Warnings for this chapter include nightmares, organ trafficking, gore and thoughts on racism. That being said, I hope you enjoy.
Disclaimer: I do not own Black Panther.
Nightmares send him out of sleep though Erik cannot for the life of him remember what they were. It's been a long time since he's ever had nightmares. He rubs his face and grimaces at the shred of his clothing. He beeps for clothes and dumps the shreds into the dip when his guard opens it for him. He snatches the new clothes and then turns on the shower letting the water rain down on him.
He clenches his fist and slams it into the wall.
This damn cage was killing him.
He needed to move, to breathe, to go where he wanted, when he wanted. He needed to feel his muscles strain, to smell gunpowder and the sharp, grounding scent of the oil used to keep his blades in good order. He feels flayed without his body armor sometimes, without his weapons. His cousin has actual teeth and claws, but Erik had to make do with what the rest of the world could give him. He's not pleased with being separated from them.
True, he knows hand to hand, knows it damn well, has to have, to be able to adjust to the speed and strength of the heart-shaped herb so fast and so accurately. But Erik has always liked the feel of a weapon in his hands ever since that night when he came home to an apartment that only held the dead. The world was no place for little boys without teeth.
Erik switches of the shower and stands still while warm air blows in and dries him. The air makes the room muggy, like the summer days in Oakland, where everybody wore too little and kids traded marbles and slingshots for money to buy ice-cream or snowcones. Then the little fan switches direction and all the heat is whirled away to be replaced by cool air.
Erik redresses, his movement stiff with tense muscles. He stands still for a moment after he's dressed wanting nothing more than to be able to go through the glass, kill the guards, ghost his way through the palace, put a bullet in his cousin' s head, both of them, for caging him like this and then burn down the world, burn down anyone who'd ever though of cages and cells and silver dungeons.
But he can't. Not yet. His escape is a long game and his plans longer still. He's waited years for his plans to come to fruition., he can wait a couple more. It'd be all the sweeter when he finally rips it all down, shows the rest of the world that slavery wasn't something to be forgotten, that it still existed in their sneers, and their condescending smiles, and their appropriation of a culture while viciously excluding the very people who'd made it.
He takes a deep breath. Everybody dies. But only some people have the privilege of helping other people along to their fate.
Since he can't move the way he wants too and trying right now would only make him more frustrated, Erik sits back down to contemplate the problem of his squirrely philanthropist.
Some ten hours later, he finally cracks the mystery.
Oh, Philanthropist you piece of shit. At least when Erik kills somebody he has the decency to leave their body alone.
Hmm a kidney goes for that much now? Damn he's been out of the loop too long. Funny how no one seems to have any prejudice against the organs which came from black people. Piece of shit is still selling Erik's people but in smaller pieces now. All those people the philanthropist had taken into his shelters, his revolutionary school rooms, how many of them he'd taken and never put on the registers? How many had tiny accidents when a special order came in for an organ of a specific blood type?
Erik sends instructions for his operatives to get him physical evidence to match the electronic trail and then sits and waits, seething with rage.
The confirmation comes five hours later. Erik sits and watches the body of a young girl, not much older than the princess herself, lying cut open on a table. The doctors have her under anesthesia, wanting the organs viable and fresh. Her head lolls to the side, the straps of the oxygen mask squishing down some part of her afro. She's already had several of her major organs out and packed away for transport by the doctors. Cleary the operative had come into the procedure halfway through and Erik knows that there isn't much anyone can do to save her, not now. She would die by the time anyone got her back to Wakanda. Hell, she'd die by the time they got her to the closest hospital.
The recording is shaking slightly like the operative is vibrating with rage but unable to do anything. I feel ya bruh, Erik thinks. He clenches his jaw and sends all the evidence to his cousin.
"What now?" Shuri asks. She is in the middle of doing some delicate work but at T'Challa's grim look she saves all her progress and comes over to him. He shows her and watches her face pale.
"How…! How could such people even exist brother?!" she says angrily. "I don't even understand that! How could anyone do that to another person?!"
"I don't know," T'Challa says gravely. "But it must be stopped."
"Are we going to carry it to the authorities?" Shuri asks. "A gesture of good ill. I know the Sokovia accords still stand."
"They do," said T'Challa, "But Erik was following this lead because the man involved is very influencial and has been making very convincing speeches that the entrance of Wakanda into the African world with all our infrastructure and our outreach centers may actually tip the African economy into a downward spiral instead of helping to uplift our brethren. He argues that our appearance as a place that is valuable to connect trade route to, will cause the other countries to suffer for lack of 'patronage', so to speak, holding back their chances of economic growth.
Shuri rolled her eyes. "Wakanda has been self-sustaining for years. Anything we make trade deals for is practically a matter of whim. Besides a lot of what we earn, will be spent back into our sister nations."
"We know that," said T'Challa, "But the rest pf the world has been entwined together for a long time. They cannot quite imagine living in a place that doesn't need the rest of the world. But going back to the Philanthropist, I suspect he was only making such arguments so that people would fail to countenance Wakandan outreach centers in the their countries or neighborhoods."
"And so doing, keep his organ business in place because everyone will go to him for shelter," said Shuri, her eyes hard. "Especially if he has a good reputation that is years in the making."
"And," said T'Challa, "He has several key connections to business men and senators in the US, the UK, Japan, China, Korea, Russia, India, Australia and the Caribbean. I suspect any evidence we give will somehow disappear.
"No, it can't!" Shuri said.
"Yes it can," said T'Challa. "Here our technology would work against us. Don't you think they will believe we have some way of altering images and video so that they cannot detect it? Any evidence we provide will be suspect."
Shuri froze. "You're kidding."
"No," T'Challa said gravely. "This man has too many ties with important people. Going through the normal channels for this…."
"It won't work. But brother, if the Black Panther shows up anywhere then they will know we've broken the accords. Ross managed to smooth over the incident in Korea but anymore slip ups? With the eyes of the world on us? People are already afraid of us."
T'Challa gave her a sharp smile. "Then I won't get caught."
R&R please!