#467 - [FIC] Thirty Pieces of Silver (Nash/Saito, Cobb/Nash)

[kirstenlouise]

The art for this, drawn by the incredible koushi, can be found here.

Title: Thirty Pieces of Silver
Word Count: ~11,000
Pairing: Nash/Saito, past Cobb/Nash
Rating: R
Summary: Three days after it happens, all of dreamshare knows that Dominick Cobb has been fucked over by his architect, who is now biding his time in one of Cobol Engineering’s holding cells. Those are the facts. But what no one can figure out is how a smartassed college drop-out like Nash managed to pull the wool over the eyes of the biggest brains in the business, all on his own-or so they thought.
Warnings: non-graphic violence, D/S, infidelity, spanking, intoxication-related impaired consent, swearing, non-graphic mentions of drug use
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be.
A/N: This is best described as an alternate reading of canon, focused primarily on the ins and outs of the Cobol job. All major events (with one exception) remain unchanged, but the circumstances leading up to those events have been reinterpreted. Or, you know, totally made up.


INTERROGATION LOG 10/05, #000963 (TRANSCRIPT)
COBOL ENGINEERING

DETAINEE: NASH, (UNKNOWN); #00731
INTERROGATOR: (REDACTED)
EXPECTED STAY: UNKNOWN
REASON FOR DETAINMENT: FAILURE TO COMPLETE ASSIGNMENT, SEDITION
ADDITIONAL NOTES: DETAINEE DOES NOT APPEAR TO BE A THREAT

02:35 15 OCT 2005

REDACTED: Protocol requires me to tell you we're recording this conversation. Do you have a problem with that?

NASH: Film it and send it to your wife for her fucking birthday for all I care. [LAUGHTER]

REDACTED: You don’t seem to appreciate the gravity of this situation. Cobol Engineering takes it very seriously when its employees fail to perform.

NASH: That so? Well, fuck me. And here I thought you were paying us in Monopoly money and this was all a game.

REDACTED: Keep talking like that and you’ll die in here.

NASH: Here, out there… like it makes any fucking difference. So, who’s a guy gotta blow to get a smoke in this shithole?

REDACTED: Tell us what we want to know about Saito and you can have a whole pack. Any brand you want.

NASH: Hey, I got an idea-how about you sit on it and spin?

[INAUDIBLE DIALOGUE; CHAIR SCRAPING ACROSS CONCRETE]

NASH: Hey. Hey, wait, man. Wait a-

RECORDING TERMINATED AT 02:39

RECORDING RESUMED AT 3:00

REDACTED: We have photos of the two of you, together, outside a small establishment in the East Village. Can you tell me what that place was?

NASH: You expect me to talk through a mouthful of fucking cotton?

REDACTED: Sounds like you’re doing just fine to me.

NASH: [GROAN] I know this ain't a five-star hotel, but a little courtesy never hurt anyone. Fuck, man. Remind me not to invite you to my next kegger.

REDACTED: Can you tell us the name of this establishment?

NASH: Fuck you, pig.

REDACTED: Was it a business transaction?

NASH: You don’t got a clue, do you? You got billions of dollars of all this fancy equipment you’re sitting on and you can’t even figure that out. I ain’t getting paid to do your fucking job.

REDACTED: I guess we could always even out your teeth. I think you have a few more on the left side than you do on the right.

NASH: [LAUGHTER] You switch your tone real fast, don’t you, sweetheart?

REDACTED: Your refusal to speak isn’t admirable. You’re only making things more difficult for yourself. I don’t know what you think you’re-

NASH: Honey, I could spell it out for you and you still wouldn’t know shit.

REDACTED: Try me.

NASH: Nah. I don’t wanna.

REDACTED: You have to give us something.

NASH: Like hell I do. What’s in it for me? What's so fucking important about me talking?

REDACTED: I guess it depends on how badly you want to walk out of here alive, doesn’t it?

RECORDING TERMINATED AT 03:07

- - - - -

Don’t think I don’t see you standing out there with your face pressed up against the glass of my world, fogging it up panting like some animal that's caught the scent of blood. You're wild for it, gnashing your teeth, waiting to see if any more'll spill. Less than fifteen minutes and you think you got me all figured out, don't you? You think you can just fit me like a round peg into round hole and be done with it.

Well, excuse my French, but you don't know the fucking half of it. You weren't there. The fact that you hacked Cobol’s database to get access to their logs don’t make you a fucking expert on me. So you found me-so what? You want a fucking gold star for it? I don’t know what you’re here for, man. That was six months ago. I’ve moved on. Cobol’s moved on. Cobb… well, I suppose you heard about what happened to Cobb.

But what’s any of that got to do with you? You've never even met Dom or Arthur or Saito or anyone on Cobol Engineering's payroll. You’re just like every other self-righteous bastard out there, quick to judge when you got no fucking clue. That ain't right. That... don't even get me started on that.

It's not like I wasn't afraid Cobol was gonna punch my ticket with "early departure." Fuck, man, I was scared shitless-but what can you do? When you've got the butt of a gun crashing into your cheek and you're choking on the splinters of your own teeth, what do you say to make it stop? The tough-guy act, it’s just that-an act. Guys like me get nowhere acting like that outside, but in here, opting out’s a luxury you don’t got.

Don’t look at me like that. It ain’t a machismo thing, like I gotta wave my dick around to prove I’m a man. This ain’t a pissing contest. I don't mind showing weakness when I need to. It's a good disguise when there ain't no other way of getting in and getting out without getting caught.

But you don't show that to just anyone. Someone's coming at you with murder in their eyes and a whole lot of paperwork that can erase you in an instant, you don't roll over and show them that soft underbelly. You know what's good for you, you gather up all the false bravado you can muster, spit blood in their faces, and say, "That all you got?"

Cobb taught me that a long time ago, before things got complicated.

- - - - -

04:18 17 OCT 2005

REDACTED: Now that you’ve had a couple days to heal up, let's try this one more time, Nash. Did you know Saito before you took the job? And don’t tell me no. I have photo evidence saying that you did.

NASH: Then you tell me, Sherlock, if you’re so fucking smart.

REDACTED: This wasn’t cute two days ago, and it isn’t cute now. Cut the crap.

[LONG PAUSE]

NASH: The night those pictures were taken was the night I met him.

REDACTED: You volunteered for this assignment, didn’t you?

NASH: What’s that got to do with anything?

REDACTED: You of all people should know we have a low tolerance policy for participation in extractions of persons known to our employees.

NASH: I didn't say we went to the same fucking country club, asshole. I didn’t even see him again ‘til we pulled that job. What was I supposed to do?

REDACTED: You could easily have deferred it to another architect.

NASH: It ain’t that easy.

