Chapter Text
It was early morning on a Monday and the dog days of summer were already promising another scorcher on Pandora Island. Two of those factors didn’t matter to most of the people that resided in the maximum security penitentiary there. Monday and summer had such little relevance in a world where only the time of day and how many smokes you had left in your cigarette pack seemed to change. Once in awhile something might shatter the monotony. A new face in the halls, whether it was a neighbor or correctional officer, or maybe a new prison job assignment. Not that the prisoners in solitary confinement had the luxury of attending offered work hours even if they had wanted to. Other than that, it seemed to epitomize same shit, different day.
So, in other words, prison life was not a whole lot different than the way the outside world tended to operate.
Except the outside world still had freedoms, as dictated by independence laws. The penitentiary, on the other hand, oppressed freedom the moment you crossed its threshold as an inmate.
With good reason. Pandora Island Penitentiary might have been the shinier, brighter solution to the failed yesteryears of correctional facilities, but it housed a plethora of high-profile and dangerous criminals that would have been sent to a Dahl Supermax facility without an iota of mercy, had they been sentenced in a different era. Dahl’s supermax model had been abolished in these modern times, their only remains the constructs that had been left in the wilderness for nature to take over.
Pandora Island was an experiment. Whether it served the greater Pandora continent well or resolved a decades-old problem was yet to be determined. It was still in its infancy. The results would yield in time.
Despite its deviation from traditional prison models, the penitentiary still had a solitary block. What was commonly and collectively referred to as The Hole to prisoners. They could end up there by many means. Fighting, getting caught with contraband, needing protection from another prisoner. Unlike the old days, where some prisoners might spend a life sentence locked away in solitary, here it was only meant to be temporary. Prolonged solitary confinement was now seen as cruel and unusual punishment according to Pandoran law, giving rise to preventable illness and violence rather than any type of penitence.
At this hour, those in solitary had either eaten their seven a.m. breakfast and gone back to sleep, or hadn’t woken up yet. Very few were awake and alert. The ones that were seemed wrought with restless energy. Pacing their cell, exercising, reading or writing. One man stood out among them. Not because of what he was doing so much as that he was stripped down to his underwear. Semi-naked, he was scrubbing his body down with water from the sink, a bar of soap, and a torn piece of cloth. Then he ducked his head under the faucet. A fine spray of water arched into the air and dribbled all over the cement floor as he pulled away and violently wrangled his hair back.
The two correctional officers and the young man making their way down the hall came to a halt outside the man’s cell door. One of the officers—the beefier of the pair with a name tag that read ‘Brick’—ventured closer and slid back the hatch covering the narrow delivery window built into the structure.
“Get your ass dressed, Lawrence,” he commanded. Though he spoke calmly and evenly, there was an edge to his words that implied there’d be consequences for arguing. “Today’s looking mighty fine for you. Getting some extra time outside these cement walls and everything.”
The man, who’d been studying his face in the mirror, turned. He sauntered over to the door, his oversize palms slamming to either side of the window built in its center.
“Where’s my morning cigarette?” he asked. “And my coffee? Black, two sugars, remember? Or do I need to be writing it down? I didn’t trade my showers for this crap.”
“Put some clothes on and we’ll hash it out. And when you’re done with that, back against the door, hands behind you. You know the drill.”
Above the platform that served as the cell’s sole bed was a small shelf. Draped over it, apparently in the midst of drying out, was a red jumpsuit along with a white tank top. The man took the clothing and wrung out any excess water over the sink then took his time dressing himself. He seemed to spend several moments staring into the mirror again, preoccupied with the state of his hair.
“You can either get some real quality time out of The Hole, not just an hour walking the cell block,” came Brick’s voice again. “Or you keep wasting our time and we end up taking disciplinary action. Your call.”
“Don’t go jagging off that beat-down boner just yet, sweetheart. I gotta look good for my public appearance, ya know?” His hands behind his back, the man pressed them wrist to wrist, lining them up with the delivery hatch in the cell door. “What’s this all about, anyway?”
A pair of handcuffs were removed from the officer’s belt and threaded through the slot. There was a soft metallic click as they were fastened around the man’s wrists. “Walk forward five feet.”
The prisoner clucked his tongue but did as told. The sound of air depressurizing filled the hall followed by the short blare of a buzzer. It startled the young man still standing with the second, lankier, bearded officer in waiting. His spine snapped straight and the tablet cradled against his chest nearly crashed to the ground. Sensing his agitation, the guard beside him turned, shaking his head and barking out a hoarse laugh. His name tag read ‘Mordecai.’
“Nothing to be scared of, son,” he said and fumbled at his belt for something until he was handling a hefty length of steel chain link. “This here’s the most secure block in the entirety of this hellhole. These pendejos ain’t getting out of their cells this time of day. Well, except Lawrence. But that’s what you’re here for, ain’t it?”
