A Writer's Proclivity

Story Interrupted, College Time!

Tue, 06 Oct 2009 19:41:27 GMT

Hi to everyone who visits my modest blog. I haven't finished the new chapter for my fanfic quite yet and school is getting in the way of that. Still, wanted to share a little treat I found while searching for my textbooks online. Maybe you've heard of Chegg.com but I never knew until yesterday. Instead of buying the books you rent them and can even sell or donate your own unused ones.
They also boast that a tree is planted for every book you rent, sell, or donate. Who knows if it's true but it's kinda cool. :)

I know a few of you are going to school presently or have at least done so in the past so here's a promo code to use if you like:

CC105716

And why not a little hyperlink too! Hee hee

www.chegg.com

Know Choice --- Chapter Three

Wed, 06 Aug 2008 03:49:59 GMT

Chapter Three

The door knob rattled in her hand prompting Sydney to step back. Someone wanted in, and as it was highly unlikely to be either Sark or her Dad, she needed to come up with a plan. There was no other way into this room from either above or below so that left her only one rational option; lie in wait.
Sydney moved to the left of the door moments before it opened slowly inward. A man questioningly said ‘hello’ and inched cautiously over the threshold.
Throwing her 5’ 8” frame against the door with everything she had, Sydney crushed ‘Mister Someone’ into the door jamb. Encouraged when she heard no gunshots, only a painful moan, she eased off and quickly maneuvered to the other side.
The man stumbled back in a short-lived daze and dropped something that scattered over the floor as soon as it hit. Emergency track lights on either side of the server room flickered on.

“I thought you were Pete or-” The man carefully put a hand to the side of his head and inhaled sharply. Judging by his clothes he was a computer technician.

Sydney knew there was no conning her way out of this. Still, she decided to be as personable as possible. “Sorry about that. I didn’t know anyone else was working down here.”

The tech wavered on his feet, “Who are you? Are you to blame for the blackout?”

“You better sit down before you pass out.” She walked away from him to an indented wall panel to the left of the workroom doors.

“If you’re looking for a way to bypass the lockdown, you’re out of luck…we’re both trapped in here until a security detail arrives.” He added and slumped against the side of a sever.

Sydney succeeded in removing the panel and scrutinized the layout. “You’re right about one thing. The answer isn’t in here.” She scanned the servers then the floor. “It’s cool in here though. The temperature is still being regulated for these servers.” Immediately, she crouched and ran her hands over the top of a vent tile. “You know the layout under here?”
The man didn’t answer and Sydney glanced up to find him sitting with his back against the server wall, unconscious.
She sighed loudly and brought her attention back to the floor. Sticking her fingertips into several holes, she lifted the tile and peered inside.
Might work well as a hiding place but there weren’t any obvious exits. She hopped down into a crouch and slid the tile back into place above her.
There was no way to know what was happening in the main ballroom above. Her comm was dead quiet and only her father could reestablish the link.

“Maeve, what is your status?”

Sark! Sydney’s hand flew to her comm, “I’m trapped in the server room. What’s going on?”

“Position yourself close to the main door but out of sight. Security will be there in precisely one minute.”

Sydney crawled to the opposite side of the room where the only other entrance (beside the one she used) was located. She knew those double doors opened into a check-point room for an exclusive elevator. The only reason they hadn’t used that way in was because they didn’t have the resources to establish an alias that would effectively bypass all security measures. Sark couldn’t possibly be thinking she could make a clean escape that way.
A slight clicking noise signaled the release of magnetic locks and Sydney pushed herself as flat as she could against the concrete below the door. Five people entered, two split off right and left to tactically sweep the room while one secured the door.
“Two against four?” The man said softly.

Sydney stared up at Sark’s feet, speechless.

Someone shouted ‘Clear!’ by the workroom doors and Sark walked quickly to meet the four of them.
“What’s he doing here?” Sark said in a clear American accent, evidently referring to the unconscious technician. “You two, take him to the elevator.”

The men responded, carrying out the limp body without questioning whether it was right to move him at all. Sydney waited until the double doors closed before she pushed off the closest tile and pulled herself up. Moving quickly and stealthily, she flanked the two other men. Sark looked up in mock surprise before knocking out the closest man with a deft chop to the neck.
Sydney disarmed the other with a kick, laid him out with a backhanded fist, and turned to face who came up behind her. Sark was at her side, wielding the same black nightstick the other two aimed at her. Without missing a beat, they both made short work of the guards and Sydney retrieved one of weapons.
Sark wordlessly tossed the weapon, walked quickly past the servers and through the double doors leaving Sydney to jog after him. He was already in the elevator pushing a button before she’d crossed the room. She slipped in as the doors closed and threw him a withering look. His eyes were flat blue-grey, his mouth set in a thin frown.

“What happened?” Sydney asked.

“The entire building is locked down but if we’re lucky the ballroom patrons will still be causing enough of a distraction for us to escape. Your father will meet us outside.”

When the elevator car didn’t move, Sydney reached past him to jab the button again. “What can I expect-”

“Don’t ask questions. Just follow me.”

“Damn it, Sark. Is there another security detail waiting?”

“It stands to reason there would be.”

Sydney stared at him incredulously. Her eyes narrowed, “Are you pouting? This is you pouting, isn’t it? What? Because you had to come get me?” She blew out a breath in imitation of an exasperated teenager.

“You took too long a time.” Sark stated calmly, eyes straight ahead.

“Well for the record, I didn’t ask for your help. I never do.”

The car shuddered in a needless reminder of their lack of movement. This time Sark jammed a thumb against the button but looked up to assess how they might access the elevator shaft.
“You picked a great time for an argument.”

“Give me a leg up.” She snapped. He complied and pushed her close enough to a ceiling hatch for her to push it open. “Guess it’s lucky I’m dressed for this.” She muttered. With both hands firmly gripping the edge of the hatchway, Sydney pulled herself up. The shaft was lit well enough to see the built in wall ladders running up either side.
When she stood Sark took that as his cue to join her. He sprang up like a cat, securing his grasp of the hatchway edge on the first try.

Sydney waited for him to pull himself through before she went to the closest ladder. She looked back, innocently imploring, “Oh, do you need any help?”

Sark gave a death-by-sugar smile, “I’ve got it. Thank you.”

In a matter of minutes they scaled the wall and passed the first inner shaft doors.

“Pity you’re no longer wearing a gown.” Sark said from below. “It was lovely on you.”

Sydney ignored the innuendo and continued up until she found what she was hoping for. “Nah, hope is too strong a word.”

“What’s that?”

“Nothing important.” She groped for the mini flashlight tucked in her waistband.

“Why have you stopped? We should go up at least two more levels.”

“I’ve got a shortcut. Possibly.” She added under her breath.

“What is that? An air duct?”

Imitating him, Sydney said tauntingly, “Tsk, tsk. You’re asking questions when you should be following me.”

Sark muttered something about her attempt at an English accent and moved to take her place.

“The air seem musty in here to you?” Sydney asked, once they had crawled down several yards into a wider cross section.

Sark came out beside her, looking adorably miserable. His mussed up hair and rumpled suit almost made Sydney smile but she held herself in check.

“A bit musty, yes.” He seemed to be scrutinizing the other vent openings. “This ventilation system… why are all the ducts so large?” He wondered aloud, looking pensive.

“Doesn’t look right, does it? Let’s go back while we can.”

“No. We’ve wasted enough time already. To the left.” Sark took the lead and for once Sydney followed without a word.
Several minutes later, Sark signaled for silence and they zeroed in on a large vent. The limited view showed a brightly lit and carpeted hallway. Not a soul passed by as they waited nor did a sound hint as to their exact location.

Without any proper tools for removing the vent cover, Sark leaned back into Sydney’s lap and kicked out with both feet. Again and again his feet shot out until the cover contorted and finally gave way. With what could have been his final mistake, Sark crawled out and straightened up. Since there were no resounding gunshots, Sydney followed a moment later. She glanced up and down the long hall while Sark absently dusted off his utterly ruined suit.

“You alright?” Sydney watched the deep wrinkles move back into place after his repeated ministrations.

