Part I (and on LJ)

It’s written in an experimental style for me, and, well, it’s fanfic, so pls. be kind.

Fade in from commercial: an expensive chair, the back of a woman wearing very expensive high heels and a sleek business suit, Eliot’s back.

“I did say behave.”

Eliot clenches his jaw. From behind him, we can see how his fists, too, are clenched. Lash marks mar his back, some fresh, some already beginning to heal.

“Now kneel.” The woman’s voice is like knives, sharp and cold.

“Fu-” The electric sound fills the air again. Eliot’s hands twitch and once again clench into fists.

“Kneel.”

And he kneels.

Location: Their Newest Office.
Time: The evening Eliot was taken

“I’m telling you, this is where the tracker went dead.” Hardison jabs his finger at his state-of-the-art screen, at a glowing point on the map that indicates Eliot’s last-known: the red box noting the mark’s watering hole of choice suggests he’d moved a couple miles north of the Last Call Bar.

“But that doesn’t make any sense.” Nate is frowning; that’s fair, they are all frowning. But he’s frowning at the data. “I mean, the plan was for Eliot to bring the mark out to his car, and then take him back to the warehouse.” He gestures broadly at the map. “The car is gone…”

“Tracker disabled, car missing, not in any junkyard we’ve been able to find.” Hardison’s voice goes from short to snapppish. Nobody notices. “And what’s more? King’s car is missing, too. And so’s King.”

“Eliot was supposed to make Brendan King vanish.” Sophie purses her lips. “That was the con. Get him to spill everything in front of a witness…”

“And then buckle him up tight.” Hardison nods. “Yes, exactly. The thing is, they were supposed to vanish from everyone but us. This… this is not everyone but us.”

Parker twists in her chair, looking between the other three members of the team. When she speaks, her voice is very quiet. “You don’t think he’s ditched us, do you?”

Deep in Tir Na Cali
As the team is discussing his disappearance

Eliot throws a punch, knocking a man to the ground. Surrounding him are the bodies of five others, all wearing the same uniform: black on black, with black hats. The room in concrete block with narrow metal beds; a chain link gate swings open behind him.

Eliot is wearing a plastic collar, bright orange, and half a pair of handcuffs.

Behind him, a black-haired woman aims a rifle.

Cut to Commercial.

Part III (LJ)

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