Apollo pulled up from their strafing run, the battery he had targeted on the Cylon Base Ship now space dust, while the Ravager burned on multiple levels under the offensive attack of Phoenix Squadron. Luana, Acastus and the others had done irreversible lethal damage by the looks of the most recent explosion to light up the Ravager. Their remaining mega-pulsar was quiet, and they hadn't fired a single pulse at the Endeavour for several long centons. At this point, the ship was, barring a miracle, done for; it was only a matter of when the fires would reach the reactors.
"Triton Squadron, pull back. It doesn't look like she has much more time," Apollo ordered the squadron swarming the Base Ship, as chunks of the hull flew off several decks below the destroyed pulsar, the rip belching fire and debris.
"Would be kind of fun to fire the final shot, though," Giles' voice came over the comm.
"Unless you were caught in the explosion," Jolly pointed out. "When those fusion reactors blow, it will take out everything within a kilometron radius, minimum."
"Let's go give Phoenix Squadron a hand," Apollo inserted, checking his scanner, seeing what was left of the battle seemed to be between the two forces of fighters half way between the two capital ships.
"Aye, aye, Skipper . . . uh, sorry, Colonel," Jolly amended. "On your wake."
"That's all right, Jolly. Old habits die hard."
"So do old Cylons," Lieutenant Rooke inserted over the comm. "How about some of you veterans come give us a hand, that is if you can tear yourselves away from watching the Ravager burn?"
"Copy that. On our way, Rooke."
xxxxx
"President Gibson, Ambassador Aelian wanted to inform you that the United Nations General Assembly is deliberating on a new Secretary General to replace Samael Asar. The Security Council has already made their recommendations."
"Already?" Gibson replied. With Asar's death, the UN Security Council had suddenly come to their senses in supporting the military defence of Earth. But now that the Cylons had retreated to high Earth orbit, satellite data from WASA leaving all with the impression that it was only a matter of time before the Colonial warship defeated the mechanical creatures, politics and deal making had once again become the order of the day. Gibson shook his head, wondering not for the first time if the UN had their own separate agenda, or if they were just so far removed from reality that they couldn't see the forest for the trees. "They didn't waste any time grieving, did they?"
"No, sir. What shall I tell the ambassador, Mr. President?"
"The ambassador knows my feelings on the matter," Gibson replied, getting back to dealing with the crises in Las Vegas and New York City. A few scattered reports were beginning to come in from Nevada. The Big Apple was a disaster, but at least most of its citizens were still alive.
"Thank you, Mr. President."
xxxxx
"Get down!" Fred yelled, leaning through the window and firing upward at the chopper facing them down. His weapon roared into the air as slugs flew upwards, seeking a target.
Lauren ducked as bullets ripped through the windshield, shattering it. Barney swerved right and the car began to tip. The vehicle righted itself, then skidded across the road, slamming into a dumpster, thrusting her forward on to the floor. In the distance, she heard the sound of the chopper fading, as it flew on. She dared to hope for a moment, and then her heart sank as she heard it heading back, coming in for a landing.
Bloody hell!
"Fred?" she called. Silence. "Barney?"
There had been a brief moment of hope when a gunman had come hurling out of the police helicopter a hundred feet to his death, making them all wonder what the heck was happening up there. However, it had been short-lived, and the helicopter had dogged them relentlessly, completely unmindful of anything or anybody that might get in their way, as a constant barrage of gunfire bracketed and pummelled them.
Pulling herself up off the floor, she dared a look. The driver was slumped over the wheel, the side of his head and shoulder covered with blood. Fred was halfway out of the car, his legs stopping him short of flying right through the destroyed windshield. Neither man was moving or breathing, by the looks of it.
A quick glance back towards the helicopter revealed two men dressed as police officers heading her way. Another watched as he hung out of the chopper in a dark suit. She could see him lighting a cigarette, a plume of vapour wafting above him. It had to be Mason. Terror gripped her, freezing her to the spot as the Director of National Intelligence held her gaze. There was no doubt in her mind that nothing would stand in the way of him capturing her. What would happen after that she didn't even want to think about.
Then her adrenaline kicked in.
