The Rescue
The smoke rose from his breath, little puffs forming and unforming from clouds to cubes to butterflies to clouds again. Mitya never enjoyed the prospect of lung destruction, nor did he take a particular liking to the yellow residue that had taken to forming on his fingers. But, they had a mission to do--he and Bridger. "Tolstoy. Lindabury. We've received allegations of treason within our ranks. It is up to you two to sniff out the rats." "Roger that," the blonde muttered with the deepest convictions. "Bridgey?" As he heard his name being called, he looked over to his partner, Mitya. He saw the determination in his eyes, & Bridger knew he couldn't allow himself to disappoint them. "What's up?" In every mission, Bridger felt accomplished for taking out the threat--the bad guys. While he may not have been as enthusiastic about justice itself, he was more passionate about being a hero. Saving the day. "Just got a mission report. Macky-Z and Mally've gone missing for the past 5 days. Not a single trade. Boss says that they might've run away... Or that this was an inside job," Mitya spoke slowly, the smoke rising in small dreams now. Gone. It had taken him awhile to absorb the information. 'How could they be gone? She hasn't even opened a restaurant yet! Who's going to do the lights and speakers for baseball now?' "Their trackers show that the last place they’ve been to was downtown." Bridger had a hard time soaking everything in. It was obvious to him that even Mitya was having difficulties as well--even though it may seem that he only cared about baseball. But Bridger knew Mitya better than anyone else. And vice versa. All four of them had been through rough times. While Bridger knew that he had family that existed somewhere in the world, to him, the trio became his family. The fact that 'Macky-z' and 'Mally' had disappeared--to *downtown* nonetheless--made matters worse. The only time anyone from the government went downtown was when they knew that there was some mafia business going on. And even that was dangerous. Even though it was simply another mission this was the first time that Bridger felt personally connected to one. Because this time he wasn't only going to save the day, he was going to have to save two of the people who meant most to him. Mitya bit his lower lip. Heroes didn't cry. Heroes inspired confidence and hope to those around them... And, he would show no weakness. He would be brave for Bridger... For Macky-Z. For Mally. For all their sakes. Taking a gulp, he took down a breath of smoke and a small piece of anxiety. "Let's go Bridgey." With great bravado, he pushed open the doors of the office building, allowing the warm summer air to rush past him. The sun was beating hard and mercilessly. He didn't want to notice. "I think we can get there faster if we flew. But, I think they might shoot us down... Again." He gave a halfsmile at the last word in a wayward attempt to lighten the situation. The cotton in her mouth tasted of doctors and death-- both of which she had a severe distaste for. Mal was gone and she was useless. Completely and utterly... Useless. She had never taken in upon herself to exercise as manically as Mitya did... And she never attempted to keep up with him as Bridger always tried. Now, she was regretting it. Her eyes moved around the room, grasping for some means of escape. 4 grey walls. And, one video camera. Lovely. How the fuck did you get yourself into this, Z? She gave the chains another futile tug. She clenched her fists in attempt to stop the tears from rolling down her face. It was then when she heard a voice over the...announcing-thing. (Ironically, she thought of Mitya and their baseball times. But now wasn't the time to reminisce.) "Do you really think you'd be able to escape, Mac?" A chuckle was heard. "Don't you realize we have you here for a reason?" Macky-z frowned. "Who the hell are you anyway, asshole?" "Tsk tsk, now that's not the way to talk to someone who obviously has the upperhand, is it?" Damn bastard had a point. It was obviously clear that he was having a good time messing around with her. "Where's Mal?" "Oh, you mean Malcolm? He's safe, I can guarantee you that." 'Where the hell are those jerks when you need them?' Mac found herself asking. The "jerks" were on their way, all right. They were "properly equipped with whatever they thought was necessary to get the lights and sounds of their baseball stadium." Bridger had chuckled and shook his head at Mitya's attempt at a joke. Their last encounter with the mafia hadn't gone down so well--as if they had ever. Bridger and Mitya had been sticking out like a sore thumb (but it was mostly due to their outfits--don't even ask--that got them caught.) This time however, it was dark, and they were in dark clothing. It shouldn't be a problem. "Come on, Mitya. It'll be fun." He grinned, but it was obvious it wasn't a true grin. After all, who could really smile in such a grim time? "Let's save the day." Macky-Z closed her eyes an attempted to match the man’s voice with a face. It was couldn’t be Malcolm’s. Malcolm’s voice sounded younger than that-- weaker. She always found him too soft spoken for her tastes. Almost too.. It was then that it all made sense. There was a reason why she always found him odd and, it made her furious that she hadn’t caught on earlier. That voice he had always used with them. That was fake. Those probing questions, that smooth and unrelenting curiosity.. Fake. When Malcolm replaced Abigail.. When Abigail left. She hadn’t asked any questions. She felt foolish that she hadn’t. ...But, who was he really? Pushing a ball of wet cotton to the left side of her mouth, Z found that she could now taste the sticky adhesive of the tape. She would find out if it was the last thing she did. “You don’t suppose that will work now will it?” The door opened, revealing two figures. One woman. One Malcolm. “It’s really quite pathetic, you know. Undignified for a lady such as yourself.” Macky-Z felt herself grow smaller as the feminine form stepped closer. “Don’t you agree.. Mikhail?” Malcolm, now Mikhail, pulled off his gloves. The sparks flashed from each finger tip before dying on the cold, steel ground. “Yeah.” The grinning was contagious. “We’re the best. Let’s go save Macky’n’Mal! And then Boss can grill us some franks and we can play baseball again! Y’know. Just like old times. And then… And then we’ll be together. Like always.” He made a move to jump upwards, but stopped. He lost his last pair of shoes due to a hole in his last backpack.. And it would not happen again. Quickly, he took stock of the equipment. Four pairs of sunglasses. Four sets of headphones. 