There is a reader here giving me all the possible support, I would tag but idk if the person is fine with it, your user starts with uni and ends with 1, I love you smm thank you! 

Enjoy a long one I got carried out a bit :) oops

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I entered the interrogation room, his eyes landed on me almost instantly. Despite knowing there were people behind the one way mirror, this moment still felt intimate. His gaze was unnervingly calm, a faint smile playing on his lips as if he relished this moment, enjoying himself in this little success of having me. Silence stretched between us. I refused to be the first to break it, afterall, he was the one to call me here.

"Well, well," he finally said, his voice smooth and mocking. "They sent you back to me. How flattering."

I kept my expression neutral, refusing to rise to his bait. "You said you had information. I'm here to hear it."

He leaned back, eyes never leaving mine. "Straight to business, I see. Why so quick tho, work for it."

"That's not how it works," I replied evenly. "If you have nothing to say, I'm leaving."

His smile faltered for a moment. "You're no fun."

"Okay," I said standing up, but he was quick to stop me.

"Alright, alright, I'll give you a taste. But remember, I'm not doing this for free. I want something in return."

I arched an eyebrow, remaining stoic. "What do you want?"

He leaned forward, terribly close to my face and whispered. "I want protection. From your people, from my people. I give you the information, you get me out of here."

Matching his energy I leaned in too, "In. Your. Dreams."

"Okay, okay, let's talk," he continued whispering.

"Okay, talk then," I demanded, keeping my voice low.

He chuckled softly, I could feel his breath on my face. "Do you believe in death? I mean, truly understand it?"

I frowned, irritation creeping into my tone. "This isn't the time for philosophical games."

He ignored my frustration. "Death, it's... it's like a shadow. Always there, always following. Some people, ohhh they fear it. Others, they embrace it. But the real question is, how do you see it?"

My patience was wearing thin. "Enough with the metaphors."

He leaned back slightly, his eyes twinkling with amusement, looking at the mirror. "Alright, alright. But first, answer me this: Do you think you can cheat death? Or is it inevitable, no matter what we do?"

I clenched my jaw, my whisper harsh. "You're wasting time."

His gaze was piercing. "Humor me. What's your answer?"

I took a deep breath, fighting to keep my composure. "You can't cheat death as it's a part of life. You can delay it, control it to an extent. Now, give me something."

He sighed, as if disappointed. "You're too practical. But fine. The name you're looking for is—" He paused, a slow smile spreading across his face. "But tell me, what would you do if you knew you were going to die, hmm... let's say... tomorrow?"

I resisted the urge to slap the smug look off his face. "Focus. The name."

He shook his head, whispering conspiratorially. "You know, sometimes I think about what it means to really live. To seize every moment, knowing it could be your last. Do you ever think about that?"

"I think about a lot of things. But right now, the only thing I care about is that name."

He stared at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, finally, he whispered, "Kane. His name is Kane."

I felt a surge of triumph, finally getting somwhere at least, not a lot but something. "Full name. Position."

"That's all you get for now. You want more, we keep talking."

I sighed, realizing he was going to drag this out. "Fine. Let's talk. Why did you drop in rank? Last time we met, you were one of the top dogs. What happened?"

El Cazador's smile faded, replaced by a shadow of bitterness. "Ah, so you've been keeping tabs on me. Well, it's a long story, but I suppose we have time."

"Spare me the theatrics and get to the point," I said. Our conversation now a constant whisper between the both of us, keeping it all from the agents behind the mirror.

"I used to be one of the most trusted. But trust, you see, is a fragile thing. One mistake, one slip, and it all comes crashing down."

"What mistake?" I asked, genuinely curious now.

He paused, his eyes growing distant as if recalling a painful memory. "I trusted the wrong people. Believed in alliances that weren't as solid as they seemed. And when things went south, I was the scapegoat. They needed someone to blame, and I was the perfect target."

"Sounds convenient," I remarked, watching his face for any signs of deceit. "What did you trust them with?"

