"You're a fuckin' rabbit in the headlights, aren't you?"

Jacket sat impatiently but sat still, without fidgeting, watching for the pursuing authorities. If the police cars hadn’t crashed into the van by now, they had probably made a stop on the other side of it, or otherwise had already began circling around to surround them.

He glanced every now and then for his coworker’s progress in dragging Roscoe to the car, until finally one of the passenger doors was opened - but not before a sudden shot rang out, at which Jacket ducked and very nearly stepped on the gas pedal out of reflex. But another short glance for Jimmy, and the man looked to still be moving with Roscoe in tow. The latter was soon pushed hastily into the backseat with Jimmy climbing in after him.

The door was barely shut before the car was taking off again. Again, not too suddenly, though this time with a fleeting cry of protest from the tires before they went quiet under the roar of the engine. Jacket initially paid little mind to the gunshots that followed besides ducking a little lower… but that didn’t stop a sharp, sudden, burning pain in his leg. 

His focus was undeterred. The car peeled away from the van and started down another street, only went a block before making another turn. Fast but not car chase fast. Another police car was in pursuit but at a little more distance now; Jacket intended to use that distance as much as he could.

There certainly wasn't time for seat belts. As the engine roared to life, Jimmy had to brace himself in order to avoid being thrown about the car from the sudden turns and acceleration. Roscoe seemed to mirror a similar panic, but chose to speak little, instead continuing to whimper over his injuries. Even as they began to speed down the road, individual bullets could be heard loudly impacting the steel surface of the car. Jimmy held his breath in grim anticipation, expecting the shattering of a window or the sudden death of one of the men in the car. Fortunately, it never came.

He leaned forward in his chair, his free hand using the front seat as leverage to keep him centered. "You've probably already realized it, but it'll be impossible for us to just simply drive to the safehouse, yea?" Jimmy halted, turning his head to the rear window to count the distant, pursuing cars. "We've-- we've got too much heat. They'll track us down if we stay in this bloody car. Maybe... maybe we can find a manhole somewhere. Lose them by going underground?"

At this, Roscoe -- who had been awfully quiet for most of the drive -- spoke up with a hiss. "Yeah, how do you expect me to walk, genius? You leave that out of your plan, or what?" Jimmy quickly snapped back, facing Roscoe with a scowl. "You shouldn't even be talking, mate. You're the one who got us into this mess, and frankly, you're bloody lucky to still be alive. If I need to drag your crippled weight through knee-high sewage, I'll very well do so, if just for the opportunity to submerge your head in--"

Roscoe suddenly broke into a panicked scream, pointing his finger towards the windshield.

A large, black vehicle came roaring from a turn ahead. Its design was not unlike that of a SWAT transport vehicle, but with one glaring addition on the roof of the car. Jimmy almost didn't have time to call out the impending danger before a hail of bullets began to fly towards them.

The loud sound he heard in the midst of the car’s spinning told him his hit paid off. By the time his own spinning had stopped, he saw that Roscoe’s van had been knocked right over onto its side.

They didn’t have a lot of time to be stopped here with the police on their tail – yet Jimmy leapt from the car to run over to their target, breaking open the van’s front windshield in search of its driver. Watchful of the police quickly making their approach, Jacket glided the car closer, stopping where Jimmy would be just a couple steps away from getting back in, hopefully with the briefcase and/or Roscoe in tow.

He could see movement inside the van, some brief motions of a bloodied hand. Jacket glanced for the police again. He wasn’t sure what Roscoe was saying but Jimmy seemed to be stopped by it. Rather than taking the time to use his tape player, Jacket just tapped the horn of the car a couple times, hoping his coworker would get the picture to get moving, whether with or without the traitor. It would be much more difficult to make an escape if the police had enough time to surround them. Jacket preferred to get going before that happened.

Jacket certainly didn't need to tell him twice. Jimmy gave a loud, annoyed exhale, pocketing his .357 within his clothing. "You're lucky, you're _so_ lucky that I'm deciding to let you live, Matt." Jimmy scowled, bending over to pull Roscoe out of the vehicle, to which the other man immediately voiced a loud cry of pain. Jimmy didn't even bother to be gentle. He was certain that Roscoe was injured, of course, but as far as he was concerned, any pain the other man felt was justified. When Matt was entirely pulled out of the van, Jimmy was able to take a good look at the source of his agony. His right leg, now bent at an unnatural angle, was twitching slightly as the injured man continued to cry out.

Jimmy only gave a curt, impatient hiss.

