Chapter 3

Carly sat in the middle of the four foot long concrete slab that was deemed her bed. She had a slight bruise on her face, and her wrists were red from being tied together. The shirt she was wearing was ripped and torn. Fear was thick in her heart as her eyes roamed her surroundings. Cold iron bars confined her to this foreign hell. She had no idea where she was. No idea why she was there, and no idea if she was ever going to see her loved ones again.

"You look somewhat cramped," an unseen female said. The woman made her way from the shadows and stood in front of Carly's cell. "What's wrong, sunshine? Missing your boyfriend?" she asked in a mocking tone. "It's his fault you're here, you know?"

Carly didn't recognize the woman, but that didn't stop her from feeling hatred towards her. Her head was pounding, a result of being knocked out from behind. Her mind was filled with a hundred questions. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw what appeared to be a rather plump rat. She did her best to ignore it while it scurried along the far wall. "Where am I and who the hell are you?"

Before the woman had a chance to answer, she was joined by another person. An older man, probably in his early sixties. He was dressed in a navy blue military uniform, and from the looks of it, was a high ranking officer, possibly a general. His face was that of a well-travelled man with many secrets to keep. "Vanessa," he asked, "are you giving our guest a hard time?"

"Let me kill her," Vanessa begged. For all the years he had known his love, she never ceased to impress him with her straight forwardness. "She's helpless and weak," she continued. "It could be your anniversary gift to me!"

"Why, Mrs. Warfield," the old man smiled. "What has happened to your compassion?" He looked in on Carly, who had remained in the center of her bed. "Don't worry, dear- I won't let her harm you. In fact, we'll only keep you locked up until I'm certain your boyfriend isn't going to cause me any problems." He smiled a fake smile at Carly and turned to face Vanessa, to whom he gave a long, soft kiss to. Carly cringed at the sight; it was like watching her grandfather kissing the head cheerleader. "As soon as we've done what we've set out to do," the old man continued, his lips finally removed from Vanessa's, "We will open wide those prison doors, and you will be a free woman." He grabbed Vanessa by the hand and started to walk away. "Then, I'll let Vanessa kill you."

Vanessa laughed loudly. "Oh, Miles," she sighed. "I love you."

The Witwicky's and Chip Chase forced themselves to get some sleep upon returning home. With Chip's place more or less destroyed, they all stayed at the Witwicky home. Anxiety and fear made sleep hard to come by, and once it was attained, it was poisoned by nightmare after nightmare. Finally, the constant waking and cold sweat was too much to overcome for Spike, so he made his way downstairs towards the kitchen.

Chip, who was sleeping in the living room atop a very comfortable couch, heard a series of soft sounds and noticed a light had been flicked on. He pulled himself up and loaded into his wheelchair; deciding to join his friend. "Can't sleep either, eh?" he asked, positioning himself on the opposite side of the dining table.

"Not really," Spike admitted. He lit up a cigarette and inhaled deeply. The smoke hovered over him like a halo as he exhaled it. "Too much stuff going on in my head, you know? I can't make my mind be quiet long enough to get any rest."

Chip nodded. "Same here," he sighed. "Listen, I just wanted to say that you standing up to Destro like you did... that took a lot of courage."

"I thought he was going kill to me," Spike laughed. "But I got to thinking about it, and I really don't have anything to lose." Spike's tone became somber. "My girl is gone. My friends are gone. Even if Destro had called my punk card, it wouldn't have mattered. I didn't really care one way or the other."

Chip eyed his longtime friend and wished he could do something to ease his pain. "That doesn't sound like you," he said, a bit concerned. "You've never given up before."

"Nothing like this has ever happened before," he stated. "Don't get me wrong," Spike continued. "I'm going to do all I can to rescue Prime and the others, but I can't stop worrying about Carly. It's hard to focus on anything else, you know?"

Chip placed his hand atop Spike's shoulder in a gesture of friendship. "I know."

A loud knock on the door startled both men. Chip looked at his watch, noting it was just past 4 in the morning. "Who in the world would be coming by at this hour?"

Spike jumped to his feet and rummaged through a counter drawer, removing the biggest knife he could find. "Maybe it's more of your friends," he said, referring to the people who had attacked Chip the other day. "I can't imagine who else it could be!"

Another knock, this time even louder than the first one. It was a three knock pattern, they noticed. Two quick knocks, followed by a short pause and then another knock. "Should I call the police?" Chip asked, wheeling himself over to the phone. A third set of knocks came, this time bringing Sparkplug downstairs.

"Dad," Spike called to him. "Someone's here, and I don't like it!"

Sparkplug seemed rather calm about the entire ordeal. He walked up to the front door and peaked through the peep-hole. A smile came across his face, as he reached for the doorknob.

"What the hell are you doing?" Spike yelled.

"Easy, son," Sparkplug replied. He opened the front door, and in walked a group of men that could be described as motley at best. "These are friends of mine," Sparkplug informed his son and Chip. "I met them through connections I had back when I served in Korea."

The leader of the group, an elderly looking man with salt and pepper hair, extended his hand towards Sparkplug. "It's been a long time, sergeant," he greeted. Smoke from his cigar gave off a sweet smelling odor.

"Indeed it has, colonel," Sparkplug agreed. "Indeed it has." He turned and looked at his son. "I thought we might want some help with what we're about to do, so I got on the phone as soon as we returned home," he explained. "I called in some old favors. Spike, Chip," he continued, "Please say hello to Murdock, B.A. Baracus, Faceman, and Colonel Hannibal Smith."

Chip felt his mouth drop in awe. "I don't believe this," he whispered. "Your dad called the A-Team?"

Hannibal made his way to the couch, where moments ago Chip had been attempting to rest, and kicked his feet up on the coffee table. A sly grin came across his face. "Now, what's this about you good people needing a plan?"

end of chapter 3