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Post by starlord on Dec 19, 2006 19:18:32 GMT -5
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Post by starlord on Dec 19, 2006 19:20:07 GMT -5
The Question
Issue #3: Welcome to the New World Order, Part 1: "A Night in Their Arms"
Written by House Of Mystery with Ramon Villalobos
Cover by: Roy Flinchum
Edited by: Brian Burchette |
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Post by starlord on Dec 19, 2006 19:20:50 GMT -5
Two men in a rusty black Cadillac drive into town and the local's murmur in curiosity and excitement. Strangers seem to have that effect on this place. When it's a small town like this, where nothing ever happens and when it does it’s hardly ever is a good thing. "Unholy abomination… This whole damn town…." An average sized man says, cursing himself and shaking his head while driving along the dirt road and using his windshield wipers to scrape the flies and mosquitoes off of his window.
A lager man leans back smiling and sipping on a thermos full of coffee. "Take it easy man, you're going to give yourself a heart attack."
"How the hell did we end up in Mayberry anyways Clev? I sure as hell didn't want to visit Barney and Andy down at the station for them to tell me to stop sticking my nose in other 'folks'' business, I just wanted to stick on the road to enlightenment, I-"
"Yeah, yeah. You swore off drinking, smoking, and swearing, what do you want, a medal?
"I'm not gonna get one if I have to spend another minute in this place. Mother of Moses, this whole place wants to make me douse myself in red wine, put fifty cigars in every one of my natural crevices, recite the George Carlin thing and light up."
"Good luck with that, red wine has a low alcohol content so you really won't catch on fire. You'll just smell like red wine and soggy cigars. But I could warm that idea."
"Uh-oh, a guy takes one cooking class and he thinks he knows everything about everything." Nodell says, taking a small bottle of Nyquil from his jacket and tactfully removes the lid and takes a hearty swig while keeping his hand at twelve o'clock.
"You know that stuff has alcohol in it too?"
Nodell turns to his friend, pointing a finger accusatorily, and then stutters his words. "You know you can be a real ja- ju- jerk when you want to be?"
"Sure why not…. Hey isn't that the place where the perp stopped off?"
"A convenience store off the edge of town? Probably, let’s go in and see if they have any receipts for the stuff he bought. Let's see if our source is correct." Bill Nodell jerks the wheel far to the left and parks the car sloppily on the edge of the road.
"That's a handy cap parking space."
"Yeah but I don't see one other car on the road or even in the parking lot so I think we'll be okay…. Let's check this place out"
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Post by starlord on Dec 19, 2006 19:21:28 GMT -5
Later: “Son of a--” He doesn’t know what hurts more, the words or the punch. He smiles as he realises the answer, blood trickling from his mouth, his lip split straight down. “Should’a stayed out of my business… Don’t know who you think you are…” “Well sometimes…” He pushes his attacker back. “I’m not sure myself.” He smiles, pain shooting through his mouth as his wound widens across his lip. “But I’m sure we could have discovered it together, but you slap me around and that means a no-no on the relationship front!” He dives at the man, his gloved fists clenched, screaming obscenities whilst fighting back. |
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Post by starlord on Dec 19, 2006 19:22:08 GMT -5
Earlier. A year. A year had passed and things have got in the way since the beginning. Be it zombie invasions, broken arms at the hands of District Attorneys or fighting fascism in the desert. A year to get him where he wanted to go. When you sit around for a couple of months in a dark room with a computer buzzing in front of you there are certain things that you learn about yourself and others, mainly others. The only thing that Vic Sage learned about himself was that he had a tremendous amount of patience. But not for this. The words flickered across the screen. A project name. A branch of the government. And a chess piece. But words. That’s all it was. Words that were etched into his being as soon as he read them. He’s good at things. Information especially. He can be a double fisted fighting force one moment but then another he’s not. That’s the way that The Question rolls. He also knows the names of quite a few people in quite a few places. Not because they gave them to him, not because he’s the most trusted man alive, but because information is an easy thing to process. Blackmail could be his game but it’s not. He’s not on first name bases with Batman, Superman, The Flash and Nightwing because he flashed them a smile and then skipped away full of goodies. No. He worked. He worked where others wouldn’t and he got to know what he needed to know. He learnt what the answer to the question was, and it made him that little bit more complete. It was a list of names. Words. |
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Post by starlord on Dec 19, 2006 19:22:58 GMT -5
Elsewhere: “What you got?”
