Moreau's Revenge - 001

[master_moreau]

Twelve men to take a single person into custody. To anyone else, it would have seemed like overkill, but these men were not here to collect any ordinary man. They were collecting Eliot Spencer. The mistake most people made in facing the Hitter of the Leverage team was in underestimating him. Even twelve men seemed too small a number. These men

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[distinctive_guy]

Eliot went along and pretended to stumble into the man when they started moving. While he grappled to catch himself, he used the excuse of reaching for something to hook his hands into the man's pockets, seeing if he can palm in the keys for the cuffs.

"Sorry, man. So sorry," he muttered, falling down to the ground and slipping the obtained keys into his pocket as he did so. Really, these guys were idiots.

[master_moreau]

Rolling his eyes, the Russian hoisted him to his feet, by his arm, pushing him forward again. The sooner they got on the jet, the better. They could leave this stinking country and get rid of the supposedly dangerous man. He didn't seem so tough. He couldn't even walk straight.

The jet was small, private, unmarked. The number on the tail likely a fake number taken from a different plane or falsified. It was small, the perfect type for getting in and out of private runways or short runways in backwater third world countries like this one.

[distinctive_guy]

"A private jet," Eliot observed, still keeping up the fool persona as he got manhandled up the ramps. "Who's fundin' the op? Looks like they have some big bucks." Getting shoved into a seat didn't dissuade him from digging information either. "Do they have wet bars up here? A little drink helps settle my nerves. Your boss' payin' right?"

It took a real amount of self control to not knock his captors unconscious as opportunity after opportunity presented itself, but at the end day, a little girl's life hung in balance and the precarious situation helped him control. So he smiled.

[master_moreau]

It didn't take long for Eliot's questions to get on the nerves of most of the Russians. Less than an hour into the flight they were ready to toss him out of the plane. The older Russian of the group decided he had had enough, and fished out one of the strong sedative darts they had brought along in case the target had had other ideas. With little concern for the other men on the plane he none-to-gently threw it, hitting the hitter in the side of the neck. At least with him out, they could get back to their card games. Whoever this guy really was, the sooner they got rid of him the better. He was someone else's problem.

[distinctive_guy]

"You know, it really wouldn't hurt--" Except yes it would, to whatever it was that Eliot wanted to say. It would hurt him, or so proven by the dart he found suddenly sticking out of his neck.

The damned Russians sedated him!

Eliot tried to fight off the drug but his world went fuzzy regardless of what he wanted. His eyelids drooped heavily regardless of his struggles until he decided it really wasn't worth fighting. He'll wake up when he will, there wasn't much he could do until then anyway. He passed out.