Hello, I want to apologize for confusing some people with the first chapter.
This little romp would take place during season 1.
It is set up as a sort of suspense/mystery I suppose, but because of the random and quirky humor that keeps popping up, I set the dial to general.
I'm deliberately not giving away Ian Nottingham's intentions immediately and parts of the puzzle will reveal themselves as the plot moves along.
The main character in the first chapter is written in first person to conceal their identity. If you don't like guessing games, you can cheat by scrolling to the bottom. There is a 'dead giveaway' there. As to What is happening and what Ian is up to, well, that will be coming out in bits and pieces scattered throughout the story.
*********************** denotes change in point of view from one character to another.
All the usual disclaimers and excuses.
I own none of these characters or their wardrobes and toys. I'm just taking them out for a spin.
They belong to Top cow and TNT, I beleive.
Tenebrous
Part 1
*********************************************************
The decision to walk home had perhaps been a bad one.
*I should have caught a cab* I thought, while trying furtively to ditch the rather formidable looking man tailing me. The idea that he just happened to be going the same way was becoming a bit unlikely.
Thinking about the recent development with the witchblade, I quickened my pace. Now would be a bad time to be cornered by the wrong people.
As I hastened towards my flat I considered the fact that my neighborhood was comprised of more dark alleyways than well lit streets. Alleys that would be prime locations for mugging or whatever my tenacious stalker had in mind.
I was debating whether or not to just head somewhere else when a black gloved hand shot out of one such alley and yanked me into the darkness. In the split second before I was pinned back against his chest, I caught a brief glimpse of my assailant.
Ian Nottingham, Irons' menacing black clad assassin dragged me into the shadows. The fact that he had subtly threatened to kill me at one point stood out in my mind.
With one freakishly strong arm effectively pinning my arms to my sides and a gloved hand over my mouth I was left with my feet as my only defense. I kicked furiously, assailing his shins repeatedly.
The reward for my efforts unfortunately, was a close up view of graffiti and sharp knees pressed into the back of my thighs. I yelped into the gloved hand firmly gripping my face.
The assassin had pinned me against a brick wall, his gun *I HOPED that was his gun* digging painfully into my backside. "Quiet." He hissed.
I was vaguely aware of the sound of someone approaching the alley. Hope of a distraction or rescue sang briefly in my mind before turning into dismay as I realized it was most likely the sinister looking pursuer.
Dread began to rise in my chest as I realized the hopelessness of my situation. The sound of my own heartbeat throbbed in my ears as the footfalls neared and stopped. I held my breath in apprehension. My captors 'Captain Morgan' hair veiled what little I could see of the mouth of the alleyway.
I glimpsed a shadow moving forward through the veil and deduced that the man was entering the alley. I tensed under the grip of the assassin and tried to wrap my head around the events that led to my position and the motives of the men behind it.
In my panicked state it was difficult to think clearly and Nottingham was not an entirely predictable man. Had he pulled me into the Alley to assist my pursuer? Why didn't the assassin just kill me himself? It didn't really make sense, especially since we appeared to be hiding from the large man.
Thinking that Nottingham was protecting me was a bit too optimistic if not flat out ridiculous. Of course, the Idea of Nottingham offering assistance to would-be assailants was pretty far fetched also.
An image of Nottingham giving pointers to the man popped into my head * " You want make sure you're not seen when you make the hit, otherwise you'll waste too much time eliminating witnesses. Also, use a silencer. I myself prefer a blade, silent but deadly..." *
I nearly chuckled into his glove, earning me another jab with his *gun*.
The shadow merged into the darkness of the alley and paused.
*Probably letting his eyes adjust to the dark* I thought. I didn't get a chance to ponder the situation further as I was instantly released and the sound of a silenced gun met my ears.
I promptly stumbled back and fell to my knees, the loss of pressure to the base of my thighs sending stabs of pain up my legs. I was aware of the sound of a body hitting the ground and tried to force my legs to run but they refused. All I managed was a cry of pain.
