Description: Agent Daniel 'Jack' Little, returning from the distant land of Japan, soon returns to Interpol in time to bond with his partner on the Interpol team. However, as he seeks to meet the White Angel of Death in private, to treat her of her affliction, he soon finds himself in a trap set by the vile General Zima. Caught in the General's schemes, the detective finds himself battle not only the White Angel of Death, but the very Russian army itself. Will Daniel find his escape? Or will he forever be ensnared in... The Ties That Bind!? (The cover shows Daniel Jack in some kind of dungeon, poorly lit and with no windows. Our detective is tied to a chair, his naked muscled chest bulging against the hemp ropes. Several fresh lashes and wounds are seen on his body. The White Angel of Death, dressed in a strapless red dress, clutches a whip in one hand, and a bottle of vodka in the other. She is in mid cackle as she pours the bottle of liquor over our brave Agent of Interpol, as slowly you can see the ropes fraying from the effort. Behind them, the craven General Zima watches from the doorway, steepling his fingers wickedly.) (45 Cents)
Daniel had found the cure for Sergei's affliction.
The details of how he managed to get the cure was... elusive. No questions would be asked. No questions should be asked. And the detective had a strong feeling that Sergei wouldn't ask him how he figured it out. But the detective... the detective had to figure out how to make Sergei cooperate. Maybe he would be obedient. Maybe he wouldn't. Heaven forbid, he might even have standards against such practices.
But Daniel was going to make this work, one way or another.
Daniel Jack had given the Russian the message that he should meet him in the same gym as before. It... was not repaired after their last sparring session. The boards were all torn up, the mirror was cracked still. But at least it was swept! A bench was down there. Daniel was not. No, Daniel was not down there yet. But the instructions were clear. Sergei. Meet Daniel. In the sparring gym at the Interpol HQ.
Bring water.
Lots of water.
The pale figure walked in to the broken room. His pace was unsteady, his eyes were glossy, and his gaze was unfocused. Sergei was dealing with terrible paranoia due to erratic timings of hallucinations. He appeared physically fine, shown by the re-purposed wine barrel filled with distilled water he was carrying with him.
Following in suit was a familiar face, with a familiar uniform of a Russian General. The two sit down on the bench. General Zima as he was known, carefully observed Sergei. With a sigh he says " You had the force of a whole squad of soldiers before, now that vile monster has reduced you to this." in a sorrowful voice he continues, "I am so sorry about this, we should have sent one who was expendable, not you"
There is a thumping sound.
Another keg, about half the size of Sergei's, is rolled into the room. Right behind it, was Daniel Jack, the ace detective of Interpol. He was clutching several brown bags, filled with bottles. On his head, instead of his signature fedora, was a guzzle hat with two beers shoved in it. Sipping on the hose, he enters the room with gusto, letting the keg roll to Sergei's and the General's feet as he turned around. Putting the bags down, he then locks the door, deadbolts it, and then takes a stray floorboard, and -bars- it. "Okay Sergei!" Daniel Jack begins, turning around. "I got a solution to your depression and sickness. And the solution is-"
"GENERAL ZIMA."
Daniel Jack -stares- at the general. "HELLO. General. I didn't think you would be here. I- had told Sergei..." And he repeats words silently. "And I didn't say alone. Ah ha. I didn't say alone. OKAY!" Daniel Jack sips the hat. "-Well- General. I'm sure you have a lot of questions for me, and what I am about to do to your man." The detective pauses.
"Would you believe that this is important King of Fighters business?"
With an expression of confusion veering on disgust, General Zima gazed at Daniel for a moment before speaking. "I would if fact believe that this is tournament business.". Zima begins too reajust and states. "And for my presence, do you think we could allow Dragunov to be left alone for any period of time in his state? He needs someone to watch him so he does not start throwing grenades at one of his hallucinations."
Changing the subject quickly to spare Sergei more shame of his state, Zima question’s Daniel. "So Little, you say you have a solution to Dragunov’s affliction? I do explain it to me." Zima stands up to face Daniel eye to eye and probingly asks him, "Please tell me it, and include all the details of your plan".
Daniel Jack stares at the General, smiling.
It wasn't a happy smile. It was a desperate smile. As the General insists, the smile intensifies. As he asks for the details, the smile reaches past 'Jezebel crazy' levels of smile. "Ha ha ha." Daniel responds. "Yes. The details. Of the plan. Okay. The details General, and let me lay it to you straight." The detective pauses. Freezes, more like it. He was trying to find the most diplomatic way to express this. And he finds it.
