Jake gritted his teeth, the muscles in his jaw clenching and unclenching as he stormed towards the head security office. He knocked on the door, the sound sharp and impatient, and paced back and forth across the hallway, a caged animal waiting for release. The door clicked open, and John stuck his head out, a flicker of surprise crossing his features.

  “Jake?” John cocked his head to one side, a question hanging in the air. “What are you doing here?”

  “Can we talk?” The words were clipped, tight with suppressed emotion.

  “Of course.” John stepped to the side, allowing Jake to enter the room. “Have a seat.”

  “No time.” Jake’s gaze darted around the small room, his focus sharp and unwavering.

  John shut the door, concern spreading across his face, a silent question in his eyes. “This sounds serious.”

  “It’s a matter of life and death.”

  “That’s not good. What do you need?”

  “I need a huge favor.”

  ***

  Minutes later, Jake’s footsteps echoed down the sterile hallway, each stride a testament to his mounting rage. He stopped before a large man standing guard at the end of the hallway.

  “Move.” His voice was low, a dangerous growl.

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir.”

  “Get out of my way,” Jake pressed two fingers into the man’s chest, the contact firm, threatening. “Before I move you myself.”

  The hulking man took a step forward, his hand twitching towards his sidearm, when his earpiece chirped. He pressed the button, nodded, a flicker of understanding crossing his eyes, stepped to the side, and swiped his keycard, allowing Jake to enter the room.

  “Thank you.” Jake stepped into the small room, its white-tiled floor reflecting the harsh fluorescent light. It was completely empty except for the ever-watching security camera that hung in one corner and his father, Chris, strapped to a chair.

  “Jake?” Chris barely spoke above a broken whisper, his voice raspy and weak, his face gaunt.

  “Save it.” Jake rushed forward and kicked the side of the chair, the metallic clang echoing in the confined space, causing it to crash to the floor. He puffed out a frustrated breath, the air whistling through his teeth, as he watched Chris’ head bounce off the cold, unforgiving tile before he tilted the chair back upright. In one fluid motion, Jake smacked Chris hard across the face, the sound sharp and brutal. The crimson mark bloomed on Chris’s cheek. He hit him again. “Do you know what you’ve done?”

  Stolen story; please report.

  “Son,” Chris spit a clump of blood onto the white-tiled floor, the crimson stain stark against the sterile white. “I’m so sorry… I deserved this…”

  “Shut up.” Jake leaned forward, gripped the chair’s armrests, and slid Chris towards him, their faces inches apart. “I’m not your son.”

  “Jake…” Chris’s eyes, filled with a desperate plea, searched Jake’s.

  Jake raised a hand, cutting Chris off before he could say another word. He stood back upright, hands clutched behind his back, knuckles white, and slipped a small, pronged round disk from his back pocket and cupped it in his palm. He flashed a glance at the camera that hung in the corner behind his father before he leaned forward once more and gripped the sides of Chris’s neck. The disk, cold and metallic, was pressed firmly into Chris’s flesh, leaving a faint indentation. He pulled his father’s face an inch from his. “Listen, you old bastard. Stanton has shown you enough mercy. Do you remember when you told me you deserved to die for what you’ve done?”

  Chris nodded, a tear appearing in the corner of his eye and running down his cheek, a silent testament to years of regret.

  “Well, you were right. If Stanton won’t do it, I’ll do it myself.”

  Jake slipped the disk from Chris’s skin and replaced it with a syringe filled with clear liquid. He removed the cap that covered the needle and stuck it in the area where the disk had just been.

  “You brought this on yourself, old man.” Jake pressed the plunger, the liquid disappearing into Chris’s flesh. “May God have mercy on your soul for what you have done.”

  When the syringe was empty, Jake tossed it across the room, the plastic clattering against the tile, walked towards the door, and slammed his fist against it. “Open the door.”

  The door clicked open, and Jake stepped out. “Tell your boss that there’s a body he needs to get rid of.”

  Jake didn’t look back.

  ***

  John pushed the gurney through the double doors and across the dimly lit parking garage, the wheels squeaking softly, stopping behind the idling black van. He patted the shoulder of the man inside the zippered body bag, the fabric cool and smooth beneath his hand, and sighed, a heavy weight in his chest. “I’m sorry it had to end this way, old friend. I wish there was something I could have done.”

  He wiped a tear from his eye, opened the large back door, slid the gurney inside, the metallic clang echoing in the garage, and slammed it shut.

  John waved at the driver, staring at him from the side mirror, his expression somber. “You’re good to go.”

  Jake pulled the brim of his hat lower to cover his face as he put the van into gear. The vehicle lurched forward, and he held his breath as muffled voices from outside of the van’s walls grew louder, the sound of footsteps on concrete. He gripped the pistol’s handle he had hidden in the waist of his pants, the cold steel reassuring, counted to ninety seconds in his head, the seconds stretching into an eternity, and puffed out the air in his lungs as the sound of a buzz and the outer gate sliding open filled him with relief. When the hulking facility was out of eyeshot, Jake pulled to the side of the road. He unzipped the body bag, uncovering his father’s face. Jake checked Chris’s pulse and smiled, a grim satisfaction in his eyes. It was stronger than it should have been, considering all his father had been through.

  Jake sat back and closed his eyes.

  Thank you, John.