Hey guys! It's Ellie herrrrrrrrrrr!
So, guess what guys. NEW STORY!
Okay not really.
This actually should have been posted as Chapter Five in "Once Upon a Time".
I know right, total buzz kill.
But I was getting frustrated with the fact that the 'backwards-forwards-in-a-loop-de-loop' plot was overtaking it considering the Chapters Three and Four had absolutely nothing to do with Loki.
Like none.
And that wasn't fair.
And I do NOT want a repeat of "One Hundred Days" where literally the story goes nowhere.
So I started thinking. Like Winnie the Pooh I went to my Thinking Spot. Then DING.
HOW ABOUT I MAKE THIS its OWN LITTLE MINI/ SIDE STORY!
After it's finished I can hop back over to Once Upon a Time (hoping you had read this) and tie up the loose ends AND GET BACK TO ASGARD!
But first things first. We need to know what and how Char and her team pull 'this thing' off.
Hence. Tada.
How does that sound? Sound good. Awesome. Please enjoy. It's about time you guys had a fresh story :D
Chapter One: Meeting Mr. Klein
Date: December twenty-fifth.
Time: 12:00 P.M.
Event: First Annual Christmas Presentation Ceremony
Remaining hours until event: 5.45 hours
Remaining hours until unveiling: 6.45 hours
First Objective: Bait.
The man entered the elevator and pushed the up button. Before the door could close, other people filed in behind him—more like piled—almost as if they were as eager as he was to reach his floor. It seemed to take forever as the man watched the LED numbers on the little screen above the door change. Lobby, 1,2,3,4… People exited and entered here and there, more and more as the numbers went on. But by the time he reached the tenth floor, he was the only passenger.
The silver doors eased open and the man stepped out of the elevator. Though there was no one around, he felt a constriction around his neck and he adjusted his tie and cleared his throat. He looked at his watch, the Specktra VII by Vertura—a very expensive digital timepiece.
12:01 P.M.
Fashionably late, he thought.
He strode down the hallway and passed each door with increasing expectation. Room 1095…Room 1097…Room 1099…
He stopped.
Room 1111.
On a large metal nameplate bolted next to the door read "Robort Wun: Head Technology Consultant". Underneath in a compressed blue font, "O.N.E. Industries United States~United Kingdom~Canada~Singapore".
The man exhaled.
The door was closed, uninviting.
He, coincidently, had the strange urge to knock, charged with the subconscious idea that he needed permission to gain access – He felt silly at the very thought. So, with a roll of his eyes, he turned the handle and entered the room. The room where he would soon make the biggest mistake of his life.
Surprisingly enough, it was not your average office. It was as if someone took a living room, a kitchen, and a board room and shoved the four walls in on each other, scooting all of the furniture together to occupy a small, two-hundred square foot space. To his left was a dark brown leather sofa with brightly coloured throw pillows. Next to the couch was a red mini-refrigerator. On the far wall, between two windows looking out into the city, was a flat screen television. Just before it was a very, very white elliptical shaped desk. Three black chairs sat as tangents to the desk.
Seated in two of the chairs facing the door, were two men. Two men, with beards, which was odd considering that they appeared to be relatively young. They didn't stand as he approached the desk. No "hello"s, no handshakes. They both were donned in black suits. One of the men was white and lean, the other was black, and though he was dressed formally, he could tell he was quite muscular.
Both of their faces were solid as stone.
The man's eyes shifted back and forth uncomfortably.
Suddenly the white man, who was on the left, peered up at him with bright blue eyes and cracked an alarmed smile, as if he had just noticed someone had entered the room.
He gestured at the chair across from him and said with a hint of some sort of Asian accent, "Please. Have a seat."
Relieved, the man did so.
The man, situated in his chair, grew a bit relaxed despite the anxiousness that brewed in his head, for the chair was quite comfortable.
The white man (then again, it was a great possibility that he was Chinese) spoke. "Would you lie a drink?"
The 'k' sound in 'like' vanished from the accent in his voice.
