The sensation Angela recognized when she came to was nausea. The belligerent ringing in her ears was so loud she couldn't tell if someone had stuffed a bell tower into her skull or if she was in the center of an aggressive German choir. Concussion, more than mild, I'd say, she concluded. She couldn't pinpoint the center of the pain that accompanied the ringing, but made a mental note to inspect her head later. They must've hit me hard after the chloroform.
She couldn't calculate how long she lay there, but when she finally felt stable enough to open her eyes, Angela was greeted by a world of grey and black shapes. It was all a blur, but guessing from the texture of the surface her face was pressed to, she could guess that her assailants had put her against a metal table.
Her wrists felt frozen but she didn't yet have the strength to move her head to look. Angela could barely make out the sound of a man speaking somewhere nearby; she couldn't hear a word above the ringing. An exhausted puff of air escaped her lips. She willed the image she was looking at to come into focus. After another undeniably long length of time, Angela was able to raise her head a little; her movements were sluggish, almost cautious. Her face was stiff and crusty. She added blood loss and skin abrasions to her mental list of injuries to check up on.
Her wrists were handcuffed to the table. No wonder they're so cold… She sat in an uncomfortable chair with her torso leaning over the table. A softly-lit, white lamp bore down upon her from above. The walls of the small room were barren and hard to make out in the darkness outside of the lamplight; it was hard to discern what color they were, but Angela thought she could detect a few drops of blood splattered on the wall to her right. The brilliant chrome table's surface reminded her of ice, further adding to the chilling sensation of the room.
Angela felt like she was chained in a meat locker.
"You look confused."
Starled, Angela looked straight ahead. For the first time, she noticed a well-dressed man sitting opposite her. His shining black hair was pulled back into a high ponytail, with two thick locks left out to frame his tanned, stern face. Dark, winged eyebrows sat above hooded russet eyes. A thin-lipped mouth frowned beneath a sharp, arched nose. Angela could sense a raw power leaking off his massive shoulders, as if he knew he could crush her between his fingers if he felt like it. His suit and tie were impeccably pressed and well-tended.
An . . . interrogation? she thought, baffled. Why?
"What troubles you?" His resonating voice seemed to wipe away a foggy film from Angela's mind. He sounded calm, almost quiet, like a panther not wanting to startle it's prey.
She recognized his accent. Japanese? Am I in Japan?
For a moment, she wasn't sure if she should speak, or even could. After a brief pause, she croaked, "Where am I?" I sound so weak , she thought, disgusted.
"Where do you think you are?"
Angela wasn't sure what to think of that. ". . . who are you?"
He seemed unfazed by her unwillingness to answer his question. "Who do you think I am?"
The man's words set Angela on edge. She could feel the cold sweat running down her neck. "I don't know."
His face didn't move, but she could detect a glint in his eyes. Amusement? "You know exactly who I am."
She frowned, lips parting a little. She'd never seen this man in her life, she was sure of it. What game is he playing? "I'm sure I don't know what you mean." Angela spoke slowly, deliberately. She didn't know who this man was or what he wanted, but she'd be sure to stay as calm as possible. I can panic later, she thought, now's the time to find out what I can…
There was an arrogant sneer in the man's voice. "He buys you all these expensive gifts, treats you like a queen and you are trying to tell me you don't know where you are, who I am, or what I want?"
Angela blinked. What? I don't have a husband or a boyfriend or anything. Who could he be talking about? "I think you might have me confused for someone else—"
The man chuckled. "I do not think so."
"Who do you think I am?" Angela asked after another confused pause.
"Angela Ziegler." His confidence was unwavering.
Well he's got that right, at least. Not knowing what else to do, she asked, "What am I doing here?"
The man looked even more amused now. "You know the answer to all these questions you ask."
". . . I assure you I don't."
The glint faltered a little, a crack of uncertainty in his bronzed porcelain resolve. "Shall I spell it out for you?"
"Please do."
He gazed at her a moment before standing and beginning a slow walk around the room. "Last month," he began, "my agents arrived at the agreed spot to complete a trade with your people. For a hefty price, we were to hand over the personal records of Japan's top officials."
Several things caught her attention in that statement from him but she focused her energy on stabilizing her breathing. One thing at a time, one thing at a time... "'My people'?"
"Precisely."
"…what for?"
"Both parties agreed to no questions asked. I assume it was for nefarious purposes."
"…you handed over information like that for money ?" she said, aghast. "What if they get assassinated?"
The man shrugged. "A few of them have been a thorn in my side at one point or another. I would be glad to be rid of them."
I've been kidnapped by a Japanese mob, Angela realized. She felt her heartbeat falter, panic pounding on the edges of her sanity. Stay calm, Angela, stay calm, keep your head…
It was a while before she said anything. "So what happened?"
The man stopped to Angela's left, his back to her. She could see his fists, folded neatly in the small of his back, clench. "Your people took the information, handed over less money than was agreed upon, injured my agents, and fled the scene," he snarled. "Who knows where they escaped to but I have no doubt the information ended up in the hands of your superior."