As I mentally cursed the offending appendages a strong hand grabbed me from behind and lifted me to my nonresponsive feet. Instinctively, I reached back to free myself, only to have my wrist captured in a vice-like grip while my other arm was quickly grabbed and forced behind my back as well. He made short work of tying my hands, making me curse the incapacity of my legs at a crucial moment all the more.
While being embarrassingly half dragged and half carried down a narrow street I Identified the survivor as Nottingham. I wasn't really surprised.
As the circulation started to come back to my legs I began looking for the chance to escape. I had no intention of sticking around to find out what fate he had planned out for me. I'd had enough knowledge of these situations to know the outcome was never pleasant.
As I eyed my surroundings for an escape route I realized we were headed towards my flat. What the hell?
"You're taking me home?" I blurted without thinking. *My own voice resonated in my ears, making me realize how bizarre and out of place my first statement of the night sounded*.
With a sinking dread, I thought of a reason why he might be taking me there. No, no... It couldn't be. How could he know about it?
"Soon," Nottingham replied. What that meant didn't become clear until I was led inside the building and brought to a door near mine but not mine. It was padlocked.
After opening the door with his free hand, he shoved me inside and pulled something from inside his coat. From the dim light I had trouble making out what it was until it was nearing my neck.
A leash!? Expert assassin or no, I was having none of this. In my state of horror (odd, thinking that less than 20 minutes ago I was relatively calmly accepting my own death) I had no self recrimination, hesitations or doubts regarding my quick knee to the groin of the man facing me with a leash.
Taking full advantage of his body's shock and pain, I ducked and darted past him, running with all the speed and force my abused legs would tolerate. I was sure I was home free until I reached the door leading to the streets and found that the maneuvering it takes to open a latch with hands tied behind your back simply negates a 5 second lead, adrenaline induced speed or no. I was now faced with a VERY pissed off Nottingham.
Hands still frantically working at the latch (why did they make this one so complex?) I'd just gotten it free when Nottingham yanked me forward violently and shoved me against the wall. With my hands still tied behind my back, I was unable to stop him from securing the loathsome object of my panic around my throat... I had a terrible feeling this would end in an ugly death and I still had no idea what the purpose or end to this was.
With the gloved hand back in place, muffling my protests, I was dispatched quickly back to the padlocked room. Nottingham had clearly lost any patience he may have had. I was dragged to a far corner of the small room where he tied the short leash to an exposed plumbing pipe.
"No!" I tried to yell as the hand left my face briefly. My strangled cry was negated by fingers digging into my throat. The assassins mouth pressed to my ear. "Silence!" He whispered urgently.
Having no choice but to be silent, considering his gloved hand was cutting off my oxygen, I settled for a glare at him before losing consciousness. My last dimming sight was of the assassins dark eyes staring into mine with a queer glint in them.
***********************
Ian Knottingham stretched his unconscious captive out on the floor. After searching the body for any implements of escape, he secured a gag and bound the troublesome legs. He briefly considered breaking them. After deciding against it, the assassin padlocked the door to the makeshift holding room and headed swiftly to his next task.
He'd had little warning of the enemy's attack and had to move quickly and precisely to eliminate the threat. The unexpected development had complicated Ian's own risky plans, but if this played out right it could prove to his advantage.
The assassin crouched outside the door to the flat, listening intently. He could hear people moving about inside and objects being overturned. As he expected, more agents had come back to search for the tome.
He hoped they would find the masterfully exact replica he'd planted on his last visit to the flat. After disposing of the intruders and disabling all monitoring devices he'd placed the fake tome in a drawer before preparing the makeshift cell nearby. That accomplished, he'd left in search of the prey he knew they'd be hunting.
Having terminated the hunt and capturing their prey, *not without severe pain to his groin and what promised to be lovely welts dotting his shins* he steeled himself for the tricky part of his scheme.
Dagger in hand, the assassin slid the door open and swiftly dispatched the man guarding it before he even had a chance to comprehend his demise.
