Alias fic: Price of the Fates; PG-13; 4/5
Title: Price of the Fates (4/5)
Characters: Sydney Bristow, Julian Sark ensemble
Rating: PG-13
Words: 3,300 words
Disclaimer: JJ’s characters. Although I honestly think they were better off without him in the end.
Notes: Post s5 (or is it?). This was an abandoned fic, which got resurrected for jjverse's big bang. Entire fic's bordering in 20k words.
previous chapters
CHAPTER FOUR
2012
Hong Kong
Sydney discreetly looked around. The sounds of the harbor and of the city seemed distant from the warehouse district.
She was in front of the gray building with instructions from Mr. Oliver to go inside once the doors opened. But right now, she is standing on a sidewalk in a deserted road with a flickering streetlamp.
The location evoked a feeling of being part of a suspense-thriller film. She felt like one of the characters who would foolishly step onto the killer’s trap and would just wait to be killed.
The doors creaked open and light partly flooded the street. Sydney made her way inside, noting that no one was by the door.
Walking into the killer’s trap. It sounded apt.
~*~
An armed man escorted her towards the elevator while another operated it. The third one was talking to dela Cruz, and left when she arrived.
“Agent Bristow.” dela Cruz greeted. She wore a dark gray sweater, black jeans, and sneakers, “have a seat.” She said as she motioned towards the center and turned her back away from Sydney.
There was a table and two chairs in the middle of the large room. But Sydney didn’t move, “You killed my husband and kidnapped my children.” she said, keeping her voice, her mind, collected, “I did what you wanted me to do. Now give me back my children.”
dela Cruz glanced at her, “Let’s talk first.” She took the bottle of wine from the table, “Have a drink.”
“I’m not interested.”
“The deal isn’t over yet, Agent Bristow.” dela Cruz said, “So I suggest that you take a seat and drink alcohol.” There was a spike of annoyance in her tone. She poured the wine in one of the glasses.
She approached the table. This portion of the room was better lit than the rest and she could clearly see what Mac dela Cruz looked like.
Sydney knew that she was younger, but the surveillance photos of Mac dela Cruz gave a very generic image of the woman. Black, chin-length hair, small, brown eyes and a narrow nose… if Sydney had encountered dela Cruz in a mission she wouldn’t take a second glance at her. Looking at her up-close, she could see what the surveillance cameras missed.
“Wine?”
She took the glass but kept her gaze on dela Cruz. The woman had two small, but visible, scars on her face. There was an inverted crescent-shaped scar by the side of her right eye. The second was a thin, vertical scar (which seemed to be made by a really sharp knife) by her left cheek.
Sydney inspected the purple liquid that swirled in the wine glass. It was strange, she thought. The wine, as dark as it may be, appeared to sparkle.
“What kind of wine is this?” she asked.
dela Cruz took the bottle and read the label “Novellino, 2000” she shrugged, “I’m more of a drinker. Not a connoisseur.” She took a seat and looked at her, “It tastes nice, though.”
Sydney didn’t sit down, didn’t drink. Instead, she stared at the glass and its content. She couldn’t gauge where this meeting was heading, couldn’t see how this would play out, couldn’t make out dela Cruz’s endgame.
“Aren’t you going to drink it?”
She glanced at dela Cruz and found that she was watching her, “Drink it first. I want to make sure you're not trying to poison me.”
With a neutral expression, dela Cruz took her glass. She then took one large gulp and handed it back to her. “Satisfied?” she asked with a slight smile.
Sydney took the seat across hers, “I’ll probably wait. Poisons have different effects on different bodies.”
dela Cruz leaned on the chair and clasped her hands across her lap, “Right, metabolism. But you shouldn’t worry about it. I didn’t put poison in the wine.” She took the bottle and refilled Sydney’s glass, “Not when I’m going to drink some of it myself.” She then poured wine in her glass.
They sat in silence, though it was more of stare-down than just sitting in silence. After a while, dela Cruz took a piece of bread the basket and started eating it.
“I find it offensive when people don’t eat the food I offer.” She said after taking a sip from her wine.
Sydney hid her exasperation and drank her wine. At least, if the wine was poisoned, dela Cruz would succumb to it first since she was thinner (and she drank it first).
