Trust is a dirty word.

Ryan didn't trust Bradley, yet he had trusted that, as she'd imbibed already, he could sink a swift snifter. The contents of the glass would be safe, and the only effect would be the rush of heat down his throat. Perhaps a slight, pleasant buzz to follow.

Yes, he'd believed her.

Idiot.

He threw the glass across the room, where it barely bounced off the thick cushioning of the carpet. Rather than smashing against the far wall, it merely nudged it. An insipid touch to show a little willing. The lack of an explosion of shards to underscore his rage deepened his mood.

"What was in it? What have you done to me, bitch?"

Ryan jumped to his feet, prepared to attack the doctor. Only the knowledge that she was the only person who had any of the answers he sought stopped him. He stood with his fists clenched, torn between having to resist striking her before whatever drug he'd just ingested could take effect, and pouncing to let his anger loose. She just looked up at him expectantly.

Come on, her eyes said. Do it.

No. He wouldn't.

He walked over to pick up the glass and sat back down, feeling like a student called in front of the tyrannical school principal.

"There was nothing in it, was there?"

"No, there wasn't," Bradley said calmly. "I didn't ask if you believed me because you were foolish to. I was surprised. It takes a lot to surprise me, but you seem to be doing so at an alarming rate."

"Why? I'm not doing anything. How can I when I'm stuck in a cage?"

"Let's not be like that. The situation is the situation. It's necessary, even though you don't and wouldn't believe me."

"No," Ryan said. "I don't. None of this is necessary."

"I have to disagree, I'm afraid."

"But why? You never answer me."

Bradley leaned forward and put her hand on his knee. He eyed both it and her suspiciously and, seeing his face, she removed it again.

"I'm just trying to be friendly. Please, allow me that. I know you have questions. I wish I could offer answers, but I can't. Just trust me when I say this is all of the utmost importance."

"Sure. Whatever you say."

"Look," said Bradley. She extended her arms with her palms upwards. "I'll hide nothing that I'm able to tell you. Ask me a question."

"What's the point? You won't tell me what I want to know."

"No, but as a courtesy, and to show you can trust me, ask."

Ryan pointed to a vase on the far corner of the cabinet. It was empty apart from the water filling it to just under half way. Start with something simple. A vase that someone had taken the time to put water in should surely contain flowers. Why else would it be there?

"Why is that empty?"

Bradley stood and walked over to the vase, picking it up. She turned it in her hands and watched the liquid slosh about inside.

"I don't like flowers," she said.

"Then why have a vase in the first place?"

"It's there to remind me I don't like flowers."

Erm...

"That doesn't make sense," Ryan said, frowning. "Why have a vase at all, then? Why do you need a reminder for something you already know? It's pointless."

"I disagree," said Bradley, putting the item down and returning to the sofa. "It's to remind me I dislike flowers, yes, but it's much more, too."

When she didn't elaborate, Ryan shrugged and spread his hands in a 'Well, tell me then,' gesture.

"You don't know what we do here," she said. "You don't know how important it is."

"'Cos you won't tell me!" he interjected. "And you're changing the subject."

"I'm not, actually. We're working with life and death. So much death!" She stood once more and paced. "That vase, and others I have dotted around, remind me every day, and everyone else, too."

"Of what?"

She stopped and faced him, her fists on her hips.

"What happens to a flower when you pick it or cut it?"

"What do you mean? Nothing. It's just a flower."

"No, it's not, and that's an attitude we're trying to change. Life isn't just life. Death isn't only death."

"Life? Death? What are..." Ah, he knew what she was implying. "Oh, right. You pick a flower and it dies."

"Yes!" she exclaimed, punching the air. "Exactly that. It dies. That's why I don't like flowers being given to me. They're fine on their own, I suppose, but in a vase, it's just death on a stalk. Why would that be an acceptable gift for someone?"

"Because they smell nice. They look nice, obviously."

"But they're dead! You pick it, you kill it."

"So? It's just a flower. It doesn't know. It's not like it has a soul or anything."

"And that's the basis on whether something should live or die?"

"Well... no..."

"Yet you don't think about it, do you? It's not relevant. Plants are lower life forms, so they don't matter. Is that it?"

"No... I mean... It's just a flower."

"And you're just a person."

"That's different!"

"Is it? Do you believe in God? Would He say the same?"

"You tell me if I believe in God. I don't know who I am, remember?"

"Now that is irrelevant," Bradley said. "Your memories and name don't define you." She sighed. "Look, I didn't want to get into a theological debate. The point is, flowers signify death to me. I don't want to think about death. I want to think about life."

"So, doesn't an empty vase nullify that?"

"It could, perhaps, but I need it to remain with me. The importance of it."

"Why? What are you doing here that is so fucking important, other than kidnapping people?"

"We're saving the world, Ryan. Putting it bluntly, and in no way hyperbolic, we are saving the fucking world."

Ryan snorted derisively. She was deluded. Vases signifying death were not a method of saving anything, except the need to throw away flowers that had wilted to the point they'd needed throwing out three days before.

He saw the look of sudden rage flush her face at his mocking and was prepared for her swipe. As the doctor swung at his cheek, he grabbed her wrist and, instinctively, struck out with his other hand. It connected with her temple and Bradley spun on the spot, wrenching her arm from his grasp. He jumped up and pulled her back by the hair. She squealed but, rather than resisting, moved back into the fall he'd initiated. He wasn't prepared for that, and her momentum brought him forwards, resulting in him falling on top of her on the floor.

The doctor brought her knee up between Ryan's legs, and he grunted as pain exploded in his groin. In retaliation, he held her forearms down with his full weight and did the same to her, not knowing if the effect on a woman's crotch was the same as a man's. Her reaction, similar to his own, told him it wasn't far off.

With his position being above Bradley, he was in a prime position to head butt her, which he felt a thrill in doing so. Twice. As his forehead came down a second time, she managed to twist her head, and he felt her cheekbone crack. She barely made a sound, and he saw her eyes were unfocussed. Glazed.

He let go of one of her arms and grabbed her throat. He squeezed.

"Tell me who you are, bitch," he snarled. "Who the fuck am I? Why are you doing this? Tell me!"

Bradley couldn't speak. His pressure on her neck was too much, and she clawed at his hand, choking. Ryan, carried away by his anger, didn't notice the scratches and blood from the wounds she was inflicting. It didn't matter. He had her. She would pay for everything she was doing to him, and to all the others. So, she was the only one who could tell him what he wanted to know. So what? Fuck it! She deserved this!

Anyway, she wasn't the only one. Pedra had mentioned 'him.' That must be the guy in the photos. Her father. If there was someone else, higher, she was redundant. Insignificant. It would be no loss to him if she never drew another fucking breath!

He squeezed tighter, leaning into the stranglehold. Bradley was weakening quickly. Another few seconds and she'd...

She'd be...

She'd be dead.