***********************
A dim and dirty room greeted my eyes as I returned to consciousness. Something was in my mouth, my neck felt odd and I ached seemingly everywhere. It wasn't till I tried to remove the offending object from my mouth that I realized my hands were tied. Memory flooded back as to how I'd gotten into this situation in the first place and I groaned... The gag was new. I looked down at my bound legs. *I guess he's not risking a repeat performance*
***********************
Ian Knottingham silently lowered the corpse to the floor and prowled unnoticed, further into the room. Concealing himself in the shadows, he assessed the situation and waited for events to play themselves out.
He waited...and waited as they continued in what had to be the worst foraging endeavor he'd ever witnessed.
"Did you search the bathroom?" Asked one of the two remaining men. The other, younger and slightly taller man peered up from the sofa he was dismembering.
"That's pretty heavy bathroom reading material," he smirked. The older man simply glared at him before resuming his destruction of a fairly innocent looking bookshelf. Sighing, the younger man desisted his assault on an armrest and stalked off to the doomed lavatory.
This was taking far too long. Their bizarre thoroughness might actually unearth the real tome. Ian himself, hadn't been able to find it. He had hidden a video camera in the flat before the tome arrived, but the sole tenant had the dumb luck of constantly placing objects in front of the minute lens.
As Ian watched one of the men thoroughly examine a chair cushion, he was hit with the ridiculous thought of throwing something at the drawer holding the replica to draw their attention to it. Thankfully, at that moment one of the men had an epiphany and started to actually open drawers.
Once he'd discovered this new and exciting search method it was only a short time before the replica was found.
***********************
Nottingham had been thorough. After squirming about and searching any pocket my bound hands could reach, I groaned at the realization that I had nothing to cut the bonds and no cellphone. The leash insured I could not even leave my corner. If there was a way out of my predicament it eluded me. Sighing in resignation, I sat back and waited for whatever the assassin had planned.
***********************
"Ha!" The younger man barked in triumph, holding up what looked to be an ancient box.
His accomplice looked over in relief. "Good, now we can get out of here before whoever took out the others returns."
"What about the key?" Asked the younger man whom Ian had mentally dubbed 'tank man'. For some inexplicable reason he had brought the lid to the toilet tank out of the bathroom after searching it and placed it on a table like a trophy.
"No one even knows what it looks like or how it works except the owner of this fine establishment. Anyway, that's not our problem; some special ops guy is taking care of it. A buddy of 'Smiley', over there." He said, gesturing towards the entrance that 'Smiley the corpse' was supposedly guarding.
***
At least neither buddy will miss the other, Ian mused.
While the men had been discussing the key and the *unbeknownst to them, failed* kidnapping, Ian had slinked back to the door. He moved 'Smiley' out of the way and opened the door slightly. He hoped this would provide incentive for the man holding the replica to flee rather than fight.
It would be the wise decision, especially since the man seemed aware of the fact that the assassin had decimated the previous, highly skilled team of agents. As Ian saw it, the mans' main priority would be to get the prize back to his superiors. Tonight, however, no one seemed predictable.
If things went according to plan the man would escape with the prize while Ian made a show of occupying himself with his partner. If both men decided to fight it could be a slight problem.
An even worse scenario had occurred to Ian as he'd watched their unusual search tactics. This second team, seemed less experienced, less professional. They might just freeze and wet themselves. That would be bad. It would be very suspicious if a highly skilled assassin had difficulty killing two men with wet spots at close range. No one was that bad of a shot.
***
"Hey Smiley, time to go" 'Tank man' called as they headed towards the door. As they rounded the shelving unit they spotted 'Smiley' slumped against the wall and froze.
***
The assassin stepped into view, automatically firing at the first man to go for his gun. Ian mentally sighed with relief at the fact that it had been the one with both hands free.
The man carrying the decoy tome seemed momentarily torn between reaching for his gun or fleeing. Ian solved the man's indecision by lunging at him and feinting to get purchase of his booty. Instinctively, the man clutched the prize to himself and fled. Ian gave restrained chase for a bit before allowing his duped prey to evade him.
Satisfied with his deception, he headed back to deal with his hostage.
Even inanimate objects were joining the unpredictable club tonight, Ian mused as he glared at the lock which refused to open despite the fact that he'd properly inserted and turned the key.