REDACTED: Why not?

NASH: I got a car payment just like everyone else. I gotta eat and I got rent to pay.

[PAPER SHUFFLING]

REDACTED: You think you’re a pretty sharp guy, don’t you? Try again. We have your financial statements from that time period, and you didn’t have to take on another project for a long time, living the way you do.

NASH: So you did your homework. A-plus.

REDACTED: All I want is for you to tell me why you took the job.

[LONG PAUSE]

REDACTED: Why did you-

NASH: I owed someone a favor.

REDACTED: Would that someone be Dominick Cobb, by any chance?

NASH: Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t.

REDACTED: What sort of favor was it?

NASH: Does it matter?

REDACTED: You know we’re trying to establish a motive. If you don’t want to be tried for sedition, you better have a good counterargument.

NASH: I got plenty of ‘em, but I ain’t telling you shit ‘til you turn that thing off. We got ourselves a deal?

REDACTED: For now.

RECORDING TERMINATED AT 04:29

- - - - -

I got nothing to be ashamed of, but my personal life's mine and I like to keep things on a need-to-know basis. Less chance of blackmail that way. They don't know shit, they can't use it against you, and you better believe that’s a problem in this business, like if dreamshare was a nuclear power plant, we’d be Chernobyl-that’s how much fallout we got. You manage to keep your head above water long enough to paddle your ass to shore, you'll see a lot of people go down hard for all sorts of stuff.

How’s the pay? Shit, man. It’s shit. You’re dreaming if you think that’s what’s making people stupid enough to take all these risks.

You’re not gonna read it in Forbes, but last time I heard, the average extractor makes about what the average high school history teacher makes, which is shit. And here you don’t got tenure to make the future look any sunnier. You stay alive long enough to produce results, consistent ones, you might got a chance of moving up in the world. Otherwise, you’re just another pissant, so stay in line, keep your head down, and keep your fucking mouth shut.

Look, I don’t know who you are, and frankly I don’t give a shit, but if you start polling people on the things they hate most in their lives, I guarantee you work’s gonna come up somewhere in the first three slots. Who cares why I stayed? Why the hell does anyone stay?

I got here first, so I got lucky. I never had to wade through all the bureaucracy most people do. I started big time working with Dominick Cobb. He pulled me in back when all this stuff was just starting. Extraction, you know. Back when it was all diagrams and equations ain't nobody without a PhD gonna understand.

We left that shit to those poor slobs in development. Dom and me, we gave you your extractors and your forgers, and more guys like Arthur than you can shake a stick at. We hooked you up with architects and chemists and the best military strategists we could get for a few billion American dollars, cash. We made it work. We made it happen.

All this was way before we got hired to steal those development plans, yeah.

You writing a book or something? Because I gotta tell you, now’s the time to cash in if you are. Dreamshare’s so volatile right now, it’s anarchy trying to keep from getting shut down by people who don’t wanna admit we exist. Look at me, saying ‘we,’ but I don’t do that anymore. I got a nice, respectable office job now, pushing papers for an insurance company.

Do I like it? Not really. But no one’s trying to kill me anymore, which is nice.

- - - - -

12:43 18 OCT 2005

REDACTED: Tell me more about Dominick Cobb. Were you close?

NASH: You know Cobb, you know no one ever gets that close. But sure, we were close enough. We go way back.

REDACTED: What does that mean, exactly?

NASH: What do you think? It ain’t rocket science.

REDACTED: You’re saying your relationship with Mr. Cobb was not strictly professional, then.

NASH: We were fucking, if that’s what you mean.

[LONG PAUSE]

REDACTED: So you gave up your lover to save your own ass. That's a hell of a thing.

NASH: [LAUGHTER] I wouldn’t call us lovers. He kept the money rolling in, I kept his bed warm. He ain’t half bad in the sack, so all in all, it was a pretty good trade.

REDACTED: Was he married, when you first got involved?

NASH: You gonna make me wear a scarlet A on my chest if I say yes?

REDACTED: Just answer the question.

NASH: What’s there to answer? Some nights he didn’t want her and she didn’t want him, so-

REDACTED: You keep saying ‘she.’

NASH: Don’t act like you don’t know who I’m talking about.

REDACTED: Mallory Cobb?

NASH: Who else? Anyway, tying the knot soured both of ‘em. I didn’t want no part in that, but I didn’t mind giving him what she couldn’t, either. I was good at that, no matter how fucked up everything else got.

RECORDING TERMINATED AT 12:46

- - - - -

You gotta understand how Dom and me worked off the job. I’m not talking because I like the sound of my own voice, so if you’re not listening, you’re wasting my time. All of this, everything I tell you, is important. You don't got the basics down, you got no chance of understanding what happened with Saito. So, you wanna know that, you listen and you listen good.

How Dom and I met don't matter, really. If you gotta know, we were roommates in college. Total cliché, right? But all of that might as well be ancient history for all it matters now. All you need to know is that after we started getting on the up and up in dreamshare, he met Mal, they got hitched, and everything-and I mean everything-went downhill from there. That's when we started fucking around.

Was I jealous? No.

It wasn’t like her being there kept us apart or something. It wasn’t like that. Mal and me, we had a lot in common, not least of which was getting jerked around by the same guy. I met her a few times. Liked her, too, as much as you can like the wife of the guy who’s been sucking your dick. But I don't have any hard feelings, understand? Marriage, the kids, it was hard on her, but not like handling Dom was.

He told me, you know, about what he did to her trying to get them out. You hear about that? Yeah, everyone’s heard about that now. That stupid sonofabitch, always playing around with shit he didn't understand. He was always throwing his weight around, biggest ego I ever saw, getting us into all kinds of tight places because of it. There's ambitious and then there's just plain fucking cocky, and that was Dom all over. We were always doing weird projects working together, like this underwater dreamscape.

Worst fucking levels I ever designed, man. Cobb pitches it to me and I think it's fine, okay, whatever I gotta do to keep him happy. A week later, I got the great fucking barrier reef pulled up all over the workshop and I'm throwing my hands up in the air and Cobb's just grinning like a fucking loon over it, he's so pleased.

And did it work out? Shit, no. We fucked up that job so bad, I wonder how the hell we ever got out with our reputations intact, let alone our fucking lives. Sometimes I get nightmares about those levels, getting caught in the maze with no exit and drowning forever, my lungs filling up with water. I told that crazy sonofabitch, I told him I wasn't designing another level for him even if hell did freeze over. Things like that'll get you killed. I was always telling him that, but I never thought I’d be right.

No, I never went to the funeral. I wanted to, but I knew better than to be showing my face around Arthur. Guys like him, they shoot first and ask questions later. He’d never understand why I did it. It just don’t figure in. Besides, I don’t trust that prick anymore, not after Cobb took the fall for what went down with Robert Fischer and Arthur got off clean. Too clean.