“Let’s not do that again. Time to -” Sark’s demeanor snapped into instant response as a group of men rounded the closest corner. He lunged in front of Sydney and knocked out one man with his own weapon before the others struck Sark from either side with their batons.
Sydney wrenched the arm of one attacker until his baton dropped and pushed him into the other two. The man’s body splayed in a violent spasm, his momentum taking another with him into the wall, and both were knocked out cold. Sydney attempted to disarm the last man but as she twisted his arm the tip of the baton grazed his side. He too shook violently and fell like a sack of potatoes. Realization dawned too slowly for her…Sark hadn’t moved.
She spun and knelt beside him, said his name. There was one large wound on his side that she could see clearly since the blow or shock (or whatever) had burned through his jacket and shirt. The revealed skin was pockmarked with a dozen or more dime-size burns that varied in color from fiery red to sickly yellow.
Sark’s eyes were open and he blinked in an exaggerated manner.

“Can you hear me? I can’t carry you out of here, Sark.” She said quietly, her ears alert for possible reinforcements. Another blink. “Okay.” She pulled him up against her partway, her arms encircling his chest above the wound. His head bobbed against her abdomen as she dragged him down the hall.

“Uom” Sark struggled to speak. “In-e-ine”

She ambled down the hall with her mumbling burden and turned left the first chance she got. Luckily, no one was waiting for them and she continued on, thinking she had to find a way back to the ballroom.

“Eighty-nine.” Sark sounded out, roughly. “Room.”

“But what floor?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Immediately, Sydney glanced at the doors she was passing by.
‘S124, S116, S108,…’
The pattern hiccupped with blue door number S89 and she pushed it open with her backside.

Sydney didn’t attempt to get Sark onto the single stainless steel table. Instead she left him beside it to search the cabinets for something that might counteract his sudden paralysis. The room was a small but very well-stocked emergency/first-aid post. In a little under one minute she found a ready-to-use epinephrine shot and reached for it on impulse. She kept combing through the cabinet hoping for something specific to his problem to jump out at her.
Sark croaked out her name, which immediately prompted her to hear the voices and hurried footsteps from the hall. Too close for comfort. Too close for any escape leading out the only door.
Thinking quick; she rushed to drag him to yet another vent and pried it open deftly. Her heart pounded loudly, her breathing was quick and deep, every shuffle and shout from beyond the blue door amplified. She backed into the vent on her knees and dragged Sark by his ankles, hips, and then shoulders until he was fully beneath her inside the vent shaft.
Sydney stretched to grab hold of the vent cover and tightly placed it back into position. Subsequently she bumped her head when she straightened up too high and flattened herself so fast that Sark got a nice head butt to the forehead.
He grunted and Sydney shushed him with a finger as the blue door swung open.

Several people streamed in, two for every immobile person they carried. Sydney recognized all four men from the incident in the hallway. They were still unconscious it seemed but as she continued watching only one was laid out on the table. The others were quickly and somberly wrapped in thick linen sheets by their comrades, most of whom left straightaway. Out of the five still standing around only one person stood out, a woman dressed too casually for a guard or a party guest. Her platinum blond hair, choppy and short, suited her even as it mocked the serious ambiance. Her wiry body leaned over the wounded man and checked his pupils in a practiced manner.

“Is the injection ready?” She straightened and looked to the man on her immediate left. Her voice was so vaguely European it seemed forced. “He’ll only need a regular dose.”

The man beside her said nothing but filled a tiny syringe with one short pull from a translucent brown ampoule.

As the woman prepared the patient’s arm for the injection, Sydney watched where the little brown ampoule was put away. She smiled inwardly at her lucky break and looked down at Sark.

His eyes were closed but she still felt his warm breath against her face. A light little shake of his chin gave her no response. She leaned in close, bringing her mouth right against his ear, whispered a few words and lifted her head.
His eyes opened. Good.
At first, she was glad to see he was still conscious but as she stared back into his unblinking stare she grew worried. Something was wrong.
She put a cool hand against his forehead and tried her best to assure him with a look. She glanced at the people now moving about the room.
They were setting up a gurney to move the patient who murmured to the woman beside him. In seconds they had him transferred to the gurney and began wheeling him out slowly.

“Your turn.” Sydney said as soon as the door closed. She pulled Sark out of the vent, retrieved one of the brown ampoules from a tall cabinet and kneeled beside him. Laying out his arm Sydney saw that he was burned and bruised there also.
The wounds were so strange that she started second-guessing her original assumption that he’d been hit with a Taser.

To her left, the blue door opened and the fair-haired woman stopped awkwardly in mid-stride. “What are you doing in here?”

Sydney started forward but the woman held up her hands whispering ‘wait, wait’.

“Stupid question. Sorry.” The woman shut the door firmly behind her. “He’s been hit, yes? I can help.”

Her brow furrowed, Sydney nodded but moved to stand with a clear view of the door and the woman as she went to the cabinet for another brown ampoule.

“I told him to take the elevator back up.” The woman mumbled and tapped the examining table. “We’ll need him up here.” Off Sydney’s quizzical look, the young doctor attempted a smile that turned out like a grimace. “You might say I owe him one. Just one.” She added forcefully.

Sydney nodded again and they got Sark up on the table together.

“You don’t have much time.”

“No kidding.” Sydney handed her the syringe, having expertly pocketed the ampoule she’d originally retrieved.

“I suggest we bag him.” The doctor stated plainly as she injected the medicine at three specific points in Sark’s wounds. “He’ll not come round for at least thirty minutes.”

“And me?”

“Cross your fingers and hope no one stops us.”

Sydney schooled her features, she didn’t like this supposed doctor.

Minutes later, they pushed through the only exit each carrying one end of a body bag. The quiet hallway made her uncomfortable and she held her breath as they rounded a corner. Neither spoke but moved as fast a possible with their shared burden.
Once inside a freight elevator they set the bag down for a short break.

“Where does this go?”

The doctor, her back to Sydney, inserted a fat little key into the elevator’s button panel and selected the lowest floor.
“I don’t believe we’ll ever meet again so I have a question for the infamous Sydney Bristow.” She turned her cool green eyes on the baffled agent.
“What was it that changed your mind?”

“Regarding what?”

The woman glanced down tellingly at the still body bag between them.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Not a fan and definitely not a friend. But he thinks something of you. Enough to make me curious.”

“Well you can stay curious for all I care.”

“Fair enough.” The elevator chimed their arrival to the basement floor. They took hold of the bag once more and shuffled into a small parking garage only to be confronted the instant the elevator doors closed.

The sight made Sydney’s heart catch in her throat.

“Thank you, Doctor.” A man said, eyes locked on Sydney. The young woman, taking her cue to leave, dropped her side of the load with a thud.

Sydney still held tight, the thick plastic an anchor amidst the rage that knifed her insides and a sorrow that burned behind her eyes.

“Hi Syd.” Agent of the CIA and her former lover, Michael Vaughn, quirked a grin she used to adore.
She couldn’t speak, she wasn’t ready for a confrontation yet. Especially because she still had plenty of circumstantial evidence and no irrefutable facts.

“It’s pretty crazy upstairs.. thanks to Jack?” He glanced at her death grip of the body bag. “Come on, Syd. Talk to me.”

“I need to get out of here.”

“What’s going on? They’re saying you’ve been coerced, but I know better.” He paused, looked worriedly at the bag. “You know you can trust me, Syd. I’m not CIA right now, I’m just-”

“Vaughn. This isn’t the place.”

His brow furrowed and he sighed theatrically, then nodded and picked up the other side of the body bag. “Geez. Should I even ask?”

“It’s Sark. We can’t afford to leave him here. Dead or otherwise.”

“Agreed. We can take one of these vehicles.” They ambled to the closest sedan and broke in. Sydney left Vaughn to load Sark in the back while she fished out a screwdriver to manually turn the ignition switch. Thankfully it was as easy as that.
Sydney popped the trunk which prompted Vaughn to ask if she wanted Sark there instead. She joined him by the still open back door and leaned into the backseat to fully unzip the body bag.

“What are you looking for?”

Her fingers wrapped around Sark’s clutch piece, warm and light in her hand. She drew it on Vaughn, “Weapons out. You know how.”