“How was France, Agent Bristow? Did you like the cemetery?”
~*~
If the cliché ‘looks could kill’ was any real, Mac knew she’d be dead right now (unless, of course, Sydney Bristow flashed her look of death when her back was turned against her…). The agent just glared at her, gripping the stem of her wine glass.
“I felt the need to ask. I’m betting it was the most exciting part of your one-and-a-half week of going around the globe.” She watched Sydney’s expression as it shifted from suspicion, to anger, and then to composure. It must take a lot, she thought, to hold everything back. It was like watching molten lava freezing over in a matter of seconds. The agent was dangerous and fascinating at the same time, just like Irina.
“It was fine,” Sydney replied icily, “I admire your ability to fuck the mind.”
Mac felt amusement course through her and she started to laugh. Uncomfortable, Sydney drank more wine as Mac doubled in laughter.
When the laughter subsided after a few seconds, she asked, “Tell me, Agent Bristow, do you believe in time travel?”
“No.”
She took another piece of bread, “Me too.” And took a sip from her glass. She tried not to think about what she’s supposed to do, and instead focused on how she’d manipulate the situation so that it would play out perfectly.
“Are you asking me because you're going to tell me that you discovered that Rambaldi made a time machine?” Sydney asked and then added, “and that since I am the Chosen One, you want me to try it?”
Mac shrugged, “Not really.” She watched as Sydney drank a little bit more of the wine.
Suddenly, a loud shrill sound rang throughout the building. Mac automatically stiffened and thought her heart had leapt up to her throat and just stayed there.
This wasn’t part of the plan. Alarms meant trouble. Alarms in the security protocol meant that most of her men were incapacitated or dead. Alarms in this building meant lockdown.
Keep calm, she thought and took a deep breath. Keep calm.
“Please tell me that you accidentally called your back-up team, Agent Bristow.”
~*~
The obvious change in dela Cruz posture when the alarm sounded concerned Sydney.
“What if I say yes?” she replied and set the glass on the table.
“Good. At least it can be assured that one of us is safe.”
Dela Cruz stared at her and Sydney felt her discomfort spread. This wasn’t her back-up team. She instructed them clearly that they come after thirty minutes. A quick look on her watch told her that the team still has to wait for seven minutes.
“It’s not yours.” dela Cruz stated as she immediately stood up and fished her cell phone from her pocket, “How many guns do you have?” she asked Sydney.
She rose from her chair, with unease and suspicion “Two.”
Dela Cruz reached out under the table, pulled something from underneath and tossed it to her, “Extra guns are handy.”
Pieces of adhesive were still stuck on the 9 mm. Sydney took them off before checking the cartridge. The gun was fully loaded.
“Julian, dear, I was wondering if you could help us out… Idiots have barged inside the building and we’re all locked inside…” she watched as dela Cruz moved about the room, locking the doors, “yes, I think I know who’s behind this… please check on Aunt Katya… thank you.”
“Aunt Katya?” Sydney asked as dela Cruz marched back to her position and headed straight towards the wall.
When dela Cruz didn’t answer her, she asked a different question. “Are Isabelle and Jack here?” as dela Cruz kicked one side of the wall and a panel fell off, revealing a hidden closet.
“Of course not.” Dela Cruz opened the closet, revealing a cache of guns, “They’re with Mr. Sark.”
The alarm suddenly stopped ringing. Dela Cruz took three MP5 sub machine guns and handed one to Sydney, “We have to get moving.”
Sydney doesn’t know if she could trust the woman. For God’s sake, her children are with Sark! But this might all be an act, a trap. She’s going to need to watch her back.
“I heard you're not very good with guns.” Sydney said as she checked the MP5, “I don’t know if you could keep yourself safe or kill us both with the guns you have.”
“Not a lot of people know that, Agent Bristow.” The woman murmured then glanced at her, “And the only person who could have told you that has been dead for almost seven months.”
The lights went out.
Sydney heard the sharp intake of breath. She shook her head, “If those guys are really after us, we have to get moving.”
“Back-up generator will be up in a few minutes.” Dela Cruz said, “The safest place is upstairs. But there’s a great chance that we’re going to shoot our way to get there.”