"Intel," he replied. "Information that was supposed to secure our operations. Instead, it backfired. We were ambushed, and many good men died. They saw it as a betrayal, but it was just a miscalculation."

"And you were demoted for that?"

He nodded. "Demoted... ostracized... almost executed. But I survived. I always survive."

"Survival seems to be a recurring theme with you," I noted, trying to steer the conversation back to something useful. "But surviving isn't enough. We need that full name, Kane's position."

He chuckled, a dark, hollow sound. "Always the pragmatist. But let me ask you this, why do you care so much about Kane? What's he to you?"

"Are you serious right now? He's a threat," I replied quite angrily. "And threats need to be neutralized."

Old man shook his head slowly. "You always were single minded. It's admirable, in a way. But Kane isn't just a threat. He's a puppet master. And cutting the strings won't be as easy as you think."

"Then tell me how to cut them," I demanded.

Before he could answer, the lights flickered and then went out completely, filling the room with blind darkness. I tensed, instinctively reaching for my sidearm that I was ordered to leave before entering. But in the pitch black room, I heard the unmistakable sound of metal scraping against metal.

"Electricity's out," I muttered under my breath. "Stay where you are."

A low chuckle reached my ears. "Oh, I'm not going anywhere."

The next thing I knew, he was on me. I felt the chair tipping back, and we both crashed to the ground. I struggled, trying to push him off, but his grip was like iron. He porbably dragged the conversation long enough to get himself out of the cuffs.

"Get off me!" I snarled, throwing a punch that connected with something solid, his jaw, I hoped.

He grunted but didn't let go. "I told you, I always survive."

I managed to get one leg up, planting my foot against his chest, and pushed with all my strength. He staggered back, giving me just enough time to scramble to my feet. But he was fast, too fast. He lunged at me again, and we slammed into the table, knocking over chairs in the process.

I twisted, bringing my elbow up to strike him in the ribs. He grunted in pain, loosening his grip just enough for me to slip free. I grabbed the edge of the table, using it as leverage to kick him square in the chest.

He stumbled back, but the room was too small for me to gain any real distance. We circled each other in the dark, the only sounds our heavy breathing and the distant shouts of agents realizing something was wrong.

"You're not getting out of here," I said, trying to buy time.

"Neither are you," he countered, lunging at me again.

We collided, and I felt his hands wrap around my throat. I drove my knee into his gut, making him gasp and loosen his grip. Using the moment of weakness, I twisted out of his grasp, grabbed the table, and slamming it at him.

He dodged, but not entirely. The edge of the table caught him on the shoulder, and he snarled in pain. "You're tougher than I remember." 

Before I could respond, he moved with surprising speed. His fist connected with my temple, sending a sharp pain radiating through my skull. I staggered, disoriented, and he took advantage of my momentary weakness. Another blow landed, and the room began to spin. I felt myself hitting the floor, my vision blurring.

Darkness closed in around me, and everything went black.

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I woke up, my body cramped and aching, the headache only intensifying. It took a moment for the disorientation to fade and for me to realize where I was. The confined space, the rough texture beneath me, and the muffled sounds of an engine, all pointed to one conclusion. I was in the trunk of a car.

My wrists and ankles were bound, the tight ropes cutting into my skin. I took a deep breath, trying to stay calm and assess my situation. But air was hard to breathe and every bump in the road jostled me painfully against the hard surface.

"Think," I thought to myself, trying to focus through the lingering haze of unconsciousness. I strained against the ropes, testing their strength. They didn't give an inch. I shifted, feeling for any sharp edges or loose nails that might help me cut through the bindings. Without any luck I started focusing on the sounds outside the trunk, I tried to gather clues about where we might be heading. But it wasn't enough to make any type of conclusion, just that we were on an average road. I needed a plan.

I tried feeling around for a little lever to flip and open the trunk (those exists actually, don't ask how I know, althouh not every car has it but if they do it's different in every model). After I couldn't find it either I was begining to loose hope. But before I could think of anything else, the car slowed down, and I heard the crunch of gravel under the tires. I froze, listening intensly. Doors opened and closed, muffled voices exchanging words I couldn't make out.

