Red X: Captives

"They, uhh... want to know. Your friend, Carly? and the women? Where is this boat...mmm...?"

"Nowhere," he concluded. He tugged his shirt around her shoulders. He straightened it, and pulled it snugly against her skin. The sea breeze was an enemy... He fought it. He was winning; she seemed warmer.

He looked down, and wiped away a stain from his neck. He didn't want her to know it was someone's blood.

This boat would have to drift for a while. Pryce had no use for a luxury yacht. He called in.

"Central. Pryce. We're good. Get my position, and converge with clean-up. Situation mainly pacified. Keep Carly Sonnen on file, take him in..."

Pryce paused.

"Send him to Matriarch. He knows some shit. Treat him well, Central. He's damaged goods, but he's the goods."

Central responded quickly: "Copy, Pryce. See you at collection?"

He smirked. "Fuck no. I'm digging in. 'Gotta work. Pryce out."

He clicked his comm off, and turned to Prija.

"Prija? It's been a long, long time."

He held his shirt tight to her shoulders. The wind rippled the fabric, as she looked up to him. The wind had no effect on his chest, or his arms. Neither did the streaks of blood or grime - they were just casualties of one conflict or another, where something else broke before he did.

"Look - I'm not the man you thought I was. By now, you get the picture." He smiled to her, wearily. He looked over at the equipment he'd stolen, and had worn: guards' kevlar and harness, an MP5 submachine gun...

"You probably understood, when you threw me that rope. I'm really not Michael, like you knew me. I'm an operative... and my name is Devin Pryce," he said.

FUCK, he thought. She was the LAST ONE. The last person who mattered, who still didn't know.

There was a splatter under the left side of his jaw. Previously, it was from a guard's neck. He hastily wiped it off.

"I, uh..." she started. "I'm really happy to see you again." With one hand, she pulled her kimono tight. She offered the other hand in greeting. It looked sweet, and tidy - and almost ceremonial.

He took her hand, and tugged it carefully. It was a simple greeting.

Then he gave up: he pulled her in close, held her, and discovered the incredible scent of her hair. She was angelic. She was magic. She was everything he remembered, every detail, and then whole worlds beyond that.

All those empty years, in between, were gone. He was with the girl in the elevator. The girl with the perfect smile. Only... this was what he always dreamed about.

It was nearly dawn. He asked her, quizzically:

"You afraid of heights?"

Chapter Five: A Better View

Pryce left the crew and guests unharmed. Carly had them covered. The Agency would soon acquire the ship itself, and Matriarch would gain serious intel from Carly.

The Matrix Archives, or 'Matriarch,' was the central datastore for The Agency. The name Matriarch was a joke, like a big Mother Brain from some old sci-fi movie.

Matriarch was constantly evolving, making leaps whenever it got intel. Everything it learned, it cross-checked with everything else. Then, when it discovered useful trends, that became new intel. This cycle compounded further and further, and is still going.

Matriarch helped The Agency create advanced technologies. It also revolutionized the training of their operatives.

Carly would have valuable insights, as every person does. He'd keep Matriarch busy for a day or so.

Pryce wanted to sink this yacht, somehow. He had personal grudges. Instead, he took Hu's private helicopter, on the roof. He unclipped its tethers, unlocked it, and sat Prija inside. The keys were light and chilly in his hand.

"Do you... you fly?" she gaped.

"It'll be a statement. A loud one." He was certain about this. It was how he worked; it was why The Agency sent him.

He flicked the console, and lights flared outside. Then more switches, and clicks. Fans whined. The rotors spun above them like a strange carnival ride.

She held his thigh with her hand. She was slight, and warm.

The rotors spun faster, till they beat the air. It was noisy. It was madness. He fit a headset over her ears, and then covered his own.

"Prija? Are you okay?" Pryce vaguely indicated her whole body. Her health. Did she need a hospital? Was she harmed? Any trauma?

She shook her head.

"We all survived. All of us, there. And now, we'll all live."

Her English was spotty, but no-one could've said it better. Dozens of high-class 'consorts' were now free human beings. When Pryce thought of their former lives, he became nauseous. His expression clouded over. He had no idea where they'd go now. Thankfully, second chances were a pillar of The Agency.

Prija seemed to be above that darkness. He could tell by her face: she was overjoyed. She was adorable. She was the woman he knew before - the one he'd missed. And finally, they could speak! Finally, she knew who he was. And... she still liked him.

