Jim was ushered through the front gate and the guards weren’t being very gentle.  There was chaos and commotion all around him.  Guards were coming down from their respective posts and converging between Jim and performing crowd control for the prisoners who were fighting to see what was happening.  

Jim didn’t fight anything that was happening, there was no point.  Jim put himself in this position because had he not, Connor would be dead, and it would have been entirely Jim’s fault.

Beyond the initial gate was a large enclosed hallway, the walls were made out of a blackened concrete, torches lined the walls.  Shadows danced on the walls in correspondence with the movement of himself and the guards.  There was more fence toward the end of the hallway on either side that led to the center area of the fortress.  Guards could be seen attempting to perform crowd control and not being very successful at it.  There was yelling and screaming coming from the visible and unseen guards.  The voices were a mixture of guards and prisoners.  Most voices couldn’t be distinguished from, not many words were audible, only the occasional ‘Who is that?’ ‘Where is he?’ and ‘What’s going on?’  There was a very real sense of chaos as Jim was being led to some unknown destination.  The guards led Jim to a door at the end of the hallway and began unlocking it.  Just before Jim was taken inside this room, he very briefly caught a glimpse of two very familiar faces, Lydia and Veronica.  Their faces were that of utter shock, disbelief, and relief.  This didn’t last for more than a few seconds before Jim was led through the doorway and it closed behind him.  Suddenly there was silence.  Only the very dull roar of the outside was still there.

There wasn’t much in the room except a table and two chairs.  Two of the guards left the room and one guard was left to watch him.   Neither Jim nor the guard said anything to each other.  Jim simply stood there, bruised from the rough handling, looking at the guard.  Jim had seen this guard from the trench before.  Up close, this guard seemed more human, where as before, he was just another entity tasked with the fortress defense.  The guard had brown eyes, dark hair and a goatee.  His gun was pointed directly at Jim from his hip.  Jim  continued to say nothing.

The door reopened and the other two guards returned. One guard had two filled pails, the other guard had two buckets of powder.  The door quickly closed behind them. The guard with the gun put his gun down and stripped the clothes from Jim until he stood there as naked as the day he was born.

A half a pail of water was thrown on Jim’s front.

“Turn!” yelled one of the guards.

Jim did so, and the rest of the first bucket was thrown on him.  Jim was now very cold.

“Turn!” yelled the same guard.  “Step forward!”

Jim did as he was told and the powder was then thrown on him, front and back.

“Scrub!” the guard again yelled.

Jim realized that the powder was soap.  He wasted no time in diligently scrubbing his body.  He couldn’t remember the last time he had a shower and realized that he must have absolutely reeked.  Jim scrubbed every last square inch of himself that he could manage.  Without warning, the guard then used the last pail of water, Jim turned again and received the last of it.  Jim was then thrown a towel and wiped himself down.  The guards yanked it from him and disappeared, taking his old clothes with them.  Jim stood there naked for a few moments before they returned with very plain looking garments for him to put on, he did so, and was then told to sit.  He sat down in a chair and one guard remained with him.  His gun still trained on him. 

A great many thoughts and questions were running through his mind, most of which couldn’t be answered just yet.  One thought in particular was probably going to happen sooner than he could imagine, and he had to prepare himself mentally for it.  He knew it wouldn’t be long now before Machete Max made his grand entrance.  This would be his first time getting a first hand experience with him, and get a feel for what kind of man he was truly dealing with.  He had to remain composed though.  If any of what he had heard about the man was true, the man would only respect one thing.  Jim had to play it cool.

Jim heard the door behind him open, Jim couldn’t help but focus on the sound of the hinge creaking.  The guard diagonally in front of him who had his gun pointed at him from the hip, turned his attention toward the person who just walked in the room.  Jim watched as the man in black walked in and stood on the opposite end of the table as the guard.  This man in black didn’t say anything, he simply stood there, half looking downward, and half glancing up at Jim.

“Major Burnside will be along, momentarily.” The man in black said, very quietly, calmly.  “I’m the priest of this outpost, I’m Father Edward Richards, you can call me Father Edward.”

Jim looked at Father Edward and simply listened, studying him.

“I act as the liaison between prisoners and personnel. It is my job here to try and ensure fair treatment, but, even my reach has its own limitations when it comes to decision making.” Father Edward said, in a strangely comforting way.

