Fate Of The Fool
Ok this one is really dark but I love it. I am so proud of this story because it just clicked together. Just like the chapter in WTS where Duo was after Wufei in the compound. It just... Clicked. :) Let me know if you would like to know what happens next. I have two more stories that follow directly after this one.
There was a dead man sitting in front of him grinning like a fool, a very apt portrayal because the dumbass hasn't even realized just how dead he is.
A dozen or so pictures were strung across Jean's cherry wood desk haphazardly in their placement but had the impact of a gun being pointed at Jean's head. The first picture laying on top of the others was a single shot of a boy tied up in a chair his head hanging limply bruises covering his arms and across his left cheek that had the distinct impression of a hand print. It was Ralf. A couple of other pictures were snap shots of Ralf taken to what looked to be several hours before the first one. He was walking down the street in one, talking on a phone a smile on his face. The other one of him entering into a hotel room, a figure of a person shrouded in shadows following close behind. The others depicted Ralf being put into a van, another of him struggling with three men that were each easily twice his size. A flash of pride shot through Jean as he saw that the three men certainly did not look very happy or pain free as it was clear from their torn clothes and bloody faces that his beloved panda had not gone down without a fight.
The flash of pride was quickly doused in frigid cold water. The last picture was partially covered by the others with only half of it showing. It took Jean a few seconds to process the cylinder shape with numbers along it. It took a few seconds for him to take note of a thumb pressing down on the plunger. It took a few seconds for his heart to start beating again. His hand shook as he slowly pulled the picture out from under the others and he felt the earth buckle and jump under him. Or maybe it was because he had gripped his desk chair so hard that it had broken the arm rest?
It showed Ralf tied down to the chair from the same picture as the first but his arm was strapped down out the side of him with a needle stuck in it. His head was being yanked back cruelly at a harsh angle so that the camera could see his face. Jean stared at the picture unable to take his eyes away from the look on Ralf's face. It was pure defiance from the stubborn set of his jaw, an obvious sign of him refusing to make a sound, to the way his lips were pursed to what looked like was about to spit on someone. Yet it was his eyes that tore at Jean's soul. They were afraid. Gods help him Ralf, his Ralf, was afraid. In all of the times that he saw Ralf stand down Jean's toughest yakuza bred men, when he calmly handled high end explosive materials in some random experiments, even when he had faced Jean himself down with nothing but a book as a weapon when he had thought Jean was attacking his friend. Not once was Ralf afraid.
"I see that you have found the coup de grace? It is all his own fault that we had to drug him, you know. He kept struggling and we had no choice. Oh wait. Didn't you have a lover who died of a drug overdose?" The snide whiney voice made Jean go stalk still. He didn't even move as breathed. The man speaking took this a sign to continue. "Now I remember. You had a cousin who was your lover back in Japan and he was junkie who got his hands on some laced drugs and died. Such a shame. I hear he was quite the lay." The voice gave an evil laugh "You seem to have good tastes. I can't wait to sample your newest plaything. I will be sure to tell him you send your love." A movement to his left and the owner of the voice sits down on the edge of Jean's desk leaning onto one hand so he can recline lazily. "Maybe we will give your little freaky panda a bit of the same drug that had your cousin hooked. Maybe we will give him some of the laced drug in the end. I hear it can be quite… Painful."
Jean never looked up.
His body never betrayed his actions.
An onlooker would even go as far as to deny that Jean ever moved at all.
Just that the stupid fool was sitting on the edge of the desk gloating inches away from Jean's face and there was suddenly a knife embedded in the fool's hand so deep that even the hilt was cutting deep into the muscles of his flesh. The shocked look on the man's face would also cause the onlooker to think that he didn't see it coming either.
Still looking down at the picture, Jean's hand shot out and grabbed the fool's neck in a strangling hold and throws him down onto the desk sending the pictures flying to the floor, the sound of flesh ripping as the fool's hand was held in place by the knife while the rest of his body followed the force of moment. The end result was the fool's arm twisted at his side knife still embedded deeply into it sealing it to the wood and the rest of his body lying flat on the surface. Blood pooled around the mangled hand as the man howled in pain, the blood blending in so perfectly with the beautiful desk that the only way you could tell there was any blood at all was the papers trapped beneath the ruined hand were now stained crimson. The man's voice was cut off so suddenly that you would have thought that the hand keeping him down had constricted and silenced him.
But it wasn't the hand that had stopped the very breath of the fool.
Jean's head slowly rose from the picture still clutched in his hand and looked straight into the eyes of the fool.
Unholy rage filled Jean. Replacing the horror and fear for his beloved panda and it was all reflected in his eyes.
Such horrible eyes that had turned red with wrath, that seemed to roar out in fury and lash out devouring the fool's soul.
Stupid fool.
He was dead the moment he laid a hand on Jean's mate; it was just too bad that his body hadn't caught up yet. Because if it had then it wouldn't have had to suffer the last 4 hours of torture that Jean put it through, as he wrung out every single detail in exquisite, leisurely, and precise actions. The fool never stood a chance.
