nicola !

The only sound is the electricity and Dave’s heart thudding against his temples.

He refuses to look any of the bastards in the eye.

Uniform steps in front of him and tilts Dave’s chin up with the stun gun. He gulps. If a few shocks to the back is incapacitating, his throat... He doesn’t even want to think about it.

“And what about you, Mr Fisher?” Badges says. He’s the one who does all the talking here, in a smooth accent Dave places vaguely along the North East coast. “Only one of you needs to take the blame. The other will look like a lunatic for denying it, sure, but it’s your word against a woman crazy with grief. And I'm sure Roxie—”

Her name triggers a switch inside him, and he looks Badges dead in the eye and says, “You tortured her. And she’s not crazy.”

Badges chuckles, his eyebrows darting up. “Well— tortured is a very strong word. It’s just... punishment,” he says silkily, “For refusing to answer our questions.”

“Dude— that's torture!” Dave splutters, barely able to believe what he’s hearing. Is this seriously happening to them? He’s no expert in the US government, but he remembers enough from his high school citizenship class to know that governments shouldn’t punish people when they speak out against them.

“We wouldn’t have had to punish her if she’d just done what I asked.”

“You fucking tortured her!” He screams. “You— you could’ve killed her!”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” Badges says dismissively, in a tone that makes Dave’s guts boil with rage. “These stun guns aren’t lethal at all.”

Deep down, Dave knows that’s not true, but he also knows not to argue with the law on some things. He’s spent a night in jail before, and he swore it would be his last. So much for that idea.

He softens his approach, intimately aware of the stun gun still aimed at his throat. “Is she... going to be okay?”

“Oh, of course,” Badges says like he wasn’t literally torturing her just minutes before. “Might be a bit sore, but she’ll live. Trust me, David, we have no interest in harming either of you, let alone murder.”

Dave scoffs. “Electrocuting Roxie until she couldn’t move sounds a lot like harm to me—”

A crackle — and his voice is stolen. He can’t move. Can’t speak. Can't breathe. Oh, God, everything is in agony. He’s being burned alive, with every flame replaced by a giant, searing-hot needle. Every muscle is pulled tight as a guitar string, violently vibrating with each millisecond that drags past. A tear leaks out of the corner of his eye, and he hasn’t been religious in years, but he manages to think, amidst the raging mess in his head, God save me.

He doesn’t notice it’s over for a few seconds. His throat vibrates with pain that oscillates through each nerve, all the way to his fingertips. His windpipe is locked up, a thread of oxygen barely wheezing past, and pushing out a single sound feels like climbing a mountain. His breaths sound like a stiff, creaking door. He’s never known pain like this in his life.

“See what happens when you misbehave?” Badges’s underwater voice says. Dave’s heart is thudding in his ears, making his head spin. His throat vibrates with pain, and gasping out even one word feels like it would tear his windpipe to shreds. He can breathe again, but just barely, and the sight of the stun gun alone is enough to make his entire body tremble.

“We really don’t enjoy this, you know,” Badges says. “It’s not fun for either of us.”

‘Not fun’s the most you can say, huh? Dave’s lips tug into a scowl, before realising that hurts his throat too, and he relaxes as much as possible.

“We wouldn’t do this if it wasn’t necessary, David.” Rage spikes through him at the use of his full name. “But this is in the best interest of everyone.”

He finds that hard to believe.

“H... how?” He manages to croak out. They won’t shut him up that easily.

“Well, you and Roxie did technically steal and hijack a company vehicle. And you disobeyed orders in the midst of an emergency: a stunt that endangered lives — your lives.”

You don’t give a shit about the six lives you endangered by abandoning them, he thinks.

“Any other time, you’d be charged with a felony. You’d be going to prison. But...” Badges sighs through his teeth, “These circumstances are... exceptional, shall we say? So we’ve decided to let that incident slip past. You were worried about your kids; we get it,” he says like it’s a kindness. Like Dave should be thankful to him. “We’re all just playing by ear. The world has been thrown into complete and utter chaos.”

Dave can agree with that much, at least.

“But the one thing,” he says, dangerous sincerity seeping into his voice, “That people can count on is the predictability of Jurassic World. Our ability to keep people safe.”

I’d say that part’s in shambles.

“If we’re really careful about how we play this, the whole thing could be chalked up to a dangerous hybrid that grew too powerful. An inexperienced employee messing around with the cages that’s been fired — if they haven’t already been eaten!” He jokes.

Too far, man. Dave loves a good quip, but even that’s messed up for him.