She scampered up and over the seat, grabbing up Barney's handgun before launching herself past Fred. With guilt nipping at her conscience, she used his clothes to propel herself forward, before scrambling over the hood of the car. Gritting her teeth in pain, she fell heavily onto the pavement, rolling and forcing herself to her feet again as the crack of a weapon rang out and a bullet whizzed past her head, pinging off the asphalt. An angry voice called out, but she couldn't make out the words. She raced around the dumpster, using it as both a crutch and a shield, before limping heavily down the alleyway. Impenetrable red brick and rusted roll gates surrounded her on all sides, the only two doors visible denying her entry. She stumbled onward, holding the gun in her grip before she really realized what it was there for. It's a weapon, you idiot! Use it! She drew a deep breath, ducking into a doorway before turning to make her stand.
xxxxx
"This is incredible!" Jess said, her eyes darting everywhere around the massive bay as they headed into the Central Core of the Colonial Covert Operations Ship, Endeavour. "We don't have anything that even compares to this, even with the Cylon tech we found at Roswell."
"Hey, you built a Base on Mars, Jess. You actually made it, and started terraforming that rock. In my day that was a distant dream," Dayton replied as he led the way down the ladderwell.
"Yeah, and just like the ISS, it's gone," Jess called down to him. "Did you see the ruins on Mars? The ancient ones, I mean."
"We did and we scanned the snot out of them. We're sure they're Kobollian in origin, the founding fathers of the Colonials."
"Kobollian, huh?" She tried out the word on her tongue. "That's the planet they came from?"
"Kobol." He nodded, electing to withhold the information that his forefathers had come from there too. There would be time enough for that later. "There's also a fairly intact space dock and a now-destroyed habitat inside Phobos, along with three battlecruisers in varying stages of completion," he said, waiting for her at the bottom of the ladder. "The space dock is immense even by Colonial Standards. Like nothing any of them had seen before."
"You're kidding me!" she said. "That could explain those crazy readings the Russians picked up years ago. How old?"
"I'm guessing about seven thousand years," Dayton replied. "That's about when the Kobollian Exodus happened, in our years. Obviously, some of them ended up on Mars. There were huge transparent underground tunnels, as well as a pyramid there, and a tomb complex you wouldn't believe, which is fairly indicative of a major Kobollian centre."
"And they were building warships. Battlecruisers, you called them."
"That's what they looked like, as least to us. Huge, whatever they were."
"For a war?" Jess asked, joining him at the bottom.
"Probably. From the damage we witnessed, I'd say it looked more like a catastrophe hit them than an attack, but it's difficult to know for certain after all this time. The place was pummelled to junk," Dayton said. "The settlement on Mars looked like it had some kind of controlled environmental dome that was shattered. Phobos had one too."
"Wow, if Mom could . . ." It was like a curtain suddenly dropping on her enthusiasm. She looked down, suddenly avoiding his probing gaze.
"How is your mother, your sister?" he asked her, suddenly needing to hear they were okay, despite the fact that Yvonne would be seventy-eight. It was the missing piece of this happy partial family reunion. Jess bit her lip, seeming to take an extraordinary amount of time to answer. Dayton could feel his guts twist into knots, and his blood run cold. He'd mentally prepared himself for this possibility, so how could it still hurt so damn much? Shit, what didn't hurt, after all this time? "Oh God . . ."
She put up a hand to halt his words. "No, no. They're both . . . alive." Then she sighed, shaking her head, before adding, "Mom has advanced Alzheimer's Disease."
His heart stopped beating then and there.
"We had to put her into care."
"In . . . in care," he repeated numbly, closing his eyes against the harshness of reality. He turned, raking his hand through the back of his hair, digging his fingers into the muscles tensing up in the back of his neck. During that moment while he had waited for Jessica to explain, he'd reconciled himself to the fact that Yvonne was probably dead. It would have almost been easier, especially where his relationship with Cassiopeia was concerned. But Alzheimer's . . . the news was more shattering than he could have imagined.
Yvonne's father had had Alzheimer's and it had been a slow living death, stealing bit by bit the essence of its victim. The disease had destroyed a once sharp, bright and wonderful mind, while leaving him befuddled and dependent. It had been Yvonne's greatest fear that she would one day be similarly affected. Even though thirty years—or forty-five, depending on one's point of view—had passed, he loved his wife just as much as he had when he'd disappeared. She was his friend, his lover, the muse of his dreams, the mother of his children . . . Which got him to thinking, why wouldn't his own children be looking after their mother? After all, if he'd been there he would be caring for Yvonne, not strangers. It made him contemplate how else had he had let his wife and his daughters down over the years.
"Dad?"