The heister crouched down, grappling Roscoe by his arms and hoisting him upwards slightly, before dragging him to the Ford Focus. The pain of being dragged caused Roscoe to emit an air-filling scream, to which Jimmy could only scold. "Hurts? Bloody hurts, doesn't it? This-- this is what happens when you try to double cross Jimmy. You're lucky, but not lucky enough." Roscoe could only respond with a choked sob.

Then the first bullet whizzed by the pair.

He could catch up to the van easily, but on the other hand, he hoped Jimmy didn’t waste too much ammunition. Neither of them came prepared for much of a firefight - their ammo was limited. He would prefer to run the van off the road before trying to aim a gun at its driver, because for Jacket, one of these things was easier than the other.

The sirens behind them complicated things, however. One vehicle managing to evade police was one thing, but for two vehicles in the midst of a chase to both manage to evade police? Jacket suddenly wasn’t so sure about catching Roscoe today. It was greater priority to avoid capture than to finish a job. Roscoe could be hunted down later, if need be. Jacket was confident of that.

He would keep up for a little while longer at least. Jacket was more than hesitant to leave the car while the police were on their tail, but if he could crash Roscoe, that would at least be the first step to grabbing the traitor or the briefcase or, ideally, both.

Glancing for the police in the rearview mirror every now and then, Jacket kept focused for the van and the surrounding traffic. The latter wasn’t too difficult to avoid, quickly bringing him up almost to the van’s rear – Jacket lingered there, a little ways off, waiting for the next turn. Sure enough, the van turned sharply, and Jacket in turn seemed to pounce. 

A sharp growl of the engine, and the little Ford Focus bolted forward, accelerating suddenly so Jacket could catch the rear corner of Roscoe’s van and knock its balance off course. He doubted the hit would produce anything too dramatic considering the size difference in their vehicles, but such a big van already had precarious balance taking a turn so quickly. At best, the van might spin, overturn, and drop over right in the path of the police. At worst, it might be knocked only a little off course, and then at least there was the chance Roscoe could spin out in his attempts to correct it.

The Ford Focus, meanwhile, was knocked for a spin of its own after the hit to the van, which Jacket seemed to take in stride. The car made a surprisingly graceful 180, after which Jacket was prepped to accelerate again if need be, depending on the course of the van.

This was it. Just a little bit closer, and Jimmy would have a shot lined up. Jacket drove alarmingly close behind Roscoe, and Jimmy already began to twist himself in order to lean out of the window with his .357. Right as the heister was about to aim a shot, however, Roscoe made a sharp turn to the right, attempting to dance away from them. Before Jimmy even had time to react, Jacket accelerated. Jimmy immediately panicked, the force from the speed suddenly pushing him against his seat. "Whoa, whoawhoawhoa-- shit!"

He felt the Ford Focus collide with Roscoe's van, but instead of a career-ending crash, he felt the world seemingly spin around them in a sickening whirlwind. He heard loud crashes, but didn't feel the telltale pain that usually came from a fatal wound. He opened his eyes -- were they closed this whole time? -- before taking in the sight before them. The Ford Focus remained still, pointed at the van. The van that was now laying on its side.

Jimmy blinked, a surprised scoff leaving his mouth, before he suddenly looked at Jacket with an incredulous look of surprise.

His stun didn't last long, however. Movement could already be seen moving inside of the van through the windshield. Jimmy's expression instantly switched back to a look of determination, and he stepped out of the car, his revolver hanging from his hand. In a few long strides, he closed the distance between both cars, before lifting his foot and crashing it against the damaged windshield of the overturned van.

The first thing he saw underneath the shattered pane was the silver briefcase. Beside it, caked in blood and apparently on the verge of consciousness, was Roscoe, groaning quietly. For a moment, Jimmy almost considered executing him right there.

Then Roscoe began to cough, holding a weak hand up towards him.

"Wait--" He choked, his voice coming out in a strained croak. "Don't shoot. Don't-- please." He pleaded. Jimmy was almost surprised that he was still alive. Almost.

He pointed the .357 forward, causing Roscoe to shrink once more. He began to beg once more, his voice carrying more resolve. "I can tell you about who paid me to do this! I swear! Just please don't kill me, I-- fuck. I can't feel my leg..."

No other cars in sight except for those out on the street. Stealing a car out in the open wasn’t ideal, but – Jimmy was already headed that way, and Jacket was brisk to follow. He paused at the sidewalk with his coworker, scanning the nearby parked cars to evaluate his options.

Before he had picked one out, though, the other man was striding right out into the road - and into the path of an oncoming car. Piecing together just what Jimmy was doing, Jacket didn’t think that this was ideal either. But admittedly, it was the easiest, probably the fastest, solution at the moment. Jacket followed after the man’s motioning without hesitance and stood watch just a little ways behind him, patiently allowing Jimmy to do the talking. For all his wild antics and volatile shifts in personality, Jimmy was a reasonable guy. Jacket knew he could be trusted to negotiate with civilians.

