Many hours after his capture, Erik lay on a rickety cot, just beginning to stir from his deep sleep. His half-lidded eyes swiveled slowly in their sockets, trying to make some sense of the blurry dark objects around him, and the floating golden orb some feet away from him.

"Who is it?" he slurred in a low tone, groaning as his head began to pound again. His body ached so badly.

The glowing orb approached him and was held up in front of his face. "Just I, phantom. My name is Louis. I'm employed by Hughes." Erik heard the sound of a chair being dragged across the floor, and could make out the man sitting down in front of him.

"Why are you here?" Erik asked in a near whisper, trying to push away the urge to drift off. The effects of the chloroform hadn't completely worn off yet.

He heard the stranger chortle. "To be honest, I wanted to take a look for myself at the infamous Opera Ghost. You're quite popular in the papers, I'm sure you know." He reached over to a table and held something up to show Erik, who struggled to focus his eyes. "This is a beautiful little thing, here. I'm impressed. Did you create this yourself?"

Erik grumbled in irritation when he recognized what the man was holding; the Pubjab lasso. He feebly reached out a hand for it, and was pleased to feel the familiar smooth catgut in his fingers again. He slipped it safely inside his coat pocket."Yes, I have created several of them myself." He smirked a bit. "I admit, I do pride my skills in the art of strangulation."

He saw Louis raise his eyebrows. "An art, you say? Hm, I've never thought of it that way." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek, short revolver, cradling the barrel in his hand. "Myself, I prefer not to get my hands dirty. This lovely lady here is very dear to me."

Looking down at the weapon, Erik gave a shrug of indifference. He had never liked using firearms; though they were finely made contraptions, Erik had always found them loud and cumbersome, difficult to aim. The noose, on the other hand, was silent, quick and true.

The man tucked his treasured gun back into his pocket, patting it gently. Erik, meanwhile, analyzed the newcomer's appearance, his vision beginning to clear. The man was dressed in a large black overcoat and dirty boots. He had a full head of dark hair, with a well-kept mustache, and a pair of neutral brown eyes that observed him steadily.

"By the way," Louis said suddenly, leaning back in his chair a little and folding his arms, "do you have a name other than 'O.G.'?"

Smirking slightly, Erik nodded. "Ah...yes. My Christian name, if you wish to call it that, is Erik."

Louis twirled the end of his mustache with his thumb and forefinger. "I see. Well then, I am pleased to have you with us, Erik."

"Thank you." Erik groaned and struggled to sit up, holding his aching head with one hand. Every limb was throbbing with pain, and his face felt slightly swollen. He heard Louis chuckle.

"I apologize for your injuries. You were quite the fighter back at the Opera; some of our men also carry evidence of your attacks on their faces and their limbs. You were most certainly a challenge to take down." He laughed, reaching into his pocket again and pulling out a dulled and dented flask. He took a short swig from it, and offered some to Erik, who eagerly received it. He was grateful for the whiskey warming his empty stomach.

Breathing deeply, Erik now surveyed the room he was in. Aside from a roughly hewn side table and chair, it was completely empty. He assumed this space was to be his living accommodations, and found he deeply missed his well-furnished home six stories underground; which, he realized with a pang of sadness, he might never see again.

"Do you have the time?" Erik asked, brushing a drop of whiskey from the corner of his lips. He leaned his body heavily against the wall behind him, shutting his eyes and praying that his throbbing brain would be soon be soothed.

Louis consulted a slightly broken pocket watch. "Half-past ten, in the morning."

Erik groaned. He resented waking up so late in the day, despite the fact he'd been drugged twice over the last twelve hours. He attempted to turn and place his feet on the floor, but Louis made a disapproving noise.

"I'd lie back down if I were you. You are not in any condition to be walking about just yet. Besides, Hugues will be arriving in about half an hour to discuss future assignments for you." He stood, pushing back his chair and putting on a pair of worn gloves. "I'll leave you to your own devices now; I must take leave. Pleasure speaking with you."

With a nod, Louis ducked out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Erik let out a deep sigh, gripping the edge of his cot firmly to prepare for pain. He stood slowly and awkwardly, hissing through his teeth as he found all of the sore muscles in his body. Straightening his stiff back, he walked to the window and squinted out at the gray road. The cobblestones were slick with rain, and a light fog settled over the little apartments across the street.

