Here we have it: chapter 17! Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, favourited, and followed - it really means the world to me!

baao xo

Chapter 17:

The distant sound of alarms ringing was dragging Virgil slowly back to awareness. The noise was irritating, threatening to pull him from his cosy sleep. Grunting in annoyance, Virgil attempted to wriggle further down the bed in an attempt to get away from the noise only to be stopped by sharp, stabbing pains running through his body. He winced, and blearily tried to open his eyes, confused as to why he apparently wasn't sleeping in his comfortable bed on Tracy Island.

The world flickered in and out of focus and Virgil furrowed his brow in confusion. Why was he sleeping on the floor? Counting to three as a method to control the pain that Virgil knew was going to return with a vengeance, Virgil forced himself into a more upright position.

A quick glance at his surroundings and the memories before he had lost consciousness suddenly made themselves known. No wonder there was a ringing in his ears - the force of the blast when the bomb had ultimately gone off combined with the sound of the fire alarms charging down the corridors was enough to give Virgil the world's worst headache.

Virgil cursed the fact that at any time you became suddenly more aware of what was around you, everything suddenly became worse. The pressing heat from the flames that were climbing at the walls and the smothering, heavy smoke seemed to announce their presence to Virgil, and he choked on the fumes, gasping as it only caused his skull to ache more.

He realised that running for the exit was not going to be an option - the dense smoke hung low in the air, and Virgil realised with horror that he was going to have to crawl out on his hands and knees. He assumed that his two original injuries he had sustained in his drunken escapades the night before would be nothing in comparison to the hurt he felt now after being hurled down a corridor by a bomb, but now it appeared that if anything, they were hurting more - screaming for his attention now that he desperately needed his knee and wrist to be on top form.

Groaning with the effort, Virgil began the slow and painful crawl to the nearest emergency exit, cursing his stupidity. Of all things he had to get wrong, he had to guess which floor the bomb would be on wrong. Why on Earth would he think the 13th floor would've been a good idea? It's so obvious it's laughable. The Hood was probably having a right old laugh at his expense, probably assuming that he had been killed in the blast. His own family probably assumed he was dead.

Stopping just outside a lift in horror, Virgil realised that all his brothers and father were likely to have thought he had died in the explosion he was supposed to stop. He hadn't even tried to call Alan yet to let him know he was okay.

Mentally slapping himself, Virgil quickly raised his watch to call Alan, let him know he was okay, he was alive. He was just about to speak when he heard a soft banging noise through the ringing in his ears and the fogginess of his brain from somewhere to his left. Frowning, Virgil peered through the ever-thickening smoke at the lift doors. Surely there weren't people who were stupid enough to take a lift in an emergency?

Listening hard again, Virgil cursed when he heard the definite sounds of people shouting from inside.

"Idiots!" muttered Virgil, harshly, as he began to rise slowly to his feet and approached the manual release system. Alan would have to wait, but Virgil could only hope he and the rest of his family were faring a little better than he was right now.

"I'm so bored," whispered Gordon for the millionth time and John merely sighed.

They had remained standing in the room they had been caught in for ages now, whilst the man had tried to decide what he could do with them. At one point he had briefly left the room, supposedly to talk to a fellow henchman, but the door had been triple locked and there had been no way that the two brother's could have escaped.

John too was bored beyond words, and exhausted from standing for so long. He could see Gordon's watch flashing indicating a missed call but there was nothing they could do about it right now; John hoped it was nothing important, though he was more than aware they had been out of contact for far too long now. Alan was probably losing it up on Thunderbird Five. He opened his mouth to give a sarcastic response to Gordon's whining when their captor turned to them with a grin on his face that John didn't like the look of in the slightest.

"Well, it seems after much deliberation the team and I have thought of something productive you can do during your stay here." the man told them, flashing his teeth in a grin that complimented the manic gleam in his eye.

"And what may that be?" asked Gordon, rolling his eyes. It seemed that being shot had done nothing to make the younger Tracy more cooperative, thought John with a hint of despair.