Pryce took the stick and lifted them away. They rose into the air like a slow, heavy spirit. They watched the yacht shrink below them, till it looked like a teeny white model.

"You're not air-sick, are you?" He called to her above the noise.

"No... I LOVE it," she grinned back. "I can see everywhere... no walls, no floors..."

The rotors chopped rhythmically.

"You made me an angel," she beamed at him.

Her dialect in spoken English made her charming. She was like a different flavour of chocolate that you discover, something from another continent. Something different, but completely irresistible. You try it, and you love it, and you think about it after. It makes the world larger, and better. And sweeter.

"Enjoy the view. For now. It's his bird. This helicopter has to belong to Li-Tien Hu. It's a statement. It's the last cherry on his sundae. I'll take you flying again, whenever you want. I, uh... I have clearance. For a stealth helicopter, anyway."

He regretted saying this - it'd scare her off. She looked to him, and saw him cringe.

"You... You're a soldier, aren't you?"

Everything seemed quieter.

"You're here? as an American?" There was a hint of sadness in her voice. A tone of longing. Like she missed the boy, and not the man. He looked back to her kindly.

"No. Not American. And not really a soldier, either..." He reached over to her hand, and squeezed.

He smiled again, and nodded up to the ocean.

"Hey, Prija? Look."

Pryce watched her, as she turned her head. He saw her shoulders stiffen. Then everything relaxed, like she'd discovered something sublime. She was looking to the sheer horizon, and she saw a glow that few people ever see.

"Sunrise," he said to her. He held her hand a little tighter.

She watched for a few minutes. She was transfixed by it. She saw the vast Pacific, and new daylight waking in the east. It was like the most beautiful candle - the first candle ever, still burning since the beginning.

Somehow, he gave it to her.

Memories reached through her, as she looked. She began thinking of her home, and her earlier years. She remembered her city. She thought about life as something familiar, and close. She thought about time, like it was a constant companion. She knew these things. They were always with her.

When she sat back, silvery lines streaked down her face. She sniffed, and tried to regain composure. She breathed in and out.

She looked at him, and stared at him firmly. She spoke something in Thai.

"...kid teung," she muttered.

"Sorry, what?" He torqued his brow.

What? What? This was his private joke. It was how Pryce dealt with pain. He knew what she'd said, in Thai, and it stung deep. Too deep. He had to joke about it, at least to himself.

What she said was, "I miss you."

They weren't having elevator conversations, but they were still in a cramped space hundreds of feet up.

Here, he learned how she felt about him: she'd missed him, too.

The ocean was a grey carpet shifting below them. By air, it took Pryce mere minutes to get to the shoreline. He found the building where Selene was, and lowered to a parking lot nearby. He set the chopper down there, among bewildered drunks and homeless people. He powered-down the helicopter, and left it to entertain the street kids.

That was the message. It was much better than parading the head of Li-Tien Hu through the market square. This was his wealth. This was his icon. It was his figurehead, chopped and thrown to the street. Li-Tien Hu was dethroned. He was dead. This mattered to dozens of cops and investigators, and many bereaved families.

Pryce must've missed his calling as a gang boss. He loved these messages.

"Central? Synch comms." He had his doubts about Selene. He wanted Central to hear everything. He checked-in with her.

"Selene? Update..." He spoke this in a level, ambivalent tone. It sounded like he had an update - but it also sounded like he requested an update.

"Yeah - copy, Pryce. I've got a positive on target."

Aha... Pryce waited.

"Li-Tien Hu. Businessman. Leaves in two days, also owns a textiles factory nearby. Maybe he's conducting business there."

Selene was deceptive as hell. Pryce knew this. Conniving bitch. He let her spin the web. He let her talk. Central was recording all of this.

"Yeah, Pryce - Central contacted me a few minutes ago, ordering us to engage the target. Like I said - factory. This isn't intel, either. Not just a lead. This is, like, Central."

Pryce listened. He noticed her emphasis on her own story, not even asking where he'd been.

He'd been ordered to play this out. "Counting on you," Central said earlier. That told him everything. They were counting on Pryce to be himself... and he wasn't a peaceable man.

He took Prija by the arm, and led her to the apartment. It was dark inside. He hid Prija by the front door. She knew to keep quiet.

A single candle was lit at the bedside, by the far wall. Selene's voice was clear:

"I hoped we could take care of business... sometime today." Selene was standing by the candle, wearing the torn nightie. She walked forward.