"What we need to do is get Sergei here drunk."
"I don't mean a little liquor in him, or 'buzzed.'" He throws an arm over the General's shoulder, as he motions towards the russian killing machine. "As it turns out, the chemicals that were injected in him naturally break down when exposed to alcohol molucules, and when your body metabolized the booze, it will break down those terrible drugs that is causing those violent reactions with the White Angel of Death!" Daniel Jack looks sheepishly at the General. "So uh, General Zima, in other words, I gotta make Sergei here go through a two man frat party. In order to save his sanity. Now, uh." He looks to Sergei, and back to the General.
"Do we -know- what booze does to Frankstein here?"
Zima’s face fall into a state of shock and fear. The General sits down and rubs his forehead and mumbles in inaudible Russian. With a remorseful sigh, Zima speaks. "Dragunov does not drink. Dragunov cannot drink".
The General sat back down. "The last time Dragunov was drunk, it ended badly. The following rampage he went on resulted in 6 concussions, 15 spilnterd limbs, 9 missing ears, 2 removed jaws, over a hundred broken ribs, and the creation of squad DPYP-01"
Looking back up at Little, his tone rises to dry disgusted. "Now that was two shots of vodka. Little, you are dealing with a man who strikes terror even into those that do not fear death."
"and has the alcohol tolerance of a mid sized beaver."
Sergei just sat there, gazing off into another vision of the darker recesses of the mind.
Daniel was afraid of something like this.
As the General explains just how dangeorus this man was while drunk, he nods along, staring at the silent, tormented figure. The general made it clear. Sergei would -murder the hell- out of everything once he had a few drinks in him. And yet, Daniel had to help his partner. As the General finishes, the detective just pats him on both of his shoulders.
"Well General, that is a risk we are gonna have to make."
He moves away from the general, taking off his hat. Immediately, he puts it on Sergei. "What I figure, with the door barred, this is what I will do. I will -fight- Sergei while we take shots and get him drunker and drunker. See, eventually he will pass out. And I have proven that, without a doubt, I can at least hold my own with him. I mean, I have fought him twice!" And once left you in a body cast. Daniel Jack gestures at Sergei, popping the straws of the hat into the Russian's mouth. "Don't worry about this General!"
"I got a good feeling this will work out fine!"
Sergei holds the straws in his mouth without even acknowledging they are there. General Zima face palms and the agent’s suggestion. With great irritation he yells at Daniel "How stupid can you be Little! Have you even thought this through! Do you honestly think that would end well at all for anyone !".
The General grabs Daniel’s collar and yells quietly through clenched teeth. "First you would have to make him drink while he is drunk, which you can’t do since when he gets drunk he no longer obeys and reportedly hated the taste of alcohol anyways. Then if you can knock him out, he is at all kinds of risks. Then when he throws you away, do you think a door would stop Dragunov? He could just break down the hinges by bashing them open!". Zima releases his grip on Daniel and shouts at him a single inquiry.
"How do you even know the alcohol will work!"
"Look, lets not worry about where I found out how it will work"
Daniel says this while picking some spider webbing out from behind his ear as the General clutches his collar. "The important thing is, General, that the only way he is gonna get the help he needs is by drinking booze. There is no other alternative at this time General. And as for getting him to drink while he is drunk..." Daniel pushes away General Zima's hands, staring at the catonic Sergei.
"I have my ways."
Shaking his head, he faces the General. "And right now, you can help me General. He will obey you, no matter what, at least right now. And fortunately, I have just the thing that will get him drunk. That's not beer in there General. That's Cointreau, a french drink so sweet, so fruity, and so high in content, it is practically made to get women drunk without noticing it!" He pauses a moment. "There is no time to ask me how I know this General. If you want to save your soldier?"
"Order him to drink now!"
General Zima paced back and forth in-front of Daniel with great disdain, but considered it nonetheless. With a strike of incite, Zima had far better solution. He faced the detective and spoke in a less enraged but still strong tone. "How about this, how about you have Dragunov have his treatment administered by a professional in a controlled environment. But you WILL be asked where you found out your information, and you WILL answer properly and fully". In an eased and quieter voice he gave another option. "Or you can choose the second option where you act as you see fit to treat Dragunov. But when you do so, you will be held responsible for all of his actions. Excluding any heroic deeds of course."
As Sergei just keeps on staring, Zima give Daniel the ultimatum. "Risk exposure Little, or risk being guilty of untold crimes and horrors."