The man glared at Gordon once again before answering: "It's obvious that we've had to... dispose of some staff members here in order for us to use this building. It's a shame, but finders-keepers and all that!"

The henchman reached up and rubbed a hand across his face, drawing the two brother's attention to the red smear on his left cheek, proudly displayed like a medal of honour.

"It would be so helpful to us if you would remove the bodies from the corridors and bury them outside - it's dirty, manual work that I really can't be bothered with at the moment, and you see, I'm all tired out from the initial disposal of the workers."

John and Gordon stared at the man in shock, unable to believe what he was asking them to do. John swore he heard his younger brother retch a bit, and his own breathing hitched in his throat when he heard the gruesome task he was potentially about to do.

"You can't be serious?"

Gordon's voice was hoarse and heavily laced with shock, and if John listened closely, hints of pain and fear had crept their way into his younger brother's question.

"Completely." replied the man, his grin only seeming to grow when he noticed the reactions of the two men he had in front of him.

John stole a glance at Gordon, and was dismayed to see how his brother's appearance had deteriorated over the time they had spent in the stuffy room. Gordon's skin was almost grey, and beads of sweat could just been seen on his forehead. The wound on his arm was still slowing dripping blood, and John could see the tightness of his brother's mouth as he attempted to hide his pain.

"Now, if you just stay here like good boys for the next few minutes I can sort out exactly where you're going to deposit the bodies for me."

The man turned away, but he hadn't even left the room when Gordon's knees buckled and he fell heavily to the floor at John's feet, the noise forcing the man to spin back around to face them, gun back in his hand and levelled at the prone form of the younger Tracy on the floor.

"What's happened?" barked the man, raising the gun to John's chest.

John ignored him and crouched down, placing his fingers on Gordon's neck. The pulse was strong, although slightly faster than John would have liked, despite Gordon's unconsciousness. He then checked Gordon's other vitals before answering:

"He's fainted - probably from blood loss, no thanks to you."

"Can't you wake him up?" questioned the man, impatiently.

John failed to resist the temptation to roll his eyes.

"Hardly," he replied bluntly "maybe if you could grab a medical kit I could actually help him - he's not going to be any use to you if he's out cold, and I'm certainly not leaving him."

"You're acting as if you have a say in the matter," came the cold reply from their captor, narrowing his eyes at John's nerve.

"Surely you don't want an International Rescue operative left on their own to wake up at any time and therefore left to their own devices? You must be stupider than I thought."

The man glared at John for a moment before placing his gun on a nearby table and turning towards a bag that had been left in the corner of the room. John's eyes followed the man as he bent over the bag, his back to his hostages before flickering back to the gun on the table. Not even risking a second thought, John jumped to his feet and within three steps had clasped the cold weapon tightly in his hand.

The man spun around at the noise, a stuttered "hey!" came out of his mouth before he too collapsed onto the floor, the gun having had collided hard with his cheekbone. The noise had resonated through the room before leaving an echoing silence in its wake; John swallowed and took a step back, making sure to place the gun in his belt rather than placing it back on the table - he was not going to make the same mistake as the thug lying at his feet.

"Did you get him?"

John must've jumped about a foot in the hair as Gordon's voice broke the harsh quiet and he turned so fast to face his little brother his neck clicked painfully.

"What-? How-?" choked John, torn between relief and confusion that his brother was awake.

"What can I say? I'm a great actor." replied Gordon wearing his trademark grin as he slowly climbed to his feet.

"You were pretending?" asked John, unable to hide his shock.

"You bet," smirked his younger brother, looking far too smug for John's liking "and you say my plans never work."

"I can't believe you. You can't have known he would've left his gun there."

"You're right, but I knew it would give you an opening. I was using my initiative." said Gordon proudly.

"Well, I can't deny that it worked. Good job, Ginger." praised John, ruffling his sibling's hair and grinning at the pout that had appeared on Gordon's face.

Gordon hopped up to sit on the edge of the closest desk before starting to speak once more: "Well, what now?"

"I think we should probably answer our array of missed calls - they're probably going mad back on base."

Gordon groaned, "You're probably right, but you can take Dad. I'll call Alan."

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