His gaze wandered to his barely visible reflection in the glass. He could see two weary green eyes staring back at him, and he could see his long black hair hanging limply around his face. He rubbed his hand over the rough stubble on his chin, frustrated with his current state. He was never one to be sloppy, and had always kept himself clean-shaven, preened and washed. It seemed that he would have to make some sacrifices if he was going to go through with this assassination business.

Erik touched the firm leather of his full mask, wondering with fear if his captors had removed it at any point during his unconsciousness. He could not remember if he had been wearing it the previous night. Surely they would have been curious to see his face?

Slipping his hands into his pockets, Erik discovered his belongings had been replaced. He pulled out a crushed silk ribbon and tied back his unwashed hair, groaning as he felt the lumps on his head. .

I wonder what I've gotten myself into, he thought as he trudged back to his cot and sat down slowly. The full realization of what had just occurred over the last night was beginning to dawn on him more clearly. He'd let himself fall straight into a trap. No longer hidden away in his underground haven, no longer under complete control...now he was exposed, his identity known to a small group of men.

Erik's mind began to spin, racing through all of the possibilities that might occur from his presence in the outside world. Hughes was obviously an intelligent and powerful man—like myself, Erik mused smugly—and he could have connections unknown to Erik at the moment. Did he have ties to the police? Could he be speaking to their chief now, with that smirk on his face, as he revealed the location of the infamous O.G.?

Paranoia seeping into his heart, Erik's eyes shifted to the window, his ears straining to hear the thunder of horse hooves on the road, the shouts of uniformed men approaching his door. His hands twitched at the thought of cold hard chains around his wrists.

The doorknob rattled slightly. Erik instinctively drew his lasso from his coat, wrapping it around his hand as his eyes stared at the moving doorknob.

A tall cloaked man slipped inside quietly, rain dripping from the brim of his hat. Erik's grip tightened on the lasso and he stood abruptly, muscles tense, heart pounding, every inch of him prepared to attack the stranger.

The man lifted his face, and Erik relaxed slightly. It was Hughes.

Hughes paused glanced down at Erik's deathly white hands clutching the lasso, and he chuckled. "Nervous, are we? You certainly don't like to take any chances." He approached him, removing his hat and making eye contact with Erik, who did not move.

"Relax, phantom. Sit."

Erik slowly obeyed, taking a seat on his cot. He loosened his grip on the lasso, but never let go. His eyes watched the man's every move. His hand reaching out to pull the chair close. The way he touched his bulky cloak pocket. His thumb brushing his nose.

Hughes pulled out a thin sheaf of papers from beneath his cloak. "Before I begin, I must know your true name. I don't believe you got around to telling me last night."

"Erik," he replied after a moment's hesitation.

"Good," said Hughes. He glanced down at his papers and cleared his throat. "Erik, these are some recent orders from several clients. Fairly easy, nothing too complicated. I want you to take a look at the first one and tell me what you think."

Erik slowly took the papers and began to read.

March 16 1882

Client's name is Andre Grosvenor. Requested that former business partner be taken care of-had an affair with his wife. Requested that a ring be taken from the target's finger and that cash be taken from the residence. To be completed as soon as possible.

Target's name is Claude Simon. Average build, brown hair and eyes, short beard.

Estimated offer 400 francs.

Beneath was a scrawled address. Erik glanced back up at Hughes.

"Would you like me to do this?"

The man nodded. "Yes. I'd like to follow you as well and see you carry out the assignment myself. Forgive me if you find this offensive, but I am curious to see your methods. I am sure they are like none I have seen before."

Erik's green eyes darkened and his pale lips lifted in a cool smile. The old anticipation of a killing began to rush through his veins. He coiled the smooth noose around his wrist.

"I'll do it now."

Dear readers, thank you for reviewing the first chapter! To answer some of your questions, yes, this is set in the late 19th century, and as for my interpretation of Erik, I see him as a colder, more dangerous version of Yeston/Kopit's Phantom.

Thank you for your feedback, it is extremely valuable!