It was like a switch had been flipped. One moment there was nothing at all, no sensory input of any kind, and then he was suddenly aware and alert. It was so abrupt and so complete that it was disorienting and near overwhelming, and it took him several seconds to piece together the last fragments of his memory. As soon as he had he raised his head from where it had been dropped down close to his chest and looked around, trying to take in his surroundings.
The room, or at least what he could see of it, was dark. It was a large space, a sizeable open floor that looked as though it might have once been used for storage or, if the scars and scuffs he could see across its surface were any indication, perhaps to house machinery of some kind. There were still some carcasses of old factories dotted around in more built-up areas, he knew, and as he turned his gaze upward and spotted how far away the ceiling at least appeared to be he suspected that was where he was.
But that didn't help him much.
There was nothing specific in the area that he could see and not nearly enough light to see by in order to make out anything useful. What little light there was filtered in from a high window off behind him somewhere, but he couldn't turn his head enough in that direction to confirm as much.
A firm tug on first one wrist and then the other confirmed something else: he was restrained, and securely at that. Whatever held him to the chair he was sitting on was tight without being painfully constrictive, and when he strained against the bonds he couldn't feel any chafing of rope or bite of metal edges. Even with barely any light to see by he turned his head down to try and see what was holding him, just able to make out a fairly large cuff of some kind closed around his wrist, keeping it trapped against the upper leg of the chair. Clenching his fist he pulled on the restraint again, not just jerking this time but actually pulling against it and holding the pressure. Just faintly he could make out the tell-tale creak of leather straining.
When his arm started to ache he released the pressure and tried to twist his wrist to test if the restraint had loosened at all.
It hadn't.
"Dammit." His frustration only grew when he tried to move his legs and found them similarly restricted, identical leather cuffs closed around his ankles and holding them fast to the chair as well. And the chair itself wasn't budging either, he discovered, no matter how forcefully he shifted his weight in any direction.
"Careful now," a voice said from behind him, out of his line of sight. Miguel tensed despite himself, stilling so that he could listen to the sound of footsteps approaching from the same direction. "We wouldn't want you hurting yourself."
He waited until the owner of the voice had stepped around to his side enough for him to see them properly before he said anything. "Sasha." It was a redundant thing to say, really, but Miguel felt at least a little better for being able to summon and use his voice. It made him feel a little less powerless. It wasn't much but he would take what he could get.
It was probably too much to hope that all this was just some sort of harmless fun on her part. Even if that was the case, he would have to tell her he wasn't really interested. Even though there were guys out there who wouldn't complain about being put in this sort of position, especially not by a woman as striking as the blonde standing nearby, he wasn't one of them.
Even as the thought crossed his mind Miguel knew it was a ridiculous one. Too much about the situation felt wrong for it to be anything of the sort.
She gave him a smile. "Actually," she said, "it's Irina."
Given the situation he had found himself in Miguel wasn't shocked to find out she'd lied about her name. "What is this? What do you want?" Hopefully it wasn't an audience to some great speech about injustices or some sort of persecution of which she had been a victim, and for which she blamed the UEO. He and everyone else aboard the seaQuest had just about had their fill of those sorts of proclamations.
"Straight to business, hmm?" She laughed a low laugh and tilted her head. "An admirable quality, I suppose, even if it is less enjoyable."
Miguel tried not to think about what she might mean by that. But if nothing else it confirmed his suspicions on her intentions: definitely not harmless fun.
Sasha, or rather Irina, came to a stop in front of him and looked down at him, standing so calmly and so casually that it made his restraints all the more frustrating. That small hint of a smile that he had so recently found intriguing and genuinely attractive lingered on her face as she said, "I could spin some story for you and try to win you over that way, but I don't think either one of us is interested in wasting time. Are we?" The smile grew, briefly becoming a grin. She shook her head, stepping closer. "No, there's no point in playing that game." She was close enough after that step to reach her hand towards his face, drawing in a slow, deep breath as she did so.
What he could only assume was not so very long ago he would have allowed her to make that contact, and gladly, but now he was reluctant to let her touch him for so much as a second. Miguel pulled his head back and out of her reach.
Irina compensated quickly by closing what little distance was left between them and using her freedom of movement to her distinct advantage. Her hand caught hold of his chin and she was able to jerk his head forward and down again. "But just look at you," she said with a sigh, practically purring the words. "Who could blame me for wanting to have a little fun?"
Damn. He really was in trouble.
Miguel managed to wrench his head out of her grasp. "I hate to disappoint you," he said, allowing a slight edge to slip into his voice, "but this really isn't my idea of fun."
"No?" Irina smiled a slow smile at him and when she moved again it was just as drawn out and purposeful. Taking her time with the motion she lowered herself to sit in his lap, able to do so effortlessly and without any real resistance from him, though it wasn't for lack of effort on his part. Futilely, and perhaps foolishly, he tried to push back in the chair but neither he nor the seat moved even the slightest amount. As his frustration flared she settled herself on his legs, effectively straddling him. Miguel told himself to stop wasting his energy, to just sit still and tolerate it to the best of his ability. He would need to save his strength for when it really mattered, when an opportunity to escape presented itself.