“That’s fine with me.” Sydney replied, “Just make sure to point your gun in the right direction.”
~*~
Arvin Sloane sat inside a black sedan, waiting for the team leader’s call. He wasn’t supposed to do this. He was supposed to relax, in that beach, with those discreet guards hovering about.
But something prompted him to do this. This wasn’t his decision, per se. This was something within him.
Assembling a team on such short notice was difficult and expensive. The escape route was also difficult to execute. He didn’t want to call attention to himself, but it had to be bloody enough so that no one can inform Sark or dela Cruz of his escape.
He glanced at his watch. He paid $15M for a 20-man team. Half of that team is trying to neutralize the two women. The other half went out to meet Sydney’s back-up team. He hoped to God that they do their jobs as well as they claim. He had a feeling Sydney and dela Cruz could wipe out a 10-man team easily.
~*~
“Oi, Jesus.” Mac muttered under her breath as she hoisted the bleeding agent and led her to the stairs. She hasn’t seen so much blood gushing from a leg wound.
After shooting three men, no one seems to be following them. Or maybe they were being followed, but they didn’t want to be shot at so they’re staying clear from their view. For now.
“Can you go up the stairs?” she asked the older woman. They had to get up another floor and stop the bleeding.
“Yes.” Sydney hissed.
She began to march up the steps. Mac wished that she was physically strong enough to carry the agent up the stairs. This was going to be a slow ascent. They didn’t have time for this kind of pace.
“Why are we going up?”
“It’s fortified, the rest of the guns are there… And the medkit’s there too.” She replied. The agent leaned on her heavily. A few more steps and they’d be there. Just a few more steps.
She could hear faint, but heavy, footsteps. And she knew that Sydney heard it too because their pace became a little bit quicker.
When they reached the top of the stairs, Mac led the agent towards the door at end of the wide hallway.
Mac swiped her hand in front of a black panel and the heard the door click open. She knew that the moment she closed the door behind her, it will automatically lock them inside the room. Only two other people could open that door without using c4. She hoped to God that Julian and Oliver arrive before that happens.
~*~
Minutes ticked by. The two-way radio crackled.
“Mr. Sloane, we’ve surrounded them. What are your instructions?”
He reached for the radio and replied, “Keep them there. I’ll go in.”
Arvin Sloane opened the door of the sedan and stepped out.
~*~
The anesthesia was working.
Sydney could feel the pain receding. Dela Cruz had also cut part of her pants, tied a tourniquet above the wound and doused it with alcohol.
“The bleeding’s not slowing down.” Dela Cruz said and tied another tourniquet below the wound.
“Why are you helping me?” she’s starting to feel numb, drowsy.
Dela Cruz tightened the knot, “It’s complicated.” She muttered.
“I think the artery’s hit.” Sydney murmured and closed her eyes. “Lucky shot.”
She then hears dela Cruz letting out a string of curses before stalking off in one corner. No doubt to call Sark, she thought.
After a few seconds, Sydney glanced around. She was hidden behind a sofa, with a spare MP5 beside her. The walls were dark brown, sturdy. It was thick and appeared to be strong enough to stop bullets. Probably. The floor was cemented, cold. A ruckus from behind her made her turn around. Dela Cruz was rigging three machine guns onto a table. She was setting up a defense perimeter.
She looked at her leg. Her pants are stained with crimson and her blood was all over the floor. She thought about Isabelle, Jack and Vaughn. This was not going to end well.
Sydney bit her lip. She was bleeding profusely and stuck in a room with a woman who kidnapped her children and killed her husband. That same woman was now designing one-fourths of the room in a way that anyone who wanted to come in would be shot.
A sob escaped her.
“Don’t worry.” A voice whispered. She looked to her side and saw Vaughn seated beside her.
“Mike?” she choked. Her few-days-dead husband smiled at her.
“Everything’s going to be okay. I promise.”
Death was going to be okay? “But what about Isabelle and Jack?” her voice was hoarse, “How are they going to be okay?”
“Agent Bristow?” she heard dela Cruz ask, “Were you talking to me?”
