"Papa?" Matthew says as he enters the library. "Oui?" Francis replies as he looks up from his "research novel". "Can I hang out with Alfred and Heracles?" "Oui mon chèr but be back for dinner, d'accord?" "Thank you papa!" Matthew smiles. Francis smiles as his son runs out of the library, shutting the door behind him; though Francis still heard him yell, "Alfred!" Francis walked to his computer and settles down in front of it. "Where did I put that damn file?" he muttered under his breath. Francis heard rustling at the back of the room. "A book probably fell." He merely thought. He shrugged it off and continued looking for the file. His eyes darted around the screen, looking. "Found it!" he mentally exclaimed as he pulled it up on the screen. Francis was about to start typing when suddenly, someone grabbed him from behind and pressed a cloth to his face. "This smells odd, da?" The sickly sweet smell penetrated through Francis's nose. He could feel himself slipping from the chair and the cloth being brought away from his nose, the black cloud that had started to block his vision disappeared. Francis fell to his knees and gasped for breath before standing before standing and stepping a good distance away from the intruder. "Who are you?" he asked furiously. "Why are you trying to kidnap me?" He looked up to see a tall man who seemed much taller than himself, standing there in a grey trench coat and a lavender scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. A dark aura seemed to radiate off of him. "Mon dieu…" Francis muttered under his breath. "That's classified, comrade." The man said coolly. "Come with me quietly and I will not break that pretty face of yours." "Merde." Francis swore. "What if I refuse that offer?" "Then I bring you in by force." The man laughed. Francis winced at the thought, though he refused to leave his spot by the desk. 'Stand your ground!' a voice in his mind screamed. 'Go with him! You can't win this fight! Look how scary he looks.' Screamed another. "Come now. You don't want that precious little son of yours to get hurt, do you?" "H-how do you know about my son?" "That is not important comrade." The man had a thick Russian accent. "Now do you come? Or do I break bones?" Francis stayed stubbornly quiet. "Da, I see I'll have to take you in by force." He says, advancing towards the blond. Francis threw a nearby book at his newfound attacker on instinct. "It'll take more than that to take me down, Frenchie." Francis gritted his teeth. What was there to defend himself in a library? His eyes grew wide as the Russian pulled out a knife. The Frenchman panicked and threw another book. The man laughed at his feeble attempts to fend for himself. But the books put up enough of a fight to nearly cover the floor of the area. In few minutes, he had Francis pinned on the floor, tying his wrists with rope that he got from his coat pocket. Francis struggled only to have the man push down on him. "I wouldn't do that if I were you comrade." He childishly smiled. "Wh-what is your name?" the blond asked between shallow breaths. "Ivan." The man responded. "How do you know who I am? I want to know who sent you!" "Tough luck comrade." He said as he dragged him up off of the floor. Francis struggled even more. "Let me go." "Cannot do that comrade." "Aurgh!" Francis tried to free himself from the Russian's iron grasp. He sighed. "Will you be doing this all time?" he snapped. "I do not like it when people try to get away from me." "I-um…" Francis froze at the words. As his brain tried thinking up a response the Russian pulled out the cloth and soaked it in some unidentified liquid. "You moved here from France three years ago, da? With Matthew Williams your son?" "H-how do you know so much about me?" Francis asked, noticing the cloth. "What are you-" "You will not come by force, da?" Ivan pressed the cloth against his mouth. Francis grunted and struggled against the Russian's massive strength. He was however, no match and succumbed to the blackness of his vision. He felt himself drop to the floor. Ivan then took the opportunity to tie the cloth around his head and swing the Frenchman over his shoulder. He quietly slipped out the back door with the Frenchman.