I hear he’s got the kids now, somewhere in Pasadena. I wonder whose brilliant idea that was.

But, sure, I worked plenty of jobs with Dom after that. That's the thing about Dom-he's a charmer, and it's hard as hell to say 'no' to him when he's got his mind made up. After a while, the money wasn't enough to keep me coming back, but he was quick to adapt, you know. Started blowing me instead, slipping condoms into my pocket and excusing himself to the men's room, expecting me to follow. And I did, every time. I couldn't keep a steady job, let alone a steady boyfriend, and sex was sex. I kept telling myself I wasn't gonna give in. I swore I'd fuck him and leave him with his pants down around his ankles and no architect. But I never did.

We had our good days, too, when things felt less like a tug-o-war and more like something we were doing together. There are things I want to remember, like this time we spent all day in bed, all hands and mouths, kissing and touching like nothing else existed but this tangle of us. Days like that, I walked away feeling good about distracting him from all the deadlines, his problems with Mal, trying to support two kids with the both of them working full-time.

A lot of people think Dom and Mal pulled jobs together. You’re not the first to get it all wrong. She was in the business, sure, but she had her own team. We didn't need two architects. What she and Dom got mixed up in happened on their own time. He always did like that thing a little too much. Me, I stayed the hell away from that PASIV unless I was working. I knew enough about addiction to know that just because it don't come in a syringe or a little plastic baggy don't mean it's safe. I went under for work and that was it. You couldn't pay me enough to keep one of those fucking things in my apartment.

Right, sorry, I’m getting off track. Just nudge me the next time. I got a tendency to ramble. I was telling you about Dom. I don’t want you to think he was a monster, or that there was something deep down in him that was just bad, but I have a hard time forgiving him for all the shit he made me put up with.

It’s hard as hell to believe the guy who mopped up my vomit and held my hair every time I tried quitting cold-turkey, the guy who checked me into rehab and called me every day for six months, is the same guy who wouldn't even let me sleep on his couch when my first place went up in flames because he was too much of a chickenshit to let me hang around his wife.

And I got that. I got that he was scared Mal was gonna leave and take the kids with her and knowing how much he loved them both, most of the time I wasn't willing to fight about it. But he was crazy if he thought Mal didn't know about us. Everyone knew, but in Dom’s mind he was still your ordinary white-collar suburban dad with the perfect wife and the perfect life, eating up a little slice of the American dream like it was apple fucking pie.

I wasn’t even a part of the picture.

I ask myself that, sometimes, but I guess it all comes down to the fact that where Mal and me had a tendency to let things go, Dom always kept score. Every mistake, no matter how small, had to be tallied and counted and as soon as you racked up some arbitrary number, he came around expecting compensation.

For whatever reason, Dom decided to cash in with the job for Cobol. I told him, you know, I told him I didn’t want to do it, but like I said, once he makes up his mind about something, there’s no changing it.

I wish I'd fucked off or told him to fuck off instead, let Dom and dreamshare and all the rest of it go right then, but it don't do me any good wishing for things like that. Maybe one of these days, someone'll invent a time machine or a fuck-up fixer, but until then, you just gotta make your bed and you lie in it, for better or worse.

You see the kind of stuff I’ve seen, you’ll start talking like a fucking fortune cookie, too. Smartass kid.

- - - - -

11:00 19 OCT 2005

REDACTED: We have reason to believe you're holding back.

NASH: Are you shitting me? I deserve a fucking Detainee of the Month plaque for my cooperation and what do I get for it? A mouth full of busted fucking teeth and a broken hand. I’m an architect, you piece of shit. How am I supposed to find work?

REDACTED: That isn’t our concern, but rest assured that we won’t break anything that impedes your communication.

NASH: Ha fuckin' ha. Sounds like we got ourselves a real comedian here. Look, I ain’t falling for this good cop, bad cop shit when you can’t even find another guy to play the good cop. You fuck up your paperwork and get demoted or something?

REDACTED: You watch your mouth. You're not the one asking questions here.

NASH: Maybe not, but I got all the aces, baby. You just wait. I'm playing this one close to my chest, but I guarantee you're gonna fold before I do.

REDACTED: Is that a threat?

NASH: You write it in your report however you wanna take it. [LONG PAUSE] You got any aspirin?

REDACTED: Not until you give us something we can use. We’re not interested in Dominick Cobb, unless he was there when you cut a deal with Saito, which I highly doubt, considering how the two of you fucked him over.

NASH: So you don’t got Cobb in here. You got Arthur?

REDACTED: I’m not at liberty to say.

NASH: Bullshit.

[CRACKLING THROUGHOUT; EVIDENCE OF TAMPERING]

REDACTED: You’re prepared to tell us about your involvement with Saito, then.

NASH: Sure, man, sure. But give me aspirin first. I feel like I got hit with a fucking sledgehammer.

RECORDING TERMINATED AT 11:15

- - - - -

Thanks for sticking with me through this. I know I was a kind of a dick to you at first, but you know how it is when your hackles start to rise. But I appreciate it, I really do, especially knowing how long this’ll take. Brevity's never been my strong suit, but this ain't something anyone could cut to the chase with. Not if they wanted you to really get it. I guess it ain't so important if you get it, but for Cobol it was my neck on the line, and that wasn't something I was ready to lose any time soon.

You have to understand, though, that nothing happens all on its own, apart from everything else. There's gotta be some context, whatever it is, some pattern of cause and effect. That's just the way the world works. You can be as impatient as you want, sweetheart, but it won’t change a goddamn thing. You want to understand why things worked out the way they did, then there’s a little something you should know about me.

See, there's this thing I do. This thing I am, I guess. I don't know how to tell you so you don't fuck it up, no offense, because too many people think it's a hobby, like knitting or coin-collecting or anything else you do during downtime. I can't speak for anyone else, but it don't work like that for me. If you wanna draw a parallel, it's more like being a superhero. During the week, you're Clark Kent. You go to the office in your off-the-rack Brooks Brothers, schmooze a little with the higher ups, and come home at the end of the day with a briefcase stuffed full of corporate America's leavings.

But Clark Kent's just an alter ego. He don't exist anywhere but on paper. Really, you're Superman, and not just when you're wearing spandex. There's nothing that can change that fact, but you gotta hide because people, they don't understand. Some of them are ignorant and that ain't any fault of their own, but others don't even wanna try so you stay covered up except for those few moments where you can just be.

Yeah, yeah, get to the point, I know. No metaphor’s perfect, but you better be ready for the changeover, because here goes nothing.

