"I remember feeling low, I remember losing hope, I remember all the
feelings and the day they stopped." Innocent -- Our Lady Peace
As Sydney Bristow sat strapped into a chair in the center of a generic storeroom in the Taipei Warehouse/Club/secret lair of the Man, her endless cycle of thoughts swirled about her like a whirlwind, suffocating her. She knew it was crucial to maintain her composure. She could not allow this Irina Derevko to break her, or she knew that she would never escape alive. This woman was the scum of the earth. Despite her fervor in her recent quest to find her, Sydney now felt nothing but hatred for this woman.
She, in the last few hours, had learned more about her malicious "mother" than she could stomach. This woman may have been her mother due to DNA, but that term of endearment was a title that she would never deserve. She was ruthless, she was a killer, and Sydney hated her now more than ever.
So much had changed in just a matter of hours. The most devastating blow that left Sydney unable to speak or even move was Vaughn. Sydney could feel in the bottom of her violently emptied stomach that he was gone. And her mother was to blame, whether directly, indirectly, or all of the above. Vaughn, the man she may just have loved most of all and never been able to even so much as act on it or tell him so, was dead, drowned behind the swirling, crushing force of thousands of gallons of inky black water. His terrified face behind the glass, the shatterproof glass that wouldn't break or even crack despite her repeated blows with the fire extinguisher. His frozen form at the end of the hallway, rooted with terror, as he came to check and see if she needed help when they lost radio contact. His tearful, emotional voice at the train station, not even a day before. His piercing green eyes and the way they looked at her, full of concern, full of admiration, and most of all full of love.
That was the third man Sydney had loved to die a painful death this year. All because of her. Danny in the bathtub. Noah in Macay. Now Vaughn in Taipei. And the last two were because of her obsession with this pathetic search for her mother. Laura Bristow. Irina Derevko. The Man. Certified lunatic. Subject of "The Prophecy." FBI Most Wanted, lifetime member.
Then there was the matter of Sark. Revolting, ruthless Sark, a man whose first name she was yet to know. A man who was not just her enemy and a murderer, but as she had recently learned was also her brother. To make matters worse, he had a twin sister. And she was being kept in the dark. Apparently Irina had thought that she only needed one daughter and one son to be in her organization, and those would be Sydney and Sark. This other nameless daughter was away at school somewhere in the States, having never met her father or sister, having no idea that her mother and twin brother are two of the most horrible people to have ever been conceived.
HER MOTHER. Her mother was the man. "The Man." THE FUCKING MAN!!! Her mother had kidnapped Will, kidnapped her, exposed her in critical situations, caused her to be investigated by the DSR because of her genetic line, indirectly caused the deaths of both Vaughn and Noah, and provided her and her father with years of pain and suffering and confusion. Sydney vowed that one day, at her hand, this woman would suffer the ultimate pain. She was not mommy's innocent little girl. She had the power and the knowledge to destroy this woman and her little realm of power and her empire of deep-rooted evil.
Syndey's head snapped to attention as the door opened and Sark proceeded into the room.
"Well, well. It appeared Mummy's little girl isn't such a badass after all."
Sydney remained silent, staring at the floor directly before Sark's shoes.
"Ah, no matter." He took three steps towards Sydney, raising her sullen chin with his hand, forcing her to look at him. "Now let me see a little smile."
Sydney's distracted, emotionless demeanor was all that was displayed by her face. He slapped lightly across the face, not hard enough to bruise, but more than enough to sting quite a bit.
"Come now, you should be overjoyed, reunited with your family once again!" he exclaimed manipulatively. "Your mother, your little brother, your father, my father, all in the same city!"
"Your father?" Sydney inquired, finally looking up at him.
"Yes, my father. I do have one you know." He mocked. "Actually, you've already met him. Your friend Khasinau, you know, subject of your misguided but interesting to watch search for the man. Not a bad guy, but easily controlled. Particularly by women. Just like your father."
Sydney felt the anger boiling up inside her. She snapped and suddenly pulled against her restraints, causing Sark to only laugh, his face inches from hers.
"Temper, temper, missy." He shook his head, laughing to himself.
"You son of a bitch." She uttered in halting, harshly pronounced syllables, not realizing the irony of her very true statement. His response was only a slight tilt of his head and narrowing of the eyes.
"Here you are being mama's little henchman, and you don't even realize that she is just using you too."
