Rises from the fucking grave - HERE YOU GO! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

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Five- Thanks for Waiting

Detective Sylvia Triggs looked over the giant web of information her partner Ira had compiled over the years for-probably- the thousandth time. Hoping to get something, out of it. She was almost pulling her blonde hair out in frustration and worry. Ira, Mr. White and Mr. Grey had been missing for almost a full thirty six hours now. It felt like months.

All three had been abducted late Friday afternoon in plain sight, and with an officer on the scene. Now it was early Sunday. And they had no leads, at least no concrete ones. She was running on pure emotion and coffee at this point.

She pulled the box filled with the most recent information her partner had printed off, the files and papers waiting for their chance to join their brethren in Ira's evidence web. She and Gonzales had already gone through it all but she decided to look again. Slowly, with her and her partner's handiwork as the only company.

With a quick sip from her cup full of brown life blood Sylvia picked up a large file and opened it up.

'Don't worry Ira, I'll find you. Alive.' She thought.

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Gandalf did his best to breath slowly through his nose, trying to make as little noise as possible. Ira sat next to him, just as silent. They had freed themselves hours ago and had at first tried to find a way to sneak out of the basement they were trapped in. But the few windows, which let in only a meager light, were so small they wouldn't allow a fully grown man through-hell even a child would have some trouble- and had bars over them on the inside. The pane was also opaque, so figuring out where exactly they were was proving a challenge.

The basement walls and ceiling were thick so little noise seeped through. To hear anything from the main house they had to crowd around the only exit: a heavy wooden door guarded by rickety stairs they had yet to put their full weight on.

Both men wanted to see what they could hear unmolested before doing anything rash. So they crowded around the stairs, ears open. So far they had just listened to the soundtrack of what a low level gang was like at ease and in hiding. Only the occasional tidbit of important information could be screened from all of the unimportant things that were said or screamed.

What they had so far was this:

They were close to the docks.

A gang that called themselves the Orcs currently called the building-house?-their base.

Ira explained that the Orcs were known as a "low-level" street gang that had many small chapters in this part of the world.

Said gang was extremely into drinking, the nearby brothels and bars, and the Warg brand of motorcycles.

It seemed every fledged senior member had one while junior members rode a subpar ride.

They kept wolves. Hungry ones from the sound of it.

The leader of this group of degenerates was an "Azog", a man who spoke in a guttural tone of voice and was the only one of the group- that they could tell-to never speak a word of English. Whenever he spoke it was in the harsh dialect that the other gang members would seamlessly switch to and from English as they expressed themselves.

Gandalf knew they were missing much because of this language barrier and didn't like when conversation switched away from what he knew.

When he had quietly asked what it was they were speaking Ira answered that it really wasn't a "true language". From what the police had gathered, hey spoke a special sort of "gang speak", something spoken only with in the gang and only known to one another.

Gandalf felt hopelessness seep into him a little. It had been hours, and it didn't seem like there would be a "quiet" period that they could try and escape during. They had nothing to use for weapons save Ira's switchblade and their own severed plastic bindings. The basement area was clear save for a rusted and decrepit bucket obviously meant for, and what they had used as, a latrine and a nearly completed roll of toilet paper that had at one point been speckled with blood.

There was nothing else save the concrete floor and spider webs.

The fact that no one had yet to come down to even check if they were alive or not made both men uneasy. Especially since that seemed to be the only way of getting a chance out of the basement, they would have to rush and incapacitate whoever it was, grab whatever weapons off of them and try their luck in the house.

It was a stupid plan. And grew stupider every minute they went on hungry, thirsty, and without any sleep.

He just hoped Saruman could wait for them a little longer.

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One Saruman White did his best to keep quiet. His former lover had returned, one who was a bat shit insane crime lord and had kidnapped not just himself but also his current lover and a police officer who was at the right place at the right time.

He had woken up in the bed that he now lay not too far away from, Sauron had tried to force himself on the kindergarten teacher. But he had fought and struggled, despite the gun being waved in his face. So the crime leader had backed off, but not without stealing a few kisses and gropes beforehand.

He still thought he could persuade Saruman to be compliant.

Sauron had been called away on some matter- the leader of the gang, a "General" Azog, had come in speaking a very guttural dialect- and had left the room after handcuffing Saruman to the bed's headboard. The chain was long and thick, with enough slack that he could reach the simple- and completely bare save for toilet paper- bathroom.

So at least there was that.

But he needed to escape! The window was bared, and there was nothing he could use as a weapon save for the book Sauron had left behind and the sheets on the bed. Maybe the chair-but he'd throw his back out if he tried to use it offensively. At least the book was heavy.

Right now he was on the floor, ear pressed to the carpet to hear what he could from the levels below. He had tried listening at the door but he was at the back of the hallway, all he could hear was the snores of the guard that was on the other side of the locked door.

It was good to know he had an opening, and a possible chance at a weapon, but the snores blocked out the sounds of the rest of the house. Thankfully, it seemed the floors were thin, and the people in Sauron's employ were a rather riotous lot. Now if only they'd leave or pass out from their drug/alcohol abuse.

It would be no use to sneak out of this room and walk right into the lion's den. Especially since he didn't even have his shoes.

He hoped Gandalf and Ira were alright. Wherever they were being kept.