Vaughn complied, with no little protest, by using only two fingers to slowly pull out the pistol. “Don’t do this, Sydney.”

“Toss it and get in the trunk.”

Funniest Thing I've Ever Seen (Warning:Harsh Lanuage)

Thu, 13 Mar 2008 09:36:45 GMT

Know Choice --- Chapter Two

Mon, 03 Mar 2008 22:32:24 GMT

Chapter Two

It was another contact of her father’s that had set them up for the night after a short meeting just outside of town. In Sydney’s opinion, the safe house in Sekondi-Takoradi is much more comfortable than its outer appearance suggests. Fully furnished bedrooms, a sizable living area, and quaint corner kitchenette. He’d even provided dinner which was warming in the oven when they’d arrived. She hadn’t realized how ravenous she’d been until the sweet smelling kontomire stew was in front of her.

Pleasantly satiated, Sydney settles back into the corner couch between Sark and Jack. What an odd picture this would make. All three of them side-by-side; Jack attempting to sit up straight in the deep cushions, Sark wiping a napkin across one hand, and Sydney looking like she could fall asleep at any moment.

Jack stands, under guise of clearing the table of leftovers. “There’s much to discuss. But we should rest up for-”

“I would really like to take care of everything now.” Sydney interrupts. “You haven’t mentioned if you were successful in Peloponnese.”

“I was. I found her.” Jack carries the pot into the kitchenette and sets it on the stove.

Sark sits up and removes his jacket. “I’m far more interested in your story, Sydney.” He says, laying the jacket across the back of the couch, “You’ve more than the CIA after you now.”

Sydney watches her father cross the room, “I was amazed it only took me a few hours. Addae wasted no time in getting what we needed.”

“He’s wanted to meet you for some time. I expect he was trying to make a good impression.”

“He did. Everything was on location before I left Accra that afternoon.” She looks at her hands for a moment. “Then I got a call from an unknown number which I’d assumed was you.”

<Riiiing, Riiiing, Riiiing>

Sydney braced the steering wheel with one hand and dug the other into her jacket pocket. She flipped open her phone as she raised it to her ear.

“Yes?”

A man, not her father, replied. “Ms Bristow, no one told me you‘d be so obliging. Quite the opposite actually.”

“Who is this?”

“Just listen, my dear. There’ll be plenty of time for questions later.”

“How did you get this number?”

“My source is obvious, is it not? But don’t worry, your father is doing just fine now.”

“What are you-”

“He’s a slow learner, though. It took him hours to understand the simple concept of answers equal no pain.”

“You’re bluffing. You can’t have-”

“Sydney!” Her father’s voice rang out from the background of wherever the caller was. “Don’t play his game. Get out! Don’t listen -” His words, muffled, faded into silence.

The unknown man’s voice came back with a chuckle. “Pull onto the shoulder.”

Sydney focused on her rear view mirror immediately. An ambulance, about two car lengths away, began to speed up.

“Now, my dear. I don’t enjoy repeating myself.”

Sydney slowed but took her time pulling over. “What do you want from us?”

“It’s just you I’m after, sweet Sydney. As for the ‘what‘, that will be made clear later.”

Before her car had finished rolling onto the road’s shoulder, a man and woman hopped out of the ambulance. Both wore identical plain navy blue jumpsuits yet only the man wore it like he was used to it.

“Hands, Ms. Bristow!” The man shouted as he came closer.

Sydney got out of the car with hands half heartedly up by her head. “You’ve got me. Let my father go.”
The words had barely left her lips when something struck her in the side. Her gaze flicked to the woman, who lowered a bulky looking tranq gun, before everything went dark.
She felt her body crumple under its own weight, like a marionette when its strings are cut.

“What’d you do that for?”

Gravel crunched underfoot; One, two, three, four steps. A woman‘s voice spoke in hushed Japanese. “Listen for him.”

“Now what are you doing?” The man said close by.

The unnamed woman spoke up, her English heavily accented with the Orient, “Shut up n’ carry.”

Hands gripped and tugged, “This wouldn’t be necessary if you hadn’t…just…gone and…oh screw this.”
A pinching in her neck and shoulders started to fade just after she registered the loss of her sandals.

Present

“I didn’t hear much until later. There were no questions directed toward me. Just names. Nothing they said made much sense at the time and I still can’t figure out what they were trying to do.”

Jack nods, “The little we were able to glean before Sark went in, told us you were in surgery for the first 10 hours.”

On impulse, Sydney places a hand gingerly against the side of her lower abdomen. “For what? What was done?”

“I attempted to ascertain just that before I made my way to your room.” Sark jumps in. “If there are any records, they’re not accessible electronically.”

“Were any of the names they stated familiar to you?” Jack shakes out a large fleece throw from it’s folded shape and drapes it around his daughter’s shoulders.

“Thanks…they named off almost everyone I know but there were a few names I didn‘t recognize.” Sydney shivers then tucks her feet beneath her as she repositions on the couch.

“Who?” Sark asks.

“Erica Gao, André Michaux, and Tomas Kane. They repeated his name a few times.”

Sark looks about to say something more when Jack changes the subject.

“This surgery, or whatever it was, could very well be what has led to these symptoms.”

Sydney laughs, “Symptoms? I’m tired, that’s all.”

“It’s more than that. You lost consciousness on the ride here.”

“I don’t-”

“-remember. I know. Sark says this also happened after leaving the facility earlier. Couple that with the headaches and chills…”

“Since when are you two so friendly?”

Seconds pass in silence as Jack registers the sharp change in topic. “What are you-”

Sydney stood up and backed away from them, wary. “No. I’m asking the questions. You two have been working together. Why? I want to know why he’s even here.”

Jack took on a look of confusion and disbelief, “What? For yesterday, you mean?”

Her eyes narrowed, “Of all the people you have access to, all the favors you could call in-”

“We’ve discussed all this before. We were pressed for time.”

“Are you kidding me?! I bet I‘m just conveniently forgetting that too.”

Sternly, Jack attempts to cut the argument short, “Sydney, listen to yourself. You’re not making any sense.”

“Do you-” Breathing shallow, she stops abruptly and puts a hand to her forehead. “Sark? Could you get me some water?”

Sark hesitates for a moment but without a word moves to do as she asks.

“Maybe you should-” Jack begins but Sydney is already returning to the couch. He cautiously approaches her from the side. “A headache?”

“Why him?” She asks again, head still in her hands and eyes closed.

Her father, apparently deciding to placate her, quietly responds, “Because he’s made this personal.”

Using her hands to shield the light from her eyes, Sydney slides her father a sidelong look. “What is that supposed to mean?

“Your water.”

Sydney immediately regrets the involuntary glance up at Sark. His head just barely covering the edge of the harsh yellow light from an overhead bulb.

“I’ll get the light.” Jack says on his way across the room.

“No. It’s ok.” Sydney dismiss with a gesture. “I’ll just try and get some sleep.” She stands carefully and reaches for the proffered glass of water. For a long moment the exposed skin of Sark’s forearm catches her eye. His smooth, pale skin is subtly marred by a jagged and puffy shape. Compelled, Sydney grasps his wrist and gently turns his hand palm up.
Several small puncture marks grouped close together.
Trigger thrown, Sydney remembers…laughter.

“You find this comical?” Sark continued furiously wiping the sole of his dress shoe against a patch of wet grass. “Of course you do.”

“Hurry up.” Sydney ordered and bit back a lingering smile while her colleague muttered something about Italian leather. “And do try to be professional, Julian.”

He walked up beside her as she gazed past the courtyard to the mansion entrance. They linked arms, Sark refusing to move until Sydney deigned to meet his eyes. “Think you can do this without chatting up every man in the room?” Without waiting for an answer Sark strode forward, dragging her along with him.

“No, I don’t.” She replied sarcastically.

“Just remember who’s taking you home.”

She held up the hem of her gown as they ascended the front steps, “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

Sark smiled despite himself.

Sydney didn‘t miss the crack in his usual façade of apathy; it had her smiling too. “Perverted freak.”

