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Rated: 13+ · Sample · Crime/Gangster · #1467725
This is a little part of a story I wrote a while back.
I still had no clue where I was.
Last I remembered, I'd been at home staring blankly at the television. The evening news was telling about another bombing at another local bank.
I think I was right in the middle of shaking my head and sighing when I'd been hit with a tranq.
Lovely, lovely.
Then, even more wonderful, I woke in some smelly, drafty room. It took me a moment to realize I'd fainted, another second to realize I was tied up, and less then a millisecond to get it through my head that I'd been kidnapped.
Well, that's what I got for doing espionage work for so long.
Or maybe it was just because I left one of the windows open.
By now I'd been sitting here for about half an hour, and everything had been silent and still.
I couldn't help but jump when a voice that sounded something close to jingling bells said, "You're awake, finally."
I wanted to reach for something to strike the person with, but then I remembered two problems: one, I was tied up and I couldn't move, and two, I couldn't see my kidnapper.
Then, when I tried to speak, nothing came out.
The tranquillizer had made me more dreary than I thought.
"Well, shouldn't make you wonder any more," the voice said.
I was able to tell it was a girl, or maybe a woman close to my age or older.
The padding of bare feet against concrete traveled away, then suddenly, my eyes stung.
She'd turned on the lights, curse her.
I squeezed my eyes shut for a minute or so.
When I finally did open them, I saw my rather dimly-lit surroundings.
I was sitting on the hard, cold floor of some basement, and there was relatively nothing around me. Just a light fixture hanging from the ceiling by some wires.
And the strange-looking woman standing a few yards away from me.
She smiled in a weird, u-shaped way.
She was...pretty, in a way.
Her straight, black hair framed her pale face nicely. But that was the thing about her face. It was all pale. Her face was all the same, solid white color. Her lips had no red or pink to them.
It had to be make-up, right? If she were an albino, her hair would be white, too, wouldn't it? Well, it wasn't impossible that she was wearing a wig.
I looked her up and down. She didn't look all that friendly, honestly.
She was wearing a long, black coat that brushed her knees (no telling what guns she could have had hidden in there), a black tank top that exposed a bit of her chalky white abdomen, and a pair of baggy black jeans that were held up by a studded black belt.
"Who are you? Why am I here?" I croaked out, finally able to find my voice.
"Hm? Ah, well, you can call me Merry. M-e-r-r-y. And you're in the basement of my friend's home," she explained. "Well, my employer."
My brow furrowed.
Why would she just go and give me all of this information?
Oh well, at least I had it.
Her name, or probably her alias was Merry. She worked for someone else.
"Okay then...well, erm...can you untie me?" I asked, squirming uncomfortably.
Merry smiled apologetically. "No, sorry. That's his say," she answered, nodding upwards.
Then, almost on cue, the thudding of heavy shoes started down to the basement. Merry looked over to the stairs expectantly.
Suddenly, "he" was there.
Tall, dark, slender.
He looked no older than I was.
His lack hair hung over his green eyes, contrasting sharply against his fair skin. He wore a long-sleeved black and white striped shirt, black jeans, and combat boots.
He looked at me strangely, as if I were the one who had kidnapped him.
"You...you're Ariana?" he asked quietly.
They already knew my name? How flattering. (In case you good folks were wondering, that was sarcasm....)
"That's me," I mumbled.
Now he smiled brightly.
"I trust Merry has introduced herself. My name is Demetri," he said, his light voice now taking on a polite tinting.
My eyes narrowed. "And? Untie me," I demanded.
He sighed, his smiled dropping.
He reached into the pocket of Merry's coat and withdrew a pocket knife.
When he approached me with it, my heart jumped erratically. I stiffened, afraid he might slit my throat or something, but was surprised when I felt whatever had been tied around my ankles and wrists fall off.
Rope. Of course.
I stood clumsily, and took a moment to feel self-conscious.
Here I was, a twenty-two year old, and I still looked like I was seventeen.
I had fair skin and freckles, straight red, should-length hair and soft blue eyes.
I couldn't really remember what I was wearing, but I was pretty sure it was something casually, like a white shirt and old, ripped-in-the-knees blue jeans.
I shook the feeling off, and stared Demetri in the face; he hadn't returned to Merry's side yet.
"Mind telling me why I'm here?" I sighed impatiently.
He smiled again.
"You may have heard about my latest...creations. The news has been referring to them so wrongfully as 'ruthless bombings', calling me a terrorist," he told me.
Fear instantly expanded in my chest, like an inflating balloon.
"I was wondering if you could help me out. I heard you're good with hacking. Perhaps you could help me send me a few messages to these news stations."
If I said yes, my criminal record could explode in a second.
I inhaled deeply.
If I said no, he might kill me.
I exhaled shakily.
"Alright. But I don't work cheap."
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