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--------------33F9A0804FD5861BD1B71FFB
Content-Type: text/plain
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit
3/29
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the JQ characters and I 'm not making any
money off of them. (although charitable donations are always excepted.)
Archive: If you dare...Bawahaha!
Grouping: W.A.R. (Evil Laugh)
Warning: I wrote this because I haven't seen any WAR fics so far and it
would be a shame to have that catagory go empty for the awards in the
next couple of days. Not to mention the fact I have a greater chance of
winning an award if I have no one to compete against.
Note: As usual, comments are welcome. Especially those from the ladies
of FIRE, Min, I had to do this.
Without further ado....
Hot Date? By Michelle Curtin
"Hot date, Race?" Jonny asked of the white haired man carefully
fixing his tie in the downstairs mirror. With his piercing blue eyes,
broad shoulders, and military stance he looked pretty impressive in his
tux.
"Just another woman, Jonny." Race considered himself in the mirror
and, satisfied, turned and walked over to the closet. Carelessly he
removed the jacket.
"So, who is it this time?" the young blond asked him curiously.
With every move his live in bodyguard made, Jonny watched, learning. One
day he hoped to be just like his hero; cool, confident, self-assured,
and good with the ladies.
"Desiree Banks. I'm taking her out to dinner and dancing over at
the Blue Heron and afterthat, well, you can probably guess," Race said
with a confident smile.
"Yeah, I can," Jonny replied with a laugh. "Have fun!" he called
over his shoulder as Race confidently strolled out the door to his pride
and joy, a sleek black sports car.
In the shadows of the nearby stairs a figure crept back and away,
melding with the darkness. A smile twinged her lips in eager
anticipation of the near future.
****
"I can't believe this," Race exclaimed in annoyance as his finely
tuned car sputtered and, as he pulled to the side of the road, died. He
was on one of the back streets toward the boundary in Rockport. The dark
woods that sat to his right and the deserted street to his left killed
any hope of flagging down help. Stepping out of the car he angrily
approached the front
and popped the hood. Smoke billowed up from the engine and clouded his
eyesight. Loudly he cursedthe car's rotten timing. Little did he know,
car problems were the least of his problems.
From out of the woods a silent figure slunk forward and noiselessly
snuck up behind him. Between his engine's death cries and his cursing,
Race Bannon never heard the stranger until he was upon him, and by then
it was to late. With an effortless motion the being cracked him on the
back of his head, plunging the former covert agent into a darkness as
deep as that which engulfed the nearby woods.
****
Hours later he awoke, meticulously bound by both his ankles and his
wrists to a metal gate. He stood there in the middle of a darkened
warehouse, waiting to meet his captor. Race didn't know how long he
stood, there nothing was available to keep track of the time. There was
nothing for him to do but sit back and wait. As the minutes dragged by,
Race's short temper got
shorter and shorter.
With no one around and nothing to do but stand there as his
bindings cut the circulation off in his hands and feet, he began to
curse. Quietly at first his words gained volume as his patience wore
away. In no time he was bellowing at the top of his lungs.
"That will be quite enough of that," said a calm, female voice from
behind him. Race turned to get a look at his captor but was brought up
short by the restriction of the ropes.
"It's been a long time," she continued. "Too long." Suddenly Race
found himself staring into a familiar pair of brown eyes, eyes he hadn't
seen since shortly after his divorce.
"Ilea?" he said as surprise registered in his voice. He had been on
a mission visiting her country when he had met the young Vietnamese
scientist. A hard worker, she had somehow managed to find herself
entangled with the Communist party. His assignment had been to get close
to her in order to draw out several high placed officials. The plan had
backfired and instead he had fallen in love with her, or, as much as he
could with anyone woman. Things had gone from bad to worse when he was
exposed as a CIA agent. Ilea had been caught in the ensuing battle and,
taking her for dead, he was forced to leave. He hadn't seen her since.
She leaned forward, solidly putting her mouth to his and locking
them in a kiss. It was several minutes before she released him and when
she did both were brought up panting. The kiss had been meant to be show
of power, to demonstrate to him that she could do what she wanted with
him, but instead only proved how much she still cared for him. "Oh,
Race," she said, visibly
upset. "How I've missed you," she whispered as she buried her face in
his neck, breathing in his scent.
"I thought you said you could handle this," came a sultry voice.
Startled, Ilea abruptly pushed away from Race and desperately tried to
regain her composure. From the same place Ilea had emerged she came, the
black strands of her hair caressing her face as she tightly pursed her
mouth in disapproval. "If there was time to play, I wouldn't have let
you come alone," she said as she glowered at the red faced brunette.