Losing patience with all things uncooperative he manhandled the lock into submission. He entered the padlocked room and eyed the captive in the corner for signs of anything amiss. The apprehensive expression of the prisoner relieved him and warmed his heart. All was well.
Ian Nottingham reached into a pocket and retrieved the cellphone he'd pilfered from his captive. He turned the phone on and advanced on the terrified being who was trying desperately to appear calm.
***********************
I lost sense of time while sitting in the pitch black room, not sure if I'd been there for minutes or hours. I was getting tired of trying to guess what would happen next and why I was here. Anything involving the witchblade always ended up being bizarre anyway.
Just as my sleep deprived brain was making an exit towards la la land I heard a sound, a slight scrape. I tensed and waited.
The noise of the key rattling in the lock startled me. It seemed odd. Nottingham was always silent, always stepping out of nowhere and disappearing into shadows without a sound. Maybe it wasn't Nottingham!
I heard the padlock click open. My tenaciously optimistic mind produced an image of a harmless and confused janitor peering in at me with a shocked and confused expression.
As if to teach my optimism a lesson on popping up at inappropriate moments, my hopes were dashed as muted light entered the dark abyss of the room. The figure who stood in the doorway was definitely the assassin. He was neither harmless nor shocked. In fact, he looked quite pleased.
After pausing to observe my state he fiddled with a cellphone before retuning it to his coat and advancing on me. Without bothering to speak, he freed the leash from the pipe and grabbed me about the waist. Feeling like a sack of potatoes, I was hauled from the room to my flat wordlessly.
As I was totted across the flat I noticed bodies slumped on the floor. Ignoring them, Nottingham deposited me on the remains of my sofa. Without ceremony my gag was removed and for a brief, insane moment I'd worried that I'd drooled on it.
Hm, gag removed means interrogation begins. I really wasn't looking forward to this.
"Where is the tome?" He asked in a casual manner, similar to the tone people use when in search of a restroom. I pretended not to hear and distracted myself by surveying the objects in the room that weren't Nottingham. "What is... Is that um, the lid to the toilet tank?"
"Yes." Nottingham answered calmly, as if the toilet tank cover had every right to be on the table where I usually took my coffee. "So, where is it? Is it safe?" He prodded.
Any reply I could think of would either bring danger to people I cared about or possibly get me killed so I chose the 'no answer' route. I was most likely on the path to torture and now wished I'd spent my 'cell time' a little more constructively.
The leash was starting to chafe my neck. "What's with this leash? Does it come with the standard assassin kit or is it some sort of creepy kink of yours?" I asked irritably, still not acknowledging his question.
I was beginning to notice that every time I failed to answer him I was losing more personal space.
He was now looming over me threateningly, grasping the back of the sofa with an arm on either side of my head. The view of my destroyed flat was obliterated by black coat and bearded visage. I wondered how long it would be before the actual beating began.
"I was about to walk my dog when I was informed of the situation." He said, cocking his head to the side as if appraising me. "It was...convenient" In the slight pause, that weird gleem shone in his eyes again. As I still didn't understand it's portent, it made me feel uneasy. His next actions escalated that feeling.
Placing a hand on either side of my head he eliminated the remaining personal space, his face almost touching mine. "It's a good look for you" he murmured, his breath grazing my tensed mouth as I tried desperately to pull away. "Now, tell me where the tome is" he demanded softly.
My panicked state was working it's way towards catatonic when The assassins coat rang shrilly. It must have startled both of us witless because when I came to my senses I noticed I wasn't the only one sprawled on the floor.
Taking a moment to regain his composure, the assassin reached into his pocket and pulled out what appeared to be my cellphone. A slow smile spread accross his face as he studied the ID screen. With an evil grin he placed it to my ear.
I shot him a questioning look before answering automatically, "Talismaniac."
End part 1
*********************************************************
Ah, there was a reason for using first person throughout most of this thing, though I imagine it wasn't really too tough to figure out who the person was. The rest of the story moves a bit easier as I no longer need to conceal things. It's also a helluva lot easier to write. Avoiding mention of gender and other details is tricky.
If there is anyone out there who want's to see how this plays out and what is actually going on just let me know and I will attempt to pull the next part together.
