Chapter 9: In Which there is Duct Tape and Long Nails of Uncertain Color

Disclaimer: Multiple Choice: A) I own the Avengers; B) I'm making money off of this; C) I'm Joss Whedon, D) None of the above

(hinthint it's D)

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Well, that failed.

Nina's eyes narrowed at Douche, but unfortunately she was not gifted with the ability to shoot actual physical daggers from her eyes.

Too bad.

If anyone deserved to be impaled with angry-eye-daggers, it was Douche.

She tried again to move her mouth, but duct tape was a powerful foe, and she was rendered helpless by the cables tying her hands and legs behind her back to the headboard of the cot. And every time she pulled, her arm sent pain signals flashing to her head at the speed of a texting teenager – not to mention the various cuts, aches, and bruises she'd gained since waking up.

This was… not good.

"Is this all it took to shut you up?" Douche wondered aloud, smirking. "I wish I'd thought of it earlier."

Nice try trying to make yourself sound good, asshat, she thought. But it took Guards One, Two, and Three an hour and a half to get me down, and they didn't exactly come out unscathed.

Indeed, the three men standing by the door had distinctly unhappy looks on their faces, complimented by the scratches and dried blood from the pens Nina'd managed to snatch and her own fingernails all over their faces and arms.

"Of course, I'm expecting blah blah Man blah blah boring stuff," Douche continued as Nina tuned him out, the boring ass. Instead, she thought over what she'd seen as she tore through the halls on her brief escape.

As far as she could tell, it really was an abandoned warehouse. The halls were fairly barren, and if she had been on a higher level (not B-3, as it happened) she might have managed to escape. She figured there were maybe ten or fifteen of these thugs hanging around, and the three that had been on her tail… hadn't fared well.

(Nina was very proud of her nails. She wasn't much for conventional beauty, but she'd always admired the long-nails-look, and took great care in hers. Of course, right now the purple – er, green – or was it purple? What had they said again? – paint was covered in a film of rusty red-brown.)

Still, Nina was a fairly out-of-shape teenager in a huge abandoned warehouse basement with steroidal muscle-freaks chasing after her.

So here she was, back in her room, tied and taped and not feeling so hot.

Where the hell was Tony?

This was getting annoying.

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"Sir-" JARVIS began, and Tony's head shot up from the computer display.

"Yes?"

"I'm receiving a call. Currently tracing its origination."

Tony's heart (arc reactor) stopped briefly. "Put it on. Now."

A screen flickered to life, coalescing into an image of an older man holding a gun to… Nina's head.

Tony froze.

"Hello, Iron Man," drawled the man. "I believe I have something of yours?"

"You fucking bastard-" Tony growled, furious.

Nina was a bruised mess, her mouth covered with shiny silver. But when she caught his eye, she winked.

Huh.

Well.

"Now, Iron Man – may I call you Tony? Iron Man is so much of a mouthful." The man just kept talking.

"Shut up, douchecanoe," hissed Tony, still pissed beyond belief. The man flinched, and Nina's eyes crinkled with laughter. "You fucking kidnapped a kid. Seriously, not cool, man. So you think I'm really just going to let you get away with it? I'm Tony fucking Stark, you bastard."

"Oh, you'll do more than let me get away with it," the man said. "You're going to give me five million dollars as well."

That's a… random number, though Tony. "And if I say no? Asswipe." Nina nodded in the back, eyes determined.

The man smirked, cocking his pistol. "Then I kill the girl."

"You really gonna kill a little girl? Really?"

BANG.

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A/N:

Here's KOUJIIIIIII

God I'm sorry I know it's been a zillion years and stuff and you probably thought I was dead or something

But the computer was an ass and there was vacation and school and sickness and general laziness and lack of inspiration (despite this being such a short, on-the-spot story) and I know it's all my fault please don't hate meeeeeeeee

Also:

I have 50 followers.

50.

Seriously, people, I am so touched! This just started because I wanted to have some fun writing, I never expected so many people to care! And so, even though I missed the 50th follower mark, how about the 25th reviewer gets a free one-shot of choice? (That's what people do, right?)

Thank you all SO MUCH

AAAAAAAH

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