Story Notes: I'm so happy to finally share this. I didn't think I would be able to write a sequel but after I finished the Bordurian Conspiracy. I started to get some new ideas that didn't suit another multi-chapter Story I was trying to write so I formed it into this. This is also a revenge story but I've tried to make it different from the rest of my recent stories. This story also has a subplot to add some danger in for Sponsz and to push the story along. I've also made changes to my recent story Requiem. I'm pleased with the reviews I received for that story, including one that identified some major errors that I should have seen. Please enjoy the sequel to The Bordurian Conspiracy. Feel free to review, favourite and follow. I put my chapters through a double grammar and spell check, but if there is any they're all mine.
Thanks to ImagineRay & anna for the lovely reviews.
Chapter Summary: It's been one month since the events in Borduria, and Tintin is back to his job. All is not what it seems. He's completely unaware that he is being surveilled.
Suggested Music
1. Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis - Ralph Vaughan Williams
2. Day of the Dead - Hans Zimmer and Junkie XL (For the final scene)
3. The Four Seasons, Violin Concerto in F Minor, Op. 8 No. 4, RV 297 "Winter": I. Allegro non-molto - Takako Nishizaki
Chapter One
Tintin's eyes snapped open before his head could hit off the window. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see fire and the water that followed. Nothing provided comfort. It just suffocated him. Tintin sighed, easing his head back onto the headrest. His eyes continued to gaze at the surroundings outside the bus window. He could see nothing but green fields for miles. Twisted barks littered the edges of the road, reminding Tintin of the cold and wet season his world remained shrouded within. No sign of the city yet. Settling in his seat, he tried his best to relax. It proved hard.
One month had passed since he had returned from Syldavia. The scars remained, and the grip of Sponsz' hands on his head and neck still haunted him. Exhaling deeply, he allowed his eyes to close again. He hoped he could regain the sleep he had lost throughout the night.
x
As the bus pulled up at the side of the busy road, Tintin thanked the driver and headed up the pavement. The ideally located office nestled neatly between an Antique store and a confectionary shop. A perfect deal given the sweet tooth of some of his work colleges. Tintin sauntered up the stairs, making a beeline for his desk. His colleges were already hard at work. Sylvain's frenzied typed filled the room with what sounded like morse code, almost covering up the gossiping in the corner. Pascal on the other hand had disappeared. Tintin sat down and started to read through the work he'd been unable to finish yesterday. As his finger hit the keys he couldn't even begin to try and keep up with Sylvain. Just as he started to get into a flow, Pascal appeared beside him. As he placed a cup of Tea down beside him, he smiled.
"Thanks, Pascal,"
Pascal sat on the desk beside Tintin's, keeping eye contact.
"Are you okay?" Pascal asked.
"I'm fine,"
He wasn't lying. He didn't want to open up to anyone yet. Pascal's eyes narrowed at him as he tilted his head to the side. Luckily he didn't push the issue any further.
"Why did you switch assignments with Sylvain?" Pascal asked.
"Sylvain always wanted to go to Prague. I'd rather stay in Belgium at present,"
Before Pascal could reply, another voice broke through the outer office.
"Tintin, can I have a word?"
Remi, their boss, motioned for Tintin to come to his office. Tintin hastily left his desk, but as Remi closed the door behind them, he suddenly started to worry.
"Yes sir?"
"15 typing errors in this report," Remi exclaimed as he sat down at his desk.
"Sorry, sir,"
"It's usual for you," Remi exclaimed softly.
"Apologies sir" Tintin reiterated, making a mental note to retype the report when he got the chance.
"Are you sure you're alright?"
"Of course,"
He couldn't convince himself he was alright, let alone his boss.
"You seem distracted," Remi commented.
"I'm fine,"
Remi rested his chin in his hands and looked up at Tintin. He had always been a considerate boss and today was no exception.
"Tintin you've been through a lot lately. It's understandable. You have accumulated a lot of holiday time but you've never taken it, why?"
"I've never felt the need,"
"If you ever do feel the need, please don't hesitate to ask," Remi replied softly.