"Choose wisely, or you might wish they called you Lady Killer"
And Daniel Jack looks dead on the General.
"Look, scuzzy." The detective states flatly. "If the doctors could fix this man, they would have by now. And let me tell you something flat. I can't tell you where I got my information. So means a hospital won't work for us, you dig?" He glances back at the comatose Sergei, shaking his head. "Besides, General. I won't lie. This man.... this man looks like a man... who really needs a drink." Turning back over to the General, the detective crosses his arms. "I can keep this storm down."
"So give the order, General."
In a sullen voice General Zima leaves a parting message before exiting the room. “As you wish. But be aware if Sergei leaves this room, you will have an army upon this location. And please consider restraining Dragunov.” He barks to Sergei “svyazat' sebya i pit' Dragunov” and exists the room, unbarring it and adding a bar to the outside.
As Zima’s boots are heard running like a mad man down the hall, Sergei begins to tie himself up as ordered. He knows once he starts drinking, reasoning will fade. nothing but pure, destructive instinct will remain.
Daniel Jack knew that it was all up to him now.
As the General gives the order, the detective pops the keg. Drawing a long straw out of it, his partner begins to tie himself up. It was... pretty fortunate that nobody Daniel knew was watching this. As Sergei finishes up his restraint, the detective brings the keg around. "Alright, scuzzy." He says softly. "Once you drain that hat, I'm gonna give you this. And remember Sergei. If you wanna fight?" He leans in close.
"We gonna fight, you dig?"
Sergei drank. He drank and he drank. As the hat at was 10% empty, the Spetsnaz felt his head clear of the horrible haze Tessitore caused. When the hat was 20% empty, Sergei felt his gut burning worse then when he felt his own foot kicking it open. He was suffering, because Daniel was making him suffer!
And it was not just Daniel, but all of interpol too, and all of Majin! Sergei would make each one of them feel his pain a thousand fold. He would hang their still living bodies in trees by threading barbed wire through their eye sockets! He would make them wish for death when he is merely beginning! They would all burn under dripping flaming tar!
By them time he had drunk 1/4th of the hat, Sergei was trying to struggle free from his bonds, and he was foaming at the mouth.
Daniel couldn't stop.
He meets Sergei drink for drink, because you never drink alone. For every sip, the detective swigs a bottle of whiskey from one of the brown bags. As he stares into the seething hate of this Russian, the detective just focuses with his own cold stare. Ice against Fire, Fire again Ice. Daniel was making him suffer, and he was going to be the face of the suffering right now.
And he was gonna stomp him down.
As the quarter mark is met, the man starts to fight out of the ropes, frothing at the mouth. "Come on you sissy!" The detective barks, takes another swig of the whiskey. As the man gets progress on the ropes, the detective actually puts a hand on his shoulder. Chi energy flows over Daniel, as he promptly -shoves- the whiskey into his mouth. "You gonna drink it, and you are gonna -hate- it. And if you are gonna regret it, you are gonna regret it in the morning, not now!" He was pour that whiskey in. THe man might bite off the neck of the bottle, he might spit it out. But Daniel was gonna fight with him. Because there was a golden place for the lightweight. Sergei might be a mean drunk.
But comatose drunks are always peaceful.
The simple investigator was coming in close to Sergei. He was going to rip his tongue out through that agent’s throat and shove it into his eye! Then he feels something else, something strange. Something that quelled his undying thirst of destruction of pain. It was rising up, filling him with a feeling that was lightening. Sergei was going to open his mouth and do something he had not done in a long time.
Sergei then vomits directly into Daniel Jack’s face...
And Daniel just stares into the face of Russian spew.
"Alright you sissy!" The detective roars. "That is just your body making more room for booze! Round two!" He bellows, as he suddenly hurls away the bottle. It shatters by the barred door, just as Daniel Jack rummages another brown bag into play. And now, he brings out the secret weapon.
Vodka.
Simple, cheap Russian vodka. It would not be smooth. It would not be pleasant. But Daniel Jack, staring into the bound, vomiting Sergei, swiftly readies the bottle right into the man's mouth. Staring into the rage that is the Russian, Daniel Jack sweats and stink as unscrews the top, and giving it a swig, begins to pour it right into Sergei.
It was brotherhood.
It was bonding.
Sergei held his lips tight together as the fermented potatoes poured over his face. His stomach was purged of further poisons, and he would take no more. While he no longer drank the vodka, it still poured over him, the fumes seeping into his blood with haste.
It was sistersock.
It was treacherous.
Daniel Jack empties the bottle out.