"Oh, really?" he countered. "Enlighten me."
"You were born only about six months after my mother faked her death in the states. Sloane told me once that my parents were trying to have more kids just before she died."
"Shut up." Sark yelled angrily.
"No, I'm not finished yet!" Sydney yelled. "You are not my half-brother, you are my full-blooded brother. I put that all together from my little talk with that crazy bitch that you call a mother--"
Sydney felt Sark's fist make contact with her mouth and tasted the metallic tang of blood. She continued on, barely missing a beat, despite the throbbing pain in her jaw.
"Khasinau IS NOT your father--"
"--Shut UP!!!--"
"--but Jack Bristow is!" Sark put his hands over his ears like a child and backed a few steps away from Sydney. Sydney took a moment to take a few deep breaths and calm down a trifle before continuing.
"Your mother may still be your mother, but she had lied to you your entire life, and I'm sure of more than just this. And you unfailingly do each and every thing she tells you to. You are nothing but a slave to her, a little conformist sheep who she has programmed, just like Khasinau."
"STOP IT!!!" Sark screamed. She felt his fist connect with her face again, this time with her temple. "You are a lying sack of shit!"
"No, it's true, and you know it!" Sydney yelled back. One more punch completely knocked Sydney's chair over, causing her to smash her shoulder into the ground. She cried out in pain and Sark circled her like a wolf about to attacked an injured rabbit.
"I don't think your mother will approve of this kind of mistreatment." Sydney said lowly, each word intending to hurt him more and more. Already, years of anger had risen to the surface, his eyes wild and bloodthirsty.
"Well, she's not going to know anything about it. Everyone else is long gone already, before some of your little CIA buddies show up to rescue you. She left me to deal with you."
"I like the way she leaves you behind, in a vulnerable position, potential to get captured, while she runs and hides--" Sydney's stream of angry words was interrupted by a swift kick to the stomach that knocked the wind out of her.
"You know what little missy, I've had quite enough of you." Sark withdrew a roll of duct tape from his pocket and placed a nice strip across Sydney's bleeding mouth. He righted her chair, and stood back, surveying the situation. "There, that will do quite nicely," he commented, quite pleased with his handiwork.
"And now, to teach you a lesson, Miss Bristow."
As Sydney Bristow sat strapped into a chair in the center of a generic storeroom in the Taipei Warehouse/Club/secret lair of the Man, her endless cycle of thoughts swirled about her like a whirlwind, suffocating her. She knew it was crucial to maintain her composure. She could not allow this Irina Derevko to break her, or she knew that she would never escape alive. This woman was the scum of the earth. Despite her fervor in her recent quest to find her, Sydney now felt nothing but hatred for this woman.
She, in the last few hours, had learned more about her malicious "mother" than she could stomach. This woman may have been her mother due to DNA, but that term of endearment was a title that she would never deserve. She was ruthless, she was a killer, and Sydney hated her now more than ever.
So much had changed in just a matter of hours. The most devastating blow that left Sydney unable to speak or even move was Vaughn. Sydney could feel in the bottom of her violently emptied stomach that he was gone. And her mother was to blame, whether directly, indirectly, or all of the above. Vaughn, the man she may just have loved most of all and never been able to even so much as act on it or tell him so, was dead, drowned behind the swirling, crushing force of thousands of gallons of inky black water. His terrified face behind the glass, the shatterproof glass that wouldn't break or even crack despite her repeated blows with the fire extinguisher. His frozen form at the end of the hallway, rooted with terror, as he came to check and see if she needed help when they lost radio contact. His tearful, emotional voice at the train station, not even a day before. His piercing green eyes and the way they looked at her, full of concern, full of admiration, and most of all full of love.
That was the third man Sydney had loved to die a painful death this year. All because of her. Danny in the bathtub. Noah in Macay. Now Vaughn in Taipei. And the last two were because of her obsession with this pathetic search for her mother. Laura Bristow. Irina Derevko. The Man. Certified lunatic. Subject of "The Prophecy." FBI Most Wanted, lifetime member.
Then there was the matter of Sark. Revolting, ruthless Sark, a man whose first name she was yet to know. A man who was not just her enemy and a murderer, but as she had recently learned was also her brother. To make matters worse, he had a twin sister. And she was being kept in the dark. Apparently Irina had thought that she only needed one daughter and one son to be in her organization, and those would be Sydney and Sark. This other nameless daughter was away at school somewhere in the States, having never met her father or sister, having no idea that her mother and twin brother are two of the most horrible people to have ever been conceived.
