The warehouse looked ordinary enough from the outside but the Consulting Criminal knew it was anything but as he found himself entering and making his way to where his father had told him to meet him, his men and a special guest. As he followed the directions he was given, London took notice of the long wall of windows along his journey, they only allowed brief glimpses of the neighboring buildings, as most of the windows were still covered with light blue protective foil, which had only come away in a few spots. It gave the space a feeling of being underwater.

How poetic. His father always did like the dramatic.

But London really wasn't paying attention to that. His entire focus was on the man tied to a chair in the middle of the room, he knew him. It was Charlie. A so called "contract killer" but at the moment he looked anything but that. His face bearing clear signs of having been beaten. Four of Carlton's 'Men in Black' stood in a circle around him. Carlton himself stood slightly to one side and nodded respectfully to his son. All of the men were armed and broad-shouldered, which only made Charlie look even more pathetic on his chair.

"Charlie, Charlie, Charlie," Carlton said, clicking his tongue in disappointment. "What have you done?"

"I haven't done anything!" Charlie rasped hoarsely and coughed. A bloody string of saliva hung from his lip. "Nothing!" he then said, louder and clearer.

London listened attentively, chewing on the inside of his cheek, and looked out the windows. It was one thing to be here with his father but it was another entirely to be here with his father and knowing the role he was going to have to play for him. Just like the puppet his father always wanted him to be.

"I'd really like to believe you," Carlton replied, his tone filled with sympathy. "But certain pictures and several classified and highly secret documents were found at your residence by some of my men. All said pieces of property belong to myself."

"I'm sorry." Charlie said in an attempt at honesty. "Please, you have to believe me. I... " 

Carlton inhaled loudly. His mouth became a hard, thin line. He snapped his head around toward Charlie like a cobra, making him start and flinch.

"Story hour's over, Charlie." Carlton said, his tone icy. A tone London knew all too well. Lord knows it was directed at him often enough in the past. "I don't have time for this."

Charlie fell silent, sank his eyes and shook his head.

"I'm afraid I haven't expressed myself clearly enough." Carlton remarked coldly. "If you're a very good boy and give me an answer right now, you may not leave here on your own two feet... but at least you'll have a chance of using your legs again in a year or so."

The prisoner's shoulders began to shake. It was clear to everyone that Charlie was crying.

"For God's sake!" London cried out in disgust from his position near one of the windows away from everyone else. "A crybaby. A contract killer who's a crybaby... what's the world coming to?"

The other men laughed, and Carlton turned to his son, a brief flash of pride on his face.

London walked over to his father and his men. Then set his sights back to Charlie, bent over to the chair, grabbed Charlie by the hair and pulled his head back. "My God, Charlie," London said, his disdain clear. "Pull yourself together and at least act as if you were a man."

Charlie sniffled. "It wasn't me, I swear!"

"If I had a penny for every time..." London muttered half to himself, then pulled his arm back without any warning and slammed his fist into Charlie's face. Charlie howled and tried to twist out of London's grip, but the Consulting Criminal held on relentlessly. "Don't make such a fuss," he spat. "I didn't even touch your nose. Your cheekbone, on the other hand... that might well be broken. And I could still break your jaw... wouldn't be a problem," he remarked cheerfully. "But that would make it pretty hard for you to tell us who may or may not have set you up, wouldn't it?"

"Yeah." Charlie sobbed.

Carlton grinned, pleased. "So we're in agreement. Charming. London, please stand down a moment." London let go of Charlie's hair. A relieved intake of breath sounded from Charlie. Carlton spoke once more. "Good. Now let's try and think of something that won't impede your powers of speech. "

Carlton looked Charlie over with a impassive eye. Charlie stared back, his eyes wide with fear. Carlton's smile was cold. Carlton started to walk in a small circle around the chair. Charlie's eyes followed him  as well as they could  as if he were hypnotized. "London? Do you have any suggestions in regards to our guest?"

London rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet and clasped his hands behind his back. "Toes, feet, shins, knees … Good idea... kneecaps are so prone to injury... Abdomen? No... bleeds too heavily. Always makes such a mess... Fingernails... anyone have some pliers? No? Shame... really too bad... and rather negligent of you. Then the fingers... wrists... arms... shoulders... yes...That's pretty much everything."

Charlie whimpered and Carlton looked the prisoner over dispassionately before his gaze slid over to his men.

"I hope you brought something else along instead of the pliers..." he said meaningfully. The men scrambled to present their tools. Carlton and London's eyes scanned the proffered objects - which Charlie couldn't see, as the men were outside his field of vision.

"Brass knuckles, baseball bat, Tyre iron? A little old-fashioned. I actually happen to have just the thing. London, my jacket."

London walked over to his father and Carlton slipped out of his jacket. Underneath it, he was wearing only a black t-shirt on account of the summery conditions, along with the shoulder holster and his handgun. His eyes remained fixed on Charlie, who paled even further in his bonds. Without looking away, he handed his jacket to London, who draped it over his arm and stepped back again. Then Carlton held out his arm, and the one-meter long, rounded iron bar was promptly delivered into his waiting hand. His fingers closed around the cool metal.

"All right, Charlie. Last chance," Carlton said, his voice cold and his grin at its widest and most dangerous. He now held the rod with both hands.

Charlie couldn't do anything other than bawl snot and tears, stammering protests of his innocence and flopping about so wildly that the chair threatened to tip over.

"Hold the chair." Carlton barked out and waited until his order was carried out by two of the men.

He hefted the iron bar briefly in his hand, lifted it over his shoulder, stood on one side of Charlie, gauged the distance, and swung.

The dull thud of metal on cloth and flesh was followed by the nauseating, grinding sound of breaking bones. Charlie screamed in pain and London knew that his brain was registering all the impulses and understood that one of his knees had just been destroyed. He would not be walking out of his current situation or properly for the rest of his life, which if Carlton had his way, could end at any moment.

London watched him and waited - the iron bar resting casually against his father's shoulder, until the screams diminished into muted sobs before he addressed Charlie again.

"Okay, Charlie," he said, his tone not unfriendly. "Have you thought of anything now that you might like to share with us, or... do I need to jog your memory again?" Charlie lifted his head. His face bore an expression of pain and pure desperation.

Charlie, as best as he could, turned in London's direction and all but screamed at him. "Why? I kept my end of the deal! I did everything you wanted! Why are you doing this to me? We never said anything about this! You said you'd help me! You promised!"

The moment the sound of the words died away in the empty, stuffy room, all eyes turned to London in surprise. The Consulting Criminal stood there numbly and stared at Charlie. He suddenly had the feeling the dusty concrete floor underneath his feet had turned into treacherous quicksand and he was going to drown.

Charlie sniffled and swallowed, struggling to regain control. "God dammit, Carlton. It's all that freak show, you call your son over there, it's HIS fault! He..."

Before anyone, especially Charlie, could process what was happening, with a lightning quick reaction Carlton had reached into his holster and in one equally lightning quick and smooth movement fired with a deadly accuracy.

Charlie never had the chance to see the shot that took him down. Carlton wasted no time and barked an order to remove Charlie's now lifeless body from his presence as he re-holstered his gun and turned to face his son.

Who did he believe?