For the prompt: "Would you quit moving around?" "It's not my fault we're tied up together!"

There was going to be an all-out war.

A whole world war, with the US and China on one side and... someone else on the other side. She wasn't sure yet who. But once she found out, that person or persons or state actor was going to be in for a world of—

"Would you quit moving around?!"

"It's not my fault we're tied up together!" Elizabeth hissed. Petulantly, she twisted her body again. The rope was tight against her midsection, and held her ramrod-straight against the wooden chair with her arms pinned down to her sides. She was bound back-to-back to a second chair, in which sat a second person in what she imagined was a similar position. The rope ran around them both and when she moved, it pulled tight around him; when he moved, it pulled tight around her.

Out of a slight sense of desperation, she began to rock her body side to side, trying to loosen something or move something or break something. With a bigger shift of her weight, one of the chair legs lifted from the ground and rocked dangerously, threatening to send them both toppling sideways.

At her back, she felt as Ming Chen flailed a little, trying to reset his balance and keep them upright.

"Do you have a plan here, Elizabeth?" he snapped.

"Oh, I think I am the last person you want to be snapping at right now," she said darkly. "And I don't see you coming up with any brilliant solutions to get us out of this mess."

"I would have thought these solutions were part of your CIA training."

"Well, it wasn't."

"That seems like an oversight now, doesn't it?"

"Analysts aren't exactly in danger of being taken hostage, Ming," she muttered. She twisted again.

"I thought we weren't, either." He sounded about as pissed off as Elizabeth felt. "Two heads of state. From nations that both carry nuclear launch codes. Who does that?"

Idiots, that's who.

Chen let loose a flurry of Mandarin that Elizabeth knew could only be profanity. She didn't speak Mandarin but she felt like she truly understood the gist of whatever he was saying.

China was probably going to start a nuclear war after this.

Hell, Elizabeth was probably going to start a nuclear war after this.

Once he had calmed down again, Ming said slowly, "I have a folding knife in my pocket."

That got Elizabeth's attention. "Did they not search us before they tied us up?" she said in surprise.

"It seems we've been snatched by idiots."

"Okay." She was thinking. "Okay."

"I can't get to it. But if we…" He sighed. "If we tip over onto my left side, your right side... it might give me the room I need to reach it."

Elizabeth nodded, though she was already dreading how much that was going to hurt and how sore she would be tomorrow. "Yeah, okay. We can do that."

"Remind me to call my chiropractor tomorrow," he muttered. They began to rock their weight side to side.

It only took a few tries before they were crashing to the ground.

God, the indignity.

Elizabeth grunted as her shoulder absorbed the brunt of their fall, taking her weight and Ming's and lancing pain all the way down her arm. It stole her air for a moment.

Once she could breathe again, she seethed, "This is the stupidest thing that has ever happened to me."

Ming was cursing again. In English this time—using words she had never heard him say before.

"Can you move?" she asked him.

He wriggled around, shifting and scrabbling. After a moment, he made a noise that signaled relief. "Got it," he said. She heard a metallic flick as he pulled the knife open. A slight fumble, and then the sound of the blade biting through the fibers of the rope, sliding back and forth.

Elizabeth held herself carefully still so that he wouldn't accidentally nick or gut her. Suddenly, she felt all of the rope go slack. She rolled over, scrambling to her knees, and then Ming was standing in front of her and holding out a hand to help her up.

"Thanks."

"Nothing dislocated or broken?"

She rolled her shoulders carefully. There was pain, but mostly just a blunt ache. Nothing debilitating or sharp or particularly worrisome. "No, I don't think so. You?"

"I don't think so." He bent down to pick up his knife, fold it, and slip it in his pocket again. "Okay," he said. "Let's figure out how to get out of here. We have a war to start."