I'm a sub. Submissive, if you want to get technical about it. You got a good poker face, kid. I like that.

See, you tell most people that, they react about as well as they would if you had introduced yourself as Superman. Some of them laugh, some of them don't give two fucks, and some of them you see this look of discomfort wash over their faces like they're wishing you hadn't spoken up but they're too polite to fess up.

Compared to other shit out there, it ain't even that strange. Most people who know anything about the scene, or think they do because they watched some fetish porn for kicks once, think it’s nothing but a bunch of fucks in chains and leather. Admit it; you got this image of me in a collar spit-shining some asshole's boots with my tongue or something like that when, really, I don't know a fisting-sling from a fucking futon.

Whatever you're into's fine, as long as it's all consensual and safe, but I like it real simple. Leave your props and primers at home. You don't need to win the Dom of the Year award, okay? Some guys, they try way too hard. They get so nervous, thinking they gotta kink themselves out from the get-go, like it ain’t D&S without a riding crop and enough latex to wallpaper the place, which is fucking ridiculous. They get so hung up doing inventory, they forget all about the dynamic.

Look at me, talking like I'm a fucking expert. I'm not, not even close, but I know what it feels like to me when I got someone giving me orders and they don’t click. I don't do just anything for any asshole with a mind to push me around. Submission ain't something you deserve-you gotta earn it. You gotta make me want to do it and give me a reason to keep doing it. I'm not talking about rewards, though those are nice, too.

I'm talking about obedience for its own sake. Something about it just feels good. How long that feeling last depends, but with a good dom, you get this echo way down deep in your bones that resonates, maybe for only a few seconds, maybe for hours. It puts you in this headspace, you know, like you're tripping only it ain't ever a bad trip. You get used to a place like that.

Don't ask me where it comes from, because I got no clue. It's not like I grew up getting off on getting my ass paddled by my old man. When the belt came down, I cried just like everyone else. Anyway, it don’t matter where it started. It’s there and it ain’t going away any time soon.

All I want you to do is remember, so later, when the pieces start coming together, it don’t catch you by surprise. Everything you need to know, I’m telling you right here. Do us both a favor and pay attention, kid-school’s in session.

- - - - -

13:02 19 OCT 2005

NASH: You think I could get a glass of water?

REDACTED: Sure.

[LONG PAUSE]

NASH: None of this is getting filed, right?

REDACTED: Only what you've seen me record. The rest is only for my information.

NASH: You must be pretty important. I don’t think I caught your name. What was it?

REDACTED: It’s not important. All you need to know is I'm not someone you want to fuck with. Nor do I have much patience for detainees who won't cooperate. I'm cutting you a very special deal because you strike me as an honest sort of guy and I don't want you to go down for something you didn't do.

NASH: Forgive me if I don't leap for fucking joy, but I don’t trust you so much.

REDACTED: You don’t need to. Just don't make me regret this.

[LONG PAUSE]

NASH: You probably got a lot of questions.

REDACTED: More questions than answers at this point.

NASH: [LAUGHTER] Ain't that always the way, though?

RECORDING TERMINATED AT 13:10

- - - - -

One of the things I always liked about the New York scene is that it's full of these quiet little pockets, small clubs owned by people who let you get to know them. Little bars that feel like home, if home's a place you got fond memories of. Everyone knows everyone, so it's cozy. Safe. Someone's been using their sub for a punching bag, disrespecting people's safewords, or crossing lines that shouldn't be crossed, you're gonna know about it. There's not much risk of falling into the wrong hands, and that's something you take dead serious when you been on the scene a while.

Not gonna sugarcoat it-I've had some bad eggs, especially in the beginning. Guys seem nice when you got a couple drinks in you, but things can get real ugly real fast, which is why I got a firm policy against drinking and dominating. But like I said, we're a tight-knit community and we take care of our own. Things like that don't happen so much anymore, but that's no reason to let your guard down. Someone's not always gonna be there to fix what you fucked up. You gotta look out for yourself, too.

It was a slow night when I ran into Saito, maybe the middle of the week. That ought to tell you how stressed I was. The weekend scene’s much more my style, but I had a real bitch of an itch to scratch. Like usual, I wasn't in the market for anything long-term. Mostly I was looking to hook-up and go home to sleep it off for a few hours before diving back into this fucking nightmare of a project I was doing for one of Dom's friends. He put me on loan sometimes, working for other extractors when things were slow for us, which happened often enough, big time or not.

That night I was sitting at the bar and since it was a new place, I was drinking whatever was cheap on tap so no one would give me the boot. Stupid idea, but I wasn't thinking too clearly. I'd gotten a couple offers, but nothing worth the price of a rubber, so I finished up my beer and wandered back to take a piss before calling it quits. I probably should've stuck with some place I knew better, but I was out for fresh blood; someone who hadn't topped me enough times to start getting sentimental about it.

It ain't the romance I object to, so don't think I got no feelings. But lifestyle ain't my thing, and that's where I always see those relationships going. I told you this wasn't dress-up for me and I meant it, but come on-someone gives me a grocery list with cucumbers, lube, and rubbers on it to see if they can humiliate me, I'm as likely to tell 'em to shove it up their ass as anything else. I don't fuck in public, so I don't play in public.

When I was done washing up, Saito was out there in the hall, standing there with this look of quiet expectation on his face like he'd been waiting for me the whole time. I'll be honest with you and say that kind of attitude bothers the fuck out of me most of the time. You gotta think about my needs, too, and what I want. But Saito, he's got this je ne sais quoi to him, which, roughly, is French for who even fucking knows what. But if you ever met him, you'd know exactly what I was talking about. It's this presence some people have where they tell you to jump, you ask how high, even if you got no submissive leanings whatsoever.

Don’t knock it ‘til you try it, honey. You gotta see it to believe it.

Guys like that are natural doms and there ain't nothing you can do in front of one of those but try to relax and wait to hear what they're after, which is what I did, with a little less grace than usual, thanks to the way I'd been sucking down cheap beer.

"I don't believe I've ever seen you here," he said, finally.

"My usual haunt's a few blocks away. Thought I'd try a new crowd tonight."

"You should be careful, straying from the familiar path," he said, in this voice that washed over me and wrapped me up like the softest blanket you can imagine. There weren’t any hard tones, nothing too loud. I could tell he wasn't gonna have to push to get me to do what he wanted.

"You never know what might lurk on the outskirts."

"Thanks for the tip."

Normally I’m not too shy about sizing guys up, but there was part of me that was worried I was gonna be in trouble if I even looked at him. Pretty stupid, huh? I don’t get guys that good-looking interested in me too often, though. Definitely not that classy. I ain’t a snob, but I like guys that clean up nice and he was every wet dream I’d ever had, wearing this charcoal three-piece over a dress shirt that was so smooth and milky you half expected it to start flowing over your fingers.

