If they had any semblance of a brain, those weren't filled with rubber bullets.

Kyle's frown deepened as he turned towards his new targets and snarled. "You can't kill us." And just like that, he picked up the fallen goon and hurled him at his incoming companions.

Two of them fell over, but the other two managed to avoid the body and approached, guns still pointing.

"Get back in your cage," one of them ordered, his voice shakier than his hands.

Kyle's smile was pure evil. "Or what?"

"Or we'll make you."

The new voice was familiar. The men with the guns moved out of the way and left room for Eye Patch. The confidence in his gait was bordering on insanity, especially since he didn't have a gun of his own. But the moment he came close enough to Kyle, he took out what looked very much like a katana.

The two men still had their guns pointed, one at Kyle and one at Tom, to make sure he wouldn't join the fight.

"We can't kill you," Eye Patch said, "but that's the only limit we have to how bad we can hurt you." And he charged forward, sword raised.

Kyle lifted his joined hands and blocked the blow with the chain. Eye Patch drew the sword back and took another few swipes that Kyle barely managed to block or dodge. Sam was sure that if his brother's hands were free and he wasn't weak from lack of food, he'd have shoved the katana up Eye Patch's ass. But the man also seemed to know his way with the sword. In two moves, he managed to nip Kyle's side and leave a bleeding gush behind.

"Just skewer him," a second familiar voice said.

Tom pulled back until his back hit the bars of Sam's cage. Sam would've done the same and retreated to his safe corner. But he couldn't leave his twin, not when Cannon was heading towards them, holding a sword of his own.

"Or I have a better idea," Cannon said, his scarred face twisting in delight. "How about we cut his girlfriend and make him watch?"

Kyle immediately deflated at this. "Where is she?"

Cannon tilted his head, his yellowing teeth bared in a disgusting grin. "Wouldn't you like to know? But she's still alive. Now get back in your cage."

Kyle's gaze flitted from him to Sam and Tom, obviously torn between the need to help them and the desire to keep Kay safe. Tom nodded.

Sam pursed his lips and whispered a, "It's okay." Because there was no way they could escape. Not like this. Not without knowing where the girls were, if they were okay.

"If you hurt her, I'll kill you," Kyle said, sounding more serious than Sam had ever heard him, but he backed away towards his cell.

Cannon just laughed and dived towards him, sword pointed. Kyle hopped inside the room to avoid getting impaled. Once he disappeared inside, the sound of a crash was heard. Sam winced realizing that his brother had most likely fallen off the platform in front of the door and in the depths of the prison.

Cannon continued laughing like a maniac, but Eye Patch sethed his sword and watched the broken door as if it had done him wrong.

"Get this fixed," he ordered. "And reinforce it with some iron or something. We can't have him breaking it again." He glanced over his shoulder. "Take this one back to his cage as well. And be more careful with them."

"Oh, don't you worry." Cannon rubbed his hands together. "He's mine now. No food for him or his brave brother for the next three days. That might drive the fight out of them."

Even if he'd only watched everything unfold, Sam was exhausted. At the moment, he felt glad to know that Kay was alive and that Tom would be sent back to his cage and not taken out for more torture. But now that Cannon was in the picture, everything threatened to go to hell.

"Where are you?" he whispered.

He'd gone completely crazy. He couldn't believe he'd ended up talking to Snitch Gravel, wishing he was there.

But if he didn't come soon, he had every chance to find them all dead.

🏯🏯🏯

I'm updating early because I'm confused. Also because I haven't written anything lately which means I'm returning to weekly updates until further notice. For now, I'm sticking with Friday.

Yes, in this chapter you get to see what the lovely group has been going through. And also yes, I totally killed Herrison off. Oops.

Speaking of which, the others aren't doing much better either. And the girls... Where are the girls? Oh well...

Timeline is wonky again so I'll have to make up for the passage of time going on here and see what everyone else has been doing.

Vote and comment and leave me your support because holy hell, I really do need to get back to writing.