Hey I reposted this cause I wanted to add some stuff and clear up a couple
of things
Disclaimer: I own NO ONE! I wish I did and I wish I was making money off of this but hey I'm not I admit it alright!
Prologue:
Sark crept to the front of the house. Clad in a black turtle neck, black pants and a black ski mask, he was nearly invisible. He expertly picked the lock to the door. Pushing it open, he froze as it creaked. His ears strained for any sound of movement from inside. To his relief he heard only the sound of a fan coming form the bedroom.
He stole into bedroom. Looking down at the victim he was almost sorry about what he had to do. Taking a deep breath he pulled out his gun and shot the person in the chest. The person's eyes shot open and they struggled to get up from the bed and make their way over to him. Sark caught a glimpse of the doomed figures eyes and knew that they recognized him. Sark felt himself freeze. Never had he been looked upon with such hatred. He had been disliked by several men but this, this just blew all their anger away. The person had gone only a few steps when they stopped.
He turned swiftly and left the room just as the person collapsed. He turned for one last look. There was the figure on the floor, unmoving, and unmistakably dead.
Chapter One:
Two months later:
Sark sat on the couch in his London flat. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself that the murder he had committed two months ago was just another thing that he had to do when you lived the kind of life that he did. Sure he had killed countless times before and continued to kill afterwards.
But, he still kept revisiting that night. And each time he saw the bloody corpse on the floor. He asked himself why? Why did he have to kill her when she was sleeping? Any decent man would have given their victim's a chance to defend themselves.
But he was not decent. That death haunted him. He would wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, screaming his head off. But he didn't let anyone know of his problem. Mr. Sark did not have nightmares. Nor did he dwell on death. He had seen enough death to learn to make it not affect him.
Sark fell into a fitful sleep. In his sleep he cried out the name that had haunted him for months "Sydney!"
In LA:
It was one in the morning. Mr. Lionel Luther was waiting for his contact, who had conveniently chosen not to reveal their name. The green mini-van pulled up next to Lionel's Ford. The windows of both cars simultaneously rolled down. The contact could get a clear view of Lionel's face. He was in his late forties with graying hair. However Lionel could only make out the outline of the person in the car.
"Do you have the information?"
Lionel nodded "Yes it is right here." He passed over an envelope.
"Good I give you many thanks."
"I must warn you about what you are doing," Lionel began
His contact looked at him, "Really?"
"Yes. Every agent that has fought Mr. Sark had died."
"Well, Mr. Sark had not met Sydney Bristow."
Syd drove away scanning the files. Sark was in London. So she was headed for London too.
Disclaimer: I own NO ONE! I wish I did and I wish I was making money off of this but hey I'm not I admit it alright!
Prologue:
Sark crept to the front of the house. Clad in a black turtle neck, black pants and a black ski mask, he was nearly invisible. He expertly picked the lock to the door. Pushing it open, he froze as it creaked. His ears strained for any sound of movement from inside. To his relief he heard only the sound of a fan coming form the bedroom.
He stole into bedroom. Looking down at the victim he was almost sorry about what he had to do. Taking a deep breath he pulled out his gun and shot the person in the chest. The person's eyes shot open and they struggled to get up from the bed and make their way over to him. Sark caught a glimpse of the doomed figures eyes and knew that they recognized him. Sark felt himself freeze. Never had he been looked upon with such hatred. He had been disliked by several men but this, this just blew all their anger away. The person had gone only a few steps when they stopped.
He turned swiftly and left the room just as the person collapsed. He turned for one last look. There was the figure on the floor, unmoving, and unmistakably dead.
Chapter One:
Two months later:
Sark sat on the couch in his London flat. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself that the murder he had committed two months ago was just another thing that he had to do when you lived the kind of life that he did. Sure he had killed countless times before and continued to kill afterwards.
But, he still kept revisiting that night. And each time he saw the bloody corpse on the floor. He asked himself why? Why did he have to kill her when she was sleeping? Any decent man would have given their victim's a chance to defend themselves.
But he was not decent. That death haunted him. He would wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, screaming his head off. But he didn't let anyone know of his problem. Mr. Sark did not have nightmares. Nor did he dwell on death. He had seen enough death to learn to make it not affect him.
Sark fell into a fitful sleep. In his sleep he cried out the name that had haunted him for months "Sydney!"
In LA:
It was one in the morning. Mr. Lionel Luther was waiting for his contact, who had conveniently chosen not to reveal their name. The green mini-van pulled up next to Lionel's Ford. The windows of both cars simultaneously rolled down. The contact could get a clear view of Lionel's face. He was in his late forties with graying hair. However Lionel could only make out the outline of the person in the car.
"Do you have the information?"
Lionel nodded "Yes it is right here." He passed over an envelope.
"Good I give you many thanks."
"I must warn you about what you are doing," Lionel began
His contact looked at him, "Really?"
"Yes. Every agent that has fought Mr. Sark had died."
"Well, Mr. Sark had not met Sydney Bristow."
Syd drove away scanning the files. Sark was in London. So she was headed for London too.