Chapter 2
My bloodied, pale face is reflected back at me off the darkly tinted window of the car. My mouth waters and as a sickening tang of bile lingers in my mouth. I have overworked my self and my stomach is paying the price. I swallow the sour taste down and try to calm myself. My legs twitch as I mentally retrace my steps. Clearly entering the apartment was a mistake.
I whish we would slow the hell down. The car turns sharply and I am thrown violently against the door. My head bumps the black window and bounces back slightly. I swear under my breath and rub the sting off the side of my head. I figer that there is no since in worrying now. At this point, I probably couldn't get out of this alive even if I tried.
We twist up and down roads at such a speed my already upset stomach cringes with every turn. It seems I might be here for a while so I trace my face with my fingertips and try to pull out the little slivers of glass and brick that have embedded themselves there. There are more slivers than I had anticipated. I look into the window again to inspect the damage. The right side of my face has suffered the most. Shallow, bloody holes crater my cheek. Great.
Suddenly the car stops. I wait patiently for my door to swing open and when it finally dose a large hairy hand raps itself around my upper arm and pulls me out gruffly. I fumble out into the light. I glance back to glare at the goon. I pay him no mind, he and his little counterpart don't intimidate me. I've seen a million of their type before. Well dressed, well built, think their tough because they've been employed to do the Merovingian's dirty work. As much as I would love to cave in both their heads with my boot I know enough to realize that they are most likely armed to the teeth so I behave myself.
One pushes me forward and I reluctantly obey his silent demand and walk forward. I don't recognize this place but I probably don't have to. We seem to be in the basement of the chateau. It's huge. It most likely runs the entire length of the château. Its mostly empty save a few boxes staked here and there. Concrete pillars are rowed for what seems like miles. The goon behind me has his sweaty hand clenched on my shoulder trying to directs me towards the silvery elevator in the distance.
We stand before it for only a few seconds before the doors part I am pushed forward into the large mirrored box. The goons enter and turn me around so that I face the doors. The fat one relishes my shoulder and I fight back the temptation to rub out the new ach that throbs there. We wait in a sticky silence for the mirrored doors to open. In the mean time I get to realize just how awful I look as the spotless mirrors reflect off each other and throw my image back at me a million times. I'm sure the Merovingian will be thrilled to see me in such a state.
I glare at my self. My normally curly dark hair is plastered strait to my face with a mixture of blood and sweat. My left eye lid twitches with irritation.
I watch the glowing numbers intently. 28...29...30, we begin to slow and finally stop at 32. Floor 32, its not ringing any bells for me but it probably doesn't matter anyway. This place has changed so much that even if I did have some vague memory of my surroundings I couldn't make heads or tails of this place anyway, even if I was giving the opportunity to.
The doors slowly open and I am nudged forward.
