Disclaimer: No. No. No. And no. I don't own Gundam WIng! Or any other anime for that matter. Not even one cel..**sob** ;_;
72 Hour Game
Quatre stood, waiting for the escalator, decorated simple with mirrors on black granite, to reach the sixth floor. A4 amber coloured envelope in his slender fingers, the man headed towards the office third from the front, left hand side, according to the instructions given to him by his new financial advisor, Mr Van Bronswick, glanced the frosted window embedded on the jet door, the straightforward black letters reading Rhett Van Bronswick confirming the correct room. Quatre tapped lightly on the door, which opened in reply for him.
"Good morning, Mr Winner," greeted a smiling brown-haired man.
"Good morning," Quatre replied with a lop-sided grin that contrasted the professional aura his navy suit gave him.
"Well, if you have all your documents, this shouldn't take more than fifteen minutes," the advisor informed his latest client, his palm stretched in anticipation of the envelope in Quatre's hands, with which the blonde did fulfil. The businessman pulled the yielding seal and tipped the contents out.
A comic book.
Rhett laughed an obvious false laugh, before turning grim again, "Out."
The client looked down at the teal carpet and laughed. "I'm terribly sorry, but I believe my previous advisor was far better than you," Quatre said happily with a lop-sided grin, leaping in a cat like fashion onto the beech table, whipping out a rope from his pocket and binding the hands of a rather shocked Van Bronswick.
"Stay here, don't move, and if you do…" the captor threatened, pulling a 9mm gun from his right pocket. Quatre strode casually to the door of the room, replaced the shades that hung from his shirt's neck to his finely chiselled face, pointed the gun directly ahead moving from side to side, saying in his cool voice, "Everyone, it's break time."
The employees screamed, running through the corridor like a stampede.
Quatre looked over his shoulder, and grinned at Rhett, "That's a good boy. Stay still and don't even try to move."
Hiding the gun in his right pocket once again, Quatre proceeded to move a nearby double metal drawer under an air vent climbing onto the drawer with ease, he put on a pair of gloves from the pocket inside his blazer and drew with them a small penknife which he used to unscrew the air vent's cover.
oOops. I'll fix that sentence up, I forgot the comma after the 'I guess,' coz no, Sergeant Smith isn't the Mr Trent, he/I meant Milliardo's superior.