He felt Jessica's hand gently touch his shoulder. He left his contemplations behind, turning to face her at the bottom of the Central Core. He opened his mouth, but before he could spit out a word, she started explaining.
"Lauren and I spelled each other off for a while, looking after Mom. But consistency and familiarity are important with Alzheimer's patients, and with our careers . . ." her words trailed off as she studied his features. Something she saw there evidently ticked her off. She set her jaw stubbornly, as had generations of Daytons before her. Then she blew out a harsh breath, taking a step back and crossing her arms. "Why am I justifying myself to you? This is crazy. You've been gone forty-five years!"
He took a step back under the onslaught, tempted to raise an arm to protect himself. She had a temper just like her mother's. "You're right, I wasn't here. I don't know the circumstances or what you went through. I'm sure you did the best you could, Jess," he said, trying to make himself believe it.
"Damn right I did," she nodded sharply without faltering. "I still am!"
He nodded, hesitating a moment. "Would she know me?" he asked, swallowing a sudden lump in his throat.
"I . . . I don't know, Dad. I doubt it. She held out hope for a long time, but finally accepted that you were dead." She paused. "It was easier that way. Not knowing for sure is the worst part."
He nodded. What did he expect? That somehow across the universe Yvonne could sense the presence of her soul mate? Yeah, it was romantic as hell, but not very pragmatic. "What about Lauren?" he asked.
"Lauren . . . I'm not sure," Jess said, shaking her head. "She's a freelance journalist and WASA's media relations person. She's been trying to get to the bottom of who was behind covering up the arrival of the Endeavour. The space shuttle, I mean," she clarified. "I swear our own Director of National Intelligence has been trying to either catch her or kill her for the last few days. I wanted her to come in, to let one of my contacts put her in a safe house, but you know Lauren; she's like a dog with a bone." She frowned. "We lost touch with her late last night. She was going to interview someone."
"Who?"
"She didn't say."
"Any leads?"
"She said something about her Pulitzer, her next big story. I haven't had a whole lot of time to pursue it with the Cylons destroying Mexico City and Las Vegas, not to mention our satellite grid. And New York is such a disaster right now . . ."
"Of course," he nodded. "We'll find her if we have to tear apart New York City to do it."
"That was my general plan, as well," she replied. They both looked up as the Unicom crackled to life.
"Commander Dayton, report to Control Centre. Commander Dayton, report to Control Centre."
"Come on," he said, gesturing towards the hatchway. "To the Bat Cave."
"Let's get this straight, Caped Crusader, I refuse to be Robin . . ." Jess insisted as she preceded him.
xxxxx
"Alpha-Bay-just-opened-up-to-the-vacuum-of-space, Commander," announced one of the centurions.
"It exploded, you idiot!" Syphax amplified his vocal modulator on the savaged Ravager. All efforts had been on trying to extinguish the fires raging on the Base Ship, and repelling the attack of several Raiders that looked just like their own.
"As-you-suggested, the-fire-is-out, Commander," the centurion reported.
"So is everything from the three decks affected!" Syphax replied. "Out in space, that is! Why is the Harrower not responding?" the IL demanded of communications.
"I-do-not-know, Commander."
"Well, surmise something!"
"That-function-is-disabled."
"Oh, such brilliance!"
"As-requested, I-sur . . ."
"Do we still have navigation?" Syphax demanded.
"Affirmative."
"The ship is lost," Syphax said, assessing the tactical situation, and making the usual relative calculations to come to a conclusion. If it was inevitable that the Ravager was going to explode, the IL would make one final move to destroy at least a hundred or so more of the human vermin he had been sent here to eradicate. "Change course, Centurion. Maximum speed." He gave the coordinates.
"By-your-command."
xxxxx
Starbuck forced his head upright to look around, craning his neck against muscles that were already sore. But hey, on the upside, at least it took his mind off his fading headache. As soon as they'd landed, Mason's two gunmen had jumped out either side of the helicopter to go after Dayton's daughter. Mason had poked his head out to watch, lighting another of his seemingly endless supply of smokes. Then Starbuck heard the crack of a weapon followed by a curse from the director as Mason joined them on the ground.
Now it was down to the pilot, Lucifer and Snow White. Oh, and of course, Starbuck. His arms being wrenched and secured up from behind him, forcing him into a position where he was almost doubled over, had effectively prevented any other brilliant plans from being executed as a gradual burning ache consumed his upper body. Immobilization in a forced unnatural position, it was a form of torture that the Cylons used to use. For some reason he hadn't expected it from fellow humans. He snuck a look at Snow White, trying to keep his mind off himself.
