Prologue
Author note: spoilers for 02x16: You Think You Know Someone. Pretty much the entire episode. And I am using dialogue from the episode. This story is the sixteenth in the Magical Flashpoint series. It follows "Catch Me When I Fall".
Although all original characters belong to me, I do not own Flashpoint, Harry Potter, Narnia, or Merlin.
The building had once been a busy, bustling factory, but those days were long behind it. Though it only had three floors, it loomed four stories up and had a stepped construction, the roof area decreasing with each floor. The windows were intact, despite the many years since the factory had last been in business and the building's external vents could still be seen. On the top of the building, the massive air conditioners that had once kept the building climate controlled still lurked, rusty and disused. Behind the factory, its once impressive smokestack rose, still large and wide, even these many years later.
In the chipped and decrepit parking lot, a group of black, gleaming trucks were parked, their occupants scattering in all directions, following the orders of the tallest, a blue-eyed bald man with a severe look. "Fan out," he ordered. "And talk to me."
Inside the factory, in a room where the hiss of gas escaping could be heard, the hiss overlaid by the ominous ticking of a clock, a stocky man was tied to a table. He wore civilian clothing, tan pants, a faded blue, button up shirt, and boots, and blood dripped from several areas on his head and face. The most prominent was an injury to the back of his head, but the cuts on his face shone wetly in the room's feeble light and, if he survived, he would certainly be sporting a black eye in the morning. He struggled fruitlessly against his bonds, trying desperately to survive, to get loose. His team was here, he knew it; knew that at any second, the trap he was caught in might explode and take his team, his friends with it.
The broad-shouldered cop ran along his tan-skinned colleague's side, the two of them hurrying to reach their designated wall. Over the radio, a crisp, "We need an entrance, people," came from their bald leader.
The two stopped, discouragement running through them as they surveyed the wall. "Every window on green wall's secure. Bars and grates," the brunet reported.
The team female sounded off, voice even despite the fact that she was running. "Same on red. We're on black wall now."
The stocky man strained harder, but the gas filling the room was getting to him. He felt himself slump sideways, consciousness fading despite his best efforts. He coughed weakly, trying to clear his lungs, but the fumes were relentless. In the background, the gas hissed and the black timer on the nearby table continued its countdown.
The two snipers, blond and bald, found a door on their wall; blond tried it immediately as bald called, "Same on white."
Blond looked up, grim. "The only way we're getting in there is with a cutting torch."
"Come on, people, we got to get in here," the bald man snapped.
The bound man was completely slumped now, consciousness gone as he sprawled against the table that held him secure. Not even the ticking of the crude detonator could rouse him as it ruthlessly ticked down towards zero.