And just like that, even in the dead of night at one of the most remote places in the world, the building was alive with activity. In the weeks leading up to the heist, Jay, Smarty, and Techie had made sure their reconnaissance had been meticulous, so Smarty knew there were only thirteen men on the compound; thirteen men within miles of place, really. But they were all awake at that moment, and they were all eagerly pointing automatic weapons at them. To be fair, they were pointing at him. He waited to see which one of the unremarkable men surrounding them would step forward and take the reigns as the leader, and he was immediately rewarded by a stout, grizzled and aging boar in uniform who took extra care to cinch the zip strips tightly enough around Smarty's wrists to draw blood. Smarty winced inwardly but his outward appearance never wavered. He looked bored, like he'd been taken prisoner by blokes much more intimidating than these suckers, and they would have to try harder to make him tremble. But the truth was, this was his first capture and he was nearly pissing himself with fear. Jay had stayed behind to ward off the incoming wave of guards when things had gone south, and now he was alone. Smarty had no doubt of Jay's bravery, but it seemed pretty likely that he had taken one for the team. A pang of guilt crossed Smarty's conscience when he realized Jay's sacrifice was all for naught; Smarty had gotten himself busted and led (at gunpoint) to his certain death. Sweat broke out along his hairline and at the base of his neck at the thought of his impending mortality. Would these men really kill him?
He shook his head. That was a dumb question. Of course they would – without a second's hesitation. They were alone on a small, semi-deserted island about seventy miles northwest of New Zealand, and it would take no more effort to dispose of him than a bullet to the brain stem and then dump his limp body into the surf. He shuddered.
Techie might still be able to help him, possibly. But if that were true then where had he been all night? Why hadn't he turned off the motion sensors at the appointed time? Smarty was worried. Understandably. He glanced to his right and watched the woman walk just a foot away from his side. She was not in restraints, but her arm was firmly in the grasp of the biggest of the guards. He was six-three if he was an inch. Smarty caught her attention and asked, “What's your name?”
The grizzled boar swatted him on the side of the head and bellowed, “Shaddap!”
Smarty stumbled and kept quiet the rest of the way, which turned out to be a small closet-sized room just around the next corner. Smarty made note of the heavy grade plastic opened up across the entirety of the floor.
Like a dropcloth. It would serve two purposes: first it would catch and collect the majority of his brain tissue once they finally did decide to blow off his head, and second it made a handy dead body carrier. He was placed in the center of the room, far away from the walls, presumably.
There was some part of Smarty's conscience which wanted him to die with honor, stand up straight and take that bullet like a man. But the reality was he was ready to beg for his life. He was willing to tell them whatever they asked, willingly. Passwords, Social Security numbers, anything.
The only thing inside the room was a tiny computer desk from the early 80's. The fat, piggy man took his seat behind it and folded his sausage-like fingers together together before him. His tongue slithered out from behind his corpulent lips and ran through his whiskers just below his mouth. His eyes rolled to ward Smarty and he cleared his throat, “Shall we begin?”