Breaking Dawn
A Danny Phantom Fanfic by Quill N. Inque
I do not own Danny Phantom.
Chapter 9: Prelude-Agent Thomas Brody, Missing in Action!
Starbuck's Coffee, Amity Park
The venerable and formidable Agent Brody took a moment to sniff his caramel macchiato appreciatively before bringing it to his lips and sipping with utmost relish. The dark, steaming liquid was still warm as he swallowed delicately, and Brody felt new energy coursing through him as he partook in one of the few daily rituals he had ever enjoyed.
It went without saying back in D.C. that Brody was notoriously addicted to coffee of any kind, largely due to the dependence his body had developed on the caffeine contained therein. True, such a strong physical and mental reliance was somewhat detrimental to the old agent's health, but Brody had stopped caring years ago; he had neither the time nor finances to spend on support groups or hypnotherapists, and in any case Brody's natural obstinacy and stubbornness would have impeded any effort to rid himself of his addiction. Coffee, therefore, was Brody's kryptonite, so to speak; if he went too long without it, he grew lethargic, grouchy and fatigued. Putting up with months of what was in all honesty a spell of withdrawal was repugnant to Brody, and thus he had cheerfully pursued his greatest passion with carefree abandonment.
There was a running joke among his oldest coworkers back in the Bureau that Brody would gladly have traded both of his ex-wives in exchange for a fresh cup of Java early in the morning. Brody, being none too fond of either of his former lovers, had never denied the truth of that statement.
Any negative effect such consumption would take upon the scarred veteran was almost irrelevant. Brody was no longer young, and he was feeling older by the day; he could feel his once-strong body beginning to tire as old injuries began to add up. His back ached, his wrists and fingers were growing brittle with the onset of arthritis, and his blood pressure was now growing to be such a problem that Brody had grudgingly agreed to a regimen of pills and liquid medicines. Only just that morning, Brody had found, to his horror, that merely gripping the handle of his beloved Sig Sauer had been a chore with the stabbing pain that throbbed in his joints.
Brody knew that he had, at most, about twenty years left to him. That bitter knowledge only increased his determination to see Fenton absolved in the eyes of the world before he passed on.
Death didn't frighten him, though, at least not for the most part. Brody had had more than enough brushes with the Grim Reaper's robe in the line of duty to cure that. After all, one can only dodge a bullet so many times before the harrowing experience lost some of its edge.
Brody's throat wobbled as he downed the last of his hot beverage, and his keys jingled softly in his pocket as he checked the watch on his wrist. Fenton and his companions would be out of school in less than half an hour, according to the time, and a fresh sense of urgency made Brody's pace quicken as he emerged into the parking lot. It was, after all, the agent's job to be there so as to ferry the kid home in safety and obscurity, and Brody, by his nature, did not tolerate tardiness.
His crusty exterior may have said otherwise, but Brody had secretly grown rather fond of the Fenton boy. Make no mistake, thee coarse and blunt-natured agent normally related poorly to children and got along even worse with teenagers, but Fenton's sense of duty and his way of seeing the world in absolutes of right and wrong mirrored Brody's own philosophies and thus endeared the boy to him. Fenton was living proof that mankind could be something greater, and after so many years of putting teenagers away, Brody was enormously grateful to have his faith in the younger generation renewed.
The ridiculous-looking hybrid rental car that the agent had grudgingly rented made an audible beep as he opened the driver's side door, and humming an old tune under his breath, Brody went to turn the key in the ignition.
But so absorbed was he in his thoughts that Brody never noticed that the door had already been unlocked.
Brody fumbled for the button that would turn on the air conditioning, swearing to himself as he did so. "Piece of crap," he growled, one hand reaching to adjust the mirror. "I dunno what half of these damn buttons are even for. Gimme an '87 Buick any day. Now that was a car…"
The rearview lens swiveled in the desired direction, and Brody, satisfied that all was to his liking, momentarily relaxed-
-Until he noticed that a stranger, disguised in a ski mask, seemed to have suddenly materialized on the back seat. By pure instinct, Brody's hand flashed to the weapon that lay in his belt, but the element of surprise was on the side of the enemy. The old agent had been caught completely off guard, the stock of his gun tangled in the seat belt that lay strapped across his chest, and as he fumbled to free the battle-scarred Sig a syringe appeared in the assailant's hand. Like a hissing snake the stranger lunged forward, jabbing the needle into Brody's neck.
The sharp pain caused Brody to roar like a savage animal, and he tore the needle from his flesh before loosening several of the other man's teeth with a swipe across the jaw. Stunned, the masked attacker slumped against the seat, nursing his broken jaw, and Brody went to finish him off-
Only to lurch like a swaying tree in his seat as the syringe's contents began to take effect. Brody's vision began to swim, as though the car were mounted on some giant carnival ride, and nausea tinged his cheeks with green as he doubled over in shock and a sudden spell of enormous fatigue. Brody's arms and legs seem to be made of lead, dangling uselessly as the serum rendered him unable to move, and he sagged against the wheel like a limp sausage as his cognitive functions began to go offline.
As helpless as a newborn kitten, Brody lay completely at his captor's mercy as the thug removed his mask and wiped thin ribbon blood from the corner of his mouth.
"Judgment day, traitor," he grinned. "There's enough knockout serum in your veins to fell an elephant. Personally, I'd have just killed you and been done with it, but our Leader wants to question you before administering the Light's justice."
Brody, in keeping with his reputation as a fighter by nature, used his last ounce of strength to look his attacker right in the eye and growl his defiance.
"Fuck…you…"
A/N: I know, I know, this was a very short chapter, but this was really just a prelude that I needed to get out of the way before I begin the next story arc. I also thought it would give the story some depth if we got a little insight into Brody's POV, so, length notwithstanding, I hope you all enjoyed it! ^^ And what a BRUTAL cliffie! Will Brody be saved in time? Will his captors make him sing like a canary? And will Danny notice Brody's absence before it's too late? Find out in coming chapters! And PLEASE REVIEW! Seriously, I only got like five last time, and I REALLY want to hear some feedback from you guys on how I'm doing. I care about what YOU have to say, so if you have ANY ideas or suggestions, LET ME KNOW! ^^
And for those of you who wrote in wondering if I enjoy putting the weight of the world on Danny's shoulders: Yes. Yes, I do. ^^
(Oh, my God, what's wrong with me…?)
Your humble servant,
-Quill N. Inque