This little romp would take place during season 1.
It is set up as a sort of suspense/mystery I suppose, but because of the random and quirky humor that keeps popping up, I set the dial to general.
I'm deliberately not giving away Ian Nottingham's intentions immediately and parts of the puzzle will reveal themselves as the plot moves along.
The main character in the first chapter is written in first person to conceal their identity. If you don't like guessing games, you can cheat by scrolling to the bottom. There is a 'dead giveaway' there. As to What is happening and what Ian is up to, well, that will be coming out in bits and pieces scattered throughout the story.
*********************** denotes change in point of view from one character to another.
All the usual disclaimers and excuses.
I own none of these characters or their wardrobes and toys. I'm just taking them out for a spin.
They belong to Top cow and TNT, I beleive.
Tenebrous
Part 1
*********************************************************
The decision to walk home had perhaps been a bad one.
*I should have caught a cab* I thought, while trying furtively to ditch the rather formidable looking man tailing me. The idea that he just happened to be going the same way was becoming a bit unlikely.
Thinking about the recent development with the witchblade, I quickened my pace. Now would be a bad time to be cornered by the wrong people.
As I hastened towards my flat I considered the fact that my neighborhood was comprised of more dark alleyways than well lit streets. Alleys that would be prime locations for mugging or whatever my tenacious stalker had in mind.
I was debating whether or not to just head somewhere else when a black gloved hand shot out of one such alley and yanked me into the darkness. In the split second before I was pinned back against his chest, I caught a brief glimpse of my assailant.
Ian Nottingham, Irons' menacing black clad assassin dragged me into the shadows. The fact that he had subtly threatened to kill me at one point stood out in my mind.
With one freakishly strong arm effectively pinning my arms to my sides and a gloved hand over my mouth I was left with my feet as my only defense. I kicked furiously, assailing his shins repeatedly.
The reward for my efforts unfortunately, was a close up view of graffiti and sharp knees pressed into the back of my thighs. I yelped into the gloved hand firmly gripping my face.
The assassin had pinned me against a brick wall, his gun *I HOPED that was his gun* digging painfully into my backside. "Quiet." He hissed.
I was vaguely aware of the sound of someone approaching the alley. Hope of a distraction or rescue sang briefly in my mind before turning into dismay as I realized it was most likely the sinister looking pursuer.
Dread began to rise in my chest as I realized the hopelessness of my situation. The sound of my own heartbeat throbbed in my ears as the footfalls neared and stopped. I held my breath in apprehension. My captors 'Captain Morgan' hair veiled what little I could see of the mouth of the alleyway.
I glimpsed a shadow moving forward through the veil and deduced that the man was entering the alley. I tensed under the grip of the assassin and tried to wrap my head around the events that led to my position and the motives of the men behind it.
In my panicked state it was difficult to think clearly and Nottingham was not an entirely predictable man. Had he pulled me into the Alley to assist my pursuer? Why didn't the assassin just kill me himself? It didn't really make sense, especially since we appeared to be hiding from the large man.
Thinking that Nottingham was protecting me was a bit too optimistic if not flat out ridiculous. Of course, the Idea of Nottingham offering assistance to would-be assailants was pretty far fetched also.
An image of Nottingham giving pointers to the man popped into my head * " You want make sure you're not seen when you make the hit, otherwise you'll waste too much time eliminating witnesses. Also, use a silencer. I myself prefer a blade, silent but deadly..." *
I nearly chuckled into his glove, earning me another jab with his *gun*.
The shadow merged into the darkness of the alley and paused.
*Probably letting his eyes adjust to the dark* I thought. I didn't get a chance to ponder the situation further as I was instantly released and the sound of a silenced gun met my ears.
I promptly stumbled back and fell to my knees, the loss of pressure to the base of my thighs sending stabs of pain up my legs. I was aware of the sound of a body hitting the ground and tried to force my legs to run but they refused. All I managed was a cry of pain.