“That’s a nice tie,” I said. Red, silk, easily worth more than my car. “Mind if I take a closer look?”

I was overstepping my role, probably, but he was making me ten kinds of nervous, sweaty palms and everything. Not in a bad way, sure, but he was keeping me on my toes and all he had to do was stand there and glance at me occasionally.

"You're very forward," he remarked. He gave his tie a tug to straighten it, even though it looked fine. I was sure he was doing it just to bait me and fuck if it wasn't working. "I'm not used to such informal advances."

He was smiling a little as he said it, but you almost never know what that means with guys like him. I thought maybe he was okay with it, but I wasn't about to go all in and risk selling myself short if I opened up my mouth and the wrong thing fell out.

"Should I assume this is your modus operandi for all occasions?"

Fuck if I know what modus whatever means, but I got what he was after.

People think I got no filter, that what comes out of my mouth is like the fucking lottery, but that ain't true. I’m a smartass, sure, and as a general rule of thumb no one likes a smartass sub, but obedience don’t get you everywhere. Sometimes you gotta act out so someone can have the satisfaction of reeling you back in and part of being a good sub, if that’s something you’re interested in, is knowing how to tell the difference.

I wasn’t sure, so I did the safe thing and kept my mouth shut and my eyes on my sneakers.

Apparently it was the right thing to do, because the next thing I knew I had my back to the wall and him all pressed against me, hands clutching hard on my hips like he could snap me like a twig if he wanted. It was good, getting handled again. It'd been a while since I’d had much time to myself, between work and other things like making sure Dom didn't drive the both of us into an early grave. Only guy I ever played switch for and it was fucking exhausting. I never even heard of top drop ‘til I started getting it every time he came around, high-strung and skittish like an animal that's been mistreated.

I wasn’t thinking about that then, though. I wasn’t thinking about anything but that kiss and the taste of cognac in my mouth, stuff I couldn't pay for if I had five lifetimes to rack up the cash. My knees were shaking like the earth was shifting under me, but it wasn’t nothing but him, tasting me. Consuming me. I wanted to slump down the wall and pull him with me, lie there making out like a couple of horny teenagers on the sticky floor of this club.

His hand on my back was the only thing keeping me up when he pulled away and said, "You'll serve quite nicely," like I was a new palm pilot or a pair of shoes he was buying.

I might've resented him for it if I hadn't been so goddamn impressed. Besides, I don’t mind being objectified or whatever you want to call it when I’m subbing. Not so much when I got ten parallel deadlines and Dom's riding my ass on all of them like it's gonna help, but it has its place, just like anything else.

"So, you got a name?" I asked as I was following him out, a few steps behind.

I'm sure Saito's had his face plastered all over billboards and financial magazines, but fuck if I knew it at the time. Energy conglomerates ain’t my field of expertise, even if they do look like they walked straight out of one of my daydreams. Give me a snapshot of any major architect from the last century, dreamshare or otherwise, and I can probably tell you who they are, but I didn't know Saito from Adam.

"If you must address me, you may call me sir."

"Sure thing, sir."

He didn't ask for my name, but I didn’t think anything of it at the time. It’s funny, but even as renowned as Dom and me were getting, I never stopped for a second to wonder if he might recognize me.

- - - - -

23:58 21 OCT 2005

NASH: Long time no see. Looking good, stud. Gimme a couple of days, I might actually be desperate enough to put out. I’ll think about it, anyway.

REDACTED: You sound like you're feeling a lot better.

NASH: Funny how not getting the shit kicked outta you does that.

REDACTED: I've been going back through your file, trying to find someone to corroborate your claims, but no one's coming up. Did you see or talk to anyone else we might be able to contact?

NASH: Why? That gonna be a problem?

REDACTED: It might, but tell me something first. Were you working for Proclus Global at the time you were working for us?

NASH: Shit, no. You think I’m stupid?

REDACTED: I don't know what to think.

NASH: The fuck is that supposed to mean?

REDACTED: If you weren't working as a double agent on someone else's behalf, you must have had your own motives for screwing us over.

NASH: Wait a second, you said-

REDACTED: This isn't about what I said. It's about how Cobol will view that fact. I want to believe you, but you have to understand that it doesn't look good. What it looks like is you sitting there and telling Cobol it was nothing personal. How do you explain the fact that you went to Saito for asylum if you weren't on his payroll?

NASH: The fuck was I supposed to do? Waltz in here and say I was sorry? [LAUGHTER] Yeah, I'm sure that would've worked out real great. Just serve myself up on a fucking silver platter so you can put one between my eyes. Yeah, right. Anyway, he’s the one that got me into this mess in the first place.

REDACTED: You said you weren’t working for Proclus. You sat right there and told me that, multiple times.

NASH: And I was telling the truth.

REDACTED: But not all of it.

NASH: Maybe you need to ask better questions. You ever think of that?

[LONG PAUSE]

REDACTED: Were you in Saito’s personal employ?

[LONG PAUSE]

REDACTED: If your failure to complete this assignment has something to do with him, I need to know how he fits in and you need to stop jerking me around. You won’t get released until you do.

NASH: Maybe I don’t give a shit anymore.

REDACTED: Then you’ll leave in a body bag. It’s your decision.

RECORDING TERMINATED AT 00:17 22 OCT

- - - - -

You’d think so, but death threats are one of those things that never lose their impact in the right environment. I think it only got worse every time he told me I might not make it out of there in one piece. Yeah, he was a manipulative bastard, but he was good at what he did.

Anyway, we got outside and there was this real classy black number pulled up alongside the curb. Not a limo, nothing that flashy, just a nice car with tinted windows and some guy up front dangling a cigarette out the window, looking bored as hell. You ever feel like you got stuck in another dimension? Jesus.

"I was gonna invite you back to my place, but if your place is anything like your ride, I got a feeling it’d be an insult.”

"I have an apartment only a short drive from here," he said. "I trust that will be satisfactory."

You know it's been a while when a word like 'satisfactory' gets you going. Shit. Now, I wasn't fucking born yesterday and normally, I got a very strict policy about climbing into cars with guys I don't know so good, but I wasn't in any state of mind to be checking things like that.

I know it was stupid, all right? Forgive me for failing to live up to your expectations. I ain't your fucking role model.

He opened the door and held it for me. “Provided you’re interested, of course.”

“Are you kidding me?” Really, who am I to resist the charms of outdated chivalry?

Giddy and a little light-headed, I climbed into the backseat and practically sank into the leather, still smelling like it does when you first drive a car off the lot. Maybe it's got something to do with a lot of my firsts happening in cars, always a safer bet than fooling around at my house was, knowing how my old man felt about queers, but I love that new car smell.