Sydney didn’t answer her and instead focused on the man beside her.
“Trust me.” His green eyes looked into hers, soothing her almost instantly. “Everything’s going to be alright.”
Drowsiness overcame her. She then heard someone calling her name, but she didn’t pay attention to it. She felt so light.
“Sydney! Wake up!”
The voice seemed far away now, so far away. She didn’t even know who the voice belonged to. It sounded so familiar, but strange, like it was distorted. Sydney tried to force the voice away.
“Goddamnit, wake up!”
And then, there was a sudden flash of intense white light. Sydney felt a burst of pain in her chest and felt herself being sucked into the brightness.
Everything was going to be alright.
~*~*~
She didn’t know where she was. The walls and the floors were white and she was alone. Sydney had no idea how she got to this place, or how she could get out.
She looked at her hands. Blood had dried over them. She then looked down on her right leg. It wasn’t bleeding anymore, but her pants were stained. She started to walk and her leg stung. As she walked further away from her position, she grew accustomed to the sting every time she extends her leg. She also hoped that she wouldn’t accidentally bump into the walls since everything was white.
It was a little bit terrifying.
Time passed. She didn’t know how long she’s been walking. She didn’t feel thirsty, hungry, or tired.
Sydney kept on walking. After a while, she saw a door, but it was still too far away to verify if it’s real. She walked towards it, thinking about the probability of opening it. It could be a way out, she thought.
She reached the door. It was a simple, chestnut door. No wood carvings, no designs, no sign of what’s in store for anyone who opened it. Nothing.
Her hand hesitantly touched the knob. The metal was cool to the skin. She didn’t know if she should open it or not. After all, she didn’t know what waited for her at the other side of the room. There might be a giant snake waiting to eat her, for all she knew.
Her fingers closed over the knob. It could be a way out. There was something hopeless about this place. She didn’t want to be here.
She turned the knob and pushed the door open. There was an alley leading out of the room. Though it was perplexing, she decided to go out. She took a deep breath before taking a step forward.
There’s nothing dangerous about this. Her heart started to beat faster as she took another step. She sighed in relief. There was nothing dangerous about this. What was she worrying about?
Then the ground disappeared under her feet. Her breath got caught in her throat and Sydney felt herself plummeting. She couldn’t scream, couldn’t do anything to slow down, couldn’t do anything to stop falling.
Sydney opened a door to an endless pit.
~*~*~
It was dark.
The blare of an ambulance rang out in the distance. Sounds of a busy street floated in her ears
Something wet dropped on her cheek. Sydney’s eyes flickered open. A red light flickered on and off above her. The sky was dark. Her brows furrowed.
She was outside and the air was a bit cold. She was lying on the ground, which felt damp.
Sydney blinked and her vision cleared after a few minutes. She tried to get up, but her arms started to shake and she fell back on the ground. Her heart started to beat a little bit faster. How did she end up in here?
‘My leg…’ she thought and reached out to check the spot in the middle of her right thigh. It wasn’t bleeding. It didn’t even hurt. Sydney stilled for a split second before understanding what it meant.
No.
Slowly, she stood up. Her knees were a bit weak and she swayed slightly. She leaned on the wall for support.
Sydney stumbled out of the alley. People passed by her, didn’t take notice of her disheveled (she thinks) condition. She looked around her. Chinese characters adorn the billboards and saw many different faces walking on the sidewalk, but majority of them seemed Chinese.
There was a man reading a newspaper. She looked at it closely and realized that she was still in Hong Kong. But the corner of the paper was obscuring the date.
Sydney decided to walk around the block before going to the safe house. She wanted to know what day it was, what year it might be. The most recent thing she could remember was her leg bleeding while she sat behind a sofa with an MP5 beside her. If she had disappeared again and scrubbed her memory of those years, she wants to know how long she’s been gone. She didn’t want anyone to break the news to her.
She tried not to think about the effect this would have on her children. Not yet.
At the end of the street, she saw a noodle store selling evening editions. Sydney breathed in deeply, mentally preparing herself for the blow. Two years? Five years? Seven?
Sydney stood in front of the stall and glanced at the newspaper.
Her heart dropped to her feet. Her breathing became shallow.