“New shipment. Breeding stock and spare parts.”
“Sounds good. Split ‘em up, wheat from the chaff, and get ‘em into cages.”
“Will do sir.” The man pulls his taser baton from his holster and drags it across the metal bars of the cage, causing the men, women and children who touch them to scream loudly. “You don’t get to speak.” |
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Post by starlord on Dec 19, 2006 19:23:39 GMT -5
Meanwhile: The list of names isn’t one he’s familiar with. It’s not of the people who rule the world, but the people who are underneath it. He was lucky enough to find a strand of information, and even with his knowledge he wasn’t able to get back to the main branches. So a list of names and his gut. Gut’s all you need. A call to the FBI with thanks to his connections, and then he knows the connection. They all vanished from the face of the world in the past two years. One year before a war, and then the ‘vanishings’ became more frequent after that. Two years, dozens missing, and a location. That’s all you need. A list of names, gut and a location. But not in that order. Either way… Las Vegas. Nevada. You think Area 51, but that’s the front. The DEO front Area 51, and it’s where The Flash took Gravyn after their battle one year ago. It’s where space ships go when Director King Faraday is done with them. It’s storage space. The most high tech storage space in America. But Area 51. The name. It doesn’t strike a chord with you? Doesn’t make you ask… Where are the other 50? The public knowledge always recedes there. Up to Area 24 you’re fine. But below that… Things get classified. Superman recovers technology that derives from those he fights, and he takes it home with him. Batman stores thing in his little cavernous museum. The Question… Well he doesn’t get that much action in those kinds of sectors. But those things that fall between the cracks… the DEO get their hands on them. Area 1 to 14 and 16 to 22 don’t exist. They’re so classified there is nothing. But Area 15… It’s a living place. More on that later. “It’s the lights.” He smiles, his hands behind his head, his fedora covering his eyes. “I like the lights of the place.” She takes a drag on her cigarette. Her red lipstick clings to the end like a finger print. Her smile fades as he speaks. “Why? There are lights in every city. New York is brighter.” He prods his hat up and looks at her. “Gotham isn’t.” “Ah but Gotham isn’t a lot of things.” His smile grows. “For instance, you lose something when your city is known for its gothic architecture. I think there’s a balance.” She moves her hands up and down like a scale and then settles in the middle. “Ornate loses you points.” He tilts his hat back down and lies back down. “I like you already.” He clicks his fingers and points at her. She smiles and leans into him, taking off his hat and kissing him in the cheek. “We’ve established there’s a like between us, if you understand the sentiment.” Her kisses take of strawberries and tar. He doesn’t cringe. He smiles again. “Like or lust? Seems that it could be either. You were lonely, I was alone. We make quite a duo.” He picks his hat back up and then places it on his head. “We make quite a few things.” She laughs and lies back down next to him. “So what’s your name? First name only please, else I might regret this later…” “You’re honest. I like that. Honesty is…” He pauses for a moment, and then his smile widens. “Is the best policy.” He breathes in deeply. “I’m Claudette.” She puts her hand out and then he takes it, turns it, and kisses it softly. “I’m honoured.” She laughs and shakes her head. “You’re funny.” “No, I’m Victor. Victor Szasz. But call me Vic.” She groans. “You’re going to regret that.” He places his fedora on the side of the bed and rolls her over then smiles. “I’m going to regret a lot of things in this city.” |
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Post by starlord on Dec 19, 2006 19:24:17 GMT -5
"This guy's getting on my nerves Clev… it's the wrong day for him to be doing that, tell him."
Travis Clevenger nods at the man behind the counter. The man looks at both men and looks under the counter pulling out a large box full of loose receipts and garbage. "Okay man, here it is, I didn't mean to be a problem, here they are, and here it is."
Bill Nodell looks at Clevenger then back at the man behind the counter sweating profusely and he grabs a receipt from the box. "Well I'll be damned Clev, look at this, someone came in here the other day and bought a box of matches, some gas, and what's this? Oh look at that a ten pound bag of sugar cubes."