HER MOTHER. Her mother was the man. "The Man." THE FUCKING MAN!!! Her mother had kidnapped Will, kidnapped her, exposed her in critical situations, caused her to be investigated by the DSR because of her genetic line, indirectly caused the deaths of both Vaughn and Noah, and provided her and her father with years of pain and suffering and confusion. Sydney vowed that one day, at her hand, this woman would suffer the ultimate pain. She was not mommy's innocent little girl. She had the power and the knowledge to destroy this woman and her little realm of power and her empire of deep-rooted evil.
Syndey's head snapped to attention as the door opened and Sark proceeded into the room.
"Well, well. It appeared Mummy's little girl isn't such a badass after all."
Sydney remained silent, staring at the floor directly before Sark's shoes.
"Ah, no matter." He took three steps towards Sydney, raising her sullen chin with his hand, forcing her to look at him. "Now let me see a little smile."
Sydney's distracted, emotionless demeanor was all that was displayed by her face. He slapped lightly across the face, not hard enough to bruise, but more than enough to sting quite a bit.
"Come now, you should be overjoyed, reunited with your family once again!" he exclaimed manipulatively. "Your mother, your little brother, your father, my father, all in the same city!"
"Your father?" Sydney inquired, finally looking up at him.
"Yes, my father. I do have one you know." He mocked. "Actually, you've already met him. Your friend Khasinau, you know, subject of your misguided but interesting to watch search for the man. Not a bad guy, but easily controlled. Particularly by women. Just like your father."
Sydney felt the anger boiling up inside her. She snapped and suddenly pulled against her restraints, causing Sark to only laugh, his face inches from hers.
"Temper, temper, missy." He shook his head, laughing to himself.
"You son of a bitch." She uttered in halting, harshly pronounced syllables, not realizing the irony of her very true statement. His response was only a slight tilt of his head and narrowing of the eyes.
"Here you are being mama's little henchman, and you don't even realize that she is just using you too."
"Oh, really?" he countered. "Enlighten me."
"You were born only about six months after my mother faked her death in the states. Sloane told me once that my parents were trying to have more kids just before she died."
"Shut up." Sark yelled angrily.
"No, I'm not finished yet!" Sydney yelled. "You are not my half-brother, you are my full-blooded brother. I put that all together from my little talk with that crazy bitch that you call a mother--"
Sydney felt Sark's fist make contact with her mouth and tasted the metallic tang of blood. She continued on, barely missing a beat, despite the throbbing pain in her jaw.
"Khasinau IS NOT your father--"
"--Shut UP!!!--"
"--but Jack Bristow is!" Sark put his hands over his ears like a child and backed a few steps away from Sydney. Sydney took a moment to take a few deep breaths and calm down a trifle before continuing.
"Your mother may still be your mother, but she had lied to you your entire life, and I'm sure of more than just this. And you unfailingly do each and every thing she tells you to. You are nothing but a slave to her, a little conformist sheep who she has programmed, just like Khasinau."
"STOP IT!!!" Sark screamed. She felt his fist connect with her face again, this time with her temple. "You are a lying sack of shit!"
"No, it's true, and you know it!" Sydney yelled back. One more punch completely knocked Sydney's chair over, causing her to smash her shoulder into the ground. She cried out in pain and Sark circled her like a wolf about to attacked an injured rabbit.
"I don't think your mother will approve of this kind of mistreatment." Sydney said lowly, each word intending to hurt him more and more. Already, years of anger had risen to the surface, his eyes wild and bloodthirsty.
"Well, she's not going to know anything about it. Everyone else is long gone already, before some of your little CIA buddies show up to rescue you. She left me to deal with you."
"I like the way she leaves you behind, in a vulnerable position, potential to get captured, while she runs and hides--" Sydney's stream of angry words was interrupted by a swift kick to the stomach that knocked the wind out of her.
"You know what little missy, I've had quite enough of you." Sark withdrew a roll of duct tape from his pocket and placed a nice strip across Sydney's bleeding mouth. He righted her chair, and stood back, surveying the situation. "There, that will do quite nicely," he commented, quite pleased with his handiwork.
"And now, to teach you a lesson, Miss Bristow."