Assassin
This is an au that popped into my head. I believe I stole the initial premise from a Dennis Hopper movie, and the thing about being shut in from recent newspaper articles about communicating with coma patients. There may be more, but it's pretty much a self-contained snippet.
Warnings: au, medical coma, possible claustrophobia/ pyrophobia triggers
Rating: pg13
Word count 500
Assassin
"You're a dead man."
The voice was velvet in the darkness. He tried to turn, to see...
"Don't. I'm entirely serious about you being a dead man, I'm afraid. Someone paid me a great deal of money to kill you."
He struggled but nothing worked...
"And I'm rather expensive. And rather good, of course. Whoever wants you dead also wants you to suffer. It's an impressively clever scheme, actually."
He couldn't breathe, couldn't blink...
"The drug I injected you with has made you locked in. You're paralysed, as you've no doubt realised. You look dead. You shouldn't pass a post mortem examination of course, but I gather a lot of interesting people have been bribed to expedite the disposal of your remains. You'll be cremated in a day or two, paralysed but quite awake and aware. The person paying really hates you, it seems."
He struggled, panicked, but nothing moved, nothing worked. He couldn't so much as blink. Please, god, don't let me die, not like that, not like this...
"Ah. Good. Your brain lit up like a firework at that thought, how interesting. So. We have established that you are dead. It appears that you aren't ready to go. And I am... Curious. Why you? I researched you, you're a very boring little man. And why like this? My commission was very specific and very anonymous. Curious. So I have a proposition for you. You're a dead man: your old life is over. If you agree, I'll keep you. You can stay alive, but you belong to me. You'll do exactly what I tell you, when I tell you. You'll be my property, absolutely, to do with as I please. Think about it."
If he could tap his finger, blink his eyes, take a breath...
"No, that's no use, that's just panic. You're wired up. Concentrate. You have exactly one chance. Death, or becoming property. If you'd rather live, imagine you're playing a game of tennis... No? Hmmm. Working class hero, are we? Probably never played a game of tennis in your life. All right. Stop panicking and think. This is it. If you agree to my terms, imagine yourself stripping and cleaning a rifle."
Let me live, he thought. He imagined the rifle under his hands, the feel of it, stripping it down, the smell of the oil...
"Oh, excellent. Good. You intrigue me, John Watson. I shall enjoy discovering what makes you tick. Now, if I'm going to be paid you're still going to have to be dead, but don't worry. I'll steal your corpse before the cremation. See you in a few days. Oh, and we haven't been introduced, have we? My name is Sherlock Holmes."
Warnings: au, medical coma, possible claustrophobia/ pyrophobia triggers
Rating: pg13
Word count 500
Assassin
"You're a dead man."
The voice was velvet in the darkness. He tried to turn, to see...
"Don't. I'm entirely serious about you being a dead man, I'm afraid. Someone paid me a great deal of money to kill you."
He struggled but nothing worked...
"And I'm rather expensive. And rather good, of course. Whoever wants you dead also wants you to suffer. It's an impressively clever scheme, actually."
He couldn't breathe, couldn't blink...
"The drug I injected you with has made you locked in. You're paralysed, as you've no doubt realised. You look dead. You shouldn't pass a post mortem examination of course, but I gather a lot of interesting people have been bribed to expedite the disposal of your remains. You'll be cremated in a day or two, paralysed but quite awake and aware. The person paying really hates you, it seems."
He struggled, panicked, but nothing moved, nothing worked. He couldn't so much as blink. Please, god, don't let me die, not like that, not like this...
"Ah. Good. Your brain lit up like a firework at that thought, how interesting. So. We have established that you are dead. It appears that you aren't ready to go. And I am... Curious. Why you? I researched you, you're a very boring little man. And why like this? My commission was very specific and very anonymous. Curious. So I have a proposition for you. You're a dead man: your old life is over. If you agree, I'll keep you. You can stay alive, but you belong to me. You'll do exactly what I tell you, when I tell you. You'll be my property, absolutely, to do with as I please. Think about it."
If he could tap his finger, blink his eyes, take a breath...
"No, that's no use, that's just panic. You're wired up. Concentrate. You have exactly one chance. Death, or becoming property. If you'd rather live, imagine you're playing a game of tennis... No? Hmmm. Working class hero, are we? Probably never played a game of tennis in your life. All right. Stop panicking and think. This is it. If you agree to my terms, imagine yourself stripping and cleaning a rifle."
Let me live, he thought. He imagined the rifle under his hands, the feel of it, stripping it down, the smell of the oil...
"Oh, excellent. Good. You intrigue me, John Watson. I shall enjoy discovering what makes you tick. Now, if I'm going to be paid you're still going to have to be dead, but don't worry. I'll steal your corpse before the cremation. See you in a few days. Oh, and we haven't been introduced, have we? My name is Sherlock Holmes."