One of Irina's brows curved delicately upward and she seemed to fight a smile even as she said, "You didn't seem to have a problem with me touching you before." Lowering her eyes she played her fingers across the front of his shirt, her nails catching briefly at the material.
He hadn't. At all. That was true. Miguel knew it would have been a lie to say otherwise so instead he kept his mouth shut, focusing on controlling his breathing, and in turn, his heart rate. He had to stay calm and collected. He had to keep his composure. She was a beautiful woman, that much hadn't changed, and with the alcohol in his system and the lowered inhibitions that went along with it he hadn't had the slightest problem with getting close to a perfect stranger, especially one who was so obviously and keenly interested in him.
Stupid, really. He should have known better. After what had happened with Tim, and so recently at that, he really should have known better.
He shouldn't have had that last shot.
With a low roll of laughter Irina traced her hand up from his stomach to his chest, lifting her now narrowed eyes back to his as she said, "Really? You're going to blame the alcohol?" She made a tsk sound with her tongue and shook her head gently. "You and I both know that isn't true."
It was like a flood of ice water had filled his veins. Miguel had been trying to fix his eyes anywhere but her face, attempting to starve her of the attention she so desperately seemed to want from him, but those words jerked his gaze up and to her face instantly. Registering his obvious shock she showed him a wide smile, both of her brows lifting expectantly. Miguel remembered the feeling of her hand touching his neck before oblivion had closed in and speaking in barely above a whisper he said, "You're a psychic."
When she responded it wasn't aloud, her voice instead carrying as clear as a bell through his head. "Guilty as charged."
Closing his eyes and giving his head a shake as if he could get her out so easily he pulled in a sharp breath and tried to clear his mind. The seaQuest had had enough run-ins with psychics for him to know that he had to do everything in his power to guard all the information he possessed. Focus on nothing, Captain Bridger had told them when Clay Marshall had come aboard. That was exactly what Miguel tried to do then.
Irina let out a laugh even as she settled her hands on his shoulders. "That's cute," she told him. "A complete waste of your time, but cute all the same." She was actually smiling at him.
Keeping his mind blank wasn't easy. He wasn't used to it. Given his position aboard seaQuest and the intense and extensive training it had taken to qualify for it in the first place, Miguel had grown accustomed to keeping his mind busy and active, always working away at problems and solutions and everything in between. He liked to be doing something, and so even mental inactivity had never been the sort of thing he was known for.
"You're thinking," Irina began, relaxing her position enough so that her arms were loosely dangling over his shoulders, something that required her to lean that much closer to him, "that you can't possibly have anything of value for me to take out of your mind." Her eyes searched his face up close as she went on, "And you're thinking that you can shut me out if you clear that pretty little head of yours." The fingers of one hand played through his hair at the back as she said that. Miguel tried not to flinch. Irina showed her teeth when she smiled again. "Whoever told you that was an effective tactic didn't know what they were talking about."
He brought his eyes up to her face again. There was little more than two inches separating them now. She was too close. Much too close.
"Am I?" she asked him, tilting her head again, almost as if considering the notion. She let out another of those small laughs as she said, "I can get much closer than this."
And then she kissed him, her hands going to either side of his head to hold him there as her lips pressed firmly to his own. Even when he tried to pull away he found that he couldn't, and with a great swell of alarm he realised that the tension in his body was melting away as the seconds passed. In the next instant the alarm eased and bled out of him as well.
It was only when she pulled back, breaking the kiss, that the tension and the alarm came surging back. It was forceful enough that it momentarily robbed him of breath. He couldn't hide his shock as he looked her in the eye, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened.
Irina's smile was oddly reserved then as she looked right back at him, letting several seconds pass before she said, "You know what that was, Miguel. I know you do."
His blood ran cold again. Because he did know, or at least he suspected. Clay Marshall had exercised a similar kind of power during his time aboard seaQuest even if he hadn't utilised it in the same manner that Irina just had. Despite himself Miguel pulled against the restraints holding his wrists again, a very real sense of dread beginning to creep through his veins.
She brought one hand up again, using it to brush some of his hair out of his face. "There it is," she murmured approvingly.
Breathe. He had to breathe. Take control. Calm down. Be rational. Slowly and steadily he drew that breath in through his nose and let it steady him before he even tried to speak. When he did he was able to do so without his voice betraying the tension he was feeling under the surface. "If you wanted to control someone from seaQuest, you should have picked someone higher up the chain of command." He knew his place, where he stood in the grand scheme of things, and he didn't have any delusions about what sort of power he wielded on the boat. "I don't control any critical systems and my clearance will only get you so far." Miguel actually allowed the slightest smile to show then, hoping that the woman sitting astride him would pick up on just how true his statements were, and just how big a mistake she had made.
"True," Irina agreed without delay, still sitting comfortably across his lap.
With a furrow in his brow he let his frown show. That wasn't the reaction he had been hoping for. "So why me?"
