Laughter suddenly roared from the granite and steel holding cell, echoing far down the hallway. The fierce, boisterous chuckles spilled carelessly on for over a minute, finally dying to a faint breathless titter. Norrin was clutching his sides, the red in his face slowly bleeding away. He eventually composed himself enough to look up at the silent figure standing in the doorway.
“…….you’re serious?” he asked, the severity of Carmichael’s stare dawning upon him.
“Your options.” Seven replied with a dry, even tone. His hand jerked up, showing three fingers. “One, you sit here. Forever. The end.”
He dropped a digit.
“Two, I pull out my Jericho-9 right now, put you up against the wall, and put one in your temple.”
A second finger dropped.
“Three…you come work for me.”
Frasier found himself staring at the final finger, the logical reality of his situation spelled out clearly for all to see.
“So. What’s it going to be?”
The prisoner was silent for a moment, letting the words sink in.
“Well…when you put it that way…” Frasier grumbled.
He stood fully up, his broad physique stretching the orange jumpsuit tight. He then held up three fingers himself, the chains of his wrist and ankle cuffs clattering with the gesture.
“One.”, his rough, feral voice said. “Clothes.”
Seven cocked an eyebrow, scanning the drab conformity of fashion before him. “Agreed.”
“Two. Weapons.” he continued, his expression undaunted. “Pistols. Dagger-belt. Blade.”
“Naturally.”
“And, three.”, he emphasized. “I am The Captain.”
Seven grimaced with amusement, noticing Frasier’s remaining upheld finger was his middle one.
“Of the field team, yes.” he nodded. “You are The Captain. But, I am your Admiral.”
Norrin paused, cocking his head with consideration.
“I call your shots. You work for me. Clear?” Seven stated flatly.
Frasier was still staring at him, eyes narrowed. Without warning, the Captain suddenly took a swing at Carmichael. The agent fluidly halted the fist with a single palm, leaving the two men a brief few seconds of mutually silent intimidation.
A nod slowly crept from Norrin’s head, Seven releasing the fist.
“…yeah…” Frasier finally said, his voice more refined and reverent now. “…I’ll follow you.”
He turned his wrists over, the guard pulling out the keys…