Clevenger shakes his head before leaning in across the counter and grabs the man by the collar and pulls him close. "Sugar cubes? We asked you if anyone came in here and bought a large bag of sugar cubes and what did you tell me?" the man stutters trying to push the words out of his mouth, "Let me help you out Jethro, you told me that NO ONE buys that much sugar cubes and you called my friend here a jackass. Now me, I think that's funny because my friend over there has given up swearing and on any other day would have tore into you, but my guys at the government agency we work for probably wouldn't be too thrilled to hear that not only have you been flying under the radar and skipping taxes for this craphole you call a store, but that you also insulted an agent and lied to us on a very delicate case." The man's sweat rolls off his face like his forehead was Niagra falls. "Now, do you want to rethink what you've told us about a man with a medium size build wearing a dark blue coat with a fedora to match, that may or may not have came through here the other day?"
And with that the man spills like a glass of milk at the edge of the table. For about half an hour the man tells everything he knows with a nice dose of this town's established folklore tossed in and in the end they give him a ten-dollar bill for a bottle of Nyquil and some breath mints and tell him to send the change to the IRS.
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Post by starlord on Dec 19, 2006 19:25:15 GMT -5
Area 15 was something not entirely manufactured by hand. Sure they dumped their crap in there, all their holding cells and testing equipment, but no… Not made by hand. Discovered twenty-six years ago by sheer chance, a man fell through reality and found himself in an infinite space. Later they’d realise it was a tesseract, similar to Superman’s Fortress of Solitude, an infinite space within a small space, and lucky for them, they found it first. Thing was, this tesseract wrapped its tentacles around the city, super science glimmering around the casinos, the ‘landmarks’, but no one can see it, no one knows they’re there until they’re inside the dimensional rift… Las Vegas is two places and one together. The key to entering is in an underground bunker only accessible from Area 23; which is actually just a private parking lot on the south side of the city. The American government is a fickle body.
“What do you know about the city?” His eyes gazed out of the window, wearing only his white boxers and fedora.
Claudette looks over to him from her bed and smiles. “I work here. It pays me. I love it.”
He turns and smiles. “But it’s not as bright as New York.”
“Or Gotham.”
He shrugs and laughs. “Sure. You native?”
“Nah, I moved here about two months ago. I’m relatively new to the place. I follow the work.” She smiles. “And this is where the work led me.”
His eyebrows rise. “So what do you do?”
“Me?” She laughs and lights up again. “You give me your full name and you wanna’ know my occupation?” She says the word mockingly, drawing it out. “You sure you’re not trying to commit a felony in my general vicinity?”
He laughs. “I’m standing in front of you in my tighty whiteys, my hat, and the rest of clothes are on the other side of you. Nah, I’m new in town and I’m curious.”
She looks him up and down and sighs. “I’m government.”
His eyes widen. “A spook?”
Her laugh is loud as he finishes. “Nothing so dramatic. A technician. I work on… Things.” Her pause clues him in.
“Things? Classified top secret things?”
“Sure, if you want. What about you?”
“Unlicensed trouble shooter. I am a man without a face…” He smiles and scratches his chin.
“I am vengeance, I am the night, I am…”
“Batman!” They speak in unison, and nearly burst out laughing, but Vic holds it in, and shakes his head in embarrassment. “Heh, I loved that advert. If Batman legally existed he could sue. But nothing, they use his likeness to sell toothpaste.”
Claudette smiles. “You a believer?”
“In Batman?” Vic shrugs his shoulders. “I saw the broadcast last year. Was that a hoax? I think not.” He strolls back towards her, and sits next to her, his hand resting on the small of her back. “Why?”
“Dunno. Just get a vibe off you. Like you could be one of those picky guys who don’t believe everything they’re told. And you get these guys who claim that it was a government propaganda tool.”
Vic nods. “I believe in a lot of things. But you go to Gotham, you’ll see him leaping across rooftops. That’s the way I roll. You show me proof, I’ll believe, you don’t show me proof, I’ll be sceptical but I’ll hold out my judgement for a later date. God for instance…”
She puts up her hands. “Whoa, I don’t want to get religious with you.”
He smiles. “Right, sure. But go with me on this. I was raised Catholic, didn’t know my parents, so through my childhood I assume I’m a bastard right?”
“Bit strong, but if you say so.”
“Yeah, so I’m a devil child in the eyes of the women who raised me. My life as a kid is hell. First off I’m abandoned by my mother or my father, whatever, and I’m abused day on day by my guardians and their other wards. My life is hell. So I’m being forced to believe in God, do all my Hail Mary’s and crap, and I’m supposed to believe that these women who preach the word of God are the front of a pure goodness, for the lack of a better word. My life was abuse till I kicked back, and the abuse all stemmed from this book about this omnipotent goodness. So bad and good are things that are totally subjective. Now hand me my axe…” He smiles and makes a clawed gesture towards Claudette, who smiles. “Now I’m not saying I’m a 100% sane party goer, I’ll concede that my abuse earlier in life shaped me into a twisted little shell of a man, but I grew past that. I kicked back… And I’ve gone totally off topic. What were we talking about?”