In the meantime, he sized up the vehicle. Ford Focus. Definitely not one of his favorites, but there wasn’t time to be picky, unfortunately. As soon as the car’s driver and Jimmy were cleared out of his way, Jacket stashed his weapon and dropped into the driver’s seat and shut the door, made a few quick adjustments of the seat and steering wheel to better fit him while Jimmy got in the car. Then they were off - no cinematic screech of the tires, but a swift and building glide of acceleration until they were up to a speed that was quite a bit faster than was safe or comfortable on an inner city road.

A similarly smooth and surprisingly quiet turn was made where Jimmy had indicated, then another long growl of the engine as the car accelerated again in pursuit of Roscoe’s van. Everything about the ride felt particularly practiced and deliberate - almost natural, akin to the predatory precision of some big cat on the hunt.

With a quick clip of his seat belt, and a reloading of his revolver, the duo had driven down the street, Jimmy pointing his finger forward as they neared the turn. The car drove quickly, and to Jimmy's surprise, Jacket seemed entirely in tune with the car they were in. He almost seemed to drive like someone who raced cars for a living. Jimmy’s impressed reaction, however, was quickly replaced by alertness, particularly when Roscoe's van could be seen ahead of them. Jimmy quickly took to readying his revolver, before opening the passenger seat's window.

"He thinks he's gonna get away. Ha!" He laughed dryly, before speaking towards Jacket. "All right, mate. We gotta try and swerve around these cars to catch up with him. You get close enough, and I'll try and get some shots in through the window, yea--" He suddenly trailed off, a muted noise from behind them bringing his attention to the rear mirror.

The familiar flashing of red and blue lights appeared, already several dozen meters behind them. Jimmy groaned, but he wasn't entirely surprised. "Well, this just got a lot more fun. I..." He looked over his revolver and ammunition supply, hissing out a curse. "I knew we should've brought all of our guns. I won't be able to take shots at the pigs. Not-- not too many, anyway." He looked ahead of them, taking occasional glances to the rear window. "Right, right. Just keep driving, then. We'll kill Roscoe, take the plates, then find out a way to get out of this shitshow."

Jacket wasn’t sure why he had been brought along. It was far too small a job for three heisters, far too simple for the types of jobs he was usually assigned to. Maybe it was that Jimmy was newer and Bain had caught wind that they got along alright, wanted someone watching after him. Jacket of all people seemed a bit overkill, though; Jimmy didn’t have a lot of meat on him, almost any other heister could surely overpower him if need be.

He didn’t know much about Roscoe. Maybe Roscoe was new too; Jacket knew he wasn’t a real part of the Payday gang, just a contact. He couldn’t help feeling a little peeved that Roscoe had been the one assigned to drive on this job, though. Jacket was more capable, and he knew Bain knew he was more capable. 

It was all a mildly annoying situation, but it was a simple job and he didn’t have anything else to do anyway. Maybe Roscoe would mess up somehow and then Jacket could take over driving duty…

His thoughts were interrupted by Jimmy’s starting about grabbing fast food on the way back. Jacket wasn’t too hungry, but that sounded fine - though he would have to stay out of sight since his mask wouldn’t be coming off. That line of thought, in turn, though, was interrupted by Jimmy’s sudden stumbling.

Registering what had happened, Jacket started to draw his pistol only to freeze as Roscoe’s gun was already trained on him. He watched the man’s aim, might have been about to lunge to disarm him but Roscoe was hastily backing up out of range. Slowly, Jacket’s posture relaxed, his hands falling to his sides instead of going for his weapon. Just as slowly, his hands coiled into fists. A short flinch at the shot toward Jimmy, but a brief glance told him the man hadn’t actually been hit. Surprising. 

He watched Roscoe back up, and as soon as the man had turned to run, Jacket drew his gun – but then Jimmy was sprinting down the hall, in the way of a clear shot. With a short sigh, Jacket broke into a sprint after them both. He caught up to Jimmy quickly, pushed out the doors to the building’s exit, and immediately trained his gun for the van windows, fired a shot while starting to step toward the vehicle. The glass of the passenger window broke, but Roscoe seemed to have avoided the shot, as the van started with a brief roar of the engine and then made a quick and clumsy turn to start toward the street.

Jacket gazed over the lot in search of another car.