Before the young man could confirm that yes, he was unfortunately here for Lawrence, as he was called, the officer left his side to go stand in front of the aforementioned prisoner’s cell. A moment later the door slid sideways on a track mechanism, leaving nothing but open air between the guards and where Lawrence still stood with his back to them. Mordecai darted forward and linked it to an attachment on the cuffs then pulled it taut.
“Back up,” he commanded. “Slowly.”
It was like herding an animal for the slaughter, the young man thought. Though maybe not a creature as docile as a cow or bellik. More akin to a saurian. Something that could turn around and eviscerate you before you could even anticipate an attack once it was no longer bound in chains. The prisoner didn’t do any such thing as the guards had him pass over the threshold and face forward. In fact, he looked like someone utterly bored with his situation, though there was a furtiveness to his gaze that suggested that was a ruse. That gaze shifted to incorporate the young man. Heavy was the unease that passed through him as he was locked into a staring match with the prisoner. Though he was certain he’d made a note of it while reading the dossier, Lawrence’s heterochromia still managed to catch him unaware. Maybe it wasn’t so much the vivid, dueling colors—though, admittedly, there was something compelling about them—but the level of intensity they possessed. They seemed like they were not just staring him down but boring through his soul, where they slipped in with their razored edges, making him bleed his most private of thoughtscapes.
It was the first time he had ever looked into the eyes of a haunted man. And the first time he realized that the work he was so determined was important to accomplish would be challenging in more than theory. He broke eye contact with the prisoner, but not before there was the twitch of a smirk on the man’s face.
“Well, hey there, kiddo,” he said on a rising note.
Whatever he was about to say afterward was cut short. Brick stepped to his side and took up a vice grip at his elbow.
“Shut it, Lawrence, and start walking. No running your mouth off. Or we can start using the muzzle again, if you wanna.”
“Muzzle?” the young man couldn’t help but blurt out. “Why does he need a muzzle?”
“Man’s got a real bad oral fixation.”
Mordecai stayed in step behind the prisoner and carried the chain link lead. He turned to the young man and said, “Lawrence don’t like us CO’s too much. Tends to bite and spit a lot. Guess that’s just what caged beasts do to their handlers.” The man snapped the lead, simulating a whip crack as it jangled noisily. “That, and he likes to hear himself talk way too much. Not only a nuisance, but a redshirt with a silver tongue is a dangerous thing indeed.”
“Ah, I imagine it would be. That’s the color jumpsuit you use for the, uhm—for the death row inmates, right?”
“Least in the days of the mainland supermax facilities, it was. Reform means Pandora Island don’t practice the death penalty. Instead we got the redshirts—some of the worst offenders in this here prison—integrating with gen pop, wearing those colors like badges of pride. They effectively rule the roost. No low-risk prisoner with the possibility of parole’s going to start shit with a redshirt.”
“So, judging by the way you’re talking, you think prison population integration hasn’t proved itself to be an effective solution yet?”
Mordecai shrugged. “A solution to what, man? I don’t know whereabouts you come from in the world, but greater Pandora might as well be right next door to hell. This kinder, gentler approach to dealing with its crime problem is bullshit. Just some years ago Lawrence here would be trussed up and beat to death like a pinata for the heinous things he’s done. Instead, he roams this prison with his merry band of followers, doing whatever the hell he wants. Where’s the justice in that?”
“I could ask the same about capital punishment,” the young man retorted. He hesitated a moment, as if unsure of his words, then added, “You condemn a person to death. Sure, it eliminates the problem. But only that problem. And maybe someone gets revenge out of it. What’s that resolving, though? There’s no change. I’ve done my homework. Most people willing to commit depraved crimes against humanity don’t have a change of heart just because they might get the death penalty.”
Though it was quick, the young man saw the prisoner turn his head slightly. There was the flash of teeth, pearly white and perfect. Something among those words had amused Lawrence.
“Spoken like a true academic,” came Mordecai’s reply. “Wait till you’re stuck on the inside of this place for a few hours a day. It’ll change that scholarly know-it-all tune real fast.”
“Plenty of justice going on within these walls,” Lawrence butted in, matter-of-factly. “You just don’t understand the hierarchy. None of you jackoffs do. Not even the warden himself.”
The young man cleared his throat. “Maybe it isn’t my place to say, but Vasquez is one of the most highly respected wardens in the region. He likely knows a lot more than you even realize.”
Both the officers and Lawrence turned to stare at the young man. The look on the faces of the guards was less than friendly, but such was not the case for Lawrence. His eyebrows were raised into his hairline, scarred face twisted into something thoughtful, the corners of his lips slightly upturned. If the young man had to give the expression a name, he would have called it impish. Something about that worried him.