She looked paralysed with utter terror as she cowered in her seat, trying to make herself look invisible. He groaned quietly, squirming beside Lucifer, appearing to try to ease his aching body while really attempting to get her attention. At this angle, the IL couldn't see his face.
"Are we sitting comfortably?" Lucifer asked beside him in amusement, casting a brief glance at the Colonial Warrior. He turned away without waiting for an answer.
"Reminds me of your guest quarters back on Baltar's Base Ship," Starbuck groused, catching Snow White's eye. He mimed "run" at her, nodding towards the open helicopter door and willing her to take the only chance she would get. The security vids showed the perimeter clear of Mason and his goons. Naked fear looked back at him when the buxom trucker realized what he wanted her to do. She shook her head side to side, the movement barely perceptible, but the message clear. "You Cylons, always pulling out all the stops for creature comforts," he continued rambling, as the IL looked back at him. He needed to keep Lucifer's attention firmly on him. "All those over-stuffed cushions and the bubbled turbo-bath, the fine Sagittarian ale and the Piscon delicacies. Ah, I remember them fondly."
Lucifer's lights sped up for a moment. "Too many blows to the head, Captain?"
"How many is too many, I wonder," Starbuck replied thoughtfully, feeling the IL's gaze on him briefly. "Play any pyramid lately, Lucy?"
"Interesting that you should ask. I played Five Card Stud while I was on WASA's lunar base."
"How'd you do?"
"As a matter of fact, I won."
"Hmm," Starbuck replied doubtfully. "I'll bet you cheated."
"Cylons do not cheat, Captain," Lucifer replied haughtily.
"Oh? What about Cimtar?"
"That was war, not cards."
"You play them differently?"
"You do not?"
"Not especially. I think maybe you missed something in those card lessons we had over Kobol. I figured you for smarter than that."
"I assure you, I missed nothing."
"Sorry, bub, I'm not convinced. Maybe that's why you got Baltar to do your cheating for you. You were down a processor, too intellectually incapacitated to figure out how to do it yourself. Time for an upgrade, eh Lucy?"
"Captain . . .!" The word exploded out of the Cylon.
"Oh, stow it, Servo Slave! Face it, tactically, you're about as capable as a half-brained centurion with an intermittent power cell!"
"I am warning you . . .!" Lucifer said.
Just like he wanted it. After spending plenty of time with Malus, he knew how to push all the right IL "buttons" to get a very un-Cylon-like reaction out of a cyborg. Starbuck rolled his shoulders as much as his position would allow, once again daring a brief look at Show White. "Run" he again mimed at her, this time slowly, drawing out the message as if it would have more impact that way. Vaguely, he wondered if the dance Mason's boys had done on his face was doing anything at all to sway her decision.
"You are trying to antagonize me. It will not work," Lucifer said, standing and taking a step back from him, as if only physical distance could help him keep his cybernetic self-control. "If you do not stop, then I will . . ."
"You can't hurt me, Neon Noggin'!" he scoffed. "Now you're Mason's lap droid, instead of Baltar's," he went on recklessly and scornfully. "You take orders from him, once again subordinate to a human." He forced a chuckle, craning his head to get a look at the IL. "Now that's gotta hurt, huh? All those yahrens of service, looking up reverently at Big Bug Brain on his egomaniacal podium, and he gives the Base Ship to a human and puts you in charge of shining his boots! Then when you finally do get your own Base Ship, you lose it to a derelict Abaddon-class ship commanded by Malus. It's gotta grind the gears when an earlier and inferior model IL shuts you down like a rusty, third-rate, refitted bilge pump from Atilla."
"Big Bug Brain! Egomaniacal . . . why you . . ." snarled Lucifer, his eyes stopping their oscillation and fixing squarely on Starbuck.
"GO!" Starbuck shouted, the message for Snow White alone.
Like a switch had gone off, Snow White made up her mind. She leapt through the open doorway, darting to the rear of the chopper outside, and out of sight.
"The female is escaping!" Lucifer cried as he turned to see what was happening right in front of his optical sensors. He took a step that way. "You fools! The female is . . ."