"Thanks," Tintin replied graciously.
Tintin left the office and sat back down on his seat. Manuel slammed his notes down on the table next to him, startling Tintin. Had he been writing or typing he would've had yet another mistake to correct. He hadn't even seen Manuel come in.
"That was a productive morning," Manuel beamed as he sat down. "Looking forward to the public announcement you're attending?"
"Definitely," Tintin smiled.
"Well done on getting picked to represent us,"
"Thanks. I'm still not sure how that happened," Tintin said. "Why are you so happy?"
"I managed to gleam a load of information concerning a gun theft that occurred this morning. It should write up quite well,"
x
3 hours Later
The voice of Gabriel Mercier filled the street below. Promises of easing political tension and addressing the issues of today bounced off the brick walls of the street and into the twisty alleyways in between. This wasn't the focus of the man poised at the end of the building. Hidden behind the low wall he pressed his gun between the small gap. Aiming straight into the crowd, he hunted for his true target. A smile slowly formed on his lips as the ginger-haired man appeared in the scope.
"Gotcha,"
He took his time, relishing the sight of his target lifeless on the pavement. First, he had to make the shot. Pulling the trigger would be easier said than done. His eye drifted to the flag atop the government building, watching, waiting for the best possible moment. Focusing on his goal his senses remained dull to everything else as endorphins raced through his veins.
The footfalls behind him remained silent.
Hands gripped his shoulders. He was pulled from his position, landing on his back to meet a face he had not laid eyes upon in years.
"Marek!"
"Sponsz,"
Sponsz leapt to his feet, his chest tightening at the sight of his old comrade.
"What do you think you're doing?" Sponsz spat, sneering at Marek.
"My Job,"
Marek launched at him without warning. Sponsz ducked and dived opting not to grab the sniper rifle lying on the rooftop. He moved succinctly, blocking two punches to his face before commencing his offensive. He swung for him, in precisely coordinated efforts. Marek quickly blocked them, swiping his legs from under him in the process. He hit the roof but immediately kicked Marek behind his knees, forcing him onto the ground. Sponsz grunted in frustration as Marek effortlessly flipped back onto his feet. Before he could move Marek slammed his foot into his stomach. He rolled over onto his back, gripping his abdomen.
Stand up you fool! What is wrong with you?
He pulled himself onto his feet, clenching his teeth and glared at Marek.
He stormed up to Marek, unwilling to let him stop him. Sponsz burst into a series of sharp offensives, taking Marek off guard. His fists moved fast, disappearing within a blur to the outside eye. Marek's defences quickly opened. He took the opportunity to slam his fist into Marek's nose, shattering the cartilage that held it together. He didn't give Marek a chance to fall. He violently pushed him, swinging his leg high over his head, kicking Marek straight in the face. Marek staggered backwards, grasping his face, unaware of the 30-foot drop behind him. With one false step, Marek plummeted to the ground screaming. Sponsz rushed to the edge of the roof to find Marek lying on the ground with blood surrounding his curled brown hair. Sponsz stared into his open eye's.
You should have shot me Marek but no, you had to push your luck.
Growling, he moved back to the other side of the roof but as he gazed out at the street his optimum time had been and gone. Gabriel Mercier had gone, as had half of those who had turned out to see him. Grabbing his gun, he scanned the street below with the scope. No target, he had disappeared. His face scrunched up as he pushed his hands through his short black hair with enough force to pull out the roots. He tried to refrain, quickly reminding himself that he needed to continue his vendetta undetected. Retaining his newly acquired hair, which had grown quickly, remained essential for that.
How did Marek recognize me?
The question disappeared as he focused back on his unattained goal. Placing his gun and cartridges back into the case he made off with haste.
Time for plan B.
Wow. Usually, my first chapters are short and snappy. I'm quite amazed I've managed to write so much. I had a hard job imagining Sponsz with hair, but it's vital to the next parts of the story. Thanks for reading, feel free to follow, favourite and review. This story will hopefully not be as long as The Bordurian Conspiracy. At best this story will be about 10 - 12 chapters at the most although I thought that with TBC.