He broke into the open air alongside Jacket, already training his own revolver on the fleeing van. He fired once, twice, than a third time, but his bullets only caused dents in the reinforced vehicle. He cursed loudly, looking at Jacket once, then at the lot around them. Unfortunately, the small, fenced-in area held no other vehicle for them to break into and hot-wire. Jimmy reached his hands up, pulling at his hair in aggravation. "Fuck, fuck, okay. I-- hang on, mate. We can fix this, um..." He glanced around quickly, before settling on the path that led into the street. He picked up his pace, breaking into a sprint towards the road. "Come on, come on! I have an idea!"

Jimmy ran up until he was standing at the sidewalk, just catching the glimpse of Roscoe's van roaring down the street and turning towards the left. He paused, his masked face wildly looking left and right at the incoming traffic. An idea formed in his mind -- granted, it was a stupid idea, but for as far as he was concerned, it might as well have been their only option in order to catch up with Matt. Jimmy inhaled a quick breath, bracing himself slightly, before throwing himself into the incoming lane of the street, directly in front of an impending car.

"Stop the car! Stop the car right now!" He fired his revolver into the air, before pointing it towards the drivers seat. The woman behind the wheel instantly panicked, halting her car right before the masked man. Jimmy inhaled a breath, before moving forward, signaling for Jacket to come to his side. The woman in the vehicle was already breaking into a sob, and when Jimmy appeared at the door, she already began speaking desperate pleas for her life. From behind the mask, Jimmy's voice came in a calm -- yet rushed -- tone. "Listen to me, miss. We're not going to hurt you, yea? We need-- we need your car. Do you have insurance?" The woman merely whimpered in response, pleading once again for her life. Jimmy sighed, before coaxing her to step out of the car with a wave of his loaded revolver. Without looking back, he spoke up. "Jackie, I'll need you to drive. I can't-- I can't drive the way I am now, yea?"

After motioning the woman away from the car, Jimmy shifted a gloved hand into his pocket, pulling out a crumpled -- yet sizable -- ball of hundred dollar banknotes, before putting it into her hands. It certainly wasn't enough for a replacement car.

He hoped the poor girl had insurance. He really did.

In his short life span, Sokol had come across many things, very few of which gave him pause or caused him to give a double take. He had always been a ‘take it as it comes’ type of individual but even then very little could have prepared him for the fact that this man was laughing in the face of someone that could easily end him if he chose to. Obviously, Jimmy knew this—knew many things about him, apparently—and that didn’t seem to faze him in the least. Whether or not that was because they were in public, he was uncertain. He wouldn’t be too far off, it was being in public that kept him from beating the lanky man into a pulp.

“Russian. More letters,” he said curtly before giving him another jostling shove against the wall, oddly satisfied by that thump of the other’s skull that Sokol had heard previously. He pulled him away from it afterward and used that hold on his shirt to give him a shove toward the bus stop, still intent on keeping him in view even if that meant riding public transportation with him. It was another reminder that he had to finally get his car finished or at least rent or buy one until it was.

There were people nearby giving them a glance now and then, surely uncertain whether or not they should intervene or simply mind their own business. He continued to pay them no mind, preferring to maintain his focus upon the other for he knew that by the time an officer even bothered to come around they would be gone. Or so he hoped, for he had no desire to continue this ‘conversation’ on the street. 

“Keep walking.” There was no need to include the addendum of ‘or I’ll make you walk’. It was there in the underlying tone of his voice.

Jimmy kept his gaze locked on the younger man, still managing to give an insultingly confident smile towards him. With the younger man's answer, he had to stifle a strained laugh. Before Jimmy could open his mouth once more, he was haphazardly dropped from the wall, falling forward. The homeless man coughed, pressing hands against his chest to help center the pressure in his lungs. After a brief coughing fit, he stood upright, inhaling a full breath and giving a polite "Thanks, mate." He moved around Sokol, picking the duffel bag and take-out dessert up, before walking ahead of Sokol, giving a small hum in response to the other man's command. Even when a few passerby walkers seemed to worriedly step out of their way, Jimmy kept a smile glued onto his face, his head bopping slightly as if he had a tune playing in his mind.

The wait for the bus wasn't long -- at least, it didn't feel very long to Jimmy. The large, green vehicle pulled up besides the two men, Jimmy sparing one more glance towards Sokol before giving another smirk from beneath his beard. 

The inside of the bus was certainly more busy than both men likely anticipated, when prompted to pay for the ride, Jimmy nodded once, speaking in a calm voice to the driver. "The man behind me will cover both of our fares. He's doing a service for a homeless old man, God bless him." He hardly gave Sokol a chance to argue otherwise. By then, the nearest people seemed to regard both men with small, pleasant expressions. To them, it was a young man doing his good deed for the day. The reality was much more sinister. 