Starbuck kicked out with his boot, knocking the IL off balance at the same time as the pilot raced into the cabin. The sound of Lucifer's servos and gyros whining loudly in protest was music to his ears. Just about dislocating his shoulders, Starbuck thrust out his other foot, tripping the pilot, causing him to crash into the Cylon. The two went down in a tangled mess of limbs.
It was beautiful!
Not letting up, he continued to viciously kick at the two in the cramped space, feeling like a badly behaved prepubescent girl scrapping in the schoolyard. Still, he was determined to give Snow White a head start that would see her make good her escape. He owed her at least that much. Then Lucifer clutched an ankle, immobilising it, while the pilot clambered out of range. He glared at Starbuck as he jumped up, blood trickling from his forehead. Then he began accessing the Sky Command system, while speaking rapidly into his headset. He touched the still-functioning monitor, checking digital data from this entire neighbourhood. Apparently, this part of the city was under police surveillance at all times.
Nice friendly place.
Starbuck held his breath as images flickered across the screen, switching location over and over until he was looking at the backs of Mason's goons heading down an alley. The image abruptly changed to the helicopter sitting in the street, not a living soul in sight. The pilot turned a malignant gaze on the Colonial Warrior. Starbuck grinned winsomely back at him.
Whatever happened next would be worth it. Snow White had disappeared.
xxxxx
It was the conventional Count Iblis appearance: lightning, thunder, fire, brimstone and his declaration of forbiddance. At one time it had driven a little fear into Ama's heart and had ruffled her indomitable spirit. Now it was just getting annoying.
The Empyrean necromancer ignored him, embracing her powers and focussing on Eirys, summoning her spirit from the realm where she now resided. At one time Ama had thought her powers were embodied in her Empyrean talisman, as had all her folk, but she had long since outgrown that assumption. Her powers, like her spirit, were boundless, limited only by her lack of understanding before her father had unwittingly mentored her, correcting that fallacy. She had learned through the Oculus that which even Iblis didn't understand. The Great Powers had evoked a restriction on all beings of their kind from unrestrainedly flexing their celestial powers, requiring them to abide by certain rules. However, the decree was only that, a decree. An authoritative order having the force of "Celestial Law" to back it up. But as they had realized with Count Iblis, the Great Powers could not make her bend to their will. And a being as powerful as she had become would not let a hierarchy that so blatantly and narcissistically manipulated its acolytes browbeat her. She would do things her way.
An evanescent shimmering light appeared. Radiant particles danced in a heavenly swirl, coming together, slowly taking on a recognizably human form. A graceful, willowy woman appeared in long robes, her long shining hair flowing behind her like a cloak caught in the breeze, her delicate features unmistakably belonging to Eirys, the Angylion sorceress. Milli-centon by milli-centon, the image gained sustenance.
"I'm warning you, Daughter . . ." Iblis growled, raising a hand, pointing it towards her, his fingers crackling with ugly light.
"Not a tactically sound idea, Father," she replied as the skies above them began to rumble, the clouds roil. She could sense that Iblis was caught between his displeasure in her and his paternal curiosity. Her father was actually wondering if she indeed had the power to rescue Eirys from the dark place where he had sent her to languish for all of eternity.
"Eirys!" Baltar choked out, moving towards his Angylion wife as her tenuous form blossomed into a tangible presence. She collapsed into his waiting arms. "By all the Lords . . ." She smiled up at him, raising a trembling hand to caress his face, miming his name weakly.
"Ama, caution now," John counselled her. "The Great Powers will not approve . . ."
"I do not answer to the Great Powers, John!" she snarled, curling her hands into fists. "Surely you understand that by now, even if they do not!"
"Ama . . ." Baltar sputtered.
"I do not want to destroy you, Ama, but you force my hand through your betrayal," Iblis cursed.
"That's the whole idea, Father," she cried, turning to face him for the very last time. She tossed the Oculus high into the air and in a blink it disappeared, reappearing inexplicably in the folds of Eirys' robes. Above them, the clouds darkened. Lightning split the thundering sky. Ama smiled maniacally, her gapped-tooth grin hideously framed by her hair, wildly blowing around her face. She raised her hands above her, a supernatural energy crackling in readiness, waiting to be unleashed by her fingertips. "This is my destiny! It is written across the stars in the spilt blood of my beloved Empyreans! I challenge you, Count Iblis!"
"Ama, you mustn't," John tried to tell her as he, Baltar and Eirys all began to fade, evanishing amid the storm. "No! Not now!" he shouted, then the three disappeared, leaving father and daughter standing alone.