“Shut it, Lawrence,” Brick finally said, than nodded at a door off the corridor they were walking. “That room on the left is where we’re headed.”
The guards unlocked the door to reveal a bare room with just a table bolted to the floor and two seats to either side. One of the seats, also secured to the floor, was modified for what looked to be implementation of some kind of locking mechanism, as was that side of the table. They escorted Lawrence over to that particular seat, sat him down, then arranged his restraints so that he was securely bolted to both the chair and tabletop. Though he remained calm while the officers worked around him, it was clear Lawrence was watching them from the corner of his eye.
Before they stepped back, he asked, “Can I at least get my cigarette now or a coffee?”
“You want a coffee or something?” Brick asked the young man, ignoring Lawrence.
“Sure,” he said with a nod, then pulled out the chair opposite Lawrence and sat, placing the binder and tablet he held under one arm down.
“You have a total of three hours. Surveillance has their eye out and a guard will be posted outside the door. Knock on the window if you need assistance.”
With that, the officers departed. Once they were gone, Lawrence settled back in his seat as far as his restraints would allow him and inclined his head. The young man across form him ignored the fact he was being looked down his nose at and flipped open the binder. It took him a moment to read down the printed page there. Then he switched on his tablet and used his finger to navigate the screen.
“I guess we should start with introductions,” the young man said and cleared his throat. His voice wavered with uncertainty. “My name is Rhys. And what should I call you? Do you prefer Mr. Lawrence or Jo—”
“Call me Jack,” the other man was quick to answer.
“Jack, sure thing. Full disclosure, Jack. I’m a graduate student from The Opportunity University of Criminal Psychology conducting research for a dissertation on modern prison reformation. When you were incarcerated, you signed a form consenting to cooperation with any research and documentation, including private interviews and assessments.”
“Yeah, figured it might break up the monotony once in awhile. Didn’t think anything would ever actually come of it.” There was a curt, breathless laugh from Jack. “Ain’t like that’s the main thing on your mind when you’re being sentenced.”
With a nod, Rhys pulled something from the binder and set it in the middle of the table.
“This is a copy of that form. I just need verbal acknowledgment that that’s your signature on there and that you consent to today’s session.”
“And if I say otherwise?”
“Then you go back to your cell without consequence and I’m assigned to another eligible inmate. Simple.”
For a long while, Jack didn’t move or speak. Chains rattled when he finally shifted forward.
“Alright. You have my acknowledgment and consent, kiddo.”
“Please don’t call me that.”
“’Kay, cupcake.”
Lips parted, Rhys looked about ready to say something. Then the door opened and Mordecai stepped in carrying two styrofoam cups. The one with steam wafting off the top was placed next to Rhys. He noticed the one given to Jack looked a lot colder and was pitch black. When Jack saw it, he snorted, but took a long gulp anyway. Which was awkward for him, since he had limited movement of his hands and had to lean his head down further to get at it.
“Johnathan Lawrence,” Rhys said after taking a sip of his own coffee. He flipped a page in the binder. “Goes by the alias Handsome Jack. Born in the Tantalus region. Forty years old. Convicted two years ago for various crimes against humanity, black market commerce, unethical genetic practices, and the murder of your wife and child. Sentenced to death by electrocution. Later downgraded to lifetime imprisonment because of the prison reformation act of greater Pandora. Is that the right info here?”
“Sure. I mean, ‘cept that last bit. About the murders. Guilty as charged for the rest of it, but I never fucking laid a hand on my family.”
“Yet…the jury voted unanimously that you were guilty and you were sentenced by the sitting judge for it?” Rhys read off the page.
“Of course it says that. How else would I be here with you right now? Doesn’t make it the real deal. The judge was just a flaccid dick looking to get off on pulling the biggest conviction of his lifetime. Never had a taste of having the infamous in his clutches before, if you get me. And if you don’t, that means he was shit at his job.” Shifting in his seat, Jack leaned forward across the table as much as his chains would allow him. “Tell me, does it make any sense to you that I’d sit here flapping my jaw about how I committed a bunch of bullshit crimes, then swear up and down that I didn’t do my family in?”
The corner of Rhys’s lip twitched. His gaze shifted downward, avoiding Jack’s.
“I honestly don’t know yet. I’ll make that call when I’ve gotten to know you better.”
A flash of teeth from Jack.
“I can kind of respect that. More than just a pretty face, aren’tcha?”
Slowly, Rhys looked up. He met Jack’s gaze, but broke the eye contact almost immediately. A hesitant laugh trickled from his lips.
“Mr. Lawrence—”
“Just Jack.”