"You're legendary, Pryce. We could handle this job in an hour, now that we know all the details. Central gave us the address, and the go-ahead.

"Mmmmaybe we could celebrate?" The nightie snaked off her shoulders. The candle was behind her, closer to the window. Outside, early sunlight blushed on the landscape. She approached Pryce, while making her own shadow.

Pryce smiled. He was wary. He knew she was scheming. And Central said they 'counted on him'...

She stepped gingerly toward him, naked. He checked her reflection in the window - sure enough, she clasped a knife between her buttocks. It was a karambit knife.

"You're fucking legendary," she purred, "and I love that... C'mon, baby. Let's have a little fun, at the last step of our mission."

She took a last step toward him.

She released the knife into her hand, and swiped at his neck. He swerved back. She swung again, and again, more and more pissed off.

"FUCK-ing LEG-endary PRICK..." she swore, trying to sever his arteries.

"AL-ways getting ALL the-"

Plink, went the knife. He blocked her forearm stiffly, and pulled the blade from her fingers.

He threw it high, jabbing it into the ceiling. He could reach it - she couldn't.

She struck him twice in the face, and kicked for his groin. His shin caught that, and he counter-kicked. She was shoved off-balance.

"Central? Pryce. Damaged asset here - 'don't know who she's working for."

"Copy, Pryce. Engagement rules: free."

She recovered her balance and threw a combination of kicks. They were quick, angry snaps - two low, one at eye-level. The fourth was a feint, and she closed the distance. Two straight punches at his gut: the first sounded like a hard "PUCK" when it hit, and he caught the second. He pulled her arm into a heavy backfist, which she ducked. She twisted loose, and grabbed his neck. She was ready to land a decisive blow.

She spun into him with a hard elbow strike, but he blocked with a quick palm to her face. His straightened arm barred her from extending. He hooked around her head with a spinning ridgehand, and sapped her at the base of the skull. She was stunned, and he set her up with a quick jab and clean, final right. Her body spun hard at the neck and shoulders, and she fell slack. She was out.

"Selene's down, Central. Immobilized for now. Uhh... Whiskey Tango Foxtrot?"

"We copy that, Agent." Central sounded officious. Proud. Even more than usual. There was a satisfaction in their tone:

"Well done. Cleanup is en route. Mission clear, Agent Pryce."

Mission clear? What the? Exposing Selene was their idea, the whole damn time? For Pryce, busting-up a slavery ring was his day job. Exposing a traitor...? Well, yes, of course. That must've been important.

Central told him to be himself - to work with this conniving backstabber, until she showed her true colours. Then out-skill her. Out-smart her. Out-fight her. Outlive her, hopefully.

Those bastards knew he was good. He was really that good. Better than most, and better than Selene. It ground his guts worse than any four-letter insult. It was judgement, and it dictated his life. This had been two ops, simultaneously. It was a Trojan horse directive. 'Do this, and achieve that.' Only the hardest agents were given this kind of burden. Only the best. That status pained him.

Prija had witnessed everything, from the front door.

"Holy SHIT, man..." Her English was pretty good.

Pryce gathered Selene's unconscious body, and bound her. He gave her a modest sedative. Cleanup arrived within half an hour. Pryce just sat on the bed, while Selene was carried away. Exfil teams offered him an immediate way out, and he declined. Perhaps he had loose ends? No-one asked. No-one dared. No-one questioned him.

He had no reason to leave Thailand, because now Prija knew everything. She saw him work. She saw his brutal side. He couldn't hide it anymore.

Prija was alone with him. She hesitated. Was he leaving? Staying? Should SHE leave? Stay? He seemed frustrated. He sat on the bed, trying to collect himself. Pieces were rattling loose.

Prija went to the front door and looked over at him, dubiously. She indicated the door.

"Do I...?" she asked.

"No," he said firmly. "You don't. You don't have to ask, Prija. You don't need to ask anyone anything."

He wanted to offer her something. Freedom. Something he envied in others.

"You choose, Prija. YOU do. Always." He gave her a stern look, to drive the point home. Stern, like a wise teacher. 'Sensei Pryce.'

"It's your beginning, Prija. A new start. A new chance. You go where you want to go. Be wherever you want to be. Everyone has this right, every single day. I'll fight for that. I'll fight for you, so you have a choice."