July 23, 2004.
chapter five
Characters: Sydney Bristow, Julian Sark ensemble
Rating: PG-13
Words: 3,300 words
Disclaimer: JJ’s characters. Although I honestly think they were better off without him in the end.
Notes: Post s5 (or is it?). This was an abandoned fic, which got resurrected for jjverse's big bang. Entire fic's bordering in 20k words.
previous chapters
CHAPTER FOUR
2012
Hong Kong
Sydney discreetly looked around. The sounds of the harbor and of the city seemed distant from the warehouse district.
She was in front of the gray building with instructions from Mr. Oliver to go inside once the doors opened. But right now, she is standing on a sidewalk in a deserted road with a flickering streetlamp.
The location evoked a feeling of being part of a suspense-thriller film. She felt like one of the characters who would foolishly step onto the killer’s trap and would just wait to be killed.
The doors creaked open and light partly flooded the street. Sydney made her way inside, noting that no one was by the door.
Walking into the killer’s trap. It sounded apt.
~*~
An armed man escorted her towards the elevator while another operated it. The third one was talking to dela Cruz, and left when she arrived.
“Agent Bristow.” dela Cruz greeted. She wore a dark gray sweater, black jeans, and sneakers, “have a seat.” She said as she motioned towards the center and turned her back away from Sydney.
There was a table and two chairs in the middle of the large room. But Sydney didn’t move, “You killed my husband and kidnapped my children.” she said, keeping her voice, her mind, collected, “I did what you wanted me to do. Now give me back my children.”
dela Cruz glanced at her, “Let’s talk first.” She took the bottle of wine from the table, “Have a drink.”
“I’m not interested.”
“The deal isn’t over yet, Agent Bristow.” dela Cruz said, “So I suggest that you take a seat and drink alcohol.” There was a spike of annoyance in her tone. She poured the wine in one of the glasses.
She approached the table. This portion of the room was better lit than the rest and she could clearly see what Mac dela Cruz looked like.
Sydney knew that she was younger, but the surveillance photos of Mac dela Cruz gave a very generic image of the woman. Black, chin-length hair, small, brown eyes and a narrow nose… if Sydney had encountered dela Cruz in a mission she wouldn’t take a second glance at her. Looking at her up-close, she could see what the surveillance cameras missed.
“Wine?”
She took the glass but kept her gaze on dela Cruz. The woman had two small, but visible, scars on her face. There was an inverted crescent-shaped scar by the side of her right eye. The second was a thin, vertical scar (which seemed to be made by a really sharp knife) by her left cheek.
Sydney inspected the purple liquid that swirled in the wine glass. It was strange, she thought. The wine, as dark as it may be, appeared to sparkle.
“What kind of wine is this?” she asked.
dela Cruz took the bottle and read the label “Novellino, 2000” she shrugged, “I’m more of a drinker. Not a connoisseur.” She took a seat and looked at her, “It tastes nice, though.”
Sydney didn’t sit down, didn’t drink. Instead, she stared at the glass and its content. She couldn’t gauge where this meeting was heading, couldn’t see how this would play out, couldn’t make out dela Cruz’s endgame.
“Aren’t you going to drink it?”
She glanced at dela Cruz and found that she was watching her, “Drink it first. I want to make sure you're not trying to poison me.”
With a neutral expression, dela Cruz took her glass. She then took one large gulp and handed it back to her. “Satisfied?” she asked with a slight smile.
Sydney took the seat across hers, “I’ll probably wait. Poisons have different effects on different bodies.”
dela Cruz leaned on the chair and clasped her hands across her lap, “Right, metabolism. But you shouldn’t worry about it. I didn’t put poison in the wine.” She took the bottle and refilled Sydney’s glass, “Not when I’m going to drink some of it myself.” She then poured wine in her glass.
They sat in silence, though it was more of stare-down than just sitting in silence. After a while, dela Cruz took a piece of bread the basket and started eating it.
“I find it offensive when people don’t eat the food I offer.” She said after taking a sip from her wine.
Sydney hid her exasperation and drank her wine. At least, if the wine was poisoned, dela Cruz would succumb to it first since she was thinner (and she drank it first).