Before the man could reply, he continued, "Spry? Coh?" He paused before adding, "Sohny Dee?"
The man's eyes widened until he realized that he had been asked whether he wanted Sprite, Coke, or Sunny D. It was a rather arbitrary choice of beverages. He furrowed his brow. "Uh…no thank you."
"You shoo?"
"No. I mean, yes."
The Asian man nodded. "Sorry I couldn't offer you anything else. I don't believe in the consumption of owcohoe."
The man said, partially out of curiosity and partially out of sheer nervousness, "Are you a Muslim?"
The Asian man opened his mouth for a brief moment then closed it, as if he had to think about it first. The man stood, carefully, and walked over to the window behind him. He clasped his hand behind his back, "I do not belong to the Islamic faith. No. No."
He shook his head, "But I do know that liquor ruins the mind."
He turned back, "And it would be a shame to damage one's mind simply to satisfy thirst."
He grinned, displaying two rows of perfect, white teeth. "Especially estravagen minds like ours."
The man, with newfound puzzlement, mouthed the word, "Ours?"
"Allow me to introduce myself," The white-but-could-be-Chinese-man bowed slightly, "My name is Robort Wun."
He gestured his hand towards the dark-skinned man. "This is Herbert Brookings, my assistant."
The black man nodded accordingly. The man nodded back. He had neither met nor seen these men before in his life.
"The reason, my friend, you do not know my name is the same reason that nobody knows your name."
Wun gave a warm smile. His eyes were a gentle blue. Kind, soft, forgiving like a father's. "We have something in common."
The man, up to this point had been leery. He had had to reschedule three different appointments just to have the time slot to have been able to sneak there. This meeting was very sudden, mysterious. He was determined to find out the meaning of the correspondence he had received. He was not willing to play the subtleness game.
"In the email you mentioned NOLU," said the man with a serious look in his eye, "I want to know how you know about NOLU and I want know what it is I am doing here."
Mr. Wun nodded without giving way to the patient air he had about him, not at all deterred by this forward approach.
"That is a direct question, Misser Klein. Therefore, it deserves a direct answer. I know everything."
Mr. Klein raised his brow, surprised. "That is a grand claim to make."
"Ah, but it is true. Man considers himself before others; therefore his attention is focused around himself."
, glanced upwards, "I know who you are, and so, in that case I know everything. About you that is. "
"Is that so?" Mr. Klein crossed his arms, challengingly. "Tell me who I am."
Target #1: Brendan Klein
Age: Twenty-six
Profession: The ex-vice-president of Waulcom Incorpated.
Synopsis: Waulcom specializes in the marketing of digital wireless products and telecommunications services. Because of the demand for high-speed cellular networks, earnings flourished for a period of years until facing ongoing patent disputes.
Exploitation: As a technology engineer, Klein worked for five years on the advancement NOLU short-wave transmission chip in attempt to convince his father, the CEO, that he was serious business and to potentially change the focus of the company. Lone behold, Tony Stark had expressed interest in such an innovation and established a contract for partial ownership in exchange for his development expertise. After a disagreement, this arrangement was terminated. Within the week of the disbanding, Klein caught news of a "cutting-edge" discovery in technology recently publicized. Stark had taken a copy of the prototype and had begun working on it on his own. Stark had instantly become the ace of the cellular world. NOLU is now being utilized inside of higher-end cell phones and some tablet computers, trademarked by Stark industries. Klein is now on temporary suspension after costing the company several millions in wasted resources.
Con Difficulty: Easy
smirked, his azure eyes sparkled, Mr. Klein caught it.
Mr. Wun, cleared his throat and wiped the smile from his face. "That would pointless." he said waving his hand dismissively.
This man claimed to know everything about him. Mr. Klein was skeptical.
"Quod erat demonstrandum," said Mr. Klein, "You did not demonstrate, therefore it is not proven."
