Re: Vendetta [S!2 Round 1 ~ Presidentialgon]
01-14-2012, 10:10 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by SteelKomodo.
Artemis blinked.
One minute, he’d been staring hungrily at a plate of the most appetizing food he’d ever seen in his life, only half-paying attention to someone ramble on about “rounds” and “competitors”, and the next…
He was in what basically amounted to a small cell; of a sort he’d seen when peering into prison windows as a reminder of what he had been trying to avoid all his life. The walls were all painted a uniform white, the sort of white that is so close to grey it could be called an invasion of personal space. The room itself was barren and box-like, save for a mere slit of a window that looked as though it had been put in as an afterthought, and a bed, which he was currently sitting on. From the feel of it underneath him, it certainly wasn’t the highest quality available.
What the effing hell just happened?! howled Grendel in thoughtspeak. The demon has been silent up until now, but the sudden change of locale had managed to unnerve him.
I don’t know, was the only reply Artemis could give. Right now, the urge to pinch himself to ensure he wasn’t dreaming was extreme.
That Don Italio guy had to be joking, Grendel continued, sounding panicked for the first time since Artemis had met him. There is no fucking way he could have just instantly transmitted us to… whatever this is! And what was that bullcrap about some freaky death tournament?! I didn’t transfer from Fan Maintenance on the Second Circle so I could…!
Artemis let the demon ramble on as he looked about the room. Years of getting in and out of trouble with the gangs and ruffians in the alleys of Portsheath had given him a knack for finding quick paths out of wherever he happened to be – he could make steps, climbing frames and footholds out of things that an ordinary man would never be able to think possible to navigate. A pile of cardboard trash could become an impromptu platform, or the bars of a fence a handy ladder. To a street urchin like him, the city was one big obstacle course.
But that was the city, where there was space and air. This was a stuffy little box of a room, with a window not even a mouse on a starvation diet could get through and a door that was, quite obviously, locked. And – worse luck – it was one of those fancy new digital locks with the number pads, which took trial and error to get right. Something that the boy was not prepared to go through at this moment in time, especially when those other people were out there.
Especially the deer.
He didn’t like the look of the deer.
A sudden sound reached his ears. It was hard to make out, at first, but after he’d hushed Grendel by smacking the side of his head, he identified it as the repetitive squeak of clean, corporate shoes on a polished floor, growing louder and closer by the second.
Someone’s coming, he thought.
Just what we need, snickered Grendel.
Artemis sighed. He hated it when Grendel suddenly became too happy.
*-*
Officer John Barrows was not having a good day. He’d woken up an hour after his alarm clock had gone off, meaning a big rush to work followed by screaming at other drivers. He’d got to his station to find that clueless bint at reception had misfiled all of his papers, meaning three hours’ worth of catching up on top of the filing he had to do that day already – the boss would cut his pay for sure at this rate. Then some jerk bumped him on the way into the cafeteria and spilled hot coffee all over his new trousers. He liked his new trousers, and made it very clear to the unfortunate coffee-spiller in words that no decent secret agent should use.
And now, to make matters worse, he had been assigned to Cell Block C today.
He vaguely wished, as he paced down the corridor, that it was someone else doing it. Some of the people (to use that term generously) were fine as long as you weren’t in the same room with them, and John would have preferred not to be if it meant keeping his bones intact, thank you very much. The stiffs in white coats had their hopes up – the death rate had been cut by seventeen per cent since last year – but that was no excuse for sending an innocent, reasonable man into what amounted to the tiger cage at the zoo. Or anyone else, for that matter.
He heard a sudden commotion from one of the cells. He frowned. You got rats in there sometimes, and the scuffling and squeaking was loud enough for anyone who worked hear regularly to hear. Most of the senior staff considered it a minor annoyance, but the newbies got unnerved very quickly, and the higher-ups had a hard time trying to quash the circulation of that ghost tale that kept springing around. Subject 27, was it? Load of old baloney.
He swiped the key card anyway, just to make sure. From the sound of it, there were quite a lot of rats in there, or at least one very big one. Better get Boris on Sanitation to step up with the poisons and traps and whatnot, or they’d have the run of this place.
He opened the door-
NOW!
Artemis’ arm moved reflexively. The boomerang span through the air and introduced itself to the side of the man’s head with a dull thud. He twisted as he fell, collapsing deadweight onto the floor, and so was in no condition to stop the boy as he stepped over his unconscious form, picked up the weapon and sprinted down the hallway as fast as his skinny legs could carry him.
Good work, kid, growled Grendel in his head. Now, what else do you remember about that Don Italiano bloke?
Something about an inheritance, Artemis thought has he skidded round a corner, but I’m not sure what kind.
Well, if money’s involved, then I’m not complaining. Now keep going! We have to find some information on where the fuck we are!
