Alright, here's the next chapter. I really hope you enjoy it! It picks up precisely where the last chapter left off.

As he crossed through the door, Illya entered what felt like a small room. At once, he became completely disoriented. Sound speakers overhead blared loud music, rendering his sense of hearing useless for aid. There were also intense fragrances that flooded his senses with every breath. Without his sense of sight, sound, or smell, and having only his hands to feel around with, Illya felt completely disabled on all levels. So this was THRUSH's game, rendering him totally debilitated in each of his main senses. For a moment, Illya considered going back the way he had come. At least in his cell he felt more aware and in control.

But as tempting as that option was, Illya equated it with surrender. And failure was not something the determined Russian usually allowed. So, using his hands to search out a path, Illya carefully made his way through the room as a blind man. He bumped and banged his way through a maze of obstacles. Fortunately, none of them seemed to be booby trapped and he managed to reach the opposite end of the room with little more than bruises as battle scars. Soon, Illya had located a second door and found it to be unlocked. Cautiously, Illya entered.

The second room was much larger in comparison. Although the distracting music and smells were still prevalent, they were slightly less strong in that larger environment. Frankly, he was surprised to have made it through that last room without any injuries. The fact that it had been so easy convinced Illya that this room must undoubtedly hold some sort of trap for him. With that in mind, Illya cautiously examine the room with what little scrutiny he could manage.

"Well, well," said a female voice, coated with a heavy southern twang, "What do we have here? A Mr. Sneaky?"

Illya didn't answer. Instead, he backed himself up against the closed door to defend against a possible rear attack. His hand reached halfway up his chest, prepared to grab his gun; but he didn't dare to make that move just yet. With the loud music, he couldn't tell exactly where his foe was located. He would need to be able to point and shoot quickly if he were to draw out his gun. So he waited until his enemy gave herself away.

"There, there, Sweetie Pie," the voice soothed, "I don't want to hurt you."

Illya could tell the woman was growing closer, but he still couldn't determine her precise location. He remained patient, hoping he would have a chance to act before he was subdued.

"Now who blindfolded you?" The woman reached forward and began to peel away the bandages.

That contact was all Illya needed. In a flash, he drew his weapon, seized the woman, spun her around, and smacked a hand over her mouth before her scream could even be heard. "The doctor put it there," Illya whispered in her ear, "and I imagine he wants it to stay on for a while yet."

He heard the woman whimper against his hand, but Illya allowed himself to feel no remorse. He had dealt with these femme fatales before. Their seductive ploys and acts of fragility had defeated many a fine agent. Even Illya had faced his fair share of temptations. If there was one thing Illya Kuryakin was, it was studious. He had learned from his past mistakes. He would not be easily taken in by the games of this agent.

"Hands up," he said, and soon felt the change in her posture as she obeyed. "Not a sound," Illya ordered. Then, keeping the barrel of his gun against her head, he frisked her thoroughly from her hands to her ankles. Once he was convinced she had no obvious weapons on her, he stood once more and returned his hand to her mouth.

"Now," Illya said, "you're going to make sure I get out of here safely. One wrong move and you're gone. And if I even suspect that you're trying to mislead me, I'll pull this trigger. Understood?"

The woman nodded.

"Good. Now walk."

Illya let the woman do the leading, but kept his grip on her firm in case she tried to break away. However, they had only made it a few yards when a door directly opposite them flew open.

"Alright, hold it, tough guy!" a male voice commanded.

Illya quickly sidestepped until he bumped into a wall with his shoulder, protecting his flank. He clutched the woman against him more firmly, moving the gun to the side of her head. "Watch it," he warned, "This is loaded."

"Put the gun down," the voice said.

"Tell me what you want with me," Illya demanded.

"Right now, I want you to put the gun down."

The UNCLE agent shook his head, "I don't think so."