"The ancient Greek and Romans are dead, Misser Klein."Mr. Wun said in a surprisingly sharp tone, until he swiftly regained his tranquil demeanor. He began to pace. "If there's anything that common folk of this world must learn from reality of politics is that the intelligent and the powerful need not always explain themselves."
Mr. Klein was silent.
"Because of one's greatness and mightiness and authority," at that moment he stopped pacing and halted in the centre of the room. He said softly, yet boldly. "The weak and feeble and helpless learn not to question. They accept. This is what we are told. But you are not feeble…"
Mr. Wun spun on his heels at such a rate, it almost made Mr. Klein jump. His face was deadly serious as he rattled out,
"Your name is Brendan Klein. You are twenty-six years old. You were arrested once as a minor for fraud when your father bailed you out. You are single. You have three dogs. Your favourite colour is red. And have been robbed by the richest man in Manhattan with not a single slice of circumstantial evidence just like me. And you are angry."
He paused to smile, "Just like me."
A hush fell over the office. Mr. Klein was amazed by the man's confidence yet pastoral disposition. His poise and tenacity. He liked it.
could feel that he was gaining his respect and admiration. He was slowly drawing him in with a trail of breadcrumbs.
But then it disappeared.
"You could have just run a background check on me." then paused as he thought about the dog and favourite colour thing, "And...went on my Facebook page."
tilted his head on the side, "Do bagroww checks say that you are having a rather objectionable relationship with Ms. Collins? From H.R.?"
Mr. Klein's grew as large as softballs. He swallowed sharply.
"Floor eight. Cubicle nineteen." Mr. Wun said with a smirk.
Mr. Klein fidgeted and adjusted his tie and cleared his throat uncomfortably.
"Alright. What do you want?"
Mr. Klein grinned, that ever-present glimmer returning to his eyes. "I am here to help you, Misser Klein. I am here for revenge."
took up pacing again. only just now noticed that he wore a gold ring on his finger with a ruby in the center.
"Stark didn't just take five years of your life away."
Mr. Klein re-ran that catastrophic day through his mind. His lips pressed together in tight lines and his locked his jaws and looked away, eyes stapled to the ground in an intense stare.
"He took away your job, your credibility, your respect. That from your colleagues, the business world, and," he paused for dramatic effect, "your father."
Mr. Klein fastened him with his gaze.
"Darn it, Drake hurry it up in there, man! We've got a lot of work to do!"
Mr. Wun winced as if he had a sharp pain in his ear. He took up pacing again.
"Unfortunately, I do not have a time machine. I cannot reconfigure your past."
"No, but that would be so cool, though! Hey Mel, do you think you could make us a time machine for our next job?"
"No, Char, I can't make a time machine."
"I thought you could make anything."
"Yes. I can. Except for time machines."
"That's lame."
"You're lame."
"No, you're lamer, Mr. Captain of the Geek Squad."
"No, you are, Princess of the Oompa Loompa tribe."
"Hey!"
Mr. Brookings, undergoing notice of Mr. Klein, stuck a finger in ear and bringing a fist to his mouth, coughed loudly into his hand. A storm of feedback noise screamed into their ears.
"Ow!"—"Ow! What gives?!"
Mr. Klein looked at Brookings and Brooking excused himself. Stealthily, he stuck his finger back into his ear.
Mr. Wun withheld another wince, nodded semi-gratefully at Brookings, and continued.
"And I cannot proveye you with respect, for that must be earned."
"So, the only way to get him back—the only way to achieve this delicious vengeance that you so gratefully desire, is to take something from him that is as valuable to him as NOLU was to you."
Mr. Klein nodded, waiting to hear what he'd been wanting so desperately to hear. Unbeknownst to himself, his fingernails had dug into the arms of the chair in anticipation.
"Misser Klein." Mr. Wun's eyes dazzled brilliantly, his smile as wide as ever. "How would you like to own the infamous Mark VII.2?"
Mr. Klein appeared shocked and exploded into a fury of coughs. Once he settled himself, he said, "Excuse me?"
"I said, 'How would you like to own Iron Man's suit?'"
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