Wishing that the demon would be a bit more specific, Artemis bolted out of the door to Cell Block C and deeper into the complex.
Artemis blinked.
One minute, he’d been staring hungrily at a plate of the most appetizing food he’d ever seen in his life, only half-paying attention to someone ramble on about “rounds” and “competitors”, and the next…
He was in what basically amounted to a small cell; of a sort he’d seen when peering into prison windows as a reminder of what he had been trying to avoid all his life. The walls were all painted a uniform white, the sort of white that is so close to grey it could be called an invasion of personal space. The room itself was barren and box-like, save for a mere slit of a window that looked as though it had been put in as an afterthought, and a bed, which he was currently sitting on. From the feel of it underneath him, it certainly wasn’t the highest quality available.
What the effing hell just happened?! howled Grendel in thoughtspeak. The demon has been silent up until now, but the sudden change of locale had managed to unnerve him.
I don’t know, was the only reply Artemis could give. Right now, the urge to pinch himself to ensure he wasn’t dreaming was extreme.
That Don Italio guy had to be joking, Grendel continued, sounding panicked for the first time since Artemis had met him. There is no fucking way he could have just instantly transmitted us to… whatever this is! And what was that bullcrap about some freaky death tournament?! I didn’t transfer from Fan Maintenance on the Second Circle so I could…!
Artemis let the demon ramble on as he looked about the room. Years of getting in and out of trouble with the gangs and ruffians in the alleys of Portsheath had given him a knack for finding quick paths out of wherever he happened to be – he could make steps, climbing frames and footholds out of things that an ordinary man would never be able to think possible to navigate. A pile of cardboard trash could become an impromptu platform, or the bars of a fence a handy ladder. To a street urchin like him, the city was one big obstacle course.
But that was the city, where there was space and air. This was a stuffy little box of a room, with a window not even a mouse on a starvation diet could get through and a door that was, quite obviously, locked. And – worse luck – it was one of those fancy new digital locks with the number pads, which took trial and error to get right. Something that the boy was not prepared to go through at this moment in time, especially when those other people were out there.
Especially the deer.
He didn’t like the look of the deer.
A sudden sound reached his ears. It was hard to make out, at first, but after he’d hushed Grendel by smacking the side of his head, he identified it as the repetitive squeak of clean, corporate shoes on a polished floor, growing louder and closer by the second.
Someone’s coming, he thought.
Just what we need, snickered Grendel.
Artemis sighed. He hated it when Grendel suddenly became too happy.
*-*
Officer John Barrows was not having a good day. He’d woken up an hour after his alarm clock had gone off, meaning a big rush to work followed by screaming at other drivers. He’d got to his station to find that clueless bint at reception had misfiled all of his papers, meaning three hours’ worth of catching up on top of the filing he had to do that day already – the boss would cut his pay for sure at this rate. Then some jerk bumped him on the way into the cafeteria and spilled hot coffee all over his new trousers. He liked his new trousers, and made it very clear to the unfortunate coffee-spiller in words that no decent secret agent should use.
And now, to make matters worse, he had been assigned to Cell Block C today.
He vaguely wished, as he paced down the corridor, that it was someone else doing it. Some of the people (to use that term generously) were fine as long as you weren’t in the same room with them, and John would have preferred not to be if it meant keeping his bones intact, thank you very much. The stiffs in white coats had their hopes up – the death rate had been cut by seventeen per cent since last year – but that was no excuse for sending an innocent, reasonable man into what amounted to the tiger cage at the zoo. Or anyone else, for that matter.
He heard a sudden commotion from one of the cells. He frowned. You got rats in there sometimes, and the scuffling and squeaking was loud enough for anyone who worked hear regularly to hear. Most of the senior staff considered it a minor annoyance, but the newbies got unnerved very quickly, and the higher-ups had a hard time trying to quash the circulation of that ghost tale that kept springing around. Subject 27, was it? Load of old baloney.
He swiped the key card anyway, just to make sure. From the sound of it, there were quite a lot of rats in there, or at least one very big one. Better get Boris on Sanitation to step up with the poisons and traps and whatnot, or they’d have the run of this place.
He opened the door-
NOW!
Artemis’ arm moved reflexively. The boomerang span through the air and introduced itself to the side of the man’s head with a dull thud. He twisted as he fell, collapsing deadweight onto the floor, and so was in no condition to stop the boy as he stepped over his unconscious form, picked up the weapon and sprinted down the hallway as fast as his skinny legs could carry him.
Good work, kid, growled Grendel in his head. Now, what else do you remember about that Don Italiano bloke?
Something about an inheritance, Artemis thought has he skidded round a corner, but I’m not sure what kind.
Well, if money’s involved, then I’m not complaining. Now keep going! We have to find some information on where the fuck we are!
Wishing that the demon would be a bit more specific, Artemis bolted out of the door to Cell Block C and deeper into the complex.