The director slid his glasses onto his face when he exited the elevator cart. The multitude of guards let him pass without stopping him. It was the same team which had brought Rossen in. He knew they must be exhausted, both mentally and physically. Before he had came down to the main holding floor, he had asked Clark how many men Rossen had been able to kill before being subdued. The barely concealed anger and ancient solemnity that etched itself into Clark’s face had been answer enough.

Ezra stopped wearing a hole through the platform, and the director felt his eyes burn into him. He hurried up the stairs to be level with the prisoner in his bird cage. He stayed behind the painted, white line, three feet from the bars as per regulation. The distance he kept seemed to amuse Ezra.

“You must be the director of security.” Ezra broke the silence first while the director noticed that the medical team had chosen to leave Rossen’s distinctive trio of necklaces around his neck. Word must have spread about what happened to the man who attempted to steal a souvenir. Some fool in South Africa had been left without his hands last he heard.

“A good guess,” He said, sliding a hand into his pant’s pocket.

There was a smugness in Erza’s demeanor that the director didn't care for at all. “I can assure you I never guess,” He replied smoothly.

Ezra Rossen, at not even thirty-five, looked spectacularly young to be accused of all the red in his dossier. The man behind the iron bars could be considered a renaissance man. He dabbled in a bit of everything. Torture. Murder. Trafficking. Criminal evasion. He could do it all as they said, a purely terrifying thought.

The director retrieved the burner phone from his pocket, holding it out in his palm. “You get one phone call, Rossen.” He said slowly. “One.”

With watchful eyes, Ezra regarded the director carefully as he placed the phone on the concrete floor. The director kicked the device, sliding it underneath the bars. Ezra crouched down to pick it up before quickly righting himself. His fingers wrapped around the old flip phone, not moving to use it. For all the chaos that he created, the director had never encountered a more calculative man. Every action was measured, every word spoken held triple meanings while every thought was always ten steps of everyone else.

Ezra glanced away from the phone to the old man outside the bars. Much to his dead father's revulsion, Ezra had always harbored a deep fascination for people. What made them act as they did, dress as they chose to; how they would respond to the correct amount of pressure. Truly, people were his business and his favored pastime. His eyes remained on the director, and he ardently wondered how this man in particular would respond to the correct amount of prompting.

“Could you spare a bit of privacy?” Ezra asked after a long beat of silence.

With the expression Rossen wore paired with the audacious request, the director quickly realized he was being mocked. He shifted in place, irritated. Privacy in such a guarded and monitored facility was laughable, but the insane request would get him away from Rossen for a short while.

“Fine.” The director gritted his teeth. He turned, striding toward the lift. “One phone call. Make it count,”

Ezra chuckled, sending a chill down the young guard's spine. “I did love our chat,” Ezra called after the director as the man stepped inside the cart. “We'll do it again sometime,” He informed happily, and the doors slid shut.

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Dun dun Ddduuuuhhhhh!!! Surprise, everyone! I hope I'm doing this character justice, especially since I love him so❤❤

Thanks for reading!

Xoxo,
Adeline

To TheEuphoricWriter ❤❤❤