“How was France, Agent Bristow? Did you like the cemetery?”
~*~
If the cliché ‘looks could kill’ was any real, Mac knew she’d be dead right now (unless, of course, Sydney Bristow flashed her look of death when her back was turned against her…). The agent just glared at her, gripping the stem of her wine glass.
“I felt the need to ask. I’m betting it was the most exciting part of your one-and-a-half week of going around the globe.” She watched Sydney’s expression as it shifted from suspicion, to anger, and then to composure. It must take a lot, she thought, to hold everything back. It was like watching molten lava freezing over in a matter of seconds. The agent was dangerous and fascinating at the same time, just like Irina.
“It was fine,” Sydney replied icily, “I admire your ability to fuck the mind.”
Mac felt amusement course through her and she started to laugh. Uncomfortable, Sydney drank more wine as Mac doubled in laughter.
When the laughter subsided after a few seconds, she asked, “Tell me, Agent Bristow, do you believe in time travel?”
“No.”
She took another piece of bread, “Me too.” And took a sip from her glass. She tried not to think about what she’s supposed to do, and instead focused on how she’d manipulate the situation so that it would play out perfectly.
“Are you asking me because you're going to tell me that you discovered that Rambaldi made a time machine?” Sydney asked and then added, “and that since I am the Chosen One, you want me to try it?”
Mac shrugged, “Not really.” She watched as Sydney drank a little bit more of the wine.
Suddenly, a loud shrill sound rang throughout the building. Mac automatically stiffened and thought her heart had leapt up to her throat and just stayed there.
This wasn’t part of the plan. Alarms meant trouble. Alarms in the security protocol meant that most of her men were incapacitated or dead. Alarms in this building meant lockdown.
Keep calm, she thought and took a deep breath. Keep calm.
“Please tell me that you accidentally called your back-up team, Agent Bristow.”
~*~
The obvious change in dela Cruz posture when the alarm sounded concerned Sydney.
“What if I say yes?” she replied and set the glass on the table.
“Good. At least it can be assured that one of us is safe.”
Dela Cruz stared at her and Sydney felt her discomfort spread. This wasn’t her back-up team. She instructed them clearly that they come after thirty minutes. A quick look on her watch told her that the team still has to wait for seven minutes.
“It’s not yours.” dela Cruz stated as she immediately stood up and fished her cell phone from her pocket, “How many guns do you have?” she asked Sydney.
She rose from her chair, with unease and suspicion “Two.”
Dela Cruz reached out under the table, pulled something from underneath and tossed it to her, “Extra guns are handy.”
Pieces of adhesive were still stuck on the 9 mm. Sydney took them off before checking the cartridge. The gun was fully loaded.
“Julian, dear, I was wondering if you could help us out… Idiots have barged inside the building and we’re all locked inside…” she watched as dela Cruz moved about the room, locking the doors, “yes, I think I know who’s behind this… please check on Aunt Katya… thank you.”
“Aunt Katya?” Sydney asked as dela Cruz marched back to her position and headed straight towards the wall.
When dela Cruz didn’t answer her, she asked a different question. “Are Isabelle and Jack here?” as dela Cruz kicked one side of the wall and a panel fell off, revealing a hidden closet.
“Of course not.” Dela Cruz opened the closet, revealing a cache of guns, “They’re with Mr. Sark.”
The alarm suddenly stopped ringing. Dela Cruz took three MP5 sub machine guns and handed one to Sydney, “We have to get moving.”
Sydney doesn’t know if she could trust the woman. For God’s sake, her children are with Sark! But this might all be an act, a trap. She’s going to need to watch her back.
“I heard you're not very good with guns.” Sydney said as she checked the MP5, “I don’t know if you could keep yourself safe or kill us both with the guns you have.”
“Not a lot of people know that, Agent Bristow.” The woman murmured then glanced at her, “And the only person who could have told you that has been dead for almost seven months.”
The lights went out.
Sydney heard the sharp intake of breath. She shook her head, “If those guys are really after us, we have to get moving.”
“Back-up generator will be up in a few minutes.” Dela Cruz said, “The safest place is upstairs. But there’s a great chance that we’re going to shoot our way to get there.”
