TITLE: Mercury - Chapter 3
AUTHOR: Vicinity
SUMMARY: The idea of redemption leads Yves - and Jimmy - into the heart of something more dangerous than she could have imagined. Formerly titled "The Immortality Solution."
RATING: PG-13
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, not mine.
SPOILERS: Takes place after "Jump the Shark." Makes reference to another one of my stories, "Madrigal."
AUTHOR's NOTES:
*****************************************************************************
They arrive at the nondescript hotel with no trouble. He was content to look out the window, to watch the scenery as she maneuvered through the streets, and now he is standing in the middle of her hotel room, looking slightly confused. "Yes, Jimmy?" she asks tiredly.
"What are we doing to do now?" he questions, sounding excited and somehow plaintive.
"Well," she begins. "I am going to put away my things, and then I am going to out for a little while. I'm not sure what you are going to do."
"I thought I was coming with you," he says, hurt.
"You came with me. You're here now. What else do you want?" she snaps. She wants to blame it on exhaustion, but she can't, and she sighs. "I've got to meet my contact."
"What should I do?"
"Wait here."
"But," she cuts him off mid-sentence.
"Jimmy, please. I'll be back soon. Try to keep out of trouble until then?" At his resigned nod she turns and stalks out of the room, ignoring the unpacked bag lying on the flowered bedspread. Once in the hall, with the door closed safely behind her, she allows herself a deep breath. This will be harder than she thought, and she wishes so badly that she had not let him come. She wishes that she had fought it, eluded him, something, so that he would not be here now. It could so easily become dangerous, both in regard to the reason she is here and to herself, as well.
She walks quickly out to the parking lot, trying to ignore the feeling of being watched, trying to fight the urge to turn around and catch him watching her walk away. She tells herself to focus on the task at hand, on the upcoming rendevous. She will be purchasing information, in an odd role reversal. She is buying what could very possibly begin the destruction of her father's world. If all goes as she expects it to, she will walk away with proof, real proof, of one of his finest projects.
He wants to be the king that will not fall. He wants to live forever, to continue his reign for as long as possible, and this is how he is going about it. He has chosen scientists, built a team, and their only goal is to find immortality and to give it to him. Working with nanotechnology, they have been attempting to create a drug that would stop the user from aging. Through their achievements, she believes that she can destroy him. He thinks that he works in secrecy, and so he does not implement such security around the Immortal Group as he does around the rest of his projects. Meaning that there should be records. Records and names that, when put to the proper use, can be deadly.
She stops the car next to the darkened industrial warehouse in which she is supposed to meet her contact, a man she knows only as Anarchist17. She feels oddly undressed to be going in without backup, without even the Gunmen to rely on, but she had been doing this for so long before she met them, before she began to trust them . . . it should not matter. She shuts the car door quietly and makes her way into the main offices of the former storage building.
It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimness of the room, and she has to blink before she can really see the man standing opposite her, darkness against a wall gray with grime. He is slender, wearing a leather jacket, and as she crosses the room she pulls out the envelope containing her part of the deal, payment. "As promised," she murmurs, and he nods.
"As promised," he says as he hands her a small packet of papers. She slides them into her jacket and turns to go, only to be shoved forward. She spins around and punches, but he moves backwards quickly and grabs her wrist, twisting her body against him with iron strength. His body is taut, muscular, and his voice is cold as he whispers, "Surprise. Didn't expect this, Lois?" He knows, and her eyes widen involuntarily as she realizes how foolish she has been, how much she has forgotten. He moves slightly behind her, displaying a stiletto in her vision.
She tenses and he smiles into her hair. "Don't worry. I'm not going to kill you. Not with this blade." His words are cold and tight, and she can feel the metal on her wrist. Then he shoves her and, not expecting this sudden release, she stumbles forward. By the time she turns around, he is gone, the office door ajar, and she can hear an engine start outside. She looks down at her wrist, pushing back her jacket sleeve, surprised at the apparent restraint of the man . . . someone she knows, she thinks, because his voice is familiar.
The slight cut is red, blood welling at the surface. It does not hurt, but it looks odd, and it takes a moment for her to realize that her blood is moving.
She closes her eyes momentarily, trying to focus, hoping to open them and see that it was nothing. A hallucination, would that be better? And when she does, the wound has stopped bleeding and whatever she saw is no longer there.
She waits until she gets into the car and is a good distance away before looking at the sheaf of papers she was given, though she does not know what she really expects to get out of them now. An answer, perhaps, to what he - Anarchist17 - has done to her, or maybe to why. Her wrist does not hurt, and she is trying not to think about what, exactly, it means. What could have been on the blade, what she could now be carrying in her body. He was, or still is, a doctor, and working for what she knows as evil.