“Religion. Which is REALLY a third date kind of thing…”
He nods, smiling. “Right, religion, I’m taking things fast, so sue me…” He pauses for a moment. “You think we’ll have two more dates?”
“Not at this rate…” She smiles and he nods slowly, a smile forming on his lips. “But please, I’m fascinated.”
“So we have this world around us, a perfectly balanced piece of mud. Evolution, simple.” He smiles. “So you shoot down any religious babble I throw your way. It’d be like clay shooting.” He mimes a shotgun and fires, laughing. “But then you look at people. Everyone around you. These little flesh bags that walk around with freewill and individuality that make us US. How could we grow to be this? What kind of animal could we have evolved from that would make us this way? So I think that everyday, good, evil, all those grey areas… They’re an example of why a God exists. Why there is a creator. Now I don’t go to church every week, I don’t go to confession, and God knows I should…” He winks at her, and then continues. “But I’ll allow the possibility that there is a higher power.”
“ I can see that.” She rolls onto her back, and his hand rolls across her chest. “So, a man without a face. You a hit man?” Her smile widens, “I hear they’re the kind of people without faces in this world.”
“No, nothing so dramatic. I just blend in easily, if you could call it that. I trouble shoot, meaning… I shoot down trouble.”
“Oh so you’re a superhero!” She laughs loudly, and he shrugs again.
“Maybe baby.”
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Post by starlord on Dec 19, 2006 19:25:53 GMT -5
Elsewhere: “They’re divided. The King’ll be happy.”
“Sure, if it’s ever possible for him to actually crack a smile. But keep those thoughts to yourself. The only thing he doesn’t know is what you’re thinking, and even then, he has tech’s working on that dream tech recovered from Gotham during that undead fiasco. Dream technology they’ve been whispering. So from the unconscious mind into the conscious. Shouldn’t be a leap for the tech’s, you know?”
“Sure. In my head.” The soldier laughs, and then his commanding officer shakes his head.
“Alright, if that’s your attitude. Go down to recycling. Help clean the floors…”
The young soldier grimaces. “Yes sir, sorry sir.”
“You’ll make Pawn yet.” |
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Post by starlord on Dec 19, 2006 19:26:48 GMT -5
Meanwhile: She sleeps but he doesn’t. He’s been waiting for his chance, and now it’s here. He dresses silently. Tying his tie as if he were going to work in mere minutes time, places his jacket on and then his trench coat, his pockets rustling uncomfortably in the silence. He should really learn to empty them, he thinks to himself. Once he’s finished he takes a breath and then looks back outside across the city, the still bright lights glistening in the blackness of the night. He clenches his fist and then looks to her pile of clothes that are sprawled across the floor, screwed up in the heat of the moment of passion. He finds her handbag and then gazes back to her, her chest rising up and down as she breathes in her sleep. He pulls out her key card and then places it in his pocket, then opens the door silently. The lock clicks and the woman moans loudly, but does not awaken. He grimaces, clenches his fist and then leaves, closing the door of the motel room behind him. |
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Post by starlord on Dec 19, 2006 19:27:25 GMT -5
Before: He holds the glowing red device in his face, and then gets up close to him, his teeth gritted behind the balaclava. “Metahuman inhibitor. Prototype, active on man made powers within a three-metre range. But even then, they take time to power back up. You specialise in surveillance, Bug (real apt name and all). Your abilities are always kicked into overdrive; you hear every thing that’s going on in a computer. And you’ve been near where I want to go.” “What… What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Wrong answer.” He punches him hard in the chest. “You have been within a twenty five metre range of the Hampshire car park. That means that key card strokes that are entered into identification devices will have been picked up by your mind. I need a name. And the reason you were there.” He holds the device close to the man’s eye, the glowing red buzzing near his flesh. “ Please.” “I was hired to! I was hired to…” The messily dressed man sweats, his attacker wanting answers that he doesn’t know he can give. “I’m following someone. Some guy wanted me to follow his wife… Messy divorce and all, and she works… There. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, come on man, I’m just a PI…” “You’re a meta.” He pushes the man to the ground, and then squats down beside him, his trench coat trailing behind him. “So you’ve used your ‘talent’ to take advantage of other people. I don’t like that. But I can use it. Who are you following?” “Claudette Walsh. Her husband wants to know where she lives. He… He wants something.” “Everyone does. Claudette Walsh. Thank you.” The attacker takes out a notebook and scribbles down the name. “What level entry does she have?” “Full… She’s a technician there! That’s all I picked up. She gets entrance, steps through the door, and that’s all I pick up of her till she exits… Come on man, I’m open with you, I really am trying…” The masked man stands and then looks around. “Walsh.” He pauses. “You’ve been a big help, Bug. I’ll call on you sometime; I’ll pay you for your assistance. Sorry we had to meet like this… But the first go is always free.” The man known as Bug stands, and brushes himself down, the red device still glowing. “You’re a bastard. I don’t even know you and you’re a bastard.” “Oh but Bug. I know you. And I intend to get into your life. Ooze my way in. I’d pack up shop over on Eastman. You’re getting out of peoples lives and doing good.” “What?” Bug grimaces. “You can’t tell me what to do…” The man takes a deep breath and turns back to Bug and gets up close to him. “It’s the best for you. The DEO know about your powers. They’ve been on your tail for a month now, and they’re closing in. Lie low. I’m doing you a favour.” “You serious!?” Bug is taken aback by this news. “How can I trust you?” The man stands for a moment. “That is a question isn’t it?” Bug rolls his eyes. “But it’s not an ANSWER you idiot! Come on!” The man pulls off his balaclava and throws it to the ground. “How’s this?” Bug’s eyes widen. The usual reaction that he experiences when he’s exposed to this kind of madness in an alleyway. “Holy Jesus! You ain’t got a face!” “The name is Question. You can call me TQ. I’m a hero, just trying to do the right thing, and I know that there’s something up in the car lot, something major, and I need to get in. I can use you man, there’d be money in it for you, and I’d keep you safe.” “What? You got pull with the government?” Bug throws his hands in the air, exasperated. “Whatever man, you just going to get me killed like everyone else is trying. Don’t even know if I can trust you!” “You don’t trust anyone. You shouldn’t in your business. But your business isn’t about living. It should start to be. Because if you haven’t got back up like me, a friend like me, you’re going to end up on an autopsy table, being dissected for your implants. Now I don’t care how you got them, or why, but you can use them to help. So…. what do you say?” Bug looks around and peaks out of the end of the alleyway. “I knew the DEO were on my back man. I heard their computers typing my name and getting the low down on my ‘deal’ two weeks ago. But then they went blank. They went into nothing so they shielded themselves… I can’t do anything with stuff like that…” His brow furrows. “You say you got my back and the only thing you’ve done against me is rough me up… I ain’t nobodies punch bag, but you’ve helped me I guess… I don’t know. You’re being straight with me. God, fine, call me up sometime, or I’ll find you.” The Question looks around and throws a cell phone to Bug. “I’ll call you on this. Stay low.” He tosses the glowing red device at the man and then vanishes into the night. “Stay safe.” “Nutjob.” His sources are good. They get him the information he needs and quick. Claudette Walsh, her address, her criminal record, everything. She’s a clean living person, for sure, but that doesn’t stop her having an arrest in her teens. It takes a day but he finds her. He follows her. And that’s where things get interesting. “My life sucks.” She downs the shot, and then slams the glass to the bar top, and then shakes her head. “Seriously. Major league suckage.” “Tell me about it.” She turns as the man at the end of the bar sips his beer. Her eyes widen. “About what?” The bartender pours another drink, the quiet bar empty except the two people drinking in front of the bar. “Your major league suckage of life.” He swigs down his beer, and smiles. “It can’t beat mine.” “Ha!” She smiles and downs another shot. “You got all night?” He shrugs. “Does it look like I’m going anywhere soon?” She smiles and he looks to the bartender. “Get her whatever she wants, put it on my tab.” “Sure thing…” The bartender nods and then turns, wiping down glasses and checking the kegs. “Oh, are you trying to woo me? With your free drinks and suave charm?” Vic stands, walks over to the seat next to her and sits. “Indeed I am.” |
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Post by starlord on Dec 19, 2006 19:28:12 GMT -5
"Boy, oh boy, do I love doing that." Nodell says refreshed with a smile on his face and a fresh bottle of Nyquil in his coat pocket. "Nothing like scaring the human waste out of an ignorant peasant ey Clev?" Clevenger laughs as they walk to their car. The two see a young boy in a wheel chair getting out of the car next to theirs while his mother tries to lift him into the seat and they look at each other and Nodell adopts a limp and a pained expression on his face as they walk to the car.