“That’s fine with me.” Sydney replied, “Just make sure to point your gun in the right direction.”
~*~
Arvin Sloane sat inside a black sedan, waiting for the team leader’s call. He wasn’t supposed to do this. He was supposed to relax, in that beach, with those discreet guards hovering about.
But something prompted him to do this. This wasn’t his decision, per se. This was something within him.
Assembling a team on such short notice was difficult and expensive. The escape route was also difficult to execute. He didn’t want to call attention to himself, but it had to be bloody enough so that no one can inform Sark or dela Cruz of his escape.
He glanced at his watch. He paid $15M for a 20-man team. Half of that team is trying to neutralize the two women. The other half went out to meet Sydney’s back-up team. He hoped to God that they do their jobs as well as they claim. He had a feeling Sydney and dela Cruz could wipe out a 10-man team easily.
~*~
“Oi, Jesus.” Mac muttered under her breath as she hoisted the bleeding agent and led her to the stairs. She hasn’t seen so much blood gushing from a leg wound.
After shooting three men, no one seems to be following them. Or maybe they were being followed, but they didn’t want to be shot at so they’re staying clear from their view. For now.
“Can you go up the stairs?” she asked the older woman. They had to get up another floor and stop the bleeding.
“Yes.” Sydney hissed.
She began to march up the steps. Mac wished that she was physically strong enough to carry the agent up the stairs. This was going to be a slow ascent. They didn’t have time for this kind of pace.
“Why are we going up?”
“It’s fortified, the rest of the guns are there… And the medkit’s there too.” She replied. The agent leaned on her heavily. A few more steps and they’d be there. Just a few more steps.
She could hear faint, but heavy, footsteps. And she knew that Sydney heard it too because their pace became a little bit quicker.
When they reached the top of the stairs, Mac led the agent towards the door at end of the wide hallway.
Mac swiped her hand in front of a black panel and the heard the door click open. She knew that the moment she closed the door behind her, it will automatically lock them inside the room. Only two other people could open that door without using c4. She hoped to God that Julian and Oliver arrive before that happens.
~*~
Minutes ticked by. The two-way radio crackled.
“Mr. Sloane, we’ve surrounded them. What are your instructions?”
He reached for the radio and replied, “Keep them there. I’ll go in.”
Arvin Sloane opened the door of the sedan and stepped out.
~*~
The anesthesia was working.
Sydney could feel the pain receding. Dela Cruz had also cut part of her pants, tied a tourniquet above the wound and doused it with alcohol.
“The bleeding’s not slowing down.” Dela Cruz said and tied another tourniquet below the wound.
“Why are you helping me?” she’s starting to feel numb, drowsy.
Dela Cruz tightened the knot, “It’s complicated.” She muttered.
“I think the artery’s hit.” Sydney murmured and closed her eyes. “Lucky shot.”
She then hears dela Cruz letting out a string of curses before stalking off in one corner. No doubt to call Sark, she thought.
After a few seconds, Sydney glanced around. She was hidden behind a sofa, with a spare MP5 beside her. The walls were dark brown, sturdy. It was thick and appeared to be strong enough to stop bullets. Probably. The floor was cemented, cold. A ruckus from behind her made her turn around. Dela Cruz was rigging three machine guns onto a table. She was setting up a defense perimeter.
She looked at her leg. Her pants are stained with crimson and her blood was all over the floor. She thought about Isabelle, Jack and Vaughn. This was not going to end well.
Sydney bit her lip. She was bleeding profusely and stuck in a room with a woman who kidnapped her children and killed her husband. That same woman was now designing one-fourths of the room in a way that anyone who wanted to come in would be shot.
A sob escaped her.
“Don’t worry.” A voice whispered. She looked to her side and saw Vaughn seated beside her.
“Mike?” she choked. Her few-days-dead husband smiled at her.
“Everything’s going to be okay. I promise.”
Death was going to be okay? “But what about Isabelle and Jack?” her voice was hoarse, “How are they going to be okay?”
“Agent Bristow?” she heard dela Cruz ask, “Were you talking to me?”
Sydney didn’t answer her and instead focused on the man beside her.