As I mentally cursed the offending appendages a strong hand grabbed me from behind and lifted me to my nonresponsive feet. Instinctively, I reached back to free myself, only to have my wrist captured in a vice-like grip while my other arm was quickly grabbed and forced behind my back as well. He made short work of tying my hands, making me curse the incapacity of my legs at a crucial moment all the more.
While being embarrassingly half dragged and half carried down a narrow street I Identified the survivor as Nottingham. I wasn't really surprised.
As the circulation started to come back to my legs I began looking for the chance to escape. I had no intention of sticking around to find out what fate he had planned out for me. I'd had enough knowledge of these situations to know the outcome was never pleasant.
As I eyed my surroundings for an escape route I realized we were headed towards my flat. What the hell?
"You're taking me home?" I blurted without thinking. *My own voice resonated in my ears, making me realize how bizarre and out of place my first statement of the night sounded*.
With a sinking dread, I thought of a reason why he might be taking me there. No, no... It couldn't be. How could he know about it?
"Soon," Nottingham replied. What that meant didn't become clear until I was led inside the building and brought to a door near mine but not mine. It was padlocked.
After opening the door with his free hand, he shoved me inside and pulled something from inside his coat. From the dim light I had trouble making out what it was until it was nearing my neck.
A leash!? Expert assassin or no, I was having none of this. In my state of horror (odd, thinking that less than 20 minutes ago I was relatively calmly accepting my own death) I had no self recrimination, hesitations or doubts regarding my quick knee to the groin of the man facing me with a leash.
Taking full advantage of his body's shock and pain, I ducked and darted past him, running with all the speed and force my abused legs would tolerate. I was sure I was home free until I reached the door leading to the streets and found that the maneuvering it takes to open a latch with hands tied behind your back simply negates a 5 second lead, adrenaline induced speed or no. I was now faced with a VERY pissed off Nottingham.
Hands still frantically working at the latch (why did they make this one so complex?) I'd just gotten it free when Nottingham yanked me forward violently and shoved me against the wall. With my hands still tied behind my back, I was unable to stop him from securing the loathsome object of my panic around my throat... I had a terrible feeling this would end in an ugly death and I still had no idea what the purpose or end to this was.
With the gloved hand back in place, muffling my protests, I was dispatched quickly back to the padlocked room. Nottingham had clearly lost any patience he may have had. I was dragged to a far corner of the small room where he tied the short leash to an exposed plumbing pipe.
"No!" I tried to yell as the hand left my face briefly. My strangled cry was negated by fingers digging into my throat. The assassins mouth pressed to my ear. "Silence!" He whispered urgently.
Having no choice but to be silent, considering his gloved hand was cutting off my oxygen, I settled for a glare at him before losing consciousness. My last dimming sight was of the assassins dark eyes staring into mine with a queer glint in them.
***********************
Ian Knottingham stretched his unconscious captive out on the floor. After searching the body for any implements of escape, he secured a gag and bound the troublesome legs. He briefly considered breaking them. After deciding against it, the assassin padlocked the door to the makeshift holding room and headed swiftly to his next task.
He'd had little warning of the enemy's attack and had to move quickly and precisely to eliminate the threat. The unexpected development had complicated Ian's own risky plans, but if this played out right it could prove to his advantage.
The assassin crouched outside the door to the flat, listening intently. He could hear people moving about inside and objects being overturned. As he expected, more agents had come back to search for the tome.
He hoped they would find the masterfully exact replica he'd planted on his last visit to the flat. After disposing of the intruders and disabling all monitoring devices he'd placed the fake tome in a drawer before preparing the makeshift cell nearby. That accomplished, he'd left in search of the prey he knew they'd be hunting.
Having terminated the hunt and capturing their prey, *not without severe pain to his groin and what promised to be lovely welts dotting his shins* he steeled himself for the tricky part of his scheme.
Dagger in hand, the assassin slid the door open and swiftly dispatched the man guarding it before he even had a chance to comprehend his demise.