"So," I said, once we'd gotten comfortable, "you in town for business or pleasure, sir?"

"Pleasure is a business all its own, is it not?"

I laughed. "You got that right. Too bad the reverse ain't so true."

"I take it you're displeased with your work."

I played it off with a shrug. "Who isn't?"

The next few seconds were tense on my part, expecting him to press and ask me what I did, which I got no answer for. Some guys they just kept asking and asking and I had to dump 'em, because there’s good reason I didn’t talk about what I do and the fact that dreamshare’s pretty much a black market was only part of it. No one's patting you on the back once your name starts getting passed around. At that point, you ain't famous, you're notorious, and that probably means there’s a hell of a lot of people interested in seeing you six feet under. No one takes kindly to someone poking around in their heads.

He didn't ask, though, so I never had to say anything. We just drove on in silence ‘til I started getting nervous, waiting for things to kick off or to at least get some indication of where I stood, whether I should keep making small talk, which I fucking hate, for the record, or if I should bring up the usual about safewords and limits, which I hate even more.

I don't even blame you if you know enough to think that's stupid. I get that communication's important, especially when you got a new partner, and the clumsiness of that conversation is better than getting stuck in a scene you don't want to be in with a guy who thinks 'no' means 'yes.' But picking a safeword's like pulling teeth. They almost always sound totally fucking dumb and if they don't, you got almost no chance of actually remembering them. I know, I know-if it’s that hard, use ‘safeword’ as your safeword or 'red' or something like that.

Anyway, I got distracted when we went from sitting there, thigh-to-thigh, to him groping between my legs. Like most guys, I don't think so good with a hand on my dick. Even one that's got a wedding ring on it. A hand's a hand. I wasn't picky about Cobb and I wasn't about to be picky about him either.

What they went home to was none of my business. They were grown men-they knew what they were getting into and if they didn't, that was their own fucking fault. It's no skin off my nose if some guy wants to fuck around on his wife.

"Hey, hey, safety first," I joked when my seatbelt went snapping back. "You're gonna give this guy a show that’ll make him wreck if you aren’t careful."

He just smiled and kept on palming me through my jeans until I thought he was going to rub my dick raw, practically devouring me while he was at it with those cognac-kisses, all slick tongue and hunger, my breath coming short and quick from being crushed against the seat.

I wiggled a hand between us, trying to get a feel for him, and it all happened so fast, my head was spinning from the backhand before I even realized he’d hit me. My cheek throbbed and my fingers came away wet, smeared with blood. Probably, he’d hit me with the hand he was wearing his wedding ring on and sliced my cheek open.

Normal? Not really, no. I been hit plenty of times, but it’s not something that’s supposed to happen without laying down some ground rules first. I’m not a masochist and I’ve seen enough abuse to understand the difference between something I deserve and something I don’t. But you’re right about money making people stupid. I couldn’t see past his nice car or his expensive suit, so I made excuses for him.

"You touch me only with express permission," he said, not angry or even flat but smooth, like there was nothing that could ruffle his feathers for too long. "I will not warn you twice.”

“No handling the merchandise,” I said, still reeling a little. But I could take a hit or two. I knew better than to make mistakes like that. It ain’t like he was wailing on me. “Got it, sir.”

That thin smile was back. “You may take the rest of the drive to think about what you’ve done and how to correct it in the future.”

“Yes, sir.”

"And keep your eyes downcast,” he added. “I see now that I’ve given you far too long a leash. You may only look at me again when you’ve earned it.”

"Yes, sir."

Sitting in the backseat staring at your lap probably don’t sound that interesting to you, but to me it was like having everything in your life looking like it'll snowball into total shit and then, all of a sudden, just stop. It's like this overwhelming sense of relief, this calm that just hits you and washes everything else away. It's like Christmas come early and the best fucking orgasm you've ever had all rolled into one, and even that ain't it. Not really.

By the time we made it back to his place, I was about ready to shake apart, stumbling out of the car and tripping over the curb. I can’t even tell you what it looked like except for there was hundreds of stairs, just going up and up forever. I doubt the booze helped, but it was him more than anything. Him and this prickling on the back of my neck like someone breathing hot down my collar. All I wanted was to light a cigarette and start puffing. I don't smoke much, but I always keep a pack on me in case I need a quick calm-down.

But since he hadn't given me permission, I was stuck breathing in and out like some yuppie asshole learning meditation. I knew I was a fucking idiot for not even bothering to find out if it was okay to ask for something, in case I really needed it, so don’t think you gotta tell me.

He still hadn't told me I could look at him, but I managed to sneak an eyeful anyway, somewhere in between inhale and exhale. He wasn't paying me any attention, just shrugging out of his jacket and folding it neatly over the arm of this huge sofa upholstered in the same red as his tie. Leather, though, not silk.

There was this fuck-ugly painting framed over it, postmodern or some other style people heavy on money and short on taste like. Art ain’t too far from architecture, so I studied a little of both, but my tastes lean classic-romanticism, the Pre-Raphaelites, the occasional impressionist piece. None of that abstract shit that’s all smears and blots and distortion like this was. Ugly fucking painting, let me tell you.

I had a look around the place while I was at it, at least what I could see from where I was standing. Taupe walls, moss green carpeting. It was a hell of a lot nicer than my place, sure, but it was fucking ugly, no matter how expensive it was. I wasn’t there for the scenery, though, so it’s not like I really gave a fuck.

As a distraction, it didn’t work so good. I couldn’t help glancing over at him, lounging back against the couch looking so relaxed and loose, I might’ve fallen for it if my cheek wasn’t still stinging where he’d taken a swing at me. I was sure he was all whipcord muscle under that suit and about as harmless as a tiger with a fucking toothache.

"You may take a moment, if you need one,” he said, finally. “Make yourself at home.”

Jesus Christ, did I need one. We hadn't even fucked yet and I felt like I might go to pieces right in front of him. That last part, though, I wasn’t even considering. Baiting me, again.

"You care if I smoke? Sir.”

“Mind your ashes.”

Two seconds later, I was happily upping my chances of lung cancer and feeling about a hundred times better for it, even with him watching me. I’d barely smoked half of it the cigarette before he was gesturing for me to put it out. There's no getting too comfortable with guys like Saito. They like to keep you just a little on edge.

He patted his knee. "Come sit on my lap, boy."

Relax, kid. It’s not like he made me call him ‘daddy’ or something. We weren’t playing that kind of game. I liked the press of his thighs against mine, wondering if he was gonna get hard with me sitting there. He had one hand on my back, drawing circles like I needed gentling. And maybe I did, I don't know. By then, I was pretty lost, reduced to a handful of needs and urges and not much managerial pull left up top. I wanted, wanted to be wanted, wanted to be used so I could get a good night’s sleep.