20 packs of cigarettes. Sneakers. And baseballs. Lots of baseballs. “Ok, ready? Let’s go!” Mitya inhaled deeply and blew a heavy cloud of smoke. “To infinity and beyond!” And, with that, Mitya and Bridger rose into the overcast sky. It was hard to describe what Mackenzie was feeling at that moment. When she realized that Malcolm was a fake the entire time, she felt betrayed. When she realized he was part of the Mafia, it grew to anger. But then, as she looked into the face of her ex-partner, the factor of fear began to settle in. Her eyes fell to the ground, where the remnants of her past now lay. The gloves, his gloves. The only physical reminder of the last couple years with Malcolm, now gone. What hurt the most, however, was that she trusted him. And to Macky-z, trust was the most valuable thing anyone can have. She bit her tongue in resistance of screaming at him, and clenched her fists, just in case they were to do anything--even though she knew she was powerless when in here. Something about the room, or maybe it was one of them. "Feisty one, aren't you?" The woman chuckled amusingly. "Mikhail, I must say, you did a fine job. I don't see how you could have handled being with this girl for the last...what? Two years?" She turned her head to look at him, but he made no move to respond. True to his character, Mikhail simply stood. Macky-z had caught his eye, which were lifeless. But at that moment, she knew. She knew that the expressionless face and calm voice of "Malcolm" would haunt her for many years to come. “I guess this is the part where I start my little monologue... But, I’ll spare the formalities. I’d much rather see you squirm.” The dark eyed woman stepped closer and, with each step, Macky-Z found her skin more and more unbearable. She wanted to scream, to thrash, to /run/... But, it was an impossibility. “I could kill you now,” the tone was even--cool, professional. “We both could. But..” She unsheathed a knife from her belt, “The Madame wanted to let you live for a little longer. Maybe even after you leave this place. It.. Displeases me. I suppose, I’ll just take your tongue instead.” “Ramsey..” Mikhail’s face was still without emotion. “I hear something outside.” “Mitya, this is the third warehouse we’ve kicked in! Are you sure you know the way?” “Of course!” Bam. Empty. “Somewhere downtown. And, somewhere downtown means that it should be in this general area.” It had been at least 10 minutes before they landed. Little progress had been made. Many dramatic entrances, yes. But, no Malcolm and no Macky-Z. "But as the saying goes, third time's a charm!" And Mitya rushed in to search the area. Bridger sighed in defeat. There was obviosly no way he can convince Mitya that they should be careful about the dramatic entrances, as the mafia could be anywhere. He followed his best friend into the warehouse, scanning the place. There were piles of boxes scattered everywhere, tall enough to be walls. While there were aisles and aisles of stored goods, there were also rooms of some sort that were there. This warehouse was different than the others, he noted to himself as he continued to scout the place. He looked up to the mezzanine as he thought he saw a flicker of a figure. His guard was now up as he ran forward to catch up with Mitya, who was taking long strides--looking left and right. "Have you heard of a warehouse that has rooms?" He whispered to his partner, matching his pace. They both glanced at each other after a silence, and nodded. This was it. Ramsey sighed. "You got lucky, cheerleader." Macky-z furrowed her eyebrows. She wasn't even blonde for Pete's sake. But now that the woman distanced herself, Macky-z felt some relief. Her power, whatever it was, felt like death. This was the second time she witnessed the strength of the Mafia firsthand, and now she hoped to god that Mitya and Bridger were here to save her ass. Ramsey pocketed her knife and reached for the door. "You can assure yourself that we'll be back." With that she left the room. Mikhail followed. And once again, Macky-z found herself alone. Mitya threw a cigarette butt onto the ground, before replacing it with a new one. He would need more refuse if they wanted to save the day-- especially after flying such a long distance. “Bridgey..” His voice was uncharacteristically low, “Watch my back. I’ll go in first. You should make sure that Macky-Z and Mally are okay. If there’re not--" The lights suddenly flew up. Instinctively, Mitya h handed Bridger a pair of sunglasses and pulled on his own. “What have we got here? A couple of government /mutts/ ready to save their little bitch, hm, Mikhail?” Ramsey stepped out from behind a box wall, Mikhail at her tail. Mitya cocked his head, “Malcolm, who’s Mikhail?” “I think that’s his real name,” Bridger whispered. The blonde tried to hold back the disbelief in his face. “No mind c control? Are you sure this chick isn’t like.. Poison Ivy?” Ramsey answered for her partner. “Stupid boy,” she spat with annoyance. One step closer, another level of discomfort. “My power is beyond that of some /plant/.”