“Are you Catholic?” Jim asked.

“Of course, hence the priestly garb.” Father Edward responded.  “While I must answer to Major Burnside as part of my job description here, I ultimately answer to the almighty father, as will we all in my belief. Why do you ask?”

“To my recollection, I’ve only ever known one other Catholic.  He was, is, a great man.”

“I’m glad to hear that, It’s good to know the faith is alive and well…” Father Edward said.

Just as Father Edward finished speaking, the door opened again and a very firm and heavy set of footsteps were heard behind Jim, the door closed with a thud.  Father Edward looked up at the newest person in the room.  Machete Max came into Jim’s view.

Machete Max looked a little different up close.  His hair was unwashed and greasy.  Stubble adorned his face, the man looked very weathered in general with age lines and crow’s feet.  His bushy eyebrows topped off his hard, semi-bloodshot eyes.  Machete Max sat down in the opposite chair and stared at Jim with those hard eyes for a moment.

“So…” Machete Max began. “You are the individual responsible for the symbol that was made outside of this encampment?”

“Yes.” Jim said, simply.

“Why would you do such a thing? What were you intending to accomplish with this symbol of yours?” Machete Max asked, staring with those hard eyes.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time, I usually do this when I come across places in order to gauge their responses, to ascertain the moral standards of the locations.  I figure a reminder of the father’s judgement never hurts anyone.” Jim replied, half-lying, half implying.

Jim noticed the smallest smile from Father Edward from this answer, Father Edward was trying not to make his comprehension and agreement well known.

“So, you are a traveler that tests the morality of various encampments.  That’s your story?” Machete Max asked, suspicious.  “What is your name?”

“You can call me Jim.” Jim stated, plainly, honestly.

“Do you have a last name, Jim?” Machete Max asked, borderline sarcastically.

“Not that I’m aware of.” Jim said.

Machete Max looked at him very suspiciously now, not believing him.

“I’m an orphan.  I never knew my parents.  If I have a last name, I’ve never known it.  I’m told I was found on a church’s doorstep with a ratty t-shirt with the name James written on the collar.  I’ve only ever been called Jim, my whole life.” Jim responded.

Jim was, of course, mostly lying. He had to because he didn’t have the answers that Machete Max wanted, and he wasn’t about to make his connection to his crew known.  That would very potentially open up everyone involved to an unwanted world of hurt and consequences.  Jim dare not enter into a situation where he or they would be endangered or found out.

“I’ve never heard of such a job description.” Machete Max said, in disbelief. “Who do you work for? Which faction?”

Jim tensed up, but tried his best to hide it.  He had no clue what Machete Max was talking about.  He knew nothing about any factions.  He had to think quickly, even make one up.

“Genesis X” Jim said, very heavily bluffing, thinking about where he came from

Machete Max eyed him up.

“Genesis X?” Machete Max’s skepticism was great. “I’ve never heard of that faction.”

“And our faction has gone through quite a lot of trouble to make sure that was a reality.  It isn’t easy to be in a covert operation, especially when no one knows you exist.  This life can get very lonely.” Jim said, both lamented and quiet.

Machete Max looked at him and it was apparent that he had no idea what to think about the man before him.  He wasn’t entirely convinced of his story, but he could find no tangible evidence to contradict his story.

“If you are who you say you are, then you should have no problem telling me who your commanding officer is, so I can verify your story.” Machete Max replied.

“I cannot, sir.” Jim said, calmly.  Machete Max’s eyes widened at the insubordination.

“I’m sorry, I may have misheard you.  Did you say no?” Machete Max grimaced.

“To everyone in this room’s knowledge, I do not exist, and therefore, do not have an existing commanding officer.  However, if the gentleman before me would be so kind as to offer me residence that is befitting of someone who is not a prisoner; I’m sure that information that is to your liking could be made available in due time.” Jim bluffed with everything he had in him.”

Machete Max seemingly started to understand what Jim was saying, and realizing that his story, (however far fetched), may actually have some truth to it.  The denial of the existence of a commanding officer would certainly be in the job description of a member of a highly secretive faction.

“If your faction is so secretive, why tell me the name of it?” Machete Max asked.