“Jack,” Rhys repeated and took a long sip of his coffee. His head jerked as scalding liquid burned his tongue and he made a small whimper of distress.
There was no mistaking the amusement etched on Jack’s face at the incident, or the sadistic light that sparked in his eyes as it all unfurled. Though if Rhys hadn’t known what to expect from a man such as the one before him, he might have missed the subtle cue that Jack had no sympathy for his plight. The moment began a narrative in Rhys’s head, one that was starting to paint a picture in broad strokes. Rhys would have to keep his attention focused to pick up on more clues that would piece together the puzzle of the Handsome Jack persona.
Clucking his tongue against the roof of his mouth to alleviate the discomfort, Rhys thumbed a tab in his binder open, raking his eyes down the two page spread.
“Would you like to tell me a little bit about yourself?” Rhys asked, glancing up. He flipped on the screen to his tablet, which had gone to sleep, and removed the stylus from its built-in holder. “In your own words and not some legal file clerk’s, I mean.”
“That is a very expensive pen you’ve got there, Rhys,” Jack observed.
For a moment, Rhys was puzzled. Then he patted his breast pocket as if in realization.
“Oh, this?” Rhys hummed and removed the thick black and gold monogrammed writing instrument, considering it. “It was a gift.”
“Yeah, from who?” Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Looks a lot like the one the warden uses.”
“Uh, I think we should keep this conversation solely about you.”
“Just curious, is all.”
“It was left to me by my mother when she died, if it’s really eating you,” Rhys said with some hesitation, shrugging. “You’ve probably never heard of her if you were from Tantalus.”
“Originally. But my legacy was built right smack on Pandoran shores. I haven’t set foot on home soil since I was a sucky-ass teenager during Dahl’s military occupation.”
“Then you might recognize the name Gwenyth Alys Strongfork after all.”
Jerking forward, Jack seemed suddenly more invested in the conversation. He bent down to sip from his coffee cup, hunching like an animal trapped in a cage that was too small for him.
“Your mom was the DA of Greater Pandora? No fucking shit. And she left you a pen?”
“Could we maybe get back to the topic? Our time is limited as it is.”
“Right, right. It’s just that I never even knew Alys had a family. Would have made for some great leverage back in the day. Come to think…you ever have questions about your parentage? I mean, your dad, particularly.” At the quizzical look Rhys unleashed on him, Jack curled his upper lip. He sucked in air and spittle. “You might want to look into any future gut feelings, considering it was my dick your mother was riding every weekend.”
The sound of Rhys taking a huge gulping breath filled the room, his chest expanding as his lungs were full to capacity. Furiously, the back end of his pen teetered up and down, the thickest part thumping hard against his tablet, making a noticeable racket. As he exhaled, he finally took notice of his own nervous gesture, letting the pen fall and placing his palm over it to keep his body from betraying him again.
“Tha…that’s just impossible,” he insisted, gulping down on the urge to raise his voice. “You would’ve only been sixteen when I was born. And you said it yourself. You were still in Tantalus territory back then.”
“So, maybe you can call my bluff about being your daddy.” With a toss of his head, Jack managed to brush off a few stray hairs from his brow. A hoarse chuckle seeped out of him like a noxious gas. “Doesn’t mean I’m entirely lying about having boned your mom once upon a time. God, that woman had just the sweetest ass. Probably the best Pandoran ass I ever had. You have no idea how many influential and powerful people in Greater Pandora I’ve taken back to my bed and absolutely ravaged. I don’t think you have even an inkling of what it actually means that I’m the Handsome fucking Jack. Or even that if I wasn’t locked up by these savages and chained to this chair, you’d either be dead or on your knees worshiping my dick right now.”
At the last bit, Jack’s chuckle picked up again, coming on in spurts. It bloomed quickly into full-on laughter, occupying the space between them as if it were a living entity. Rhys drew his chair back and stood. He lapsed into a long silence as he regarded Jack opposite him. The man didn’t look back at him. Instead, he slurped at his coffee, shifting in his seat as if his chains would miraculously melt alway. Eventually, Rhys turned on his heel, crossing over to the only door in the room. Fingers rapped against the glass panel there. Brick opened the door a crack for Rhys to speak to him.
“That’s going to be it for today,” Rhys said in a deadpan.
Brick nodded. The door creaked open wider. Rhys didn’t wait for clearance. He slipped out into the hallway, squeezing clumsily past the correctional officer. There he clenched his fists, shutting his eyes, startling when someone touched him lightly on the shoulder. It was Mordecai.
“That was longer than most people last with Lawrence,” the officer commented. “How did the first session go?”
“Please, you can take me back to the warden, now,” Rhys said, looking pale as he opened his eyes. “I think I’m going to be sick.”