They didn't need to wait an extended amount of time for their destination to arrive. Jimmy had sat in a seat across from Sokol for the entirety of the ride, playing up his character of a 'homeless man' very enthusiastically. "Thank you so much for buying me something to eat, friend. You're a good man, a very good man." With each word he spoke, he would flash a knowing smile, fully aware that he possibly aggravating Sokol while he was in a position where he couldn't harm him. To Jimmy's amusement, a young man sitting near them had actually given him a five dollar bill, along with a wish of good health. Jimmy certainly hadn't wasted time in sending a silent glance towards Sokol, his mouth opened in a surprised 'o' before thanking the stranger fervently. The people of Washington were certainly friendly.

He noted the small pause, the visible hesitance in the other man’s face. It gave away quite clearly to Jacket that there was something about Moscow his coworker wasn’t telling him.

Did Jimmy know about his history with Russians? That would certainly be reason enough to keep quiet about ties to the mob, if there were any.

But maybe it wasn’t that. Maybe it was just some piece of Jimmy’s history that the man preferred to keep private. Jacket could understand that, so for the time being, he decided to give Jimmy the benefit of the doubt and not insist on more of an explanation.

However, he still wasn’t too enthused about all the things Jimmy went on about. Most of all the guns. It was a pretty safe bet that if Jimmy had purchased guns in Russia, that money had probably gone to the mob. Jacket turned his gaze away to the TV. Tape player in hand, he pressed the few buttons necessary for rewinding to the clip he wanted, with a couple accompanying clicks and some whirring.

“… [Evokes a feeling of loathing.]”

The topic of guns was something he stuck to for a long span of time. Jimmy seemed particularly fond of firearms, to the point where he even pointed out that he had names for most of the weapons in his collection, (he seemed particularly willing to bring up an RPG-26 named "Big Ben".)

Jacket, however, seemed less than interested. Jimmy was in the midst of speaking when the familiar voice of a tape player interrupted him. The words were vague, but it seemed to imply that the topic was one that Jacket would rather not dwell on. Jimmy ran a hand through his frazzled hair, thinking of where else he could steer their chat. "I've got some old records, too. Got songs that come all the way from the 50s -- in perfect vinyl condition." Truthfully, he couldn't imagine what kind of music Jacket would enjoy, but taking a shot at the classics couldn't hurt. "Dean Martin, Frank Sinatra, Jimmy has it all, baby. Well-- not really. I wish I had all of their stuff, but I've got a small collection. It's got character, you know?"

Fortunately, the other man didn’t press any more for an answer. Which was almost a little unexpected. Jimmy seemed the type to not realize when he was being pushy, but maybe sitting and relaxing and watching the movie had mellowed him out, or maybe Jacket’s estimate of him was just wrong.

Some more quiet passed, but at any rate, Jimmy seemed to be enjoying himself. Jacket couldn’t help wondering if he was just saying such things to try to be polite. Most of the crew was prone to bouts of laziness, however brief, but most of them also found Jacket’s company boring or awkward, he thought. Maybe Jimmy thought that too but just didn’t want to make it obvious. Jacket decided he wasn’t concerned either way, though.

And he wasn’t opposed to more times like this. Jimmy was tolerable enough. Watching a movie even seemed to quiet him down some.

He watched the other stretch and lift from the couch to move for the door. But, Jacket paused at his coworker’s offer - or more specifically, at Jimmy’s mention of Moscow. He made a slight tilt of his head, then glanced down to draw his tape player from his belt, and some electronic whirring started for a few seconds while it was fast forward.

“[Qué?]”

His hand was already reaching for the handle of the door. Jimmy was about to salute the other man off, when he saw Jacket twist slightly and bring up a familiar tape player. Once again, a digital, lifeless voice chirped from it. Though this time, it seemed to speak a word that wasn't in English. Jimmy wasn't too familiar with Spanish, but he was able to recognize a word here and there. Jacket was apparently curious about something -- his mention of Moscow, perhaps?

At this, Jimmy's gaze shifted slightly. For the first time that evening, the heister seemed surprisingly somber -- if not somewhat lost in thought. Jimmy thought about just how much he had going on in Russia. His struggles against Akan, his multiple puppets, his laboratory.

He couldn't trust Jacket with information like that. Sure, he was working together with the Payday gang, but there were certain details that even Jimmy had to omit. For both the safety of his operation, and possibly his life -- or rather, the life of his host body. Jimmy paused briefly, contemplating the fact that he was overthinking this. Or was he?