"Do you have a safeword?"

I blurted it out, and once I did there was no taking it back. “No, no safeword, sir.”

“Excellent.”

Maybe it was just the light, but I couldn’t tell if he was smiling or baring his teeth.

- - - - -

01:15 22 OCT 2005

REDACTED: So, let me get this straight. You were doing the job as a favor to Dominick Cobb, with whom you were romantically involved at the time. You only became aware of the mark's identity after signing on, at which time you decided not to drop out due to a personal commitment. Is that correct?

NASH: Sounds about right, yeah.

REDACTED: The only part I’m unclear on is why you would have chosen to sell out your team rather than trust their connections to keep you safe.

NASH: You think I’m the first guy in history to roll on someone who trusts him? Shit, man. That’s an old story. You ever read the Bible? Book’s full of that shit.

REDACTED: Do you always lapse into literary references when you feel like someone’s backed you into a corner?

NASH: Spare me the psychobabble, Doc. It ain’t funny.

[LONG PAUSE]

REDACTED: Did Saito know about the extraction before your little blunder with the carpet?

[LONG PAUSE]

NASH: I can’t tell you that yet.

REDACTED: Why not?

NASH: Because you wouldn’t believe me if I did. Look, keep listening, and I’ll keep talking. I’m almost done.

REDACTED: For your sake, I hope that’s true.

RECORDING TERMINATED AT 01:22

- - - - -

For a while it was just me on his lap and his mouth on mine, about as tame as you can get while keeping contact, but that didn't stop me from going half crazy wanting to touch him. My fingers were twitching wanting to see if that shirt was as silky as it looked, wanting to feel his stubble scrape across my fingertips. He'd started sucking on this spot just below my jaw that drives me wild and I was just as limp as a rag-doll on his lap, trying to keep my hands to myself and be good so maybe he'd reward me.
"Undress," he said, softly. "And take your time. I want to see your things folded neatly."

Making out, doing a little strip tease... I know what you're thinking. Aside from the backhand and me getting hard over things that'd bore you to tears, it all sounds pretty fucking vanilla. I hear you. But that's the thing-it's not about what you do. It's about you doing what he tells you, whether that's to spread 'em or to wash the dishes. I mean, I ain't ever been in a scene that mundane, but you get the idea.

Anyway, you ever really gotten naked for someone? I don't mean just shucking your shit and going at it. Have you ever done it for someone? Fine line, sure, but it's pretty fucking nerve-wracking knowing you got someone's eyes on you the whole time. And it ain't like you can just pipe up and voice your discomfort. Nah, unless it's giving you fits, you just do it. You're a window display, an art gallery, however you want to picture it-but either way, you're there to look at for someone else's pleasure. It ain't about whether you like being looked at, though I guess it helps.

But if you're anything like me, you overlook things like that. It's the reaction you're looking for, nothing else. It wasn't like I had a body outta Playgirl or like I was putting strippers to shame up there. Nah, that's just artifice. It's about vulnerability and that I had in spades.

By the time I'd gotten down to my socks, it was plain as anything that he was hard. He hadn't said anything the entire time, but he didn't have to for me to know he was pleased, radiating smug satisfaction like a cat licking cream from its whiskers.

"I suppose you think you deserve some sort of reward for your obedience."

“No, sir.”

"I won't proceed with someone who cannot be candid."

And if that ain't the biggest fucking trap you can spring on someone like me, I don't know what is. You give me an invitation to speak my mind, don't think I'm gonna fucking RSVP first, just in case you didn't really mean it. He wanted me to step out of line and he was pulling out all the stops to try and trip me up.

"Maybe a little, sir."

Maybe a lot. Maybe I was crawling out of my skin wanting him to bend me over the nearest flat surface and fuck me into a stupor, even if I didn't deserve it one bit.

"It's very presumptuous of you to assume you know better than I what you deserve."

You hear an edge like that, the last thing you wanna do is backtrack. That's a lesson you learn quick, but you forget to think about things like that sometimes. Sometimes you forget to think at all.

He crooked a finger at me. "Come here, boy.”

I half expected him to make me kneel there at his feet with my head down like they have you do when you're first starting out. Getting treated like a first-timer's the biggest insult I can think of, worse than being told flat-out you make a lousy sub. Things like that, you kind of learn to shrug off. You try better next time. But if someone feels like they gotta start from square one with you, you're doing something really, really fucking wrong. And that hurts. Disappointment's a lot harder to shoulder than anger, take it from me.

Shit, if he'd done that, I probably would've fucking cried. No one's good at everything, but that would've been the final nail in the coffin of my chances at being good at anything. Work was shit, whatever the fuck I had with Dom was shit, my rent hadn't been paid, the electric was three days past due, and being told I wasn't even worth punishment would've been the last straw.

Looking back, that's probably exactly what he wanted me to think. Just when I thought I couldn't take it anymore, he brought it all to a halt.

"Because this is our first encounter, I am willing to forgive you certain errors," he said, calm again. The edge was gone from his voice, but I wasn't about to relax an inch. "I will not punish you for your honesty."

He paused there, and, honestly, I didn't have a clue what the fuck he wanted from me. "Thank you, sir."

"But I won't tolerate such bodily neglect in a sub. My standards are not exacting. All I require is that you take care of yourself, and you have not.”

Guilty as charged. I'd barely eaten all week, and thrown up most of what I had, knee deep in another project with Dom. I'd put another notch in my belt, so it wasn't like I didn't know I was losing weight because of the stress. I'm sure I looked a fucking mess, all bones and hollows under my ribs, circles under my eyes because I kept rocketing between not sleeping and sleeping too much.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"No, sir."

"Do you feel that you deserve to be punished for your neglect?"

I wet my lips before speaking, just to give myself a second to think. "I deserve whatever you say I deserve, sir."

"Very good." I knew I didn't deserve that, not for something so simple, but I was happy to hear it all the same. "Lay across my lap, please."

I was still pretty hard, so it was as uncomfortable as hell, but I wasn't about to say that and earn myself something worse than a spanking, which is about as light as you're ever gonna get off for stepping outta line. Spanking ain't bad. It's easy, unless-

"I expect you to count strokes. And thank me for each one."

Unless he asks you to count for him, yeah. I should have seen it coming, but I’d been out of it too long. But okay, okay. I broke the rules, I needed a reminder. At least it looked like he was gonna do it open-palm. That's how you want it, not with a switch or a cane or whatever his tool of choice is. But no matter how it's happening, I fucking hate counting the seconds between the time you get in position and when the first slap comes down. It drives me nuts, because I got that and then at the same time I'm trying not to fidget too much.