...I would fight for you, and I would die for you, Sweet Prija.

"Prija? Don't ever be a captive, because of someone else. Your life belongs to you."

It seemed like a lifetime ago, when her freedom was taken. She had a long story of misery and fear, like the other women did. Pryce didn't know her whole story - he understood, and respectfully didn't ask.

Real freedom was golden - it was divine, and he passed it to her as easily as sharing a cigarette. It was a new outlook on life.

She stepped toward him, fell toward him, and kissed. He waited, as her tiny lips tasted his mouth. He let her express this. She needed to. It was deep gratitude, and a flicker of affection. That's all.

"Stay?" she asked.

He nodded. Yes. Stay. Of course, Sweet Love. Of course.

She exhaled through a beaming, wet smile. She kissed again.

"Mmm. We have this place for a while," he said. "Two days, till 'Mr Safe-House Contact' shows up again. Just some guy with a bad moustache... I'll handle that. 'Shouldn't have any surprises... so... stay here, Prija, if you want."

He reached his hand to her, because he really meant this. His hand reached up and stroked her arm. She touched him, in response.

They'd both stay here. That's what she wanted. Pryce sighed with relief, and absently looked around for a phone book.

"So, umm... are you hungry?"

Chapter Six: Fairest Of Them All

The whole apartment smelled like coconut, peanut sauce, and curried shrimp. Several times, Pryce reminded himself to visit Thailand just for the food. It was phenomenal. Authentic massaman curry was well worth a plane ticket.

"Prija, where'd you learn English?"

"TV, when I was younger."

They both sat on the bed, watching the apartment's television. It was an old, heavy, CRT television, fed by a makeshift cable connection. Some brainless early-morning TV show prattled on about god-knows-what.

"I'm surprised you had English TV," Pryce mused, impressed by her. She finished chewing, and turned her face away.

"My favourite channel, next to the... sex ones."

Pryce looked at her.

"On cable. The... the channels." She tried to explain. She wanted to explain. She blushed.

"I do like sex, just... not someone else. Someone I don't know." She spoke in lower tones, meaning her previous work. Her previous life.

"I hear you," he answered. That honesty bridged between them. It was empathy. His work had unreasonable demands, too. Murder, lies, fake intimacy... Dishonesty was mandatory for both of them.

Pryce and Prija both had orders. They were told to commit acts of violence, or sex. They were surrounded by fake people. Spy agencies or brothels, it didn't matter... they were surrounded by lies. They were surrounded by walls.

They felt a pain unique to them. They were like two stars, in a cold, black void. Neither of them had seen starlight before.

They sat together in heavy silence. That silence tilted, and loomed, and fell over when she kissed wet smacks on his mouth. She hadn't kissed anyone in years. Not with intent.

"Mmmh," she swooned. She climbed onto him and kissed again, at a new angle. He kissed back, long and roaming on her mouth.

Prija, he thought. Oh my GOD... it's really her. Her voice, her eyes, her delicate hands... mmm... Definitely her lips...

He loosened her clothes, while she humped him smoothly. Her crotch was warm, and smelled sweet, and it brushed along his thigh in firm strokes.

Her arms went to his shoulders. She began dipping herself on him. She dipped herself onto his lap, like she was impaling that sweet smell on him. Her little hands went like slivers under his shirt, and peeled it away slowly. For a few minutes, she just stared at his rigid chest. His tight, rippling shoulders. His bulletproof heart.

She leaned closer, and smelled what he was like - what he was really like, beneath the clothes and under the layers. All that work, and strength, and pounding blood inside him... he had the power to change worlds. He was Atlas, and he was real.

She nestled her head on his shoulder, and breathed down his chest. His pec stood hard as she blew warmly across it. It was a damned rock. It was the rounded stone in a river that endures for centuries. The stability of his body would never give. Ever.

She closed her eyes. He already gave everything, for her. This man could've died, tonight.

His head turned into her, so that his face touched her cheek. Their necks were like Yin and Yang. Eternal. The pale and the dark; kissing fish.

She felt the tiniest nudge on her jaw. It was less than a fingerprint. She barely heard it - a faint, wet click. His kiss was angel-soft.

She whispered against his neck:

"I want to make love. I want you to take me." Her tiny lips barely moved. These words were strong enough, they came through on their own.

Her eyes gleamed brilliantly, and burned with inner need. They begged to tell him a secret that smouldered inside her.