Her smile showed anew. "Because who would suspect you?" Her fingers brushed lightly along the underside of the line of his jaw. Miguel couldn't help but pull his head away. "By your own admission your access is limited, but you're well-respected, and more importantly, you're well-liked. Not to mention trusted." She lowered her hands to his chest. "Honestly? I could have taken any of the three of you and achieved the same results, but I have to admit—" she angled her eyes back up to his and took her lower lip between her teeth just as she had outside the bar, "—I'm glad it was you." With a devious lilt to her voice she leaned in closer and said in a hushed voice, "The other two just aren't my type."
The other two. Tim and Lonnie. She would have taken whoever she could get her hands on. Miguel allowed himself a moment to be relieved that neither of the others had fallen prey to the woman sitting astride his lap then.
Irina made a low sound in her throat. "I hope they know how much you care about them. And I hope that affection isn't misplaced on your part. It's always a shame when you put your faith in the wrong people." At that she slid back and stood, removing herself from his lap at last.
But Miguel's relief was short-lived. No sooner had Irina cleared his legs and stepped back than a strong hand was landing on the back of his head and pushing the whole thing forward and down, forcefully enough to make his neck ache and flood his whole body with alarmed tension. In the next instant a sharp, tight pain pulsed through the back of his neck, harsh enough to make him give a small, breathless cry. And then, as suddenly as it had started, it was over: the hand was gone from the back of his head and he could lift it again, wincing as the pain in his neck persisted.
To his left stood the figure from the alley, a fairly imposing man of respectable height and build with close-cropped hair and a stony expression on his gruff face. In his hand he held a device of some kind, something that looked like a medical injector but with subtle differences in the overall design. It didn't look like standard UEO issue, that was for sure.
"A little something to keep you in line," Irina told him, glancing briefly to her silent companion. "I'm sure you're aware that even strong psychics have a range, and therefore limitations." Spreading her hands a little to her sides she went on, "I'm no exception, unfortunately, but we live in a delightfully technologically advanced age." With one hand she reached towards her companion, who wordlessly set the device in her palm. "The implant Evan just injected you with will allow me to connect over much greater distances than I, or any other psychic, would otherwise be capable of."
There was something about the look on her face that told Miguel that wasn't all.
She smiled, obviously sensing his expectation. "And it gives me the ability to completely overwhelm and subdue your conscious mind at any time."
That didn't sound good. The ball of dread that had started to form in the pit of Miguel's stomach grew a little larger.
Her smile became a grin, if only fleetingly. "Essentially," she said, "it will allow me to take control of your body, while giving me full access to your mind and everything in it."
Miguel actually felt genuinely nauseated for a moment but he fought to push it down and away. He didn't have time for it. "Why?" She hadn't explained any of this yet, what she hoped to gain from doing what she claimed she could do. What she was doing.
Irina glanced briefly to Evan and back again. "Why else?" she asked, shrugging her shoulders as she tossed the injector back to the man. "Money."
Miguel allowed his incredulity to show.
"Do you have any idea how many people would pay for the sorts of secrets and advancements your precious little submarine holds?" She moved close enough to set her hands on his knees, bowing herself closer to him once again. "Weaponry, scientific research, technology. You name it, there's someone out there who would pay a handsome price for it."
"I've already told you—"
"You don't have full access to classified information, blah blah blah." Irina shook her head at him. "But you can get it. Somehow." She smiled. "You're a very smart and very resourceful man, Miguel Ortiz. Don't pretend otherwise." Leaning in a little closer she went on to say in a stage whisper, "And you have friends." Taking a moment to meet and hold his gaze she said in a more normal volume, "And it's remarkable what friendship can get you, if you know how to use it."
Miguel hadn't even realised he was shaking his head until he started to respond. "I won't do it. I won't let you." Before the words had even finished leaving his lips he was regretting them. What an unbelievably stupid and redundant thing to say. He had meant to sound defiant and resilient but it felt like he had fallen so far short of the mark that instead it was almost laughable.
"Oh, sweetie." Irina took his face in her hands. "You won't have a choice." And then she kissed him again, harder this time but more briefly. Miguel thought it was more to shock and discomfort him, to drive her point home, than anything else.
Maddeningly, it worked.
"Now." Irina pulled in a breath and once again slid herself into place on his lap. "You might want to brace yourself, handsome." When his gaze met hers she gave him a look that was obviously meant to convey sympathy but he could see the faint hints of amusement in her eyes that ruined the effect. "This is going to hurt." She stroked her hands from the sides of his face back along his head, her palms almost covering his ears, her fingers raking through his hair. Her fingertips pressed firmly against his scalp.
"What are you doing?" He tried not to let her hear the apprehension in his voice. He had a feeling he failed. Miserably.
"Leaving an impression." And that was all she said before an unbearable pressure flooded his skull, and with it pain. It swelled and built and intensified until Miguel thought it was going to destroy him, until he couldn't bear it anymore, and then it pushed even further. He didn't hear himself screaming as the agony shoved him all the way to the edge and then over it completely into the blissful oblivion of unconsciousness.