‘Al-ter-na-tive-ly’

If one was watching closely—which Jimmy likely was—one could practically see the faux smile fade away with every stressed syllable of that word. It wasn’t the first time someone had talked down to him as if he were a child or worse, stupid. He tolerated that kind of treatment in school where the advanced grade didn’t match his young age. He tolerated that kind of treatment upon coming to America where people seemed to think a heavy accent meant idiocy. He even tolerated that kind of treatment from heisters that now treated him like their equal.

The only thing that made him tolerate it now was the fact that he didn’t know this stranger’s game. If he let his temper get the best of him and he lunged a fist into the middle of that cocky smile, it was possible that his crew could be in danger. They still could be no matter what he did, but at least it seemed as if the chances were slimmer if he calmed down a notch; at least enough where the thought of bloodying Jimmy’s face wasn’t at the forefront of his mind.

His jaw ticked again a molars ground over each other and the hard set of eyes shifted to the bags that were set aside only to slowly lift again when the man took yet another step in stoking the heat of his irritation. For all the restraint he believed he had, he found that it was held on by a mere thread, one that was fraying throughout the entirety of the conversation. It was then that it snapped.

His hand lashed out before he had thought to step back and once his fingers fisted into the clothes at Jimmy’s chest, he thrust him back against the unyielding surface of the nearby building and pushed up, leaving him barely able to touch his toes upon the concrete below. The few people that were nearby hurried along, not wanting to get into the middle of an apparently heated ‘discussion’.  

“Nyet,” he began, his voice quieter than before; he wasn’t one to yell when he was furious. “You are coming with me, and if I am finding anything happening to my friends or my home, I am breaking every single bone in your body in alphabetical order. I trust you are understanding me, eh, comrade?”

He was poking at a fire. He could see it right before him. Invisible hands prodded and poked at flames that were struggling to remain contained. Jimmy could already see the signs; Sokol's eyes would narrow slightly, or he'd see a small fidget in the other man's posture. Each word that left Jimmy had danced around the other man in a mocking taunt, and each sneer or laugh he made would be another twig in the flame. Even though Jimmy knew where the direction of their 'discussion' was headed, he was still surprised when the other man suddenly moved towards him.

Jimmy felt quick hands yank at his chest, gripping onto his clothes before he found the world suddenly lowering around him. Sokol pushed him further and further, until the collision of a brick wall behind him sent a burning sting against the back of his skull. Jimmy blinked once, twice, before realizing that the younger man lifting him was speaking -- very quietly. The other man’s words, though seemingly tranquil, held a sea of malice that was completely directed at him. Jimmy stared down at Sokol, his expression unreadable, before his lips began to quiver. Small sounds left him, and at first, it almost sounded as if the homeless man were whimpering.

Then he began to laugh.

"Russian alphabet, or English?"

     Waylon was drifting off. Not in the sense of falling asleep but of detaching himself from the present. It was a sort of disassociation that he hadn’t felt in a while, but it has a tingling familiarity like when he’d seen Gluskin strung up in the rafters among all his failed brides. Each grotesque scene he stumbled across worse than the last and with it, his grip on reality slipping further and further from him. The halls of Mount Massive had been far more claustrophobic than his humble dwelling. Copper permeated the air and was so cloyingly thick that he wondered if he was sucking on a penny or just imagining the sensation. Blood on his hands, hot and sticky. Cold air drifting in from the broken front door. Physical aspects of his surroundings that he could anchor himself to.

    A voice.

    He looked up from the bodies to look at Jimmy. It takes a few seconds longer than it should for him to understand the meaning of his words but soon enough the vowels and consonants come together and he takes in a shuddering breath – as instructed. His arms slip around his torso, hugging his stomach as though he were in pain. Killed someone to save someone else. That made it alright? It didn’t feel alright. Even if they were going to take him back to Murkoff he hadn’t wanted to get anyone killed. Now there were four dead men in his home and – and he was going to have to leave it. His pupils shake, darting from one drop of blood to a dropped gun and then splintered wood. It’s a good thing he had purchased this property rather than rented it. How would he explain this to a landlord? The ridiculous notion is interrupted by Jimmy again.

    Before these men had shown up he’d done exactly what Jimmy was suggesting. He unwinds one arm from himself and points in the direction of his backpack and laptop bag. Both are where he left them, at the edge of the couch, nestled into the arm of it and untouched by the Murkoff tactical team. “I understand.” His voice is smaller than it normally is. Despite having already packed, Waylon does a cursory look around the house. Then, to be safe, he does what he’d done back in Boulder. Waylon shoulders his backpack, and slings the laptop bag over one as well. After that it’s just a matter of splashing the gasoline and kerosene about. He grabs a set of matches – stuffing them into his pocket. In one hand he has an upturned canister of lamp oil that leaves a trail all the way out the front door and down the steps. There he waits. Once he sees Jimmy walking over towards him he reaches into his pocket, hands no longer trembling. He strikes one and drops it onto the puddle near his feet. The flames lick along the designated path and straight up towards the home. It would hit the propane tank eventually.

