Well, some of you have been waiting for quite a while for the next chapter in my little fan fiction project, I hope this chapter was worth the wait. The usual warnings about language and violence apply. Story after the click.
Many years ago, a fledgling nation banded together with one voice to elect a leader among leaders. They chose for their commander-in-chief a man of vision, a man of eloquence, and a man of diplomacy. The people’s choice was a thoughtful man, realizing where the priorities of a young nation truely lie. He was willing to step beyond the boundaries of the law to uphold justice, and to extend the life of his beloved nation.
The man speaking on the hidden red phone was not that man.
“Smith, we’ve got ourselves a real epidemic here.”
“I assure you, we are very aware of the situation, Mr. President,” sighed the thin lipped man on the other hidden phone.
“I don’t think you do, Smith,” barked the president, “half the guestlist for my next fundraiser has gone missing. Do you care to explain that to my campaign manager?”
“How is the missus?” chuckled Smith, surprising himself with the sudden comical jab. He only had moments of humorous clarity on rare occasions, and he felt the need to revel in his cleverness when they did arise.
“Smith, are you laughing at me?” hissed the white haired leader, “you know, I’m under a great deal of pressure to bandage up the budget, and your program is a huge bleeding wound.”
“Mr. President, need I remind you that we are a fully self-sufficient operation,” snapped Smith, “and we’ve saved this nation a great deal more than money in the many years we’ve been on the job!”
The grey man’s cheeks flushed red with disdain as he scowled into the phone.
“And another thing, Mr. President, I would remind you that you have no authority over the day-to-day operations of Cure. We are free to handle whatever threats we percieve in whatever way we see fit. Now, if you’ll kindly free up this line, I would like to return to protecting this nation–I’m sure you have something pressing to do, perhaps an intern?”
Wow, two in one day! He’d have to use red ink to write this one down in his journal.
The big-chinned B-movie star tried to take stock of his situation.
It was dark.
It was very dark.
It was cold.
It was very cold.
The air felt dry, but frigid. He wasn’t sure, but he was almost certain there were ice crystals hanging from his nose.
Something was binding his arms.
He couldn’t move anything, feeling a tightness in all his joints.
He tried loosing the bindings around his wrists by wriggling them, but the more he struggled, the tighter they dug into his flesh.
“Why don’t you become an accountant like your father?” his mother’s voice mocked him from inside his head.
“No, I had to go and be an AC-TOR!” he chided himself silently, slumping back against the cold wall.
He quietly slipped back into unconciousness.