Illya could hear the steady footsteps of the man drawing closer to him. Illya backed up a few steps of his own. "Not another step," he ordered. But he still heard the steps continue. Illya backed up until he felt his rear bump into some sort of a table. Illya was cornered, and the steps still persisted. "Hold it, I mean it! Or the girl will die!" he desperately threatened, twisting the barrel of the gun against the woman's temple.

"Easy now," the man said. "We don't want this to go down the hard way."

Frantically, Illya tried to formulate some plan of action. He could tell his enemy was drawing closer, and all of Illya's directions of escape were growing more and more narrow. But there was no way for Illya to know which route would be safest. He just had to guess, and he had to be quick about it.

Just as Illya was about to start shimmying around the table at his back, a loud crashing noise sounded from somewhere behind Illya. Instinctively, the agent's head turned in that direction. As soon as Illya was sufficiently distracted, the other man tore the woman from Illya's grasp and hit the gun out of his hand. Together, the two men went toppling to the floor.

Instantly, Illya found the man's hands and grabbed hold of his enemy's gun. They struggled for control of the weapon, each man exerting intense strength just to keep the gun from pointing at himself. They rolled over each other and wrestled for an advantage. The man straddled Illya like a horse and forced his full body weight into the struggle over the gun. Illya gritted his teeth to keep the pistol from angling down upon him. The Russian's arms began to quiver under the pressure. Finally able to fight it no more, Illya stopped pushing against the other man and instead redirected his and his enemy's joined fists to the side. This caused his opponent to fall forward clumsily, allowing Illya a chance to maneuver himself into the upward position. The men continued to battle over the weapon until Illya suddenly felt a hard thump as something very solid came crashing down on the back of his head. Illya released his hold on the gun and limply fell next to the other man.

Illya was helpless for a few seconds. The whole room felt like it was swirling around and around. He knew he was flat against the floor, but it felt like the deck of a small boat in dangerous waters. Somehow, Illya became aware that both his hands were being pulled behind his back.

"You're under arrest," the male voice said, "for attempted robbery."

"Robbery?" Illya exclaimed, and then groaned at the throbbing pain it caused his head.

"How will I ever be able to thank you enough officer?" the woman cried. "I don't know what I ever would have done if you hadn't come in!"

"Well, I was just across the street and looked through your window when I saw this wacko pull out a gun!" the policeman explained.

"It was so smart of you to throw that mixing bowl to distract him!" The female voice said.

The police officer heroically replied, "I'm just doing my job, ma'am." Then tugging on Illya's now handcuffed wrists, said, "Get up, dirtbag!"

"Wait a minute," Illya demanded, rising to his knees, "Where am I?"

"You're in my hair salon!" exclaimed the woman.

"A hair salon?" Illya repeated, dumbfounded, though it slowly started to make sense. These types of establishments commonly played music over loud speakers in order to entertain customers, and the intense fragrances were probably beauty products of some kind. It also explained why his gun had not been taken from him and making his way through the rooms had been so easy. It was all nothing but a harmless hair salon! Inwardly, Illya groaned at the situation, 'Oh, this is ridiculous!' As soon as he was in a standing position, Illya felt a hand connect to his cheek with a solid slap.

"And that's for touching my bosoms, you pig!" the hair stylist cried.

Illya shook off the slap, "Wait a minute, there's been a misunderstanding. I wasn't going to rob anyone. I thought you were someone else."

The cop spurred Illya forward with a rough nudge, "Tell it to the judge!"

Author's Note: Okay, be honest…how many of you guessed that? Could any of you tell that's where I was going with this chapter? For a long time, I was debating whether I should have THRUSH really kidnap him, or if I should just give it a spin like this. I finally decided that if I wanted to bring THRUSH into it here then I would have to come up with a "to take over the world!" plot, and I'm really not that creative. So I took the easy way out. But I do think that this way is more funny. But anyway, tell me what you think. I really look forward to your feedback on this!

-Monker