This one's for Nina. Encouragement does wonders. Now you go, girl. Cheers.

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MEN IN BLACK by Elszy

Chapter 1: A bank in ruins

CI5's first man George Cowley stepped over the mess in the smashed wall. What once had been a fine bank establishment had turned into what looked like the remains of a war zone. Police were keeping curious bystanders at a distance. An ambulance stood brotherly next to two police cars in the middle of the road. Inside the bank police officers took statements, little fires were extinguished and hot tea was offered to the shaken men and women in the far corner. Paramedics applied bandaids and handed out blankets to the shocked people inside.

One of Cowley's best agents, Ray Doyle, sat on a the shattered remains of a granite column. He held up his hand while a paramedic treated it with iodine and gauze. With his other hand he held an icepack against the back of his head. A tiny rivulet of blood ran from under his curls into his T-shirt. He was covered in chalk and dust, easily adding twenty years to his age.

'Doyle! Are you alright?'

'Huh?'

'Are you alright?' Cowley's leg bothered him and that made him grumpy.

'Sir. Wha'?'

'Doyle!'

Doyle tried to look up to meet the impatient Scotsman and saw the room spinning. 'Sorry sir, 'm a bi' woozy,' Doyle mumbled and had to swallow away a very distasteful feeling.

'For God's sake, speak up man!'

Cowley eased a bit when Murphy, who had come in after him, put a hand on his sleeve. 'Sir…'

It was then that Cowley noticed that Doyle's cut hand wasn't the only injury. His clothes were torn and from nearly every cut in his face, his arms and legs blood found its way out in thin web-shaped lines. His eyes were slightly glassy and he kept shaking his head very slowly.

'Is he alright?' Cowley now addressed the paramedic.

'Slightly concussed from falling bricks, sir. And a lot of bruises and cuts. He should take it easy for a couple of days. The shockwave from the blast has shaken him up a little.'

Shockwave?

'Doyle, what happened?' Cowley sat down next to his agent and eyed him intensively. His voice had lost its irritation and was now warm with concern. From his pocket he took a small flask of malt and made his agent drink. 'Come, lad. Another sip. You need it.' He spoke slowly and deliberately. 'What happened?'

Doyle winced when the paramedic cut open his trousers and revealed a huge bruise, dark red and deep purple in the middle. 'That's blackest son-of-a-bruise I ever saw,' the paramedic stated with an encouraging smile and put a pressure bandage around his upper leg. To Doyle's grunt he said: 'Sorry, mate. 'That'll hurt for a few days. You might want to have that checked in the hospital.'

'Maybe,' said Doyle, sounding a bit more lucid, once the malt began to kick in. He took the icepack from his head and carefully touched it. 'I've got a bump the size of a tennis ball,' he grunted. Confused he looked at his hand, that was smeared with streaks of blood and dirt.

'Doyle,' George Cowley said again, 'tell me what happened.'

Suddenly Doyle's head shot up and his green-blue eyes grew wide when he finally remembered the events that had led to the utter mess in this building. 'Bodie! Bodie was shot! Where is he? Is he alright?'

Cowley was unable to answer him. He looked up and met Murphy's eyes. That latter shook his head. 'He's not here, Doyle.'

(tbc)