"And who exactly is 'my superior'?"
"Reinhardt Wilhelm."
The hovercycle pulled into the garage with its telltale vroom . It's driver dismounted, tossed his keys and jacket to the attendant, and moved towards the door. "Welcome home, Master Shimada," the attendant said with a deep bow.
"Afternoon, Kaito," the driver said. The attendant could sense a suppressed growl in the young master's voice. "Where's Hanzo? I need to talk to him about firing Enrique, that man does not understand the angles I look best from."
"Master Hanzo is in the interrogation room, sir."
That caused the young master to stop. "Don't tell me," he warned.
Kaito nodded. "They got her last night."
The young master theatrically buckled his knees and threw his head back. "Nooooooo why did he do it?!" he groaned, grabbing his hair.
"The Master is very stubborn, sir."
The young master let out a string of curses. "She's going to bring more trouble than she's worth." he growled, marching through the door and across the yard of Shimada Castle. Nearby clan members and servants all saluted and bowed when he passed, but he was too angry to stop and greet them all properly.
Descending the stairs into the rooms and passages below the castle, the young master burst through a door into a room filled with computer screens that showed the feed from all the surveillance cameras around the castle. The three workers were currently clustered around one screen that showed the live feed from the interrogation room. At the young master's arrival, they all hopped to their feet at once to bow. "Save it," he said. All three men smiled to themselves and took their seats again. "What has he gotten out of her?"
"Nothing, by the looks of it," one man said. "She must be more stubborn than we anticipated."
"Or she just doesn't know anything," the young master deadpanned, leaning in close to observe the screen. Hanzo stood at the side of the table; when he moved closer to his empty chair, a woman came into view. She was handcuffed to the table and looked like she had some sort of cut on her forehead that had bled profusely, leaving a trail of crusted blood down the side of her head.
He remembered the conversation he'd had with Hanzo last week where he'd adamantly insisted this woman wouldn't know a damn thing about Reinhardt's underground activities. Had Hanzo listened to him? Obviously not. "Why isn't the audio on?"
"Hanzo told us to keep it off."
"What'd he do that for?"
"Probably doesn't want anyone backseat-interrogating for him."
The young master chuckled. "Turn it on for me, will ya?"
One of the men flipped a switch and the speakers immediately crackled to life.
The woman's jaw dropped in awe. "…my grandfather ?"
"She's speaking English?" the young master said, more to himself than the others.
The woman scoffed. "He's no criminal , he's a philanthropist! He doesn't steal people's money, he gives his own away freely to those who need it. He's helped countless charities, runs an honorable business—"
"Damn, girl, did he ask for a resume?" the young master said, earning a snicker from the workers. "Where is she from again?"
"Switzerland."
"She probably speaks some Japanese; why didn't he open with that?"
The young master observed his elder brother wave his hand. "It is all a front. It is the nature of these things."
The woman didn't reply for a moment. "Alright," she began, "let's just say my grandfather happens to be a mob boss like you; where do I fit into this picture?"
Hanzo moved to take a seat without a word.
"You still haven't told me where I am, who you are, and what you want with me."
"He's not gonna like that tone you're using, sweetheart," the young master cautioned, grinning.
"We're using you as leverage."
"…you're ransoming me?"
"I want my money, Miss Ziegler. You're going to help me get it."
"Well if that isn't something straight out of a movie—" the young master straightened, took off his gloves, and threw them on the table. "I'm going in."
"He'll roast you, sir," one of the workers cautioned.
"I can't let her be the only one pushing his buttons!" he called over his shoulder as he moved back to the door. "He'll start to forget I'm the only one who can do that!"
Angela couldn't believe what she was hearing. She didn't believe a word of it, not in the slightest. Opa, a mob boss?! He must be out of his mind! In her disbelief, her panic was momentarily forgotten. She found herself asking, "What makes you think he'll pay you?"
"As Wilhelm's last living family," the man said, getting comfortable, "I can guarantee he'll want to keep you safe. After all, he does appear to spoil you fiercely. A flat in Paris, designer clothing, a private facility to fund your research. What was his name for you? 'Hasilein' wasn't it?"
Angela felt the heat rise to her cheeks. "How did—"
"I'm sure he doesn't want to lose you like he lost your mother."
She froze. The sweat on her face and neck felt like scorching oil.
The man fixed her with those dark eyes. "Yes, we know all about you, Miss Ziegler." He folded his hands on the cool tabletop and leaned forward. "I would recommend giving your full cooperation in this process. With a bit of luck, you can go home with as little damage as possible."
The heat that had been so quick to rise just a moment ago drained from Angela's face like dirt washed away by a summer rain. She was grasping at her thoughts, trying to figure out what to say, when the door behind her burst open and a man entered, yelling, "Hanzō! Watashi wa anata ga kurōba o yameta tokoro enrike, no sewa o suru hitsuyō ga arimasu ka?"*
Angela and the interrogator jumped at the same time. Her body was too sore to turn around quickly enough to see the intruder, but judging by the sudden fire in the eyes of the well-dressed man, she could tell he wasn't happy. The intruder had spoken too fast for her to really catch what he said. The well dressed man threw back a string of angry Japanese at the intruder.
