Hannibal cautiously kept the walkie to his mouth, finger against the button. Imperceptibly, his fingers twitched, ready to respond to any call that may come through. The darkness was wrapping up the land around him and despite the amount of lights engulfing the streets, it seemed like the whole world was coated in darkness.
His plans always caused that desperate stream of adrenaline to pump through his veins, and usually, it was a feeling he loved when he was the one whose ass was on the line.
The yuppies seemed to be receptive, but Hannibal felt the mood shift as soon as Murdock had went inside that house party. It was all wrong. It was supposed to be a simple yet elegant party with few guests, perhaps ten or twenty at the most, to supposedly discuss art and cheese and wine.
Of course that was a lie that they all knew covered up their motive to trade out coke for briefcases full of cash.
It would've been Face in that house since he was after all, a fine cuisine and arts aficionado, however, his face would've been quickly recognized as it had been a few days prior by a man with known connections to the drug dealer- and from their so far collected intelligence, they could see he was there. It would've been a dire mistake.
Murdock was unknown and a huge asset and they'd sent him on his way inside with a tux and rose pinned to the left lapel. His put a pout on his face and strolled inside with a cane in hand which may have been a little much, but the eccentricity was a believable match with his personality and Hannibal didn't protest when he picked it up unexpectedly to pair with his outfit.
He walked inside with the utmost class, greeting himself to the couple who'd invited him and they all knew what this party was despite the cover up. And honestly, they would've let it all be if they'd hadn't been keeping a young boy captive. He was the son of a woman of about forty who was used to deliver the drugs from the dealer to the couple, and then the money back to the dealer.
In turn, this couple brought over every friend they had and then those friends brought their own friends and they sold out teabag sized packaging stuffed with coke At a top dollar price. But rich people, real rich people, enjoyed bragging about how much money they had to give out and throw around.
It should've been twenty people entering that house that night, so they could know who was in the house at all times and keep up with everyone- they even had trustworthy servants to keep a watchful eye and keep the guests corralled like a herd of cows.
Anymore people and they'd of had to hire extra staff- the couple, namely the Ivanov's, weren't really in the mood for such a tedious event and gave no further reasoning to their new best friend and yet stranger, Michael Monroe who was a new guest to this party, and happened to be better known as H.M Murdock outside of such events.
So when Murdock entered the building to the walls being tight packed full of people when he'd been told just a week earlier there'd be hardly anyone, Hannibal knew something was wrong instantly.
Face knew it.
And though it took B.A just a moment longer, he knew it too.
"I ain't likin' this, Hannibal...Murdock said there's only supposed to be beein' twenty guys."
"I know, B.A. Keep a good watch." Hannibal replied with his only hope in heart being that the Ivanov's had simply changed their minds.
"Michael. So nice for you to- oh, you look surprised. About how many people there are, yeah? Right, I know. I said fifteen...twenty...thirty..something along those lines. Yeah.." He drawled and smiled, pushing a piece of black hair back into place.
There was a twinkle in his eye, one that Murdock instantly distrusted but smiled anyway.
"Well...I just can't resist company sometimes. I invited more than expected and everyone just has to bring a friend." He rolled his eyes with a smile, "Good for sales though I suppose, you know what I mean."
"Sure, sure." Murdock nodded along in agreeable excitement, "I'm glad to see so many here. I was scared it'd be boring otherwise and-"
"Boring. Boring? Never boring. Love the cane by the way...making a statement with the retro..."
Murdock's faltered and Digby Ivanov followed him the rest of the night, making digs at his comment continually by asking if he thought the party was too dull and reminding him he could leave if he thought things were too boring.
The drinks were spiked, even if you asked for water, and Murdock hesitantly agreed to trying some of the tiny desserts on a tray accompanied by champagne for the sake of his cover.
Murdock was certain, taking a bite into one of the fancy fruit tarts, that it was laced with just a bit of something.
He couldn't figure out what exactly, but something. However, at least it calmed his nerves and he was able to thoroughly convince Digby that he was indeed having a good time enough to make him stop asking.
Digby eventually announced, wife accessorizing his arm, and a pale sheet of sweat coating his face, that it was time to get to business.
"I'll convince you my product...my products the top..." slurred but charismatic as always, he shook his wife from himself gently and grabbed Murdock by his shoulder.
"My new friend Michael Monroe here, a recreational drug aficionado and regular user, will prove that using this product..." he grabbed a small plastic baggie from his pocket the size of a quarter, "...is like using for the first time...every time."
Murdock, dragged to a room and followed by the guests, suddenly began to find his heart rate accelerating. It was unexpected.
B.A was already crouched in the van, on his toes, ready to jump from the van like a butterfly from it's cocoon and blaze his guns into the air, put holes in the atmosphere and set the sky into fire.
Hannibal kept a steady and rough hand on his bicep, watching on the screen as the man brought Murdock to a room. An expensive sort of room with the type of furniture that people kept plastic coverings on, and paintings that could quickly be identified as originals.
Instantly uncomfortable in such a pricey and humbling environment, Murdock smiled nervously and sat beside Mr. Ivanov and the second that he hesitated would be the second he regretted because in that second, Mr. Ivanov's deduced he was nothing but a spy, perhaps an officer- ready to bust him on one of the biggest nights of the year. The point was that he was something other than what he was saying and was determined to prove his point that you didn't fuck with a guy like him, so he set out a long board.
He tapped the contents of the small bag out and got to chopping after opening a small silver box. He had the razor in one hand, going down the line with lightning bolt hands and dexterous aim. A fine mist surrounded the powder and he took a hundred dollar bill from his wallet.
