(no subject)
Somewhere in the deserts is a storage facility -- perhaps military-ish to the passer-by, but truly nothing of the sort. It's owned by Victor Drath, but no one could accuse him of such. He has quite a list of fake identities under which he conducts his business, and ownership of this and the lands around it falls under that category.
While it may look like a simple one- or two-story warehouse from the outside, underneath is a... bunker isn't quite the word. A labrynth, perhaps -- twists and turns of hallways extending for stories underground, with living areas and store rooms and prison cells -- one of which contains young Daniel Witwicky, if anyone thinks to look for him there.
In another room -- a well-furnished study, it looks like -- Victor Drath sits patiently at his desk, a wall of security cameras mounted before him. He takes a sip of some alcoholic substance before one of his men comes into the room.
"Y'gave me th' wrong drug," the lacky tells him. "The kid's wakin' up."
Drath turns to him, unamused. "No mistakes have been made, Dutch. It was a sedative. Give him another dosage in a few minutes."
Dutch blinks. "I thought you said you were gonna off th' brat."
"If I were to kill the boy, that would leave me with a body to hide, and short one bargaining chip." He takes another sip of the brandy. "I may still have a use for him yet. And if not, there are still profits to be made in other areas. No, I do believe I'll keep him alive."
"Yes, sir, mist'r Drath."
"And do make sure the area is properly cleaned up," Drath adds as his minion turns to leave. "We have guests coming, after all."
He chuckles.
While it may look like a simple one- or two-story warehouse from the outside, underneath is a... bunker isn't quite the word. A labrynth, perhaps -- twists and turns of hallways extending for stories underground, with living areas and store rooms and prison cells -- one of which contains young Daniel Witwicky, if anyone thinks to look for him there.
In another room -- a well-furnished study, it looks like -- Victor Drath sits patiently at his desk, a wall of security cameras mounted before him. He takes a sip of some alcoholic substance before one of his men comes into the room.
"Y'gave me th' wrong drug," the lacky tells him. "The kid's wakin' up."
Drath turns to him, unamused. "No mistakes have been made, Dutch. It was a sedative. Give him another dosage in a few minutes."
Dutch blinks. "I thought you said you were gonna off th' brat."
"If I were to kill the boy, that would leave me with a body to hide, and short one bargaining chip." He takes another sip of the brandy. "I may still have a use for him yet. And if not, there are still profits to be made in other areas. No, I do believe I'll keep him alive."
"Yes, sir, mist'r Drath."
"And do make sure the area is properly cleaned up," Drath adds as his minion turns to leave. "We have guests coming, after all."
He chuckles.