The intruder sounded intrigued when he spoke again. Oh are you now? he'd said, if Angela translated correctly. She could imagine a coy smirk following that question. A figure appeared to her left, and she looked up into the face of an extremely handsome man who was even more well-dressed than her interrogator.
His hair was the first thing she noticed about him: it curved back from his forehead in beautifully groomed, softly pointed locks, black at the roots and emerald green at the tips. Crested, like a bird, she thought. Bronzed skin lay over marvelously defined facial features. Oddly enough, his eyebrows were dark, thick, and winged just like her interrogator's. His eyes were deeper though, a more soothing shade of brown that reminded Angela of chocolate, and framed by a border of professionally-applied, black eyeliner. He wore a black button-down shirt with the top two buttons open (giving Angela a view of his exquisite neck and chest), a pair of black slacks, nice dress shoes, and a silver necklace on which hung a pendant with an unrecognizable design. The mob's symbol? Angela wondered.
"And who might you be?" he smiled. The satin voice of a man who'd wooed thousands of women with one word came out from behind those diamond white teeth and elegant lips, melting Angela down to her bones.
She just stared at him, trying to find her voice. Her headache had miraculously disappeared. Where does he fit into the mob? she wondered, awestruck. He looks like a model.
Her interrogator had no problem finding his voice, snapping at the intruder in a vicious tone. Angela snapped out of the green-haired man's spell, kicking herself in the butt. She'd never understand what they were saying if she was so distracted.
The black and green haired man replied, not taking his eyes off of Angela's. Shoot ended early, she thought he'd said.
'Shoot'? Like a photo shoot? Angela thought, dumbfounded, So he is a model?
The interrogator sighed, obviously frustrated. "Genji this is—"
"Let the lady speak for herself, Hanzo," the green haired man said, holding a hand out. He turned back to Angela and smirked gently. "Go on," he whispered.
Hanzo sighed, folded his arms, and sat back in his chair.
"Angela," she finally croaked.
"Angela," Genji purred, her name flowing off his accent tongue vividly. "Tenshi!"
'Angel' , she thought. Hanzo rolled his eyes. Is he flirting with me? Is this part of the interrogation?
"Hanzo, what is this?" Genji asked, furrowing those majestic eyebrows of his and pointing to her handcuffed wrists.
Hanzo ignored him, rubbing his temples. Will you leave now? he growled.
Genji pleaded, motioning to the whole of Angela and raising a hand to his heart. 'You chain an angel to the earth', Angela mused as Genji straightened and whistled in the direction of the door. How poetic.
He commanded, Release these handcuffs at once!
No! Hanzo shouted, rising.
Angela barely understood his next string of Japanese but it sounded like Genji needed to get out before Hanzo threw him out.
He and Genji argued zealously for a moment. There were too many syllables for Angela to follow along but as soon as she sensed a lull in their dispute she cut in, "If it's all the same to you—"
They both froze, their eyes fixed on her.
"—I'd like to go now." When no one made a move, she steeled herself and continued, "I believe I suffered some injuries at the hands of my kidnappers and I'd like to retire to address them properly." Her voice was quiet. She knew she was breaking. I can't take much more…
Hanzo frowned. "I'm not finished with you—"
Let her go, Hanzo. Genji cut in. You've tortured her enough for one day. Let her rest.
The heat from Hanzo's eyes scorched Angela's cheeks. I don't take orders from you.
"You should realize by now that I don't have the information you want," Angela offered, almost pleading.
Genji grinned. He looked at Hanzo with that innocent smile and said, I like her.
You like anything with breasts, grumbled Hanzo.
Angela felt the redness return to her cheeks.
Not true, Genji offered reasonably. I don't like you.
She had to resist snorting at that comment. Genji flashed her a look out of the corner of his eye and winked. He knows I understand, she thought, her blood running cold. Damn.
Angela looked back to Hanzo and immediately looked away. If looks could kill…
Out! he barked, looking like he could spit fire at any moment.
Genji threw up his hands and rolled his eyes. Fine, fine. He reached down and cradled Angela's chin in his warm hand. "Until we meet again, tenshi," he cooed, lips quirking into a crooked but somehow genuine smile, and strut from the room.
AN: Angela Ziegler, keeping it real even after being kidnapped. What a woman.
Dammit Genji, Hanzo finally got that perfect interrogation mood going and you ruined it! :U
*When Genji first comes into the interrogation room, his line is supposed to be: "Hanzo! I need to take care of Enrique, where did you leave the crowbar?" I know Google Translate is not very accurate so I'm going to be using it as little as possible but in this one case I found it unavoidable. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ that line is just too pure to leave out.