Iblis smiled, raising his hand to point at his child. "You challenge me?"
"I do."
"Then you give me no choice, Daughter. I accept your challenge."
His dark powers shot across the Empyrean, the universe trembling as Ama met them with her own.
xxxxx
Lauren's first shot had sent Mason's remaining goons diving for cover behind parked cars in the alleyway. Her second had merely sent an age-old adage into her brain. The pen is mightier than the sword. Well, the pen was a fair bit mightier than an empty magazine too, unless she was going to use it to club someone over the head. Desperately, she tried the door behind her, twisting the knob and pounding on its surface, while one guy called out, "She's empty!"
Yeah, she felt empty.
"Give it up and we won't shoot!" the other called.
A twinge in her leg reminded her that they already had, not that she was inclined to believe them, in any case. She looked down the alley, searching for a plan of action that didn't involve surrendering. Typically, there was little cover and even less opportunity. Mason's goons were heading towards her, the director hanging back about twenty feet, which didn't surprise her. She was all out of options, and she knew it.
Lauren kicked the door hard, letting out a strangled yell of frustration. She was not one by nature predisposed to giving up. Ever! She dropped Barney's gun and raised her hands, stepping out from the doorway. She could feel tears sting the backs of her eyes, but blinked furiously, refusing to give into them. She would not cry!
The two "cops" approached her, one with his gun trained on her, the other holstering his and showing his empty hands to her.
"I'm going to search you for weapons, Ms. Dayton," he informed her, pointing to the brick wall. "Don't give me any trouble."
Grinding her teeth, she turned, putting her hands up against the wall. His touch was purely professional, sweeping over her from shoulders to feet, which surprised her on more than one level. Mentally, she had prepared herself to be humiliated and degraded.
"She's clean," he announced, putting a hand on her shoulder and turning her towards him. He took her arm, guiding her back down the alley. "Cooperate and we won't hurt you, Ms. Dayton."
"Why do I have a hard time believing that?" she replied, limping along beside him.
Mason smiled, hearing her words. "Because you're well known to have a hard time cooperating, Ms. Dayton." He drawled her name, making it sound like a rare tropical disease. "We are merely being prudent."
"Oh yes, Director Prudence. Thought I recognized you," she replied, stopping in front of him. "How's the world domination thing going, huh?"
Mason's face twisted from indifference to just plain ugly. "Where's the list?"
"What list?" she asked, abruptly nonplussed at the change in topic.
"The list of Anakim," Mason spat.
Which was almost funny considering she'd only just learned about them. Regardless, she'd been compiling her personal list on the New World Order for years. "Oh, that list. It's somewhere you won't get your slimy hands on it, and where it will do the most good." She abruptly wished she was there with the list . . .
"You're bluffing," Mason replied, nodding at his men who once again propelled her forward.
They left the alleyway, moving around the dumpster and past Fred and Barney's bodies. She averted her eyes, unable to think about the deceased Brothers of Eden just now as she limped towards the helicopter.
"Any luck?" Mason called out to a man who was standing beside the chopper.
"No, she's gone to ground somewhere. Has to be hiding. Do you want us to keep looking?"
"No."
"Lose someone?" Lauren asked with interest.
"Never mind, we don't need her now," Mason replied with a calculated look at the journalist. He tossed the butt of his cigarette and at once lit another. All the while, he kept his shark's gaze unwavering.
It chilled her.
"Up you go," her escort said, helping her into the chopper.
Within was seated a robot that had to be the Cylon Jess had told her about. The one that had been at the Armstrong Lunar Base, the one that had since appeared at the UN. Lucifer, she thought she recalled the robot's "name". It said nothing as they pushed her into a seat, which was when she noticed the other occupant.
Barefoot, he was wearing a damp US Air Force flight suit. Both his hands and ankles were cuffed, but his arms were yarded up behind him with a length of chain, secured to an overhead runner. The awkward position forced him to bend over, almost doubled up. Although it was obviously awkward for him, he craned his neck to look across at her. A fresh cut on his cheekbone was trailing blood, as was his nose. Overall, he looked like he'd gone a couple rounds with a boxer and lost. Then she noticed the gag in his mouth, stretching his lips back in a grimace. She caught a brief flash of straight white teeth as he spoke through the gag defiantly, the words muffled but discernible.
"Hi there. How's your day going so far?"