It didn't take too long for the first one, but it still caught me by surprise.

"O-one," I said. "Thank you, sir."

Some guys space 'em evenly so you can get into the rhythm of it, steel yourself for it. It's just like anything else, a hell of a lot easier to swallow when you're expecting it. Especially if you know how many are coming. Me, I had neither of those luxuries. The next one came a few seconds later and I'd barely gotten out my thanks before the third. Fuck, but he had a hell of an arm on him. Four in and I was already aching, knowing I was gonna have his handprints all over me tomorrow like they'd been branded there. Like I said, I never got off on getting spanked as a kid, although I know plenty of people who did, but that night my dick just wouldn't stay down.

By the fifth stroke, I had this big lump caught up in my throat and all was coming out were these strangled sounds, barely whimpers. It wasn't the pain. Don't think that was it. By then it was nothing but this dull heat spreading down the backs of my legs. Our first encounter and here I was, already getting punished, not knowing when it was gonna stop and just so fucking sure I could take whatever he wanted to dish out because, because I had to if I was gonna be good for him.

That ain't a headspace you ever want to get in. Stupidest mistake you can make and, sad to say, probably one of the most common. You get a lot of subs trying to impress doms who're way outta their league, so they let 'em push and push and push until they're so far past whatever limits they got they hardly know where they started. And it ain't like the sub's the only one with a problem in that situation. Any dom that don't pick up on that ain't worth his salt or he's just plain old bad news.

It didn't occur me to think about it, then, because that'd never been my problem. I knew when to say when and who to say it to. I knew my limits, knew just how hard I was willing to stand on each one.

"If you can't keep counting,” he warned, hand resting on my ass, “I'll have to start over."

"F-f-five, fuck," I choked out, dropping little flecks of saliva on the couch. "Thank you, sir. Thank you, thank you. Another, please, sir.”

Thwack. “Would you like another?”

I didn’t, but that didn’t stop me any more than the way my stomach was somersaulting. All of a sudden, it just didn’t feel right. Something about it was making me twist up inside. I kept thinking about that backhand and how he’d looked at me at the club, like he’d already staked his claim, and none of it looked good. There were all these warning bells, but fuck if I ever heard any of them ring.

I chalked it up to intensity and let him keep going, figuring it would be over soon.

“Yeah,” I said, eyes going all blurry, “give me another, sir.”

Thwack. "Another?"

"Yes, sir.”

His hand came down again and again, and when I realized he wasn’t even waiting for my count anymore, I just lost it. I never cried during a scene before, but there I was laid over his lap, sobbing like a kid and my dick shriveled up between my legs, not anywhere near hard anymore. I don’t know if he stopped when the waterworks started or somewhere in the middle, but he was done when I came back down, running his hand all up and down my back and telling me how good I'd been. How it was okay that I couldn't take anymore, because I'd done enough and now I could relax and he’d take care of me.

I didn’t believe him anymore, but what could I do but shake and shake and shake at how I’d let him push me? There wasn’t anything to show for it, nothing anyone else could see, but there was something inside me that was never going to work again for anyone else but him, and we both knew it.

Maybe it doesn’t sound so bad to you. I don’t know how to articulate it so it does, but it was like he had this hold over me now. He’d broken all these rules and taken advantage, but instead of coming out as a cautionary tale, he somehow managed to come out on top. I was craving a dose like I hadn’t in years, ready to start injecting bathroom cleaner if it would make that broken feeling go away for even a little while.

After I’d gotten dressed and I was sitting on the couch next to him with a coffee mug in one trembling hand and a cigarette in the other, he really dropped the bomb.

“It is fascinating, isn’t it,” he said, suddenly, “how a man’s vices shape him. Don’t you agree?”

“Sure,” I said. I didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about. I didn’t care. All I wanted was to call a taxi and go home and not leave my bed for days. “Sure, it’s interesting, yeah.”

“What is even more fascinating is how one can use those vices to manipulate him further,” he continued. “Men are so easily broken with the right knowledge. I suspect you’ve discovered something similar, in your work with Dominick Cobb.”

Hearing that made my blood run cold. I went limp, coffee and cigarette tumbling out of my hands as he looked at me, wearing that smile I’d thought was so nice before.

“Tell me, Mr. Nash. Have you ever heard of a company called Cobol Engineering?”

- - - - -

03:18 22 OCT 2005

NASH: That’s it, really. You know the rest or you can figure it out.

REDACTED: You really aren’t shitting me, are you?

NASH: Honest to God, that’s how it happened. Saito had a mole in here feeding him information about the extraction you were planning and he looked me up to make sure it fell through without raising suspicions. Saito needed someone to help him keep his hands clean in case things didn’t work out. And they didn’t, not quite.

REDACTED: What was the catch?

NASH: Me rolling on Cobb. I wasn’t supposed to do that, but I got scared, thinking Arthur was going to figure it out and fuck me over anyway.

REDACTED: So Saito refused to protect you and handed you over to us instead.

NASH: Basically, yeah. I wasn’t his concern anymore.

[LONG PAUSE]

REDACTED: We intend to release you in a couple of days, as soon as your paperwork has all been processed. There is one caveat, however.

NASH: Sure.

REDACTED: You’re blacklisted. If we ever see your name connected to an extraction again, anything to do with dreamshare, that’s it. This is your first and only warning.

[LONG PAUSE]

NASH: I spent too long playing pet architect for Dom anyway. It’ll be good to move on.

REDACTED: I have one more thing to ask you, if you don’t mind.

NASH: Shoot.

REDACTED: What did Saito offer you for putting the hitch in our plans?

NASH: Nothing.

REDACTED: You can’t tell me that, after everything else you’ve told me?

NASH: No, I'm saying he didn't offer me anything to do it. I just did it.

REDACTED: Because he asked you to?

NASH: No.

[LONG PAUSE]

NASH: Because he told me to.

RECORDING TERMINATED AT 03:29

END OF LOG #000963

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Appreciation Notes: Hugs, hi-fives, and my eternal gratitude for koushi, who not only provided the gorgeous art for this piece but was there in the initial stages to bounce ideas off of and later to crack the whip when I started dragging my feet. Thanks for putting up with my bitching, bb. WE MADE IT. I can’t thank my beta, forgerness, enough for her support and her work in helping me rebuild this mess back from the ground up after the first draft. Thanks also to lycanthrophile for the sanity-check, the_azure_blue for her commiseration when nothing seemed to work, and (last but not least) my_kakistocracy for preemptively giving this her stamp of approval because she heard through the grapevine that there would be interrogations involved. I hope you all enjoy the final product, because I couldn’t have done it without you.