As I prepared to kick once the trunk opened, the lid suddenly flew open, and blinding light flooded in. I kicked but my legs didin't even move a couple inches, they were tied down to the car seat.

He stood there, his silhouette framed by the sunlight, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "You're so predictable. Welcome back," he said, his tone mocking. "Enjoyed the ride?"

I took in my surroundings as best I could from my confined position. We were in a remote area, surrounded by trees and gravel underfoot. A perfect spot for him to try to get away with whatever he had planned. He leaned in, his face inches from mine. "You know, I thought you would've learned by now. Some people never change."

My mouth was gagged with a rough scarf, preventing any verbal reply.

He chuckled softly. "No witty comebacks this time? How disappointing." He reached out, tracing a finger along my cheek. "You know, you fell for my trap. How stupid."

I jerked my head back, trying to avoid his touch, but the restraints held me firmly in place. His smile widened, enjoying my helplessness. "Look at you, still so full of fight. That's what I've always admired about you."

He turned away, signaling to his men. They began unloading equipment from the car, supplies that hinted at a prolonged stay. My mind raced, trying to figure out what to do and what kind of situation I was in. Swiftly taking a small knife from his pocket, twirling it casually between his fingers, trying to get a reaction from me. "We're going to have some fun, you and I. But first, let's talk about Kane."

I narrowed my eyes, focusing on every word, every movement. He crouched down, bringing the knife to my bindings, not to free me, but to tease. "Kane is an interesting fellow, isn't he? Always in the shadows, pulling strings. Staying anonymous, controlling everyone."

He dragged the knife lightly along my arm, the cold steel sending a shiver through me. "You think you've made progress, but you're just playing his game. He's always three steps ahead, watching your every move."

I glared at him, refusing to be intimidated. His voice a sinister whisper. "He's not just a man, he's an idea. An idea that cannot be killed. Do you think you can outsmart an idea? Can you fight a ghost?"

His words were designed to unsettle me, to plant seeds of doubt. But I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. I kept my eyes locked on his, refusing to let him see the fear creeping at the edges of my resolve.

"Oh, the look in your eyes. So much fire, so much determination. It almost makes me pity you. Almost." He sighed, as if disappointed. "Such a stubborn one. Well, no matter. I'll have plenty of time to break that spirit of yours."

With a swift motion, he cut the gag from my mouth, but before I could say anything, he covered my mouth with his palm. "Shhh. Save your strength. You're going to need it."

He leaned in against my ear. "You see, you may think you have control, but here, you're at my mercy. Every step you take, every word you say - it's all by my design." 

He finally removed his hand, giving me a moment to speak. "You think you have everything figured out," I said, my voice steady despite the fear coursing through me. "But you're wrong."

His eyes flickered with amusement. "Am I? Enlighten me, then."

"Your arrogance will be your downfall. People like you always make mistakes."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Bold words for someone in your position. But let's not waste time with threats and bravado. You're here for a reason, and so am I."

"Which is?"

"Tell you all the fun now? I'll pass on that sweetheart."

I glared at him, keeping my expression as neutral as possible.

"Ah, the silent treatment," he mused, standing up and pacing slightly. "It's so predictable, yet so ineffective. You see, I enjoy a good challenge. And breaking you will be quite the accomplishment."

"We're ready," shouted one of the men, his voice carrying over the rustling of leaves and the low murmurs of conversation.

El Cazador turned his head slightly, acknowledging the man before looking back at me with a chilling smile. "Looks like our time here is up. But don't worry, sweetheart, the fun is just beginning."

Before I could react, he moved swiftly, pulling me out of the trunk, scooping me up in a bridal carry. With all the ropes and his grip I was completely immobilized. No room for even a wiggle.

As we moved deeper into the woods a few men drove away with the cars to leave no trace, while the rest of us continued on foot, the density of the leaves creating a blanket that blocked out most of the sunlight. Without taking his eyes off of the path he turned to my ear. "Listen carefully," he whispered, his voice a dangerous hiss. "If you try anything, anything at all, I will make sure you regret it. And believe me, my imagination knows no bounds. But I think you remember that, don't you."