The large stone mansion was bustling with life and music once they cleared the foray. Sydney had never been to such an extravagant affair. And that was saying something. Her gaze swept over the massive ballroom brimming with royalty and other political juggernauts.
They continued down more stairs to the ballroom floor. Wordlessly they motioned through the formal invitation and acceptance to dance. Sark took her hand and Sydney moved in close. Together they merged into the crowd with a slow waltz, each surveying the people around them for their respective targets.

“I see McVee; table three, northwest corner.”

“Good. Is he alone?” Jack Bristow’s disembodied voice sounded through their comms.

“For the moment.” She said noting a few half empty drinks at other placements at the same table.

“Don’t move on him until you’ve located Klien. If he IDs you-”

“Yes, thank you, we have done this before.” Sark drawled as he continued leading Sydney across the floor.

“Top of the stairs by the entrance.” Sydney said under her breath.

Sark discreetly spun them around so that he could view the entrance. “The pudgy one, are you sure?”

“Yes, that’s Dietrich Klien.” Syd caught Sark’s frown as he continued to scrutinize the man. “What?”

“I know him. He‘ll recognize me.” His face became unreadable again. “Incidentally that’ll make things easier.”

“Base, what should we do?” She asked.

“This changes nothing. Both of you get moving.”

Sark twirled her out of his arms and bowed slightly to kiss Syd’s hand. “See you downstairs.” With a wink at her bewildered expression he made a beeline for Mr. Klien.

“Dad, I don’t like this.”

“He’ll be fine...I’ll keep an eye on him. Now complete your objective.”

Did he think she was worried about Klien or Sark? Sydney pressed her lips into a line and turned away. Her target was still sitting alone and nursing a glass of red wine when she sat beside him. “Excuse me, are you David? David McVee?”

The man turned in surprise, “What? Oh, yes, I am. You must be Anita?” He smiled and shook her hand. “Sorry, I was so caught up in my er… thoughts.”

“That’s quite alright. I hope you weren’t waiting long.” Syd said, playing into his mistaken identity of her.

“Well..” He began with a chuckle, “The others have only been here thirty minutes and already…”

Sydney appeared to listen politely as McVee continued on even with her father’s voice in her ear.

“That’s great, hold that position for as long as you can.”

Seconds ticked by in idle chit-chat with Sydney wishing she could afford a quick scan of the entrance…for curiosity’s sake, of course. She knew exactly what Sark had meant by it being easier with Mr. Klien knowing his identity. There would be no need for pretense of the kind Sydney engaged in now. Last week’s ‘missions’ opened her eyes to how Sark truly preferred to work. Ease equaled efficiency; getting the job done without entangling oneself in disguises and unnecessary contact with others.
Mr. Klien was most certainly dead by now. He couldn’t be allowed to inform the CIA of their actions.

“Scanning complete. Uploading to your PDA now.”

Sydney brought a hand to her lap, slipping a finger beneath the embroidered waistband of her gown. She then glanced down, startled before looking down to either side of her.

“What is it, Anita?” McVee asked.

“My bag, I must’ve left it somewhere.” Sydney stood; looking worried and speaking fast. “I’m sorry. I must find it. I’ll be back.” She touched his shoulder gently, leaving behind a small tracer.

McVee nodded emphatically, “Of course, of course.”

Moving quickly through those people gathered at the outer edge of the dance floor, Sydney eyed a staircase leading to the restrooms. “On my way. What’s Kitten’s status?”

“On schedule, you’re clear to the lift.”

Without losing her momentum; Sydney entered the last restroom and locked herself in. It was quite the decadent washroom with dark marble floors and a personal vanity table. But Syd had little time to take it all in with greater detail. She used the vanity’s stool to reach a high vent and removed the cover. Within was the traveling pack her father had placed there the prior day while disguised as part of a maintenance crew. Quickly, she slipped out of the gown and into a black cotton jumpsuit.

With the gown inside, she secured the cloth pack across her back and chest like a sash.
“I’m at the first door.”

“Shrimp.”

She moved to a service door concealed as part of the wall in the far right corner. It was half the size of a normal door and indented inward when she pushed against it to slide it into the side wall. Sydney crawled inside and closed the door behind her.
She was now in a cramped corridor that ran several meters to her right. Thick iron pipes ran overhead forcing her to duck down as she weaved past service ladders every two meters or so. She counted them as she went and stopped at number five.
“Coming up on second door.” As she descended the built-in cast iron ladder the constantly circulating air had her unbound hair whirling in all directions.

“You’re good on time. Pace yourself.”

Ten feet down, a small access hatch was accessible to the left and right while the ladder continued through a dark recess in the concrete floor. Sydney opened the hatch to her right and pulled herself into the adjoining alcove. She dropped down to the floor, retrieved her mini-light, and took in her surroundings.

“God, this place is ridiculous… I’m in position.” She removed a small panel from the multi-paneled wall in front of her and opened a small pocket next to her shoulder in the sash pack. Pulling out a few small tools she went to work on the wiring within. After a few minutes Sydney said, “Patch is ready.”

“Copy. Standby.”

Sydney waited with tools still in hand until Jack’s monotone drummed in her ear.

“Excellent. Surveillance pinpointed and neutralized. You have sixty seconds.”

She put her tools and mini-light into the pack before climbing back out into the ladder shaft. With the lower recess now lit brightly, Sydney slid the rest of the way down the ladder. As soon as she hit the pavement below she spun around and slapped the pressure plate. The only door slid aside and she rushed in.

“I made it.” Sydney scanned the large white room. The ceiling and floor were ventilated for the benefit of several large servers in the center of the room.

“Good. One of the adjoining workrooms at the far end of the room should be accessible. ‘Kitten’ assures me it is.”

Sydney walked around to the opposite side of where she came in. Three unremarkable doors were evenly placed along the wall. She tried the first door on the left, locked. “How am I on time?”

“McVee is still in the main hall…”

Sydney jiggled the middle door’s handle and found it locked as well.

“…but I’ll not be able to alert you while you’re in the workroom…”

Sydney stopped beside the third door, “It’s always the last one.” She mumbled.

“Concentrate on getting only what we need and be quick as you can.”

“I will. Going radio silent.” She pushed open the thin door and stepped inside.

“Good L--” Her father’s last words fizzled out when the door closed behind her.

Her pulse quickened as she sat in front of a whisper thin computer monitor and keyboard. With the access codes they obtained earlier that week, Sydney navigated through various levels of security.
It took a few minutes to locate the files and she began scanning them for anything relevant. Almost immediately she found her name but it was nothing new. She scanned through the document for a specific name in conjunction with her own.

[December 5th, 2002] ‘With the loss of her fiancée and the exceptional stress…breaking point... need for normalcy... manipulation... indicates extreme resistance if not complete immunity to conventional brainwashing techniques... opportunity for deep cover...In such an event, Sydney Bristow’s attachment and attraction to Agent Michael Vaughn, if properly nurtured into romance, could be utilized as a means to securing her loyalty. Jack Bristow might also be a good candidate but his true loyalties are elusive when in session.’

This was it. Now she had to find the specifics.

[March 12th, 2003] ‘Current intelligence regarding the so called Covenant is scarce but most certainly disturbing in its subtlety...proactive action be taken regarding infiltration and subsequent implosion...instruction to primary only through P2P contact and no distinguishing call sign will be used.’

Sydney continued her intense search. The only sound in the room being that of her fingers as they tapped and moved across the touchpad mouse.

[April 28th, 2003] ‘Request green on final operation specifics... primary has placed passive tracer... player should be intercepted within the next week. Dr. Barnett suggests Agent Jack Bristow’s role as player’s handler be reconsidered... Primary will be available upon target’s reintegration into the Agency.’

Sydney scanned the next document but found nothing. She glanced at the computer’s time display, “Damn it.” She hissed. She opened a series of files just as a tremor went through the building above her. On reflex she glanced up… An explosion? It was time to leave.
She glanced back at the monitor in a moment of hesitation. The words jumped out in sizzling black and white.

‘Julian Sark…’

Against her better judgment she quickly read the first few sentences of the paragraph.