The two men in the rusted black Cadillac drive recklessly along the highway. "I told you we should have took my car. My car's nice, my car doesn't give people the impression that we are travelling salesmen trying to peddle a years supply of meat to them."
Nodell flashes Clevenger a dirty look, and then turns back to the road, talking through gritted teeth. "Will you shut up? My car is just as good as any other… Besides…" He smiles deviously. "It has sentimental value."
Clevenger laughs, taking a sip from the thermos and then spitting it back into it, realising it's ice cold. "What? Did you go to see Citizen Kane in it?"
"I am not that much older than you and I could still kick your ass Clev, don't forget that."
Travis laughs and rolls down the window, pouring his thermos out onto the road. "Well gosh, Bill, there goes the road to enlightenment"
Nodell slaps the steering wheel, the car horn blaring. "Damn it."
"Rosebud…"
"Fine, whatever, hand me that bag in the backseat." Clev reaches back grabbing a plastic shopping bag with a glass bottle of southern comfort. "It fits the occasion, no?"
"How long have you had this?' Clev says in surprise chuckling under his breath.
"About a week, I've been pouring it into my Nyquil bottles, why do you think I've been going through them so damn fast?" Clevenger laughs and tosses him the bottle. "Thanks, I know they tell you not to drink and drive but sometimes it just makes it a lot more relaxing. Where to now, Clev?"
"The briefing says… Midway city, looks like the guy brought down a deranged serial killer or something."
"Yeah, THAT'S good enough reason to bring him in…" Nodell says lighting up a cigarette he pulls from his sock. "Let’s go."
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Post by starlord on Dec 19, 2006 19:29:14 GMT -5
Later: The carpark is quiet. He doesn’t even hear the man sneak up on him, nor the plastic bag that suddenly finds it way over his head. “MMMMFFF!” He chokes, suddenly finding himself without air in his lungs. “Think you can come along and do that?” Vic gasps, the man tying the bag tight around his neck. “Kill you, sleeping with my wife!” Vic would have smiled if he could breathe. He grabs the bag, and then tears it open. “You think… I’m a chump…? No one ever tears the freaking bag open, eh?” He’s about to laugh when his attacker hits him straight in the face. “Son of a--” He doesn’t know what hurts more, the words or the punch. He smiles as he realises the answer, blood trickling from his mouth, his lip split straight down. “Should’a stayed out of my business… Don’t know who you think you are…” “Well sometimes…” He pushes his attacker back. “I’m not sure myself.” He smiles, pain shooting through his mouth as his wound widens across his lip. “But I’m sure we could have discovered it together, but you slap me around and that means a no-no on the relationship front!” He dives at the man, his gloved fists clenched, screaming obscenities whilst fighting back. “You slept with my WIFE! I SAW YOU!” Vic takes the man’s feet out from under himself, and then jams his foot into his throat. “Peeping Tom, Peeping Tom!” He tightens his grip, and then squats down. “Your wife… Is divorcing you. You hit her. So I hope you don’t mind me doing this.” He punches the man hard in the stomach, winding him. “You come near her again and I’ll kill you. No plastic bags, nothing fancy, bullet in the back of the brain, you understand me?” He motions to his head with two fingers, the man squirming. “You don’t get away with crap like that when I’m around. I even hear you’ve come near her I’ll end you, simple as that.” “Hrrrkk…” “Now what do you say?” He pushes his foot down on the man’s throat, starving him of air. “Ssss’ree!” “‘Sorry, was that? ‘Sorry? I was expecting something a bit more eloquent, but sure.” He presses down hard until the man passes out, and then takes out a roll of duct tape from his trench coat. “Hate this.” He wraps the man up tightly and then picks him up over his shoulder, his weight straining on him, but he’s able to do it none the less. He throws him in the back of his own car and then sits in the driving seat, Claudette’s key card still in his pocket. “Where to?” He looks back at the unconscious man and rolls his eyes. “Oh right…” |
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Post by starlord on Dec 19, 2006 19:30:20 GMT -5
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Post by mockingbird on Aug 9, 2011 14:37:55 GMT -5
To let us know what you think of this issue, please visit the letters page here!
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