Murdock watched carefully, fear settling into his gaze. What would he say when offered? Usually, the Ivanov's were somewhat stingy, and if he was offering him coke it either meant he was beginning to really like him, or he was testing him. To be safe, Murdock assumed it was the latter and took the hundred dollar bill when it was shoved towards him with one hand and blinking-owlish eyes.
Digby wiped beneath his nose and gave a grin, the guests waited expectantly for the presentation.
Murdock was just waited for gunfire, for a take over, but it never came.
Murdock silently took the bill and brought it down to the line, replicating his moves. He waited for just a second, bringing the rolled bill to his nose and pushing his other nostril in with his right pointer finger.
"Hannibal we can't just..." Face begun, motioning towards the screen.
"He'll blow his cover." Hannibal replied quietly and with regret, "We don't know where Freddie or his mother is yet. All we can be sure of is that they're in that house. If we move in now..."
Murdock moved down the line in one long sniff and gave a small choke, covering it up with two coughs and a meek laugh.
"Just like the first time alright, ohhh yes..." He murmured with choked gasps, and he silently prayed his act was good enough to pass the test.
He sniffed, moving his hands beneath his nose and the guests crowded around, money in hand.
"Could it be because...this is your first time?"
It was a word that crossed all of their minds.
Murdock looked up slowly, almost unable to connect the gaze.
The room turned silent.
"What we have here...is an imposter..." Mr. Ivanov whispered with a deathly whisper, but it filled the room with it's abundance of silence.
The guests looked around a little nervously in their trendy modern wear and caked on make-up, they glittered like stars against a sky and Murdock begun to feel the effects of the drug.
He swallowed and let out a shaky breath.
"Hannibal?" Murdock murmured beneath the beginning of another tyrannical chant by Digby and his laughing wife who was obviously above the point of inebriation.
In the van, Hannibal was already out of the van, the others following suit as they hatched plan B of the plan A, which was basically; Enter with brute force, kill with brute force.
They were, beneath the surface, war machines after all- trained to snap necks and shoot with deadly accuracy.
Murdock's hands shook, and he considered, just briefly beneath the hopped up influence, of standing and strangling the man with his bare hands.
But his working portion of brain chastised those thoughts with quick action and he slumped back into the couch, closing his eyes as a wave of adrenaline took over. The mixture of the laced tarts and line of coke was coursing through his veins now and he could feel the thud of his heart beat in his brain.
Digby smiled enthusiastically, grabbing Murdock by the collar at the sound of gunshots.
To Murdock, they were distant like his cries for help as he felt carpet rubbing against his skin and his eyes were rolling to the back of his head, his finger twitched without his doing and his feet attempted to kick against his captor- but they never landed a single hit.
His eyes opened just for a brief moment and saw the determined chin of Digby Ivanov dragging him to a staircase. Murdock clawed against wood, but he was stood up sharply with surprising strength from the smaller man.
He said gruffly in his ear, his stubble brushing against his jawline.
Murdock, fearful now at the distance of any help and something hard and cold against the temple of his head, stood like a puppet for the man, and he clumsily attempted to take the stairs. They pushed him down to a dank basement where must and mold entered his nostrils. He almost choked and he heard the door slam behind them.
Murdock looked around the room with swirling vision and colorful voices against his ears.
'Colorful voices. Yeah, that was right. Yellows and oranges whispering in my ears...weren't they? Where's Hannibal? Faceman? B.A?'
"Shut it." A female voice caressed his ears now, "Sit down."
Murdock felt himself falling, maybe twenty stories high, into a solid chair.
He opened his eyes and found he'd been incorrect. He'd let himself fall maybe five inches into a metallic throne-like chair.
The room was dark, poorly lit, and he could feel water in the air.
A light flickered on and he closed his eyes.
Laughing filled his ears but when he opened his eyes, he saw the couple looking placidly towards him, maybe something like mirth was in their psychotic gaze.
There mouths never opening, but yes, he was certain there was laughter.
It sounded like a crowd, but his blurred and cone-like vision didn't detect any other spectators.
The woman stood with her arms folded.
"We've been looking for a...candid candidate." Digby smiled, rolling his eyes at the play on words, "...been a long time goal..."
"I'm crazy...yeah, I'm crazy but..." Murdock mumbled, "...did you just...are you...you sound Russian..."
The man raised an eyebrow but didn't look impressed.
"Idiot." He whispered, shaking his head, "Idiot."
There was something looming above his head, and then there was nothing.
Gunfire sounded in his ears, yelling was somewhere, but he couldn't open his eyes and his arms refused movement. He pushed himself to move them. It was like his bones were fighting his muscles in some kind of battle, and the muscles were telling the arm to move but the bones were complaining. It's too heavy! It's too heavy!
He opened his eyes, just barely enough to see the light, with every ounce of energy and effort he could muster up. The lights would've blinded him if there hadn't been a figure directly above him, leaning over. A woman with long red hair and a gentle but pleasant face. She was pale and freckled.
"Go ahead and sleep, no one's coming to look for you."
"...Bah-..." He begun, attempted to say something along the lines of; But, the guys'll come for me! Sure they will! They're looking right now.
"No. No, they've given up. I found you and no one's going to hurt you now. Just...relax. I'm going to make sure you're safe now. Go to sleep, Murdock."
And he did.
After a fan left a request for a poison Murdock fic, I found creativity strike!
So, expect this to be a little side project. Maybe updated once a week, or once every two weeks.
Twice a week if I've got nothing to do and I'm on a writing rampage.
Anyway, thanks for reading, and leave a review if you've got the time.
Unnecessary A/N: This fic'll probably be a little unconventional in comparison to a typical sick/hurt fic. Meaning, it'll take a few dark turns, so I hope that's a good thing for you guys and doesn't scare you off.