[June 20th, 2004] '...has been considered an unverifiable match for Rambaldi prediction seventy-four. Tablet rubbings acquired by our Covenant operative show the poem in its entirety and were sent to the facility in Ghana. Sark’s psychological tests confirm a peculiar similarity to the four people depicted in the writing and have led our experts to theorize that Rambaldi’s verses are not to be taken literal.’

The monitor suddenly goes black followed by the entire room becoming dark. Sydney hops up and leans into the door.
Locked in.

FIRE BAAAAAD!

Thu, 15 Nov 2007 05:58:22 GMT

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Alias Fanfic: "Know Choice" Sarkney

Wed, 03 Oct 2007 22:36:05 GMT

Title: Know Choice (WIP)
Author: agentonyx
Author's Note: Post-Season Three, alternate universe going forward. As to what has happened since last episode of third season, details will manifest as story goes. Comments and helpful suggestions are yearned for!
This is also being posted on sd-1.net. I dedicate this posting to my sweet friend, Jill aka Agent Bristow.
Disclaimer: All character's originally seen in Alias are being borrowed for the following story and are in no way my own creation (although I may be taking a few liberties with their personalities). No infrigement or offense intended. This is my little flight of whimsy.

Prelude

A demanding whisper assaults her ears, “Sydney. Wake up.”

Groggy and disoriented, Sydney Bristow’s eyes flutter but fail to open. “No.”

“I’m not asking.”

A sharp pain snakes up her arm, her body jerks involuntarily, and she’s immediately aware of cool metal restricting further movement. As she struggles to open her eyes the voice is back at her ear.

“That’s my girl. Fight it.” A man, definitely a man …and so familiar.

Warmth presses against her stomach. Finally she manages to keep both eyes open and turns her head down to the side. “Who are you?”

“I’m freeing your left wrist. Can you feel this?” Sydney’s fingers move in reply. “Good.” The man pulls back and immediately starts working on the opposite wrist restraint.

In the dim light, Sydney discerns the man’s identity from his distinctive profile. “Sark.”

The young assassin allows a small smile, unnoticeable by Sydney. “Now don’t do anything rash. I’ve reached my quota of injuries today.”

Feeling more lucid with each passing moment, Sydney scans her surroundings. A room, round and bare, with two emergency lights illuminating painted white cinderblock walls. A tug at her wrist brings her focus back to Sark just as the heavy restraint is pulled away with a snap. Wasting no time, he moves to her individually bound ankles. “What is this place?”

“A hospital, supposedly.” Sark answers without looking up, “Try to sit up.”

Sydney is already attempting just that while keeping a wary eye on him. “What is this, Sark? How did I get here?”

“This isn’t the most opportune moment for me to dispel your suspicions.” He finally finishes unlocking the thick metal restraints, his eyes meet hers, “You’re going to have to trust me and follow my lead.”

A incredulous remark dies on her lips as Sydney’s attention snaps to the only exit. Muffled voices come from behind the closed door.

Sark glances at his wristwatch, “A little early, but no matter.” In two strides he’s crossed the room; the cell door opens, concealing him.

Upon seeing Sydney in mid-escape the two men entering immediately stop their conversation and gawk open-mouthed. Still, their surprise lasts only seconds; they rush forward, intending to subdue her. That’s exactly what Sark was waiting for. Two muted gunshots the only warning before the unknown men collapse into a silent heap.

“Can you walk?”

Sydney cannot. Not even a twitch is actualized by the commanding shouts in her brain. She’s a little more than helpless yet she knows that the man before her-a murderer-is who she must rely on. He’s staring at her, the same blank mask she’s always seen. She chooses to stare directly back, giving her answer with a clench of her jaw.
Sark moves toward her-holstering the weapon beneath his dark jacket-any air of urgency seems to have evaporated. Not once breaking eye contact, he scoops her up in his arms with deft ease. As she instinctively wraps her arms loosely around his neck there is no smirk at her vulnerability, no sarcastic remark at her expense.
“Don’t worry, Sydney,” he whispers, “the paralysis is temporary.”

Void of sappy warmth, his tone is laced with respect and-interestingly enough-understanding. Sydney searches his features for any further insight but gives up once they reach the open doorway. Cautiously, Sark moves down the hall which is in direct contrast to her ‘living quarters’. Every surface gleams white, fitting with the smell of Clorox and latex. She hears approaching footsteps as does Sark it seems-for he manages a sudden sidestep into the alcove of another cell’s door. Immediately he lowers her legs to the floor, carefully keeping her upright with an arm around her waist. He presses her close to his side, pinned to the wall.
Again, Sydney reaches out with her mind willing her legs to carry her, to obey. Nothing has ever been so agonizing. She resigns to using Sark as her crutch and tightens her hold on him.

A barely audible whisper, “Ease up, darling.” His free hand surprises her for a moment as it moves against her chest but then it emerges from their embrace holding a silenced pistol.

Footsteps are soon accompanied by the swish of cloth against cloth. Sydney can feel Sark’s whole body tense yet his expression remains impassive.
To Sydney’s experienced ear, the faceless enemy is less than ten feet away when it speaks.

“Hawkins!” A woman’s voice calls out. “How long does it take?!” In the wake of total silence the woman’s pace quickens. In moments she breezes past them cursing under her breath; Sark aims and fires. One quick spit is heard, followed instantaneously by the busy woman’s cry as she pitches forward into a doorjamb. Without hesitation Sark gathers Sydney up, carrying her as quickly as possible down the hall.

“I never-” Sydney snaps her mouth shut, her eyes staring back forlornly at the woman’s still form. Sark has done so many terrible things. Why would she be surprised seeing him shoot a seemingly unarmed person in the back?

Sark takes a sharp turn, several paces, and ducks into a sparsely stocked supply closet. Carefully, he settles Sydney onto the cold concrete between two large unmarked storage boxes and walks back to shut the door.

Sydney glares after him, any hint of gratitude dying with that woman. “This is your plan?” Sydney scoffs.

Sark turns to a single footlocker beside the door, the corner of his mouth twitches slightly. “It’s a tad more complicated now since you cannot walk.” He states flatly.

Unabated she continues burning holes in his back, “From one cell to another and you’ve managed to find one a step down from the first.”

Refusing to rise to the bait he pulls out a crisp white lab coat from the locker, wads it into a ball, and throws it back. “Patients don’t leave this place, Miss Bristow.” He turns to face her, “Even in death. They’re interned here.” He makes a cursory glance at the shelves around the room, “There’s not much we can do but wait.”

“You seriously expect me to accept such a deliberate lie.” She scowls, her hands move down to briskly rub her unresponsive legs.

You‘re with Vaughn still, are you not? “As I see it, you don’t have a choice.”

She can hear the smirk in his voice, but refusing to give him the satisfaction of a retort she continues kneading the muscles of her calves.

“Look, Sydney-” Sark’s attention snaps to the door, one stride and he’s hovering by it, listening. Sydney holds her breath, watching him. Seconds pass and his body relaxes.

“Doesn’t this facility have some kind of security in place?” It seemed a stupid question to ask but she hadn’t noticed him taking any precautions during their short trip down the hall. If anything he’d seemed too sure of himself and for Sark that was quite a feat.

His attention is back on her as he steps away from the door looking puzzled.

“Cameras? Armed guards, maybe?” She hints as though talking to a child.

Sark takes a long blink that successfully replaces bewilderment with the smooth intensity she’s used to seeing. “The whole lot.” He walks leisurely towards her. “Not here though. This entire floor is practically deserted. Still, someone is bound to find the unconscious nurse and that will undoubtedly complicate our escape.”

Unconscious? “Or facilitate it.”

Sark half smiles while Sydney stares grimly back.

Chapter One

A dark SAAB winds along a coastal two-lane highway. Fragrant afternoon air cooled by the ocean tousles Sydney’s hair. Unwilling to close her eyes and relish it, she adjusts her sunglasses to cover up a glance at Sark.
By all outward appearances he’s at ease. As though the two of them were on a casual drive instead of a getaway. Their impromptu plan got them past a few orderlies but the security doors had almost meant her recapture. Regardless of the ‘rescue’, she’s convinced Sark has an ulterior motive or two. Even when the facts in front of her contradict the motives often attributed to him. There are too many questions and her whole body is aching for a hot water escape.

