"I'd rather go to Hell."
"That can be arranged quite easily, Agent."
"Yeah? Go a-fucking-head. I'm your best, you'd never fuckin' let me go that easy."
"Hm, hm. Accurate. But all the same - you are still, ultimately, disposable."
"But of course, Commander. That'd be why you sent your men tracking Agent 5 and I for so long, am I right? That'd be why you blackmail us into your service. Because we're disposable."
"Do not misunderstand me, Agent. You are disposable, yes, but you are valuable. I always knew you would come back, and 'blackmail' is hardly an accurate term..."
"It's the perfect fuckin' term. My freedom, Snake's wife? I'd call that blackmail."
"I call it...bargaining."

The Commander was a large man, as might be expected for the leader of a military-government organisation. The Initiative kept things quiet, kept things as controlled as possible in a world of magick. It seemed controlled, disciplined, and to an extent it was - but out in the field things could be very different. Rules were bent, even broken, and procedure was not always followed. Such was the way of things. The Commander was tall, too, muscular and somewhat grizzled, auburn hair tied back into a ponytail. He was perhaps in his early forties by now, and had taken over the Initiative from his father, though the position of commander was not necessarily always inherited by next of kin.

Opposite him, of course, was Agent Saxophone. Shorter than him by far, athletically built and with large hands that might have threatened to crush his own despite their delicate appearance, she was not the most normal-looking female that one might come across. White hair had not been combed recently and stuck up in bizarre, scruffy tufts atop her head, flicking out at the sides. Golden eyes, wide with lack of sleep, stared coldly at the man, who outranked her. Her spine was backed against the wall, but not because she was afraid - no, she looked fairly casual, a knee bent with the foot against the wall, arms folded. Defensive, nothing more.

"I know what you fuckin' do with people here, don't think I'm oblivious. You're sick."

"Why, I don't know what you mean, Agent. Do elaborate. Give me the evidence if you wish..." A sly smirk that made her skin crawl. "...or alternatively, the details, which I would greatly enjoy."

A disgusted look crossed the woman's face, and the second she saw him move towards her, her foot pushed her away from the wall, away from the commander. "Ever considered seeking help?" She growled, eyes narrowed. "A witch doctor? Or a priest, I'd love to see them fuckin' exorcise you."

As if he were hurt by this, the Commander tutted, shaking his head pityingly. "That kind of talk will get you nowhere with me, Agent." A familiar serpentine grin spread across a tanned face. "You might as well be more civil towards me, you know..." The Commander purred as his hand found her shoulder; she could not very well move now, having ended up backed against his desk.

"We'll see how fuckin' civil I can be if you don't take your hand offa me in the next three seconds," Sax bristled, wide eyes staring vehemently at the larger. He chuckled and dropped his hand, stepping back to allow the woman some freedom from his looming shadow. She rounded on him, circling, hissing. "Can I go, your majesty? Any other sick fantasies you wanna tell me about?"

"You may leave, actually. I believe I'm finished with you - for now." That wide smile followed her all the way to the door at the other side of the room, silently unnerving the tense female, who grabbed the doorhandle and gave it a violent wrench. The door allowed her to pass - but she stopped when she heard the man, who had not moved, speak again. "Agent..."

"What?"

"Send your friend up for me. The scarred fellow, you know the one. Agent 5. Goodbye, Number 9."