Firstly, thanks for the feedback on the first chapter! I'm using a bit of
artistic licence here. I've taken into account the fact that Darien
doesn't need counteragent anymore, but I've chosen to ignore the fact that
Jared Stark has been "fired", simply because it makes the story easier. (
So now, on with the show!
**********************************************************
Darien debated whether or not he should open his eyes, deciding that he might as well get it over with, since he would undoubtedly have to eventually. The instant he did, though, he regretted it. The harsh glare of the fluorescent lights met his eyes, increasing the pounding in his head and the apprehension in his mind. Lights like these never indicate anything good. He stood up, steadying himself on the simple metal chair bolted to the floor. His eyes scanned the small room, passing over the bare white walls and concrete and stopping on the huge mirror. But Fawkes knew better that to think it was just a normal mirror. He grinned into it and waved.
"Uh. You guys wanna come get me out of here, or something?"
The grey door to the right of the mirror opened and a tall man in a black suit walked in. Fawkes smiled and addressed the mirror again.
"Thanks. I'll just be leaving now."
"Sit down," the man instructed.
Darien turned smoothly and sat down. He crossed his ankle over his knee, placed his hands behind his head and smiled.
"Don't mind if I do."
The man walked around Darien, finally stopping behind him.
"Who are you?"
"Ahhh, my friend. You see its not that important who I am. But what is important is who sent me," Darien told him.
"And that would be?"
"Stark."
There was a moment of silence.
"May I ask why Mr. Stark sent you here?"
"To help with the women of course. He wants to move them all to a new location where it will be harder for those Government goons to find them," Fawkes explained.
Another pause.
"I see."
Darien clapped his hands and stood up.
"Good. So, you better let me out of here so I can finish my job, or I'll have to tell Stark that a bunch of idiots locked me in a room."
Another, slightly shorter man walked into the room. The first man smiled.
"Oh, I don't think you'll be telling Mr. Stark anything."
Darien felt a prick in his neck and turned to see the other man holding an empty syringe. His eyes widened.
"What was in that???" He demanded.
But almost immediately, the feeling of terror was replaced by calm as he fell to the floor.
**********************************************************
Fawkes tried furiously to remember what had happened. It was strange, because he didn't remember being run over by a truck, but that's exactly how his head felt. He assessed his situation before opening his eyes, which had proved to be quite un-fun the last time he had tried it. He squirmed a bit and was surprised to find that he was lying on a bed. It was lumpy, but it was better than the metal chair. He tentatively peeked out from beneath his eyelids to be greeted (mercifully) by a dim beside table lamp.
"Aw, crap."
He sat up quickly, which proved to be a grave mistake, sending his head spinning. When his head stopped swimming and the little dots in front of his eyes stopped dancing, he was able to survey his surroundings from his vantage point on the bed. The salmon paint was peeling off the walls of the small room, the window was boarded up, and there were two wooden doors: one leading to the hallway and one leading to the adjoining room. It was the mirror image of the one he was in just a short time before. He felt the overwhelming need to verbalise his emotions at that particular point.
"Aww, crap!"
He was disappointed. Fawkes was sure that his little ploy would fool them; it had seemed convincing enough to him. But he must have underestimated them, or they wouldn't have stuck him in one of these damn rooms. Pretend to be Chrysali? What was he thinking? A sigh of resignation escaped his lips. Well, he had tried and failed, and now he had to deal with it. Darien stood up, intending to examine the room more closely, when he heard a quiet but resolute knock on the door. He walked to the far side of the room, pressed his ear up against the smooth timber and listened. He heard only silence, until the knocking came again, slightly louder, from the door leading to the other bedroom. He cocked an eyebrow.
"Uhhh. Come in?"
He heard a muffled laugh.
"Well, it's a bit hard with the door locked, don't you think?"
It was the girl he had seen before, the one with the ebony hair and the emerald eyes. He walked the short distance and kneeled in front of the door, sitting up on his heels.
"I heard them bringing you in about twenty minutes ago. They said that you were sent to get us out. Is that true?" She asked the hope in her voice clearly evident.
"It was. But whether or not I can get you out depends on whether or not I can get out."
She sighed.
"Well unless you can walk through walls, it looks like we'll both be staying."
Darien mumbled, "Not necessarily."
Darien stuck his hand into his jeans pocket to retrieve his lock picks. All he found was pocket fluff. He frowned in frustration. All of his pockets had been emptied.
"Hey, umm." Darien paused, "Sorry, I don't even know your name."
"It's Jenna. Jenna McGregory."
"Oh, okay. Hey Jenna, do you have a hair pin on you?"
"Nope, and if I did, I would have picked the lock and gotten out of here a long time ago. So what's your name?"