“Now explain yourself, Sark.” She shouts over the wind.

“You’ll have to be a tad more specific.”

“Let’s start with where we’re now headed.” And who’s waiting for us?

He risks a sideways glance and smirks, “Really, Sydney, it’s rather straight-forward. The nearest town.”

“Listen to me, Sark. I have no desire to play this back and forth game with you.” Rage, without warning or gradualness, blazes unhindered. Her voice becomes shrill, “So if you don’t start telling me something useful I swear-!”

Pain, icy-sharp, shocks her.
Eyes shut tight, hands grip her throbbing skull.
Once refreshing air adds the rapidly growing feeling of suffocation. Someone screams.

For the first time in years, Sydney jerks awake with fear. Turning to her left she finds Sark still driving.

“Sydney?”

A few seconds pass and she finds her voice sore with misuse, “When did I close my eyes? I don’t remember falling asleep.”

“You’ve been out for a couple minutes, that’s-”

“Did you drug me, Sark?” The characteristic Bristow menace is strangely absent.

Never taking his eyes off the road, he replies with a simple ‘No’, his jaw tightens. Content with that, Sydney nods and settles back in her seat. An hour and a half passes in communicative silence until the car slows upon entering a small town.

She‘d been here before, but only to pass through to her final destination. “Cape Coast.” Sydney whispers in realization. Why keep me in Ghana?

Sark eases the vehicle into a narrow alley between two three-story buildings. Parts of which are weather-beaten wood painted green and yellow. He turns off the engine, yet makes no move to exit. Placing his hands deliberately relaxed palms-down in his lap he finally speaks. “I’m willing to provide you with a change of clothes and a place to sleep for the night, if you feel so inclined.”

Sydney slowly unbuckles her seatbelt, weighing all possible options. He’s laughing; an unnatural, humorless sound that gives her goose bumps.

“But you’d rather I left you to your own devices.” His voice quiets, “Isn’t that right, Sydney?”

She holds his gaze, searching and analyzing, an imperceptible frown tugging at her from within.

“I‘m not sure what you hope to gain by staring at me.”

“Why are you doing this? Any of this?”

Turning away, he replies quickly, “Professional courtesy.” Keys retrieved, he steps out of the car. “It would be in your best interest to take me up on my offer.” He moves around the front to open the door on her side, “That is unless you enjoy making things difficult for yourself.”
She sighs, resigning control to him for the moment.
Pathetically easy. That’s disappointing. Sark watches her ease slowly out and stand unsteadily. “How are you’re legs?”

Sydney takes a step back -ignoring him- and shuts the door. One hand still grips the side for support which is answer enough.

“Shall I carry you again?” His mouth twitches, the hint of a smile. Sydney glares. “Come now, lil’ bit.” He prods with a mocking frown. In one step he moves forward to scoop her up.

“Don’t touch me.” Her hands go instinctively up to ward him off, knees buckle, and she’s caught up in his arms.

“I don‘t buy this at all.” He begins, turning out of the alley into the archway of an inside stairwell. “Either you have the worst constitution,” He pauses to carefully move up several steps to a covered porch, “or you’re feigning disability to catch me unawares.” He continues noisily down the porch and nudges open a door with his foot.

The room beyond is simply furnished; plain but flattering colors of tan, black, and white; small kitchen tucked away at the back right corner half and only one other door off to the left. Sark lowers her on to a single mattress bed.
Propping herself up against the wall, Sydney watches Sark walk into the kitchen then eyes the second bed sitting flush against hers. “Expecting me? Or do you always have a spare bed?” Instantly an inward grimace. What the hell possessed me to say that?!

Sark stops his unknown task to turn and look at her. A moment of silence passes making her uncomfortable under his scrutiny. His curious half smile turns into a full grin and he folds his arms across his chest, “Sydney, dearest, I believe you’re coming on to me.” He relishes the ghastly look that crosses her features. “However, flattery from you is somewhat superfluous.” He turns back into the kitchen for a moment and walks back with two bottled waters.

“Enough already, Sark, tell me what you know.”

In lieu of a chair, Sark sits casually at the foot of her bed. “Drink this and listen.” He says, tossing her a bottle. Can you do that? Unspoken, yet the question is answered when she guzzles the water hastily. “I’ve never understood why our little meets have you brimming with hostility. You persistently ask questions with no intention of believing a word I say.”

Sydney almost threw the half-empty bottle at him. Despite the loathing she knows is there, her voice remains cool, even. “You’re a murderer, Sark. That’s as good a reason as any to distrust someone.”

He sighs, rolling his eyes. “By simplistic definition, yes I am. But then so are you. My point is that this situation requires a change of attitude.”

“I am NOT like you.”

“Please stay focused. I’m proposing a mutually beneficial exchange of information.”

What could she give him? God, what day is it? She’s been confined in a nightmare hospital for the last few weeks...maybe longer. She’s down to two options, really. Play his game or kick the crap out of him and play her own. Her current position doesn’t afford any options for successfully landing her initial attack. He’s quick, adept.
Sydney crosses her arms across her chest like a petulant child. “Fine. I suppose you’ll be first?”

“What happened to you in the car, earlier?”

Confusion flits plainly across her face, eyes narrow, “What are you talking about?”

“Answer the question.”

“How can I-” She stops, forces herself to think back. Indulge him, Syd. He must be expecting a recount of the drive in order to lead her thinking elsewhere. “We left the facility. I-I must have,” What the hell? Dull throbbing pain came again; smooth and warm at the base of her skull. “Whatever they had me on…When I woke up-”

“No, before that. What were we talking about?”

She stares blankly. “We didn’t.”

Sark says her name and immediately they are interrupted by a lanky man stepping over the front door threshold. Sydney hadn’t heard any sounds of his approach. She wonders if he’s been out on the porch since before they arrived. He says nothing. Merely looking to Sark who summarily dismisses him with a lift of his head.

“We’ll not be staying here after all.” Sark turns conveniently into Sydney’s left hook. The force snaps his head back as she follows up with a sharp kick sending him to the floor in a moaning heap.

Too easy.

She’s out into the night with her mind running through every known obstacle between her and the car. Chatty the bodyguard watches her barrel towards him, mildly interested.
Obstacle number two, she muses. Her keen eyes watch for his first move. Instead of squaring off with her he steps away from the staircase and simultaneously tosses her a single key. Dumbfounded, Sydney’s pace slows but her thoughts are a whirlwind of possibilities. Odd diversion. Someone could be waiting below. She stops short of the stairway landing.

“Gun, now.”

He smiles and deliberately turns his back to her.

Screw it. Sydney pushes flat against the wall behind her before risking a glance around the corner into the dimly lit stairwell.
Nothing obvious.
Senses on full alert, the steps are easily taken quickly but cautiously. She reaches the bottom, allows a miniscule pause, and dashes out to the car. The key inserts perfectly, she turns it hard already moving to lift up the handle but neither action yields results.

Standing patiently above, Julian Sark watches her twist the key once more and -in typical Sydney fashion- gawk unnecessarily at the frustrating thing. There is movement about a mile ahead on a deserted back street, Sark registers the newcomer with passing interest. His eyes flick to follow the progress of what he’d known would come. The two vehicles looked to be blue and white vans typically associated with the Ghana Police, but their lights remain unused. His eyes return to Sydney, reaching through the now broken window in the driver’s side door.

“You’ve the right idea.” Sark’s voice carries down to Sydney effortlessly. She ignores him and slips inside to force access to the ignition wires. “However, your current approach will almost certainly end badly.”
Sark glances one last time at the approaching vehicles estimating their arrival in five minutes. “How unfortunate I will not be there to rescue you again.”
The black sedan coughs to life and Sydney spares not a second more in the alley.

In the wake of her careening away, Sark steps out into the alley and waits as the sun begins to set behind him.
Seconds are lost before one van speeds past and the other pulls carefully into the darkening alley. A man emerges from a side door and hops out before the van stops.

He looks irritated, Sark takes in the man's choice of tie, and purple. Aloud he says, “Tell me one good reason why you insist on not following my instructions.”