    “We should go.” His voice is hollow.

    Would he ever be able to live a normal life again? In less than a year he’d been forced to burn two homes to try and escape Murkoff.

He waited with a patient breath, standing upright and examining the ruined walls surrounding them. The room had became a shadow of it's former appearance from yesterday; the ensuing struggle had caused a mess of bullet holes, broken furniture, and -- Jimmy felt himself grimace -- bloodied corpses. The cabin held the unmistakable scent of the deceased, and he could already imagine the scent filling his mind long after they depart from this home. He stepped forward slowly, the sound of his steps causing loud vibrations in the confining silence. Even the wind outside had fallen mute.

As he stepped around an increasingly growing pool of crimson, Jimmy traveled through the open doorway, absentmindedly digging a hand into the pocket holding the .357. The cold air of the outside met his exposed skin, and he shivered slightly.

The surroundings of the cabin were seemingly empty of any persons or animals, but Jimmy kept himself alert. He stepped forwardly slowly, moving down the small steps of the cabin, before treading on grass and leaves. Immediately, he found himself moving towards the black vehicle that had brought the gunmen here. He stepped slowly, his revolver trained on the tinted window of the car before he was certain that no one was inside of it. Withdrawing the weapon, he got to work on opening the door and examining the contents inside.

He had his suspicions behind the employer of the gunmen. He figured it had either been Akan, who caught on to his personal ploy, or Murkoff, demonstrating painfully good timing. The car hadn't provided too many answers. There was a single folder within the glove compartment, but nothing else. Jimmy exhaled a breath in resignment, before taking the folder. He would go over it once they were out of the area.

He glanced for his coworker again at the man’s question. Jacket considered briefly if he had any clips on his tape that could answer, but he was quickly sure that he didn’t. Jimmy would have to keep watching and hopefully remember for himself what movie this was.

The other’s talkativeness died down soon after as Jimmy seemed to grow absorbed with the movie. Jacket didn’t mind of course. He continued to watch too, though this film was still rather fresh in his mind, so nothing much took him by surprise. He glanced over every now and then whenever Jimmy would jump or startle slightly, though. 

His gaze lingered when the man finally said something about how unnerved he was. At that, Jacket stared a moment more, then gave a soft breath from beneath the mask which might have been a small, solitary laugh.

However, he was far less amused when the subject of fear was turned on him. Jacket wasn’t scared of very much, he thought. But the things he was scared of came to mind very quickly, and he had no intention of making any attempt to answer or explain about them - or even think about them, if he could help it. So instead, he turned his gaze back to the TV without reply, like he hadn’t even heard the question at all.

As the question left his lips, Jimmy's mind had already gotten to work on picturing what kind of things could frighten a man like Jacket. There were a few things that came to mind, but none of them seemed to particularly stand out. Jacket, perhaps unsurprisingly, replied with silence. Jimmy tilted his head, holding a look towards the chicken mask. Had he not heard him? Or did he simply feel unwilling towards providing an answer?

Despite not having a response to his question, Jimmy didn't consider it something worth prying into. Settling back into the couch, he quietly returned his attention back towards the movie. For the next half hour, he spoke loosely, his mind mostly distracted by the film before them. Every so often, Jimmy would pipe up, admitting how much he was enjoying the movie, and how the evening had been "really brilliant." He even jokingly brought up the idea that the two of them could enjoy similar moments of leisure in the future.

A part of him was being genuine about it, at least. Having a moment to settle down and enjoy someone's company was rare for him. Jacket certainly seemed strange, but at the same time, Jimmy got the impression that the other man could be much more friendlier than the others gave him credit for.

He's put up with Jimmy for this long, after all.

With the NES turned off, Jacket turned to pace over to the couch and carefully seat himself there on the opposite end as his coworker. There had been no reason to opt for an older TV rather than a newer one; whatever theme was going on in his room had not been intentional. Newer TVs of smaller sizes like this really weren’t very expensive at all - especially not to his budget - and were far easier, lighter, to carry and move. And, of course, the picture quality was better.

He sat back comfortably, seemed to relax some there while he watched the channels that were flicked through. After a beat, he gazed for Jimmy at the man’s pause and subsequent question. The dark eyes of the rooster mask stared, unblinking. Jacket didn’t understand. He heard the audio of the documentary that was on, but he didn’t hear any interference or any sign something might be wrong with the television, nor did he hear anybody down the hall or upstairs. He wasn’t sure what Jimmy was talking about.