“Trust me.” His green eyes looked into hers, soothing her almost instantly. “Everything’s going to be alright.”
Drowsiness overcame her. She then heard someone calling her name, but she didn’t pay attention to it. She felt so light.
“Sydney! Wake up!”
The voice seemed far away now, so far away. She didn’t even know who the voice belonged to. It sounded so familiar, but strange, like it was distorted. Sydney tried to force the voice away.
“Goddamnit, wake up!”
And then, there was a sudden flash of intense white light. Sydney felt a burst of pain in her chest and felt herself being sucked into the brightness.
Everything was going to be alright.
~*~*~
She didn’t know where she was. The walls and the floors were white and she was alone. Sydney had no idea how she got to this place, or how she could get out.
She looked at her hands. Blood had dried over them. She then looked down on her right leg. It wasn’t bleeding anymore, but her pants were stained. She started to walk and her leg stung. As she walked further away from her position, she grew accustomed to the sting every time she extends her leg. She also hoped that she wouldn’t accidentally bump into the walls since everything was white.
It was a little bit terrifying.
Time passed. She didn’t know how long she’s been walking. She didn’t feel thirsty, hungry, or tired.
Sydney kept on walking. After a while, she saw a door, but it was still too far away to verify if it’s real. She walked towards it, thinking about the probability of opening it. It could be a way out, she thought.
She reached the door. It was a simple, chestnut door. No wood carvings, no designs, no sign of what’s in store for anyone who opened it. Nothing.
Her hand hesitantly touched the knob. The metal was cool to the skin. She didn’t know if she should open it or not. After all, she didn’t know what waited for her at the other side of the room. There might be a giant snake waiting to eat her, for all she knew.
Her fingers closed over the knob. It could be a way out. There was something hopeless about this place. She didn’t want to be here.
She turned the knob and pushed the door open. There was an alley leading out of the room. Though it was perplexing, she decided to go out. She took a deep breath before taking a step forward.
There’s nothing dangerous about this. Her heart started to beat faster as she took another step. She sighed in relief. There was nothing dangerous about this. What was she worrying about?
Then the ground disappeared under her feet. Her breath got caught in her throat and Sydney felt herself plummeting. She couldn’t scream, couldn’t do anything to slow down, couldn’t do anything to stop falling.
Sydney opened a door to an endless pit.
~*~*~
It was dark.
The blare of an ambulance rang out in the distance. Sounds of a busy street floated in her ears
Something wet dropped on her cheek. Sydney’s eyes flickered open. A red light flickered on and off above her. The sky was dark. Her brows furrowed.
She was outside and the air was a bit cold. She was lying on the ground, which felt damp.
Sydney blinked and her vision cleared after a few minutes. She tried to get up, but her arms started to shake and she fell back on the ground. Her heart started to beat a little bit faster. How did she end up in here?
‘My leg…’ she thought and reached out to check the spot in the middle of her right thigh. It wasn’t bleeding. It didn’t even hurt. Sydney stilled for a split second before understanding what it meant.
No.
Slowly, she stood up. Her knees were a bit weak and she swayed slightly. She leaned on the wall for support.
Sydney stumbled out of the alley. People passed by her, didn’t take notice of her disheveled (she thinks) condition. She looked around her. Chinese characters adorn the billboards and saw many different faces walking on the sidewalk, but majority of them seemed Chinese.
There was a man reading a newspaper. She looked at it closely and realized that she was still in Hong Kong. But the corner of the paper was obscuring the date.
Sydney decided to walk around the block before going to the safe house. She wanted to know what day it was, what year it might be. The most recent thing she could remember was her leg bleeding while she sat behind a sofa with an MP5 beside her. If she had disappeared again and scrubbed her memory of those years, she wants to know how long she’s been gone. She didn’t want anyone to break the news to her.
She tried not to think about the effect this would have on her children. Not yet.
At the end of the street, she saw a noodle store selling evening editions. Sydney breathed in deeply, mentally preparing herself for the blow. Two years? Five years? Seven?
Sydney stood in front of the stall and glanced at the newspaper.
Her heart dropped to her feet. Her breathing became shallow.
July 23, 2004.
chapter five