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    "Hullo?" asked a husky female voice.

    "He wants to see you."

    • CommentTimeOct 28th 2009
    "Glouston," the huskiness took on an irritated note. "You know I dislike it when you speak of yourself in the third person."
    Glouston smiled and said, "That ploy with the butler was really very clever, I congratulate you" and without waiting for a reply, he hung up the phone. Everything was going exactly according to plan.

    After setting the black phone back in it's black holder, Glouston turned and pulled on a pair of black leather gloves.  Then, picking up a briefcase that looked suspiciously like the one he had earlier been folded up in, he pulled his trenchcoat collar up around his neck, and exited the building.

    Hawthorne followed the trail of blood with his eyes, then groaned and ran desperately to the pile of bricks by the wall and started flinging bricks in all directions, for he had seen something which he had wished never to see. There, under the highest pile of light gray bricks, was a barely visible small white dog's front paw lying quite still in stark contrast to the ugly pool of bright red blood.
    In the next instant he had completely uncovered the small white dog, but despite her being buried under a pile of bricks, there was not a mark on her that he could see to indicate where all the blood was coming from. He gently rolled her over onto her right side causing her to utter a faint whimper of pain.

    Smitty bit his lip and continued staring at the lock on the door to his bare cell. He had been sitting on the only piece of furniture - a cot- for over 5 hours, staring at the door, and waiting for something exciting to happen - he felt he would soon die of boredom.


    Just as he resigned himself to laying back on the cot for another uncomfortable and sleepless night - the door to his cell grated open, and the shadowy personage known as Fedora stepped inside, flanked by his black clad female consort. "Don't be alarmed" Fedora whispered in a scratchy overused voice, "this visit, if all goes well, should merely be a checkup after your surgery - we just need to make sure things are... moving along as they should be."

    Thankful People: Dynamic Juggernaut
    Fedora strode further into the cell and closed the door, causing Smitty's heart to beat a crescendo on a set of bongos. "W-what do you want from me?" Smitty asked weakly, his voice cracking as he exercised it for the first time in over two days.
    Thankful People: Juggernaut's Dream

    Fedora nodded at Jet Black (Smitty had given the name based on the female's choice of all black garb) who took a step towards smitty and pulled a syringe out of a bag.  Squirting a sample of the green liquid out of the syringe she tapped it to make sure it was ready as she studied Smitty with a half smile and said in a soft voice, "don't worry, this will only hurt... a little."

    After being forcibly subdued, laid down, and trussed up by a couple of Fedora's thugs, Smitty watched in mystified horror as the needle hovered over his exposed arm for a moment and then started on it's downward plunge into his flesh. At that instant he began to wriggle with all his might in his bonds, screaming incoherently all the while.
    Smitty's first upward thrust caused the tip of the needle to prick his arm with just enough force to break the skin, the force of the unexpected impact causing Jet Black to lose her grip on the syringe which flew upward to the ceiling where it connected solidly with the cement and shattered. The two thugs each got a tablespoon of the mystery substance liberally splashed across their faces and judging from the screams of agony that it elicited from them, it was not something that Smitty wanted to experience in any way, shape or form.
    Thankful People: Juggernaut's Dream
    One drop of the sticky green slime landed next to Smitty's right side, sizzling and popping its way through the leather arm restraint. With a yell of pure astonishment Smitty yanked his arm free and stared in amazement at the newly created hole that continued down through the floor and on into oblivion.
    • CommentTimeSep 26th 2013
    Hawthorne brushed the little dog off carefully and set it upright, where it stood stock still, but continued to whimper. "Where's that," he muttered as he ran his fingers along the right foreleg and then pressed something that gave an audible 'click.'