Then, at the other’s explanation, Jacket gazed for the TV again, considering it. But, he didn’t think it sounded much like his tapes. The narrative tone was a little different than the tone of his recordings, a little more… human, sort of.

Glancing over when the remote was offered his way, he took it carefully, adjusted his hold of it before loosely aiming it for the TV and changing the channel. He didn’t mind nature documentaries, but he knew most other people were usually bored by them. He considered the news, which he often liked to watch, but he thought Jimmy might be bored by that too, so he continued on until stopping at finding a channel that was partway through the movie Alien.

As the other man seemingly found a channel to settle on, Jimmy found himself relaxing back onto the cushion of the couch, arms folding behind his head. The scenes of the movie seemed recognizable, but weren't quite familiar. He raised a brow, pointing a finger forward. "I don't think I've seen this one, but I know it. Is that weird? What-- what movie is this?" He glanced over at Jacket, but wasn't particularly expecting an answer from the quiet man. At this point, he seemed fully intent on keeping an eye on the movie, causing him to settle back and -- surprisingly enough -- remain quiet.

Within time, he recognized that the movie playing was Alien, though he begrudgingly confessed aloud that he had never actually seen the original film. That was about as far as he went with speaking during the movie, however. Jimmy was mesmerized, almost to the point where it seemed as if he was getting a little too unnerved.

Jimmy seemed to smile and nod in reply, albeit after a pause, probably to register that Jacket had declined the high-five. Another pause passed after that, lengthier and silent. Jacket had the feeling the other man might have felt awkward during it. He was never very certain about what was awkward and what wasn’t, because he didn’t ever experience much awkwardness - partly due to the mask, and partly because silence didn’t bother him in general.

His gaze turned for the arcade screen just before the next level started up, though, and a moment later, Jimmy too had turned to get back to it. The heister didn’t last much longer, though. Jacket watched the man stretch and step over to drop heavily onto the couch; he didn’t seem bothered by Jimmy’s making himself at home, at least.

He glanced for the TV at the man’s mention of it, then looked to him again and flashed a brief OK sign with his hand. He studied Jimmy some, even as the man rambled on about movies; it was difficult to gauge just how much Jacket was listening under the unchanging visage of the mask.

He didn’t care for drugs much, didn’t care what they tended to do to people. He was glad so far to find that Jimmy at least seemed to take pretty well to whatever concoction he loaded himself up with. Jimmy didn’t appear to turn too angry or volatile, just… excitable. It spoke of the man’s good-naturedness, Jacket thought.

Registering the other’s question a bit belatedly, Jacket gazed toward the TV again, nodding a little. He hadn’t collected any kind of player or movies for his room here yet, though, so he wasn’t sure how to elaborate on what he liked. He meant to take after Sokol’s example and get a DVD player for his room and a booklet to keep movie discs in, but hadn’t gotten to it yet. For now, since Jimmy seemed to have exhausted himself on games for the time being, Jacket went to open the bottom of the arcade cabinet once more and turned the NES off before shutting the cabinet door again.

At the masked man's signal, Jimmy 'fired' his way with a finger in his form of a positive response. Within a short amount of time, Jimmy took to resuming his search for the television's remote controller, eventually finding it nearby. Holding it up before him, Jimmy blinked, his eyes sizing up the model of the controller. He found himself furrowing his brow, before giving an impressed whistle. "This looks surprisingly new, mate." He began, turning the controller once over. "And here I was, worried that the retro theme of your room would extend to the electronics, too." He snickered, before pointing the handheld remote forwards, giving an experimental press of the power button.

After a small delay, the television screen gave a small flicker of light, before an image eventually settled onto the previously darkened screen. He didn't spend an awful amount of time dwelling on the channel that greeted them, instead choosing to surf through the nearby stations and view what was offered to them. Without his eyes leaving the screen, Jimmy spoke up once more. "I haven't watched a T.V. in so long. I don't even know what kind of things they show now."

Eventually, he settled on a channel that seemed to be screening an animal documentary. Normally, Jimmy would've lost interest immediately, but there was one thing about the show that made him hesitate towards immediately switching channels. "You hear that?" He said simply, now glancing at Jacket. He went silent, allowing the sound of a narrator to fill the room. Jimmy's expression slowly shifted from an intent look of concentration to an expression of gaiety. "You hear that, right?" He grinned. "It's kind of like your little tape recordings!" He clapped his hands, giving a short laugh.

Clearly, the drugs in his system were making things more amusing than they should be.