And there, he stops, and stares. He stares hard into Sergei's cold eyes. Mad eyes of his own against the rage of the Russian. "Now, I know you can answer with your words, but you won't. So you can just nod you head when you gotta answer." Daniel growls, throwing the bottle away. He... was gonna get his ass kicked. But the detective had a feeling. An instinct. "You don't seem like you are having fun anymore. But you don't seem like you are hurting as much anymore." He leans in very close, his eyes locked on.
"You feeling like you are down with that sickness still?"
The haze that Tessitore left in Sergei had been gone before he barely made a scratch in the hat. He was cured, but now had a new sickness. He felt his intestines burning, he head spinning, a state of weakness and confusion. Daniel asked him a question to see if he was alright. The Russian gave a response he felt suitable to the current circumstances.
Sergei headbutted Daniel right in his vomit scented 100 proof face.
"Huuuurgh"
That was the groan from Daniel as he takes a full headbutt to the face. Nose bloodied, he staggers back, falling right on his bottom. Sitting fast, he wipes his face with the back of his hand, and stares at the blood. "Okay, so that's the answer to the next question of 'you are so god damn pissed at me.'' Okay then." He grunts. He reaches around for another brown bag, and pulls out the bottle. He squints his eyes at it, and then takes a swig. "Alright dude you're clear then." He belts out, as he takes a straw from one of his kegs, and plugs it into the Russian's keg of water. Chaining the straw right into Sergei's mouth, he nods firmly. "You pass. Start drinking."
"We don't want you to have a hangover for the tournament, you dig?"
Sergei drank the water. He drank and he drank and he drank. As he felt the water fill him, he tried to slip free of his bonds. Just as he felt his the binding release, he felt his third kind of poisoning that day. Sergei now had water intoxication.
Sergei was now feeling a level of confusion and nausea that was worse than Tessitore’s shot. Sergei spat out the straw and was released from his bonds. He would have tackled Daniel to the ground...
But he face down on the floor from the nausea.
Oh, he was done with this.
Face still bloodied, Daniel Jack was already staggering back as Sergei drinks the water, like a camel after 5 days in the Sahara. And he could see that anger, that strength, all fully rise to a head. Already, the man was bursting from his restraints. Already, he was towering upwards. The detective falls into his defensive stance. Glaring dead on at the Russian, he prepares. He readies. He braces himself for the Russian...
Who was falling right over.
Daniel Jack just stares down at the collapsed Sergei. Steadily, his guard drops. And finally, he just places his hands on his hips. Grinning, he doesn't come -anywhere- near Sergei. "Fantastic! Looks like you've fully recovered, scuzzy!" Daniel Jack takes a seat back on the bench. "I'm... gonna let you sleep it off now. We'll see how you are tomorrow! If you are feeling great, well, I think we might need a rematch. If you are still feeling sick though?" And the detective's grin turn wicked.
"We can always try again!"
Sergei is on the floor, spewing up diluted alcohol. He immobile body is shaken as paramedics decked out in full body armor rush in and put Sergei on a gurney and start to check out his condition as they pull him out. Walking in with the paramedics, was General Zima.
The General walked over to Daniel his his back straight. Looking at the drunken waste in the eye, he speaks. "Agent Little, I congratulate you for getting Dragunov inebriated before he could harm you, or anything or worth." "I will make sure to officially reward Dragunov for keeping control of himself and improving the look of your face, and its smell." Looking up to a corner Zima mentions almost off offhandedly, "Like the cameras? they recorded the whole thing for us. I was thinking of sending it to Chief Malone, along with an edited version that will definitely not make you look like a rapist."
"Unless you could tell me something that would change my mind?"
Daniel Jack wasn't expecting the doors to brust in from the outside.
The detective turns around, a frown spreading across his face. Medical team? What was this. And then, General Zima reveals himself. The detective just rolls his eyes, hands on his hips. "Seriously? I had things under control General!" The detective declares. But as the General continues... the detective's frown fades into a dead neutral look. Cameras. Of course. That's why he was... that was why he was there first. And the general was threating to -blackmail- him? He knew what the general was after. How Daniel found out how to cure him. The detective looks around vaguely, trying to find the cameras. But as he looks around, the General makes it clear what the terms was. The Daniel was in a bind. But a smile spreads across his face, as he holds up two brown bags, and a rakish wink and grin towards the General.
"I still have two bottles of vodka left, General."
Log created on 19:01:24 05/19/2016 by Daniel, and last modified on 17:56:12 05/27/2016.