AUTHOR: Vicinity
SUMMARY: The idea of redemption leads Yves - and Jimmy - into the heart of something more dangerous than she could have imagined. Formerly titled "The Immortality Solution."
RATING: PG-13
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, not mine.
SPOILERS: Takes place after "Jump the Shark." Makes reference to another one of my stories, "Madrigal."
AUTHOR's NOTES:
*****************************************************************************
They arrive at the nondescript hotel with no trouble. He was content to look out the window, to watch the scenery as she maneuvered through the streets, and now he is standing in the middle of her hotel room, looking slightly confused. "Yes, Jimmy?" she asks tiredly.
"What are we doing to do now?" he questions, sounding excited and somehow plaintive.
"Well," she begins. "I am going to put away my things, and then I am going to out for a little while. I'm not sure what you are going to do."
"I thought I was coming with you," he says, hurt.
"You came with me. You're here now. What else do you want?" she snaps. She wants to blame it on exhaustion, but she can't, and she sighs. "I've got to meet my contact."
"What should I do?"
"Wait here."
"But," she cuts him off mid-sentence.
"Jimmy, please. I'll be back soon. Try to keep out of trouble until then?" At his resigned nod she turns and stalks out of the room, ignoring the unpacked bag lying on the flowered bedspread. Once in the hall, with the door closed safely behind her, she allows herself a deep breath. This will be harder than she thought, and she wishes so badly that she had not let him come. She wishes that she had fought it, eluded him, something, so that he would not be here now. It could so easily become dangerous, both in regard to the reason she is here and to herself, as well.
She walks quickly out to the parking lot, trying to ignore the feeling of being watched, trying to fight the urge to turn around and catch him watching her walk away. She tells herself to focus on the task at hand, on the upcoming rendevous. She will be purchasing information, in an odd role reversal. She is buying what could very possibly begin the destruction of her father's world. If all goes as she expects it to, she will walk away with proof, real proof, of one of his finest projects.
He wants to be the king that will not fall. He wants to live forever, to continue his reign for as long as possible, and this is how he is going about it. He has chosen scientists, built a team, and their only goal is to find immortality and to give it to him. Working with nanotechnology, they have been attempting to create a drug that would stop the user from aging. Through their achievements, she believes that she can destroy him. He thinks that he works in secrecy, and so he does not implement such security around the Immortal Group as he does around the rest of his projects. Meaning that there should be records. Records and names that, when put to the proper use, can be deadly.
She stops the car next to the darkened industrial warehouse in which she is supposed to meet her contact, a man she knows only as Anarchist17. She feels oddly undressed to be going in without backup, without even the Gunmen to rely on, but she had been doing this for so long before she met them, before she began to trust them . . . it should not matter. She shuts the car door quietly and makes her way into the main offices of the former storage building.
It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimness of the room, and she has to blink before she can really see the man standing opposite her, darkness against a wall gray with grime. He is slender, wearing a leather jacket, and as she crosses the room she pulls out the envelope containing her part of the deal, payment. "As promised," she murmurs, and he nods.
"As promised," he says as he hands her a small packet of papers. She slides them into her jacket and turns to go, only to be shoved forward. She spins around and punches, but he moves backwards quickly and grabs her wrist, twisting her body against him with iron strength. His body is taut, muscular, and his voice is cold as he whispers, "Surprise. Didn't expect this, Lois?" He knows, and her eyes widen involuntarily as she realizes how foolish she has been, how much she has forgotten. He moves slightly behind her, displaying a stiletto in her vision.
She tenses and he smiles into her hair. "Don't worry. I'm not going to kill you. Not with this blade." His words are cold and tight, and she can feel the metal on her wrist. Then he shoves her and, not expecting this sudden release, she stumbles forward. By the time she turns around, he is gone, the office door ajar, and she can hear an engine start outside. She looks down at her wrist, pushing back her jacket sleeve, surprised at the apparent restraint of the man . . . someone she knows, she thinks, because his voice is familiar.
The slight cut is red, blood welling at the surface. It does not hurt, but it looks odd, and it takes a moment for her to realize that her blood is moving.
She closes her eyes momentarily, trying to focus, hoping to open them and see that it was nothing. A hallucination, would that be better? And when she does, the wound has stopped bleeding and whatever she saw is no longer there.
She waits until she gets into the car and is a good distance away before looking at the sheaf of papers she was given, though she does not know what she really expects to get out of them now. An answer, perhaps, to what he - Anarchist17 - has done to her, or maybe to why. Her wrist does not hurt, and she is trying not to think about what, exactly, it means. What could have been on the blade, what she could now be carrying in her body. He was, or still is, a doctor, and working for what she knows as evil.