“That way, no one’s reputations get needlessly ruined, and the park can still stay intact.”

Dave coughs on a breath. If his throat wasn’t utterly incapacitated right now, he’d actually laugh. They’re still scavenging the remains of this park? After... after this? He’s willing to bet none of these bastards were even on the island when it happened.

“Why are you smiling?” Badges says, cutting through Dave’s moment of disbelief in a heartbeat. His voice grows firm edges. “I don’t think you understand what’s at stake here. Some of the richest people in the world are going to lose a lot of money.”

Poor them.

“And it’s not just for their sakes: we’re talking global economic shocks, markets crashing on a level we haven’t seen, maybe since the Great Depression. Shareholders lose all the value they invested into this place, and trust me, we don’t want to be dealing with that.”

People were literally dying! Dave wants to scream at the unfairness of it all, but even the thought makes his throat twinge.

“Have you studied economics, Dave?”

He shakes his head.

“Then it might be hard for you to understand just the magnitude of what could happen if Jurassic World falls.”

‘If?’ It already has! This whole conversation is one of the most irritating things he’s ever been a part of, and being unable to communicate makes it even worse.

“Some people have... unfortunately lost their lives. And we are truly sorry about your six kids.”

The mention of their kids kicks fire into his gut. How dare he, how fucking dare he pretend like he cares about them. He does not get to take their names and bend them to their image, twist them into being the good, sympathetic guys who are just as heartbroken as the rest of the world by all the life lost.

Lies. It’s all fucking lies.

“Bas... bastards,” he croaks. “You h... hurt... her.”

“It was what we had to do. You can’t say her insolence didn’t deserve—”

“You’re f... fucking sick.” Every word feels like swallowing fire, but he can’t stop. “I h... I hate you. Die f... forev... ver.”

He almost anticipated the shock, but that doesn’t make it any less painful. Uniform rams the stun gun into his gut, and an animal screech claws out of his throat and splits his face in two. His throat rips apart into a million scattered pieces and fire licks at the empty space. His muscles ripple and contract like the movements of the sea, and he can hardly move, hardly breathe, until it ends.

His face smashes onto the table, his right cheekbone taking most of the brunt in a blow he’s sure will bruise later. Badges looks down with a sickening sense of satisfaction. Uniform crackles the stun gun in the edge of his vision, and Clipboard doesn’t say a word.

It’s then, Dave realises how utterly powerless he is.

“Have you made a decision yet, Mr Fisher?”

And he really doesn’t know. He’ll let himself be electrocuted within an inch of his life to protect the kids. They deserve even the tiniest sliver of a chance, even though whatever rescue attempt he and Roxie can throw together will never make up for their fatal mistake.

But the thought of Roxie, unconscious on the ground as he screamed his throat hoarse begging her to wake up, makes him hesitate. What’s to stop them putting her through all of that again? She had, what, ten shocks? In the span of... fifteen minutes? Dave was never good with numbers, or medical science, but he knows there’s only so much people — even someone as super-strong as Roxie — can take.

After all, they’re no use to the kids dead.

“Prom... prom... ise me y... you won’t h... hurt Rox... xie,” he says seriously, the walls of his throat still feeling like they’re bleeding. “I’ll consider i... it — I’m not s... saying yes — but I’ll consider it... if you promise t... to st— to stop hur... hurting her.”

Badges presses a hand to his heart. Dave thinks of Roxie’s heart and dreads to imagine what would happen if it stops. “Mr Fisher, I promise you, neither of you will be hurt.” A blatant lie, but Dave goes along with it.

“I f... I feel like th... there’s a... an ‘if’ coming.”

One corner of Badges’s lips quirk into a smile. “You feel correctly. And we really don’t ask for much. Just accept what you’ve done, and we can bury this whole thing.”

He examines his hands. They’re trapped, wrist to wrist. Like a prayer. He hasn’t been religious in years, but he laces his fingers together and wonders if God can hear him through the foot-thick concrete.

How can he make this choice? How can he decide his fate, Roxie’s fate, and the fate of their kids? All in one word? It seems impossible. One of those things that only happens in movies.

And there’s no good choice either. It’s him and Roxie, or the kids. He knows the choice Roxie would want him to make. He knows the choice he wants to make.

But the thought of her— hell, of himself— convulsing on the ground, being electrocuted to the brink of death... He can’t put her through that again.

He’s no fool; he knows what will happen when he refuses. His nerves prickle as they beg him to spare them this torment. Worse, he knows what will happen to Roxie— and before he can think, he feels his head shaking.

“Are you sure?” Badges draws out the last syllable, curving upwards with his eyebrows.

