A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who commented! It's nice to know that there are some people reading this!
Just a note regarding the warnings: The death is that of minor character(s) and it all happens off-screen. The same goes for the torture and violence, really - it is all off-screen. What you read is more the threat/prelude to violence and torture. I hope I haven't forgotten any other warnings - please let me know if I have.
Colonel William Stryker was not a very likeable man. In fact, one could even go so far as to say that he was predominantly unlikeable. His only loyalty was to himself, and a more bigoted, mistrustful character would be hard to find. The only value he put on anything was that of cold hard cash, a failing of his that had resulted in his discharge from the military. It was a well-known secret that his discharge ought to have been a dishonourable one – and it would have been, were it not for the number of favours that Stryker had managed to accumulate during his time as a Colonel, as well as the government’s desire to hush up any scent of a wrong-doing from so high within their ranks. As it was, Stryker managed to get out safe and sound, his vast, illegally-made fortune still mostly intact and his future secure in his own two hands. All he needed now was a direction to move in.
Stryker was well aware of the existence of mutants. More than aware, as it happened. Which is to say that he regarded them as an abomination, one that had to be scoured from the surface of the earth as quickly and cleanly as possible. It was for this reason that he now worked for Sebastian Shaw. Stryker had met him shortly after his discharge from the military at some function or the other, and Shaw had been very gracious and attentive, listening to Stryker’s words with fascination. He had later made contact with Stryker proposing a deal between the two of them, to which Stryker had readily agreed. It helped that he was also being paid handsomely for his troubles – the very house in which he now sat was testament to the generosity of Sebastian Shaw in return for the services rendered against the mutant problem.
The house, of course, had a state of the art security system, as was befitting the house of an ex-military man with contacts such as he now possessed. Everything from security cameras to high powered lasers bordered his fences, as did a number of ex-security men that he had hired to patrol his land. It would take a veritable army to get through to him.
Therefore, it was something of an enormous shock for him when, sitting in his dressing gown and in the middle of downing a glass of excellent scotch, there was a bang and the door of his private chambers burst open, revealing a tall and rangy man with clenched fists, his eyes cold and narrowed with purpose.
The glass of scotch dropped from Stryker’s hands.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ he demanded, standing up, outraged at the intrusion.
The man’s eyes seemed to darken.
‘Sebastian Shaw,’ the man spat, causing Stryker’s eyes to widen. ‘Where is Sebastian Shaw?’
‘I haven’t the faintest idea what you are talking about,’ Stryker said coldly, slowly moving his hand toward the panic button on the wall that would summon his security team in seconds. ‘Now I demand that you leave, sir, before my own men arrive. They will not go easy on you, I promise you.’
The man let out a harsh laugh that made Stryker shiver against his will.
‘That would be assuming that you had any men left,’ he said, and then he had gestured with his hands and – Stryker’s eyes widened with fear – Stryker’s hands were suddenly bound with strips of liquid metal that had been pulled from his own furnishings.
‘Mutant!’ he swore, recovering from his shock, his eyes burning with an intense, venomous hate. ‘I should have known! You’re a filthy mutant!’
The man’s mouth quirked in a smile that showed very little amusement.
‘Yes,’ he said calmly, looking down at his front which, Stryker now realised with fear, had more than a few bloodstains upon it, none of which belonged to the man. ‘I suppose I am, rather.’
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timeasmymeasure
Heat - Part 12a WARNING: Violence, Torture, Death
Date: 2012-02-03 06:38 pm (UTC)Just a note regarding the warnings: The death is that of minor character(s) and it all happens off-screen. The same goes for the torture and violence, really - it is all off-screen. What you read is more the threat/prelude to violence and torture. I hope I haven't forgotten any other warnings - please let me know if I have.
...Other than that, please enjoy! :)
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*
Colonel William Stryker was not a very likeable man. In fact, one could even go so far as to say that he was predominantly unlikeable. His only loyalty was to himself, and a more bigoted, mistrustful character would be hard to find. The only value he put on anything was that of cold hard cash, a failing of his that had resulted in his discharge from the military. It was a well-known secret that his discharge ought to have been a dishonourable one – and it would have been, were it not for the number of favours that Stryker had managed to accumulate during his time as a Colonel, as well as the government’s desire to hush up any scent of a wrong-doing from so high within their ranks. As it was, Stryker managed to get out safe and sound, his vast, illegally-made fortune still mostly intact and his future secure in his own two hands. All he needed now was a direction to move in.
Stryker was well aware of the existence of mutants. More than aware, as it happened. Which is to say that he regarded them as an abomination, one that had to be scoured from the surface of the earth as quickly and cleanly as possible. It was for this reason that he now worked for Sebastian Shaw. Stryker had met him shortly after his discharge from the military at some function or the other, and Shaw had been very gracious and attentive, listening to Stryker’s words with fascination. He had later made contact with Stryker proposing a deal between the two of them, to which Stryker had readily agreed. It helped that he was also being paid handsomely for his troubles – the very house in which he now sat was testament to the generosity of Sebastian Shaw in return for the services rendered against the mutant problem.
The house, of course, had a state of the art security system, as was befitting the house of an ex-military man with contacts such as he now possessed. Everything from security cameras to high powered lasers bordered his fences, as did a number of ex-security men that he had hired to patrol his land. It would take a veritable army to get through to him.
Therefore, it was something of an enormous shock for him when, sitting in his dressing gown and in the middle of downing a glass of excellent scotch, there was a bang and the door of his private chambers burst open, revealing a tall and rangy man with clenched fists, his eyes cold and narrowed with purpose.
The glass of scotch dropped from Stryker’s hands.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ he demanded, standing up, outraged at the intrusion.
The man’s eyes seemed to darken.
‘Sebastian Shaw,’ the man spat, causing Stryker’s eyes to widen. ‘Where is Sebastian Shaw?’
‘I haven’t the faintest idea what you are talking about,’ Stryker said coldly, slowly moving his hand toward the panic button on the wall that would summon his security team in seconds. ‘Now I demand that you leave, sir, before my own men arrive. They will not go easy on you, I promise you.’
The man let out a harsh laugh that made Stryker shiver against his will.
‘That would be assuming that you had any men left,’ he said, and then he had gestured with his hands and – Stryker’s eyes widened with fear – Stryker’s hands were suddenly bound with strips of liquid metal that had been pulled from his own furnishings.
‘Mutant!’ he swore, recovering from his shock, his eyes burning with an intense, venomous hate. ‘I should have known! You’re a filthy mutant!’
The man’s mouth quirked in a smile that showed very little amusement.
‘Yes,’ he said calmly, looking down at his front which, Stryker now realised with fear, had more than a few bloodstains upon it, none of which belonged to the man. ‘I suppose I am, rather.’