There was a dead man sitting in front of him grinning like a fool, a very apt portrayal because the dumbass hasn't even realized just how dead he is.
A dozen or so pictures were strung across Jean's cherry wood desk haphazardly in their placement but had the impact of a gun being pointed at Jean's head. The first picture laying on top of the others was a single shot of a boy tied up in a chair his head hanging limply bruises covering his arms and across his left cheek that had the distinct impression of a hand print. It was Ralf. A couple of other pictures were snap shots of Ralf taken to what looked to be several hours before the first one. He was walking down the street in one, talking on a phone a smile on his face. The other one of him entering into a hotel room, a figure of a person shrouded in shadows following close behind. The others depicted Ralf being put into a van, another of him struggling with three men that were each easily twice his size. A flash of pride shot through Jean as he saw that the three men certainly did not look very happy or pain free as it was clear from their torn clothes and bloody faces that his beloved panda had not gone down without a fight.
The flash of pride was quickly doused in frigid cold water. The last picture was partially covered by the others with only half of it showing. It took Jean a few seconds to process the cylinder shape with numbers along it. It took a few seconds for him to take note of a thumb pressing down on the plunger. It took a few seconds for his heart to start beating again. His hand shook as he slowly pulled the picture out from under the others and he felt the earth buckle and jump under him. Or maybe it was because he had gripped his desk chair so hard that it had broken the arm rest?
It showed Ralf tied down to the chair from the same picture as the first but his arm was strapped down out the side of him with a needle stuck in it. His head was being yanked back cruelly at a harsh angle so that the camera could see his face. Jean stared at the picture unable to take his eyes away from the look on Ralf's face. It was pure defiance from the stubborn set of his jaw, an obvious sign of him refusing to make a sound, to the way his lips were pursed to what looked like was about to spit on someone. Yet it was his eyes that tore at Jean's soul. They were afraid. Gods help him Ralf, his Ralf, was afraid. In all of the times that he saw Ralf stand down Jean's toughest yakuza bred men, when he calmly handled high end explosive materials in some random experiments, even when he had faced Jean himself down with nothing but a book as a weapon when he had thought Jean was attacking his friend. Not once was Ralf afraid.
"I see that you have found the coup de grace? It is all his own fault that we had to drug him, you know. He kept struggling and we had no choice. Oh wait. Didn't you have a lover who died of a drug overdose?" The snide whiney voice made Jean go stalk still. He didn't even move as breathed. The man speaking took this a sign to continue. "Now I remember. You had a cousin who was your lover back in Japan and he was junkie who got his hands on some laced drugs and died. Such a shame. I hear he was quite the lay." The voice gave an evil laugh "You seem to have good tastes. I can't wait to sample your newest plaything. I will be sure to tell him you send your love." A movement to his left and the owner of the voice sits down on the edge of Jean's desk leaning onto one hand so he can recline lazily. "Maybe we will give your little freaky panda a bit of the same drug that had your cousin hooked. Maybe we will give him some of the laced drug in the end. I hear it can be quite… Painful."
Jean never looked up.
His body never betrayed his actions.
An onlooker would even go as far as to deny that Jean ever moved at all.
Just that the stupid fool was sitting on the edge of the desk gloating inches away from Jean's face and there was suddenly a knife embedded in the fool's hand so deep that even the hilt was cutting deep into the muscles of his flesh. The shocked look on the man's face would also cause the onlooker to think that he didn't see it coming either.
Still looking down at the picture, Jean's hand shot out and grabbed the fool's neck in a strangling hold and throws him down onto the desk sending the pictures flying to the floor, the sound of flesh ripping as the fool's hand was held in place by the knife while the rest of his body followed the force of moment. The end result was the fool's arm twisted at his side knife still embedded deeply into it sealing it to the wood and the rest of his body lying flat on the surface. Blood pooled around the mangled hand as the man howled in pain, the blood blending in so perfectly with the beautiful desk that the only way you could tell there was any blood at all was the papers trapped beneath the ruined hand were now stained crimson. The man's voice was cut off so suddenly that you would have thought that the hand keeping him down had constricted and silenced him.
But it wasn't the hand that had stopped the very breath of the fool.
Jean's head slowly rose from the picture still clutched in his hand and looked straight into the eyes of the fool.
Unholy rage filled Jean. Replacing the horror and fear for his beloved panda and it was all reflected in his eyes.
Such horrible eyes that had turned red with wrath, that seemed to roar out in fury and lash out devouring the fool's soul.
Stupid fool.
He was dead the moment he laid a hand on Jean's mate; it was just too bad that his body hadn't caught up yet. Because if it had then it wouldn't have had to suffer the last 4 hours of torture that Jean put it through, as he wrung out every single detail in exquisite, leisurely, and precise actions. The fool never stood a chance.