“Yes — but don’t take this out on Roxie! I’ll take whatever you want, jus—”

A crackle. He knows what comes next. Knows this song and dance. It still feels like hellfire right down to his bones, pain shooting through every muscle, every nerve, every molecule— and suddenly he can hardly feel anything at all as his face once again smashes into the table, just as Roxie’s did mere minutes ago.

God. He’s tired. Moving his arm even a twitch feels like doing a hundred pull ups. Maybe this is their plan: to wear them down until they trade in a confession for some peace and rest. And that deal is looking more tempting by the second.

“Really, Mr Fisher, I’m getting tired of this.” Badges looks almost annoyed. “And I’d bet you are too. Don’t you want to go home? Put this all behind you?”

“Then let us go, already!” Dave exclaims, regretting it when his throat explodes with fits of pain, and his sore, aching body wracks with coughs. It’s like getting ten illnesses at once, with extra psychological torment on the side. The creaking-door breaths become older, stiffer, tighter, and his head is starting to spin with the lack of air.

“That can be arranged. Really easily. And I know you know how to make that happen,” Badges says, sounding like a disappointed parent. “Tell you what, we’ll even remove your handcuffs,” Badges suggests, like it’s a kindness. Like his wrists chained together so tightly the veins can feel each others’ synchronized beats is something he deserves.

Uniform unclicks his handcuffs. Dave rubs at his wrists, flexing and stretching his fingers. He nurses his tender, electrocuted hand, willing the pain and numbness to go away. A day ago, he might’ve thought of playing guitar, holding hands, carrying the people he cares about in his arms. Now, he can only think that, if he has any chance of fighting back, he’s gonna need his hand to stop aching.

“We even removed the handcuffs from Ms Malhotra,” Badges says loftily. “When she wakes up, it should make things easier.”

Easier?

His heart falls into his shoes.

“Wha... what did you do to h... her?” Dave finds himself saying. He can’t swallow the dread choking him by the neck as he thinks about what Roxie, unconscious and injured, could go through without anyone to protect her.

“We just gave her the change to... rethink her answer.”

“You’re v... you’re vile,” Dave says, nothing but rage inside him. “I’m nev... ver f... forgiv... ving you. Kill yourselves.”

“Now really, Mr Fisher, we’re just doing what needs to be done. It’s for the good of Jurassic World — the good of the whole world. Do you know the Broken Window theory?”

He doesn’t reply. He refuses to indulge in his stupid mind games.

“Imagine a neighbourhood. A lovely, well-maintained suburb full of nice, tidy houses. Everyone else stays in line, so you stay in line too. But then, one of those houses gets vandalised. Trash dumped all over the front lawn. Windows smashed to pieces. The ghosts of a fire lick at the walls. People realise... Now if the order is gone, then why uphold it at all? If there’s cracks, why not break the whole window? What’s holding the rest of the street together? Why shouldn’t people destroy the next house, or the whole street of houses? What stops people from vandalising the entire neighbourhood?”

Basic decency? Dave wonders. It seems kind of obvious, but he wants this to be over as quickly as possible, so he keeps his mouth shut.

“Put it this way: keep the windows intact, and society stays intact. Jurassic World is our windows. And right now, we have to patch up the windows before anyone sees.”

In a weird way, it’s starting to make sense. Dave can see the point in damage control— but not this. Not being tortured.

“And if... if the windows mean th... thousands have t... to die, and you— you tor... tortured Roxie— I think society deserves to break.”

A crackle — they might as fucking well — and Dave refuses to scream. Even when the pain sets off firecrackers in his gut and bullets in his throat. He bites his tongue until it bleeds, screwing his eyes shut so they don’t see how hard he’s crying — and refuses to react when his teeth suddenly clack together, and the taste of blood floods his mouth. A small chunk of— God— of his tongue falls at his lips.

He spits it out. It lands right in front of Badges in a wet, bloody mess.

He says nothing. Dave’s mouth twists into a grin. If he goes down, he is determined to go down kicking and screaming every step of the way. They will not have his complicity as their trophy.

So they drag him off, and he fights back: punching, struggling— hell, even biting. He tells them they’re fucking bastards, he wishes them dead, they’re going to hell and God won’t hear their cries for His mercy. That their souls are nothing but poison. That each of their campers are worth a million of them.

“Where are your campers now?” Uniform taunts. His voice is a low, dark grumble. Dave practically growls, and Uniform just laughs, one more time, before reaching to unlock a door, and tosses Dave inside like rubbish.

Dark.