The Game pt.2

He lay strapped to the chair. He knew this man. Very well. His name was Jackson. He had been his hardest trainee to crack. He resisted every form of torture - he had pushed numerous needles into different bones in Jackson's body one at a time. He had seen this man turn white will pain, all blood draining from he as he endured 'hell'. He had injected sulfuric acid into Jackson's spleen. Not enough to kill him or destroy the nerves so he didn't feel anything after that, but enough that it was excruciatingly painful. Still he had not cracked, but when he did it was unbelievable. Jackson had been allowed to rest in his cell for a week. He had gotten the best food they could provide - steak, wine, caviar. He had even been allowed to leave his cramped cell for two hours of work-out to make sure he remained strong. The day before the procedures were to start again, he was asked who he worked for. He spat and swore his allegiance to himself.

The procedure had been set up already for Jackson. In a single room, the very room that fell silent in the background. The four white walls splattered of blood - Jackson’s blood. No one else’s. This room was built solely for the cracking of Jackson. The procedure consisted of the very tools that were spread out across the table stand to his left. Small bombs that could be injected into the body, and were activated by remote. It was incredibly painful, and chunks of flesh would often be thrown across the room. He had seen Jackson’s face. He knew it was painful, and now he was about to experience it.

One hour before one more chuck of flesh was to be rocketed out of Jackson’s leg, he wrote a letter to his superiors. He revealed where his loyalties lay. He had turned. Suddenly. Drastically. The Resolution had just gained a highly trained, high dangerous sniper. Willing to kill anyone. Anyone. Even a member of the CIA. A mortal enemy of the Resolution, who was going to die anyway, no matter what Jackson did.