The man, a foot taller than him but only in height, stands within arms reach. His whole body trembling either with anger or fear, Sark is unsure of. He doesn’t much care. The man is an imbecile. The driver steps out of the van behind him, eyes menacing.

The imbecile speaks. “Get in the van, Mister Kane.”

Sark shakes his head, frowning. “Haven't you heard?” He glances back at the driver who acknowledges him without overt action. “That is not how it plays out, Doctor.”

The man looks stumped then immediately surprised. Painfully surprised. Sickening moist sounds accompany a few strangled gasps. The doctor falls to his knees, eyes wide, revealing the panting driver clutching a six-inch knife.

Sark's tone steals the driver's attention away from the late doctor. "Find her."

Meanwhile…

Night falls quickly and for that Sydney is grateful since losing the van tailing her will be even easier. A few miles from Sark's accommodations, the van maintains an unimposing distance, headlights on. Perhaps waiting for the okay to run her off the road? Or do they stupidly think she hasn't seen them for what they are? Syd's money is on the former. Now if only Sark had a car phone…

Both eyes on the lightly congested road ahead, Sydney opens the glove compartment and searches the contents by touch. Plastic bottle of…water most likely, loose papers, possible owner's manual, and <she pushes her hand as far back as the little space allows> a packet of -no, it can't be. Sydney brings her find to the steering wheel for a better look. The shiny square packet, identified with one look, is tossed back inside its hiding place.

Wish I saw that earlier, Sydney thought. Definitely would have started an interesting line of questioning. She frowns. Interesting only in how uncomfortable I might have made him.

Of course, knowing Sark, he would have turned the tables before she'd even begun. She sighs. No phone, no passport, no money, and her contact in Accra is either dead or being monitored. Thinking of Accra temporarily brought her attention to the fuel gauge; a quarter full.

Wonderful, her first rookie mistake in years - leaving Sark's without a single proactive thought. Where is her head?

Sark always has a phone on him and definitely a gun. A silenced Glock, she recalls. During her escape from the hospital she'd ignored that little detail. Her head clears allowing other specifics to the forefront of her mind.

He didn't kill the nurse. The guards were expected, timed. Her paralysis had been anticipated. And before that?

Images drew her back to the moment she first awoke.

"Oh, God." She gasps.

Executing a reckless 180°, Sydney speeds straight at the police van. It veers expertly to the right revealing a duplicate van so close Sydney glimpses the confused driver before he swerves around her. The road now clear ahead of her, she checks her rearview mirror in time to see the second van cut off the first.

She glances at the road again before chancing another view through the mirror but she's already too far away to discern what else might be happening. Turning her attention back to the road ahead, she smiles. Another bout of tunnel vision and all she can think about is getting back to Sark as fast as possible. She doesn't notice the blazing fire far behind her or feel the tears fall down her cheeks in streams.

96 Hours Previous…

"You were never supposed to have seen this."

Sydney was speechless, unshed tears brimmed in her dark brown eyes. She could only stare at her stoic father who stood a few feet away.

"Sydney, listen to me." Jack resisted the urge to race to her side and wrap her up in his arms. She looked so vulnerable, so very heartbroken. "I. Am. Your. Ally. You mustn't believe everything you've read." He could sense the questions she silently posed to him. "I can prove it to you but we must leave this place."

In a life filled with lies and half-truths, Sydney wanted to believe him now more than ever. The moment stretched longer as she peered into his eyes, searching. It should be easy to trust her own father.

Jack's eyes softened, almost imperceptibly.

Many questions needed answers, but for now she made her decision, "Where can we go?"

"For now, we simply need to get moving. The CIA has undoubtedly noticed our simultaneous absence and when Vaughn relays what Lauren said before she died…" He left the obvious unsaid.

Sydney took a deep breath and stood as she tucked the top secret documents back into their folder. "We could wait for them. I'll say I understand and stay in pocket." She quickly placed the appropriate contents back into the lockbox and looked to her father for his reply.

"I've thought of that." He turned in the doorway, opening the path for her to follow.
Sydney gathered her tool case and replaced her faux glasses. As they made their way to an emergency exit Jack kept his voice low enough so only she could hear. "At this point, if you willingly stay they will take away the little freedom you had."

"We can't just run."

"No." Jack stepped to the side, pushed the exit door open, and held it for his daughter. "Of course not."

Present

"She's impulsive. Far more than usual." Julian Sark stares impassively at Jack Bristow, but the older man isn't fooled - there's more to it than that.

"Where is she?"

"Not to worry, I've kept my word." Seeing Jack turn towards his car, Sark adds quickly, "Your associate reported in as you pulled up." Jack pauses at his open car door, allowing Sark time to elaborate. "Her opposition was neutralized and she is heading back this way."

Jack closes his car door, "You have something else to tell me."

Sark's trademark smirk beams more confidence than most smiles. "Quite a shot in the dark, Mister Bristow."

"Not at all. You're just easy to read." Jack purposefully allows a small smile. "Especially now."

"You presume much. Still, there is an …oddity."

Sounds consistent with a fast approaching vehicle prompt both men to watch the far side of the alleyway. The little coupe skids around the corner and halts with a plume of dust. A laughing Sydney bursts out, breaking into a run at the sight of her father, who makes it only a couple steps before she crashes into his arms.

"Dad, you're here." Sydney hugs him tight, eyes closed, tears staining her cheeks. "They knew I was coming. They knew and I didn't have any time and I thought I'd never see you. I love you, Dad. I love you so much."

"You're okay?" Relieved, Jack manages to pull back enough to look at her more closely.

She smiles, joyful and glowing, but the tears don't stop. "Dad." She laughs and cradles his now concerned face in her hands. Saying nothing more, content to just stare at him, her smile wanes somewhat.

"Perhaps we should take this upstairs?"

Startled by the new voice, Sydney spins around as though she'd forgotten he was there. "Sark."

So few things can get to Sark, but when she takes his hand he manages to cover surprise with concern.

"You did this. For me."

Jack frowns at the quiet exchange and cuts it short with a step forward. "Come with me, Sydney."

She seems not to hear until Sark speaks up with the same request. Sydney tucks in close, intertwining his arm with her own, as they walk together.

Rattled by the display, Jack's frown grows deeper. To label that as odd would be an understatement.

Takezo Kensei

Fri, 28 Sep 2007 01:04:55 GMT

David Anders is so beautiful to watch. I missed him more than previously admitted.

The Heroes premiere was good, I suppose. I'll have to get used to the constant jumping around...it's a bit annoying really. Can't they just focus on two stories each ep instead of six?!

My favorite character out of the original cast is Hiro. Masi Oka does so well with subtlety....yes, I'm all about subtle 'show-me-don't-tell-me' acting. Seeing him and Anders bouncing off each other was brilliant! Neither out shines the other which, I noticed last season, doesn't happen often on this show. They kept adding to the scene and to each other...like a good juggling team. Wonderful!
Some might say Masi overacts but that simply isn't so. He's so real that I can easily see myself interacting with his character in the everyday world. I'll not point out the poor acting that others on the show excrete readily but let me make one comparison. The lead characters in any CSI up against Hiro? Come on.
CSI is set in the "real" world and it's characters are plain unbelievable. I may be a tad bias but whatever.

The only other story I'm interested in (beside Hiro in the past) is the prior hero generation...very interested to learn more about that. I'm not going to even start on the other new heroes....sigh....there are too many people! Oh well, maybe the reason for their inclusion will made obvious in later eps because right now it seems like more of the same.

If you missed the premiere or you want to see it again you can watch the full episode on NBC.com

More ELI -- Back Story, please?

Fri, 03 Aug 2007 05:05:42 GMT

I, Rachel, am intrinsically an analyst. I critique, evaluate everything I see and do. It's a bit annoying but my boss likes it and in the case of my gushing about this film....it should prove a point. I simply DO NOT give credit lightly. I say 'Good Job' when some has actually done it. Having said this, if ELI isn't picked up by Sci-Fi or something I would be very surprised. DO YOU HEAR ME SCI-FI CHANNEL PEEPS!
Sadly, such travesties have happened...just look at Farscape.

