System S.E.X. (Seduction, Expansion, eXecution)

Ethan reached the main block where José and Antonio were likely being held. He stopped, suddenly remembering his mission. He turned, facing the two guards who had been tailing him at a cautious distance.

"HEY!" Ethan bellowed, pointing the neck of the whiskey bottle at them.

The two guards froze, their faces pale. None of them felt comfortable facing an "intoxicated" man who could shatter bones like toothpicks. So many of their colleagues were hospitalized after the morning brawl; they knew exactly what he was capable of, even when supposedly impaired.

"Bring Jason here with me," Ethan ordered, his voice dangerously low, "or..."

He didn't need to finish the threat. The guards didn't dare contradict him. They turned and ran down the corridor, their boots scrambling on the concrete floor, heading toward the hole.

The guards who had fetched Jason returned, shoving him into Ethan's cell, and then quickly marched away without saying a word. Jason, bruised and exhausted, was visibly confused by the treatment. They had been overly respectful, almost fearful, which was unheard of for an inmate leaving solitary confinement.

Upon arriving, he saw Ethan lounging on his bunk, looking completely unharmed—aside from the dirty clothes—and calmly holding a bottle of expensive Single Malt whiskey.

Ethan lifted the bottle and tossed it to Jason.

"Enjoy it, you deserve it," Ethan said with a smile.

Jason, without hesitation, caught the Macallan. His face, swollen from the beatings, lit up with disbelief. He took a huge gulp, downing about a quarter of the bottle in one shot.

"AGGGHHHH!" Jason cried out, spitting and then grinning. "Now that is good liquor! God bless you, Boss!"

José and Antonio, also battered and filthy from the morning's tear gas, watched the two men—beaten yet euphoric—sharing a bottle of whiskey they hadn't seen since their lives outside. The nostalgia was palpable.

Jason noticed their looks. He understood the desire in their eyes and the silent loyalty they had demonstrated in the mess hall.

He tossed them the bottle. "The Boss is generous," Jason said. "We share the good things and the bad things here."

José and Antonio exchanged glances. They weren't stupid. They understood Jason's words perfectly. If they wanted to drink the good stuff (a $200 Macallan), they had to be ready to face the shitty stuff (the Warden's wrath, the guards, the riot). Seeing Jason's face, they knew this drink would cost much more than a simple beating; it could cost them their lives.

José nodded first, accepting the pact. Antonio nodded with a strained smile.

"We accept with pleasure," José said. Both men took a quick, deep drink of the whiskey, feeling the heat burn their throats, sealing the deal with their boss.

Ethan laughed, his gaze sweeping over his three comrades.

"If you need anything," he told them, "just ask. That goes for everyone who fought with us today, too. I never forget my comrades."

With that, Ethan lay back on his cot. His expression turned serious; the whiskey was already irrelevant.

"I'm going to sleep for a while. Things are going to get lively in a couple of hours."

The three men looked at each other. The riot was over, but Ethan Blake's real war in Lexington was about to begin.

----------------

The cell was cold, and the concrete was hostile. Agent Sparks lay on her metal cot in a state prison, a low-security purgatory compared to the hell of Lexington, but equally desolate. Her uniforms and badge had been stripped away, replaced by a monotonous jumpsuit.

Her mind couldn't rest. She was obsessed with the image of Ethan. She knew he had been transferred to Lexington Federal, the cesspool of assassins and criminals that devoured any novice.

Sparks thought: Are they hurting him? Is he okay? He's Ethan, but even he can't take on the entire system. I was an idiot to trust him, to risk everything.

The solitude was torture. She had no one.

The harsh sound of the lock opening startled her.

"Sparks! Get up! You have visitors," a guard said with disinterest.

Minutes later, Agent Sparks sat in a spartan interrogation room. Across from her were not police officers, but two shadowy figures: a woman from Internal Affairs (IA) with a face of steel and the relentless Prosecutor Carter.

Prosecutor Carter was not smiling. He opened a folder with a dry thud that echoed in the room.

"Agent Sparks," Carter began, his voice calm and lethal. "I know you're confused and scared. I want to be direct: this is over. Ethan Blake is a terrorist. And you are his accomplice."

The Internal Affairs officer leaned in, her voice an equally cold whisper.

"Your record is impeccable. You are a good police officer. But you made a disastrous choice. Do you know what this means, Agent? Twenty to thirty years in a federal prison. You'll wear a real orange jumpsuit, not this state nursery. You'll share a cell with the women you yourself sent away, or worse, with the ones your terrorist friend hurt."

Sparks felt a knot in her stomach, but she kept her voice steady.

"I am not an accomplice to a terrorist. I was a victim of manipulation. I—"

"Enough lies!" Prosecutor Carter slammed the table with an open palm, making her jump. The sound was deafening. "We have the recordings! You handed him confidential documents. You gave him access to Vance's files. You were present during the assault on Vance's mansion. You are not a victim, you are a traitor!"

The IA officer slid a piece of paper across the table. "Sign this, Agent Sparks. A full statement of how Blake coerced you, of his plans for the attack. Cooperate, and we can reduce the sentence to five years. You could see daylight before you turn forty. If you don't..." She paused dramatically. "...you will join him in Lexington, as a terrorist's bitch."

Sparks stared at the paper. Her hand trembled. Betraying Ethan... despite the chaos, despite the danger, she had fallen in love with Ethan.

"And what do I gain by handing over a man you already have locked up?" Sparks said, trying to sound logical.

Carter smiled, a gesture that didn't reach his eyes. "You'll gain your life, Agent. And the satisfaction that a criminal like Ethan Blake will never see the light of day again. It's your last chance to be a hero, instead of a terrorist."