***********************
A dim and dirty room greeted my eyes as I returned to consciousness. Something was in my mouth, my neck felt odd and I ached seemingly everywhere. It wasn't till I tried to remove the offending object from my mouth that I realized my hands were tied. Memory flooded back as to how I'd gotten into this situation in the first place and I groaned... The gag was new. I looked down at my bound legs. *I guess he's not risking a repeat performance*
***********************
Ian Knottingham silently lowered the corpse to the floor and prowled unnoticed, further into the room. Concealing himself in the shadows, he assessed the situation and waited for events to play themselves out.
He waited...and waited as they continued in what had to be the worst foraging endeavor he'd ever witnessed.
"Did you search the bathroom?" Asked one of the two remaining men. The other, younger and slightly taller man peered up from the sofa he was dismembering.
"That's pretty heavy bathroom reading material," he smirked. The older man simply glared at him before resuming his destruction of a fairly innocent looking bookshelf. Sighing, the younger man desisted his assault on an armrest and stalked off to the doomed lavatory.
This was taking far too long. Their bizarre thoroughness might actually unearth the real tome. Ian himself, hadn't been able to find it. He had hidden a video camera in the flat before the tome arrived, but the sole tenant had the dumb luck of constantly placing objects in front of the minute lens.
As Ian watched one of the men thoroughly examine a chair cushion, he was hit with the ridiculous thought of throwing something at the drawer holding the replica to draw their attention to it. Thankfully, at that moment one of the men had an epiphany and started to actually open drawers.
Once he'd discovered this new and exciting search method it was only a short time before the replica was found.
***********************
Nottingham had been thorough. After squirming about and searching any pocket my bound hands could reach, I groaned at the realization that I had nothing to cut the bonds and no cellphone. The leash insured I could not even leave my corner. If there was a way out of my predicament it eluded me. Sighing in resignation, I sat back and waited for whatever the assassin had planned.
***********************
"Ha!" The younger man barked in triumph, holding up what looked to be an ancient box.
His accomplice looked over in relief. "Good, now we can get out of here before whoever took out the others returns."
"What about the key?" Asked the younger man whom Ian had mentally dubbed 'tank man'. For some inexplicable reason he had brought the lid to the toilet tank out of the bathroom after searching it and placed it on a table like a trophy.
"No one even knows what it looks like or how it works except the owner of this fine establishment. Anyway, that's not our problem; some special ops guy is taking care of it. A buddy of 'Smiley', over there." He said, gesturing towards the entrance that 'Smiley the corpse' was supposedly guarding.
***
At least neither buddy will miss the other, Ian mused.
While the men had been discussing the key and the *unbeknownst to them, failed* kidnapping, Ian had slinked back to the door. He moved 'Smiley' out of the way and opened the door slightly. He hoped this would provide incentive for the man holding the replica to flee rather than fight.
It would be the wise decision, especially since the man seemed aware of the fact that the assassin had decimated the previous, highly skilled team of agents. As Ian saw it, the mans' main priority would be to get the prize back to his superiors. Tonight, however, no one seemed predictable.
If things went according to plan the man would escape with the prize while Ian made a show of occupying himself with his partner. If both men decided to fight it could be a slight problem.
An even worse scenario had occurred to Ian as he'd watched their unusual search tactics. This second team, seemed less experienced, less professional. They might just freeze and wet themselves. That would be bad. It would be very suspicious if a highly skilled assassin had difficulty killing two men with wet spots at close range. No one was that bad of a shot.
***
"Hey Smiley, time to go" 'Tank man' called as they headed towards the door. As they rounded the shelving unit they spotted 'Smiley' slumped against the wall and froze.
***
The assassin stepped into view, automatically firing at the first man to go for his gun. Ian mentally sighed with relief at the fact that it had been the one with both hands free.
The man carrying the decoy tome seemed momentarily torn between reaching for his gun or fleeing. Ian solved the man's indecision by lunging at him and feinting to get purchase of his booty. Instinctively, the man clutched the prize to himself and fled. Ian gave restrained chase for a bit before allowing his duped prey to evade him.
Satisfied with his deception, he headed back to deal with his hostage.
Even inanimate objects were joining the unpredictable club tonight, Ian mused as he glared at the lock which refused to open despite the fact that he'd properly inserted and turned the key.