The viewing room we were in was half full-and sparsely so- during the second to last film for the science fiction/fantasy genre. During the last film of the genre-which I felt was not received very well-almost the entire room cleared out. I wanted to shout at them, 'No, come back. Just grin and bare it...ELI's next.' Alas, theatre etiquette-having been ingrained in me with high school drama- left me pleading with their backs as they hurried out. However, I can say that the audience went from a handful to packed when it came time for ELI. Also, a couple others I was sitting by voiced that their interest was peaked more than enough to stay rather than go out to the convention floor for the last 50 minutes before closing. Afterwards people streamed out.....the majority had come or ELI!!

An absolutely blissful outcome would be the DVD coupled with a written back-story. The writers mentioned there was a back-story and how could there not be? This film is so tightly packed with goodies --- multiple viewing would definitely reveal more. Hmmm....I better shut up. It obvious I enjoyed it immensely. Heck, I even love the exclusive song during the credits (by Lojic).
I wish there were more films like it. Films that capture the character POV with such confidence and deliver such enticing energy. This film was obviously the baby of a very talented-well put together team. I would gladly hop a flight back to San Diego to see another film made by the same people (cast,crew,director,writers,composer) even if it had nothing to do with ELI.

Whether you've seen it or not, Keep talking about ELI - - word of mouth could very well accomplish what the filmmakers hope for.

ELI

Mon, 30 Jul 2007 22:35:45 GMT

I did it! I've finally seen ELI! The short film starring David Anders-that I should have seen in Newport-has finally been viewed. I left Hicksville, Washington on a Saturday morning flight to San Diego for the ComicCon. The film was the first to be shown for the IIFF to kick off the Horror/Suspense genre. Afterwards, Josh Lee Kwai (director/producer), Tyler Erskine (writer/assoc. producer), Ron Beyers (writer/producer), and Simon Heselev (composer) were available for questions. Boy did I have them...questions that is...I only got in three but was rewarded for it by one of the writers as I was leaving.
Here's a mini transcript-all from memory so I'm not quoting exactly. The answers came from the writers and the director.

Q: Have you thought of continuing the story with another short film or anything?
A: We get asked that a lot. No, but it's not a ruled out possiblity.

Q: When will the DVD be available?
A: We want to keep hitting the film festivals. Maybe try to get it on T.V., so if you're from the Sci-Fi channel raise your hand. Actually, just come up here right now. (Basically, after all options are exhausted, then there will be efforts towards an official DVD release.)

My third question would spoil the movie so I'm omitting it. Other people asked the usual questions people ask when they can't think of anything else. Such as; how much did it cost, how long did it take to film, blah blah woof woof. Even so, a couple interesting points came out:
~All actors worked on the project for free because they believed in it.
~David Anders came aboard when his manager read the script, loved it, and passed it on David who also loved it and that seems to be that.

For such a short film (roughly 18 minutes) and so few lines, the story itself was told beautifully by the actors. Every one of them worked perfectly by giving their characters such depth with so little screen time. I really enjoy watching the two doctors (Erin Beaux & Christina Carlisi) converse...every time they do it draws you in. There have been characters like this before and yet they took it to an unexpected level. For me, I was a bit torn between both doctors conflicting moral views.

Now let me please gush a bit in regard to David's performance. Seeing him here gives me more than faith that he can pull off his upcoming role in Heroes-it makes me absolutely certain he can do it and blow us all away.
You follow ELI through the length of the piece. David's subtle reactions and how he responds to the characters/actors around him clues you in so delicately that this man is NOT what you would think him to be. He's very real. His actions and choices are shown in such a way that I believed absolutely everything. Let's just say he 'sold it'. As a result, ELI is a surprisingly layered individual. I say surprising because by the end of the film you can see how the easy misconception for a person like him is destroyed completely. Whew...it's difficult to express my thoughts without giving anything away.
Anyway, I have a theory forming in my mind now as to how David naturally works with any given character. No matter if a token villain or lost soul; he exudes depth of humanity-urging you to embrace it which in turn drives you to care. There is nothing 'token' about an actor that can acheive this.

David Anders & Merrin Dungey on Gray's Anatomy

Fri, 04 May 2007 18:17:09 GMT

David's has a relatively small part compared to Merrin but still-for someone who never watches the show-I liked it. You can watch the full episode from 5/3/07 @ http://dynamic.abc.go.com/streaming/landing

Change of Plans

Thu, 05 Apr 2007 05:36:42 GMT

Okay, okay, okay. I won't be going to the film festival, after all. Some friends of mine talked me out of it, in favor of going on holiday elsewhere. The 'elsewhere' being far closer than Orange County and much less expensive.
I still very much want to see ELI and if it comes to a festival closer to where I'm at than I will be off at a gallop! Also, those involved with the film's exposure are hoping to have DVDs available at some point.

Well, I confess I have been wanting to know what other fans of Alias think of Sark and Rachel's brief and uncomfortable relationship in season five. Could it have become more in the sixth season? Most people on forums generally fit into one of two catagories; Sarkney or SydVaughn. Help dispel my curiosity and take my quiz below.

David Anders in ELI

Thu, 29 Mar 2007 05:06:10 GMT

Okay, the screening of this short film in LA on the 10th is full up. So I am going to go to the Newport Beach Film Festival to see it on April 23rd.
Sadly, I am not in the area so I'll be flying down there...I'm kinda hoping to not be going by myself so I'm petitioning everyone I know!
Anyhow, if you want to see ELI and our sweet David then you can buy tickets starting April 4th. As of right now, ELI is being shown on two different days-the 23rd and 25th.
Check out further details at the festival's offical site: http://www.newportbeachfilmfest.com/index.php

First Journal Post

Sat, 24 Mar 2007 21:10:27 GMT

I finally went ahead and did it! I'm on LiveJournal! Woo hoo! Now then...I think it only fitting that I post a bit of a tease from one of my works-in-progress. Currently titled 'The Reclamation of Julian Sark', the story begins right where the series 'Alias' left off. Here's a snippet:

Rachel Gibson’s startled expression converted into horror and disbelief. Arvin Sloane stood before her and Julian Sark, his torn and brittle clothes hung loosely from an impossibly thin body. It only took a moment for his dark, wild eyes to fix on Rachel and Sloane let out the most disturbing noise she’d ever heard. It could have been a laugh or a scream. Either way, it was bad for her.
He shrugged off the helping hands of those around him and started towards her with unearthly vigor. Sloane pointed a bony finger in her direction as he neared but Rachel’s view of him was suddenly blocked.

“She’s with us, Arvin.” Sark stated with remarkable composure. “I vouch for her, personally.”

Sloane stared back at Sark. He turned his head ever so slightly to the left as if listening to something. When his gaze returned to his former collaborator, Sloane grinned madly.
“Then you will share her fate.”

Sloane’s lackeys straightened and took a unified step forward, hemming them in. Sark tensed for a fight, thought better of it, and instead slowly stretched one arm behind him. Rachel grasped his wrist without hesitation and drew herself up against his back. Sark didn’t have to say a thing; his posture, his grip on her forearm, that was enough to show his intent.
Mister Sark, a man governed by self-preservation, meant to act as a shield between her and these insurmountable odds. Those gathered around the three of them made no further movement to act on Sloane’s last remark. Rachel peered out from beside Sark’s shoulder to see an odd contest of wills unfolding between him and Sloane.
The immortal snake of a man sneered, his black eyes burning with an inhuman desire to destroy the object of their focus. While distinctively pure determination colored Sark’s features-unshaken by Sloane’s withering gaze.
Rachel squeezed his wrist gently in hopes of communicating her readiness for whatever he planned. Even as she did so, his hand repositioned over her forearm and pushed her palm against an object hidden at the small of his back. Despite what they were up against Rachel felt a calm wash over her jarred nerves.

Time stretched and slowed.

They made their move in tandem.

Rachel gripped the handle of the concealed gun and pulled it free from the waistband of Sark‘s fatigues.

Sark lunged at Sloane.

This little project is far from done and it hasn't been edited at all so pardon the roughness. Let me know what you think...that is, of course, if you feel so inclined to tell. :)