He hesitated.
"Uhh. Darien. Darien Fawkes."
"Well it's a pleasure to meet you, Darien Fawkes."
**********************************************************
Darien debated whether or not he should open his eyes, deciding that he might as well get it over with, since he would undoubtedly have to eventually. The instant he did, though, he regretted it. The harsh glare of the fluorescent lights met his eyes, increasing the pounding in his head and the apprehension in his mind. Lights like these never indicate anything good. He stood up, steadying himself on the simple metal chair bolted to the floor. His eyes scanned the small room, passing over the bare white walls and concrete and stopping on the huge mirror. But Fawkes knew better that to think it was just a normal mirror. He grinned into it and waved.
"Uh. You guys wanna come get me out of here, or something?"
The grey door to the right of the mirror opened and a tall man in a black suit walked in. Fawkes smiled and addressed the mirror again.
"Thanks. I'll just be leaving now."
"Sit down," the man instructed.
Darien turned smoothly and sat down. He crossed his ankle over his knee, placed his hands behind his head and smiled.
"Don't mind if I do."
The man walked around Darien, finally stopping behind him.
"Who are you?"
"Ahhh, my friend. You see its not that important who I am. But what is important is who sent me," Darien told him.
"And that would be?"
"Stark."
There was a moment of silence.
"May I ask why Mr. Stark sent you here?"
"To help with the women of course. He wants to move them all to a new location where it will be harder for those Government goons to find them," Fawkes explained.
Another pause.
"I see."
Darien clapped his hands and stood up.
"Good. So, you better let me out of here so I can finish my job, or I'll have to tell Stark that a bunch of idiots locked me in a room."
Another, slightly shorter man walked into the room. The first man smiled.
"Oh, I don't think you'll be telling Mr. Stark anything."
Darien felt a prick in his neck and turned to see the other man holding an empty syringe. His eyes widened.
"What was in that???" He demanded.
But almost immediately, the feeling of terror was replaced by calm as he fell to the floor.
**********************************************************
Fawkes tried furiously to remember what had happened. It was strange, because he didn't remember being run over by a truck, but that's exactly how his head felt. He assessed his situation before opening his eyes, which had proved to be quite un-fun the last time he had tried it. He squirmed a bit and was surprised to find that he was lying on a bed. It was lumpy, but it was better than the metal chair. He tentatively peeked out from beneath his eyelids to be greeted (mercifully) by a dim beside table lamp.
"Aw, crap."
He sat up quickly, which proved to be a grave mistake, sending his head spinning. When his head stopped swimming and the little dots in front of his eyes stopped dancing, he was able to survey his surroundings from his vantage point on the bed. The salmon paint was peeling off the walls of the small room, the window was boarded up, and there were two wooden doors: one leading to the hallway and one leading to the adjoining room. It was the mirror image of the one he was in just a short time before. He felt the overwhelming need to verbalise his emotions at that particular point.
"Aww, crap!"
He was disappointed. Fawkes was sure that his little ploy would fool them; it had seemed convincing enough to him. But he must have underestimated them, or they wouldn't have stuck him in one of these damn rooms. Pretend to be Chrysali? What was he thinking? A sigh of resignation escaped his lips. Well, he had tried and failed, and now he had to deal with it. Darien stood up, intending to examine the room more closely, when he heard a quiet but resolute knock on the door. He walked to the far side of the room, pressed his ear up against the smooth timber and listened. He heard only silence, until the knocking came again, slightly louder, from the door leading to the other bedroom. He cocked an eyebrow.
"Uhhh. Come in?"
He heard a muffled laugh.
"Well, it's a bit hard with the door locked, don't you think?"
It was the girl he had seen before, the one with the ebony hair and the emerald eyes. He walked the short distance and kneeled in front of the door, sitting up on his heels.
"I heard them bringing you in about twenty minutes ago. They said that you were sent to get us out. Is that true?" She asked the hope in her voice clearly evident.
"It was. But whether or not I can get you out depends on whether or not I can get out."
She sighed.
"Well unless you can walk through walls, it looks like we'll both be staying."
Darien mumbled, "Not necessarily."
Darien stuck his hand into his jeans pocket to retrieve his lock picks. All he found was pocket fluff. He frowned in frustration. All of his pockets had been emptied.
"Hey, umm." Darien paused, "Sorry, I don't even know your name."
"It's Jenna. Jenna McGregory."
"Oh, okay. Hey Jenna, do you have a hair pin on you?"
"Nope, and if I did, I would have picked the lock and gotten out of here a long time ago. So what's your name?"
He hesitated.
"Uhh. Darien. Darien Fawkes."
"Well it's a pleasure to meet you, Darien Fawkes."
