A/N: Rated M for strong language, violence, gore, and sexually suggestive scenes. Viewer discretion is advised.
For those of you who don't speak German:
Traumlosen is German for dreamless.
Kind Ohne Name Ausrottung Nur is German for Child Without Name Annihilation Only
Es lebe Deutschland! is German for Long Live Germany!
Since I don't actually speak German, I could be way off, but I trust Google translate for what it's worth.
Disclaimer: I don't own DC.
"Four years! Four fucking years, working as a fucking maid in this fucking hellhole," the man cursed profusely. He was running down a hall and about to make a right into the next corridor when he heard the voices approaching. The man skidded to a stop.
"Over here! He's over here!" some voices shouted over the blaring alarm. The floor began shaking as a dozen soldiers began closing in on his location.
"Damn it!" the man cursed again, turning tail and running the other way. How the hell do they know where I am? The hallway should have been blind; he had tripled checked the schematics just the night before. And yet…here the brutes were, hot on his track.
The man doubled back, a drop of sweat beginning to roll down his face. Why had things turn out this way! This was supposed to be my big score! Had everything gone according to plan, I'd have the juicy motherfuckin' piece of intel this side of the Atlantic. What the fuck had gone wrong?
Fifteen minutes, his plan had gone to shit in fifteen minutes. Hell, he hadn't even made it past sector ten yet before the alarms were tripped. This wasn't supposed to happen!
"Calm down," the man repeated under his breath. He was going to be fine, he reassured himself. He always turned out alright, in no small part due to his extensive pre-planning. He had memorized all the schematics, knew all the corridors, all the rooms, all the vents, all the places to hide. He would get out of this. And if he remembered correctly… "Aha!" he shouted, finding the boiler room.
The boiler room was connected with the ventilation system of the building. Though it wouldn't lead him to the inner sectors (the schematic had shown those to be bio-sensored), he'd at least be able to escape to the outside. "Wait for me, Marlene," the man whispered, one hand instinctively moving to the locket around his neck. The other gripped the handle of the door and turned.
The man slipped into the room, the heavy metal door closing behind him with a click. Inside, the boiler room was lit with a faint red light, casting everything in a bloody glow.
"Nineteen minutes and forty three seconds, slower than anticipated," a voice announced. The man snapped his eye to and fro, looking for the source, but it was difficult to see in the dimly lit room. "I guess the reports were wrong," the voice spoke again, this time, followed by the shadowy movement of a figure in the corner of the room.
"Who's there?" the man demanded, yelling into the darkness.
"They said you were one of the best of MI6," the voice continued, sounding disappointed. The figure stepped out of the shadows.
A teenager? the man thought, perplexed, Thirteen? No…younger…eleven? The boy approached the man, with what appeared to be a book in his hand.
"Hey Mister," the boy asked innocently, "Do you like Sherlock Holmes?"
"What?" the man asked, surprised at the randomness of the question.
"I always felt he was too unrealistic. I mean, he was a genius, yet he let that fool Watson follow him around. It doesn't make any sense that they were friends," the boy said, though whether to the man or himself, it wasn't clear.
"Listen, boy," the man said tentatively, trying to gain control of the situation, "are you being held captive here?" The boy's sapphire eyes widened a little at that. Taking it as a good sign, the man continued, "Look, I'm with the good guys, OK? I can get the both of us out of here!"
"Out of here?" the boy asked, curious. He tilted his head slightly and looked at the man expectantly.
The man, confidence rising, pressed on, "Yeah! Out of here. You'd like that, right? We can go find your mum and your dad, as well!" The boy stiffened at that. Crap, the man thought; had he gone a little too far bringing up parents?
"Ha ha," the boy laughed softly, before falling into a full blow laughing fit. "Ha ha ha! Mister, I don't have any parents," the boy said, as he got himself under control again. That was an odd response, the man thought silently, suspicion rising. Hold on, he thought as something clicked in his head. It was from the briefing. This building, it was supposed to be a lab, run by some wacko Mengele or something. Human experimentation, the man had been told. Could this child be…
"Boy," the man said, fully on guard now, his hand slowly moving to the revolver concealed behind his back, "What's your name? I'm Mark, Mark Walker."
"I know," the boy said calmly, looking at the man. The boy's face suddenly scrunched up, as if trouble by something, but quickly revert back to that of a ten year old, "Everyone here calls me KONAN, Conan if you prefer the Anglicized version."
KONAN? Oh shit! the man thought, tensing up. He'd have to act quickly; he'd only have one shot. By this time, his hand had reached the grip of his gun. Don't hesitate, the man told himself. He whipped the revolver in front of him, taking aim at the boy's head. FIRE! he shouted mentally.
The man never had a chance to pull the trigger, as three bullets ripped through his body in rapid succession.
"Right lung, left kneecap, liver," the boy, Conan, listed off, lowering his arm; the pistol in the boy's hand was still smoking.
The man collapsed to the ground, coughing up blood. He gasped for breath, but it felt like something was crushing down on his chest. Marlene, the man thought, a hand again grasping his precious locket.
Conan walked forward, sat down and crossed his legs, looking curiously at the dying man. "Hey Mister, does it hurt?" the child asked innocently, much as if he were asking if someone enjoyed eating ice cream.
The man struggled to meet the child's eyes, but all he saw there was emptiness, no empathy, no remorse. A true psychopath.
Marlene, give me strength, the man thought, struggling to get back to his feet. He had to make it to the vents; it was his only chance.
As if physically supported by his love, the man managed to get back onto his feet and limped his way across the room to where he knew the vents would be. He even knew they'd be easy to open; he had made sure of that the night before.
Conan didn't try to stop the man. He just watched as the man left a trail of blood and other bodily fluids in an attempt to reach the vents.
With enough time, the man made it and with a heave, the vent grating came off. At that point, the man had completely forgotten about the child's existence; his only thought was escaping through the vents. With a final effort, the man threw himself into the ventilation system and began crawling his way to freedom.
Conan watched the man slowly disappear, a frown on his face. It had been no fun; it had been too easy. The Colonel had promised him a treat, but it only turned out to be a disappointment. Sighing, Conan got up and walked over to the boiler. Time to get rid of the trash, Conan thought as he turned the steam valve completely open. A hiss could be heard as the hundred plus degree steam rushed into the ventilation system. Seconds later, a man's blood curling scream could be heard.
Conan looked over to the mess by the vents and decided it was someone else's job to take care of it. The Colonel was probably expecting him anyways. With one last glance around, Conan walked out of the boiler room. The door clicked behind him as it locked, forever trapping the nameless operative and his beloved Marlene inside.
So, what'd you guys think? Leave a review please! Also, any comments/questions/confusions/suggestions? Remember to review/favorite/follow if you enjoyed the story! If this was too dark, allow me to suggest my other story "The Memoires of a Detective," a much lighter, mystery oriented story (shameless advertising).