His threat hung in the air, and I know the sincerity behind his words. The uneven ground forced us onto a narrow dirt trail to avoid being tracked by dogs, making the journey slower and more grueling. Every step taking us further away from any chance of immediate rescue.

Despite the dire situation, my mind raced, evaluating every possible escape route. But he seemed to anticipate this, his grip on me tightening whenever I shifted even slightly. "You might be wondering why we're taking such precautions," he said conversationally, as if we were merely out for a stroll. "Let's just say I've learned to never underestimate my enemies. Especially the stubborn ones."

We finally arrived at a clearing, tho still surounded by trees, where a few trailers were strategically positioned. They looked old and worn, but sturdy enough to serve their purpose. The men quickly set to work, unloading supplies and securing the area.

He carried me to one of the trailers, kicking the door open with his foot. Inside, the trailer was sparsely furnished, with a few makeshift beds and a table covered in maps and documents. It was dimly lit, with only a single, flickering bulb hanging from the ceiling. The air was musty, filled with the scent of decay. He set me down on one of the beds, but not before securing my limbs to a metal ring embedded in the wall and legs to the bed frame. The restraints were tight, cutting into me, but I didin't show any sign of discomfort.

He crouched down, his face inches from mine. "Get comfortable," he said, his tone mocking. "You're going to be here for a while. And remember," he added, his eyes darkening, "any attempt to escape will be met with consequences. Severe ones."

With that, he stood up and walked to the door, pausing to give final instructions to the men outside. "Keep an eye on her at all times. If she so much as twitches, I want to know about it."

As he stepped out, the door closed behind him with a heavy thud, leaving me alone. The sound of the lock clicking into place was the final reminder of my captivity. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. I knew I had to stay strong and alert. But there was not much to work with.

Bound as I was, there was not much I could do but listen. Outside, I could hear the low murmur of conversation, the occasional laugh, and the rustling of leaves as the men moved about. They were clearly settling in, preparing for a longer stay. I strained to make out any useful information, but the conversations were too muffled to be of much help.

The only indicators were the changes in the men's activity levels and the fading light that seeped through the cracks around the door. It was getting darker, and the chill of the evening air was starting to creep in. Just when I was beginning to drift away, the door creaked open. El Cazador stepped in, his silhouette framed by the dim light from inside. He looked at me with that same unsettling calm, a faint smile playing on his lips.

"Miss me?" he asked, staring at me, taking his time, as if savoring every moment of my helplessness.

I glared at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

"Silent treatment, again?" He went to pour a glass of water. "That's fine. I can talk enough for both of us."

He took a slow sip, his eyes never leaving mine, the tension in the room thickening with each passing second. "You know," he began, his tone casual, "it's fascinating how the human mind works under duress. The mental gymnastics, the denial, the eventual surrender. It's a process, really." he stopped, put down the glass and continued, "It's interesting how people react under pressure. Some break immediately, others hold out for a while. But eventually, they all crack. It's just a matter of time." He walked over to me, reached out and lightly traced a finger along my jawline, making my skin crawl. "You, though... You're a tough one. I respect that. But don't mistake my respect for mercy. You're still here on my terms."

I could still hear his men talking about setting up camp and securing the area. It was clear they intended to stay hidden for a while, away from any search parties.

Without shutting up he continued his monologue, shifting topics as if we were having a casual chat. "You ever think about death? It's a funny thing, really. We all know it's coming, yet we spend our lives trying to avoid it. But in the end, it catches up to us all."

I still kept quiet. Tired of him ranting about the same shit everytime we met. He is in need of a coma and a mental hospital membership. 

"You're strong," he said, almost admiringly. "But strength can be a weakness, too. It makes you predictable. It makes you think you can handle anything, survive anything. But everyone has a breaking point."

He stepped back, studying me like a specimen under a microscope. "I wonder what yours is," he mused. "What would it take to break you? Pain? Fear? Isolation?