Losing patience with all things uncooperative he manhandled the lock into submission. He entered the padlocked room and eyed the captive in the corner for signs of anything amiss. The apprehensive expression of the prisoner relieved him and warmed his heart. All was well.
Ian Nottingham reached into a pocket and retrieved the cellphone he'd pilfered from his captive. He turned the phone on and advanced on the terrified being who was trying desperately to appear calm.
***********************
I lost sense of time while sitting in the pitch black room, not sure if I'd been there for minutes or hours. I was getting tired of trying to guess what would happen next and why I was here. Anything involving the witchblade always ended up being bizarre anyway.
Just as my sleep deprived brain was making an exit towards la la land I heard a sound, a slight scrape. I tensed and waited.
The noise of the key rattling in the lock startled me. It seemed odd. Nottingham was always silent, always stepping out of nowhere and disappearing into shadows without a sound. Maybe it wasn't Nottingham!
I heard the padlock click open. My tenaciously optimistic mind produced an image of a harmless and confused janitor peering in at me with a shocked and confused expression.
As if to teach my optimism a lesson on popping up at inappropriate moments, my hopes were dashed as muted light entered the dark abyss of the room. The figure who stood in the doorway was definitely the assassin. He was neither harmless nor shocked. In fact, he looked quite pleased.
After pausing to observe my state he fiddled with a cellphone before retuning it to his coat and advancing on me. Without bothering to speak, he freed the leash from the pipe and grabbed me about the waist. Feeling like a sack of potatoes, I was hauled from the room to my flat wordlessly.
As I was totted across the flat I noticed bodies slumped on the floor. Ignoring them, Nottingham deposited me on the remains of my sofa. Without ceremony my gag was removed and for a brief, insane moment I'd worried that I'd drooled on it.
Hm, gag removed means interrogation begins. I really wasn't looking forward to this.
"Where is the tome?" He asked in a casual manner, similar to the tone people use when in search of a restroom. I pretended not to hear and distracted myself by surveying the objects in the room that weren't Nottingham. "What is... Is that um, the lid to the toilet tank?"
"Yes." Nottingham answered calmly, as if the toilet tank cover had every right to be on the table where I usually took my coffee. "So, where is it? Is it safe?" He prodded.
Any reply I could think of would either bring danger to people I cared about or possibly get me killed so I chose the 'no answer' route. I was most likely on the path to torture and now wished I'd spent my 'cell time' a little more constructively.
The leash was starting to chafe my neck. "What's with this leash? Does it come with the standard assassin kit or is it some sort of creepy kink of yours?" I asked irritably, still not acknowledging his question.
I was beginning to notice that every time I failed to answer him I was losing more personal space.
He was now looming over me threateningly, grasping the back of the sofa with an arm on either side of my head. The view of my destroyed flat was obliterated by black coat and bearded visage. I wondered how long it would be before the actual beating began.
"I was about to walk my dog when I was informed of the situation." He said, cocking his head to the side as if appraising me. "It was...convenient" In the slight pause, that weird gleem shone in his eyes again. As I still didn't understand it's portent, it made me feel uneasy. His next actions escalated that feeling.
Placing a hand on either side of my head he eliminated the remaining personal space, his face almost touching mine. "It's a good look for you" he murmured, his breath grazing my tensed mouth as I tried desperately to pull away. "Now, tell me where the tome is" he demanded softly.
My panicked state was working it's way towards catatonic when The assassins coat rang shrilly. It must have startled both of us witless because when I came to my senses I noticed I wasn't the only one sprawled on the floor.
Taking a moment to regain his composure, the assassin reached into his pocket and pulled out what appeared to be my cellphone. A slow smile spread accross his face as he studied the ID screen. With an evil grin he placed it to my ear.
I shot him a questioning look before answering automatically, "Talismaniac."
End part 1
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Ah, there was a reason for using first person throughout most of this thing, though I imagine it wasn't really too tough to figure out who the person was. The rest of the story moves a bit easier as I no longer need to conceal things. It's also a helluva lot easier to write. Avoiding mention of gender and other details is tricky.
If there is anyone out there who want's to see how this plays out and what is actually going on just let me know and I will attempt to pull the next part together.