After such positive reactions from this story (I'm looking at you, I'mWishingForAStarRod!) I've decided to return to it. First of all, to get my muse going, I'm reediting this first chapters (which needed some work). It's undergone some changes so it'll be good if you reread it! I'll be working on this over the Christmas Holidays!

PB sat in his darkened room, typewriter under his hands, typing away his story on the well-worn keys. Now the Secret Series, as he liked to call it, was over, his long and arduous story finally told (though not necessarily with all of the more dangerous details…) he had decided to try his hand at some real fiction. He had an audience now, so it couldn't hurt…

He cast a glance at the bar of chocolate by his side and a cold cup of tea beside it, tempted to sink his teeth into the new bar.
The street below was barley visible through the thick grime of the windows, the sound of cars driving along the road outside just audible through the thick stone of the abandoned house he had called home for a good couple of years now.

His study was filled with books, many dusty and dogeared from many years of neglect and attention. These books were his most prized possessions, many containing riddles and complicated plots, some of them his.
He knew the risks he had taken writing these books, publishing them, even under a pseudonym. He knew someone could trace him, even through the maze of pseudonyms, fake credit accounts and addresses, and take him away.
He had become a recluse over the years, often paying children who lived along the street to get his groceries… for a small bribe of course.
As he had continued to write his stories, he became more and more nervous; every hooded person became an assassin, every man standing in shadow becoming an associate of the Midnight Sun, out for a long awaited revenge…

However, today he was uncharacteristically relaxed. He had seen no one who set him in edge for days; he had even braved a leisurely stroll down the street for more chocolate, hat pulled over his face of course, but it was better than wearing that balaclava.
He stopped writing for a moment, giving into his chocolaty desires, unwrapping the silver foil taking a bite of chocolate and relaxing in his chair. He let his guard down.

That was his first mistake.

And in this life he led, one mistake is your last.

All of a sudden, a pile of books tipped over behind him as a group of three masked men charged out from their hiding place behind the bookcase, shouting and brandishing guns and wearing balaclavas.
He had no time to react, to cry out, before he felt a hand holding a damp cloth to his face. Not that anyone would have heard him anyway. He spluttered for clean air, but he had no choice but to breathe in. As the chloroform took hold he struggled less and less, finally falling unconscious into the men's arms on one final, panicked thought:

They've found me.

He awoke in a dark room, sitting in a chair. For a moment he thought he was still in his study, but this place didn't smell right. His study smelled of musty books, ink and chocolate. This room smelled of disinfectant; the air holding a tang left only when a room is cleaned routinely every single day.
He stood up, taking a step into the darkness
"Hello?" He called
"Hello Max-Earnest" A voice echoed through the darkness "Or should I call you, Pseudonymous Bosch?"
"Neither of those is my true name."
"Indeed, Pseudonymous... But your name does not interest me…" The voice continued.
"T-then what is?" PB asked, biting back fear.
The lights suddenly turned on, blinding PB for a few seconds. As his vision settled, with a few startled blinks, he saw who was addressing him. Not that he hadn't known.
He had recognized the voice well. The one character he never spoke of in his stories, the one he was truly scared of, the one who had haunted his dreams and hunted him down like he had so many others.

"Your books have been very informative, you know..." The man drawled, walking towards PB, who backed away until he felt the wood of the chair pressing on the inside of his knees "You've been very faithful to the truth. You've even revealed the secret to us..."
"If you think that is the secret then you're a bigger fool than I thought..." PB muttered defensively
"As I suspected..." The man smirked "Why reveal the secret in a book where anyone can read it?"
"You desire the secret?" PB snapped. He knew all to well these man's games, not that he would ever give it away.
"No."
This answer hit him like a punch to the gut.
"What?" PB blanched
"I have no need for you to tell me the secret." The man told him with an amused look "Because I know you would rather die than tell me. But I have another way to find out. Another piece of information you hold in that secretive little brain of yours."
"What do you want?" PB asked, not wanting the answer. He already knew.
"Oh something small. It's really nothing…" The man drawled "I just want you to tell me one thing…"
"What is it?" PB snapped again, the tension tearing his soul in two.
The man smirked in amusement at his discomfort.
"Where they are hiding."