Carelessly dismissing the girl, she turned her
attention to the attractive man who stood before her, still bound to the
gate. Passionately, she delivered her own kiss. "Hello, handsome."
"I leave the two of you alone for a second," sounded yet another
female voice. This one was dripping with a Russian accent and was as
familiar as the other two. Unfortunately, this one was mad. "The others
aren't going to like this," she said, but the anger had mostly faded
from her voice. "You know Race, you look kind of cute all tied up like
this." Grasping his shirt, she pulled herself toward him as she covered
his mouth with her own. She pushed herself away and smiled with genuine
fondness. "Too bad we didn't think of the ropes when we were still
together, eh?"
"Natasha? I haven't seen you since..."
"Since your government needed to borrow one of our spaceships to
rescue your stranded crew from Ezekiel Rage," she cut in, the anger
returning to her voice. Her face twisted in disgust and she turned away,
unable to look at him any longer. "Thank you, Race. I believe you have
reminded us all of what we are doing here." To the women she said, "Go
alert the others and
hook up the satellite link."
"What's going on? What are you doing," he demanded.
"Taking what you owe us. You, Race Bannon, are here for your
punishment." In the dim light of the room Race could make out Jade and
Ilea moving heavy looking equipment into the room.
"Punishment for what? Have I saved the world to many times? Or
maybe you're all tired of me rescuing you?" he snapped but even as he
said it, he regretted it. He had no idea what was going on, just that he
was in big trouble. Natasha smiled again, but this time, it was
disconcerting.
"We, the many women of your life, have charged you with crimes
against our sex. Philandering, using, and debasing us as well as raising
young Jonny Quest to follow in your footsteps. For these things you must
pay." She stepped back to where a camera was being set into place. Jade
came forward and took her place explaining.
"About a month ago I got a call from a wonderful young woman who
was hysterical, crying over your latest antic. My heart broke for her,
not just because of the situation she was in, but because I could
relate. I made a few calls and, together with several of your other exs,
I decided enough was enough. We held a formal trial with witnesses,
defense and prosecution
attorneys and a jury of your peers, several other former CIA agents,"
she smiled at the memory.
"They weren't particularly willing, if I remember correctly. Of
course, considering they were all kidnapped...." She began to laugh and
was quickly joined by the other two women. Their laughter eventually
faded, leaving Race with a feeling of uneasiness. She shrugged and
turned away from, helping the others finish with the link up.
"So, what are you going to do?" Race said, his concern growing by
the minute. He didn't think any of them would physically hurt him, but
they were three of the most creative women on the planet, physical pain
wasn't necessarily needed for them to get their desired effect. Ilea
walked over to the side of the warehouse and picked up a silver
briefcase that he hadn't noticed
during his captivity. She brought it over to where he stood, bound, and
popped open the top. Seeing the contents, Race's face drained of color.
"Nnnooo!!" Race screamed the stark fear overtaking his voice.
*****
From behind Race, a young woman smiled, enjoyment lightening the
sadness of her lonely world. She smiled again, more broadly this time,
as she monitored the Questworld system and checked on the VR program she
had installed.
All was going as planned. Race Bannon was thoroughly immersed in his
own private hell. She had spent months perfecting a
system that would inhibit the "player" from separating the real world
from that of Questworld and now, it was working perfectly.
Quietly, she chuckled to herself as he struggled desperately
against the binds that held him in the lighthouse chair. It was to no
avail, the bindings were perfectly tied, restraining all but the
slightest movements. She was finally paying him back for all the wrongs
he had done her. This act was for all the times he had left her alone,
or ignored her. For every time he had spent the night with another
woman, never bothering to tell her where he was going or if he would be
back. For all
the pain and loneliness he had caused in her life, she tortured him. She
went over and sadly stroked his face, now twisted in fear and pain. She
had never wanted to hurt him, only to get his attention and make sure he
never hurt her again. After years of brooding, she finally had her
revenge.
Jessica Bannon stepped back from her father's side and returned to
the monitors to watch his progression into hell.
****
You like? Send 'em, I'm ready for anything.
Bryne
--------------33F9A0804FD5861BD1B71FFB
Content-Type: text/html
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit
3/29
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the JQ characters and I 'm not making
any money off of them. (although charitable donations are always excepted.)
Archive: If you dare...Bawahaha!
Grouping: W.A.R. (Evil Laugh)
Warning: I wrote this because I haven't seen any WAR fics so far and
it would be a shame to have that catagory go empty for the awards in the
next couple of days. Not to mention the fact I have a greater chance of
winning an award if I have no one to compete against.
Note: As usual, comments are welcome. Especially those from the ladies
of FIRE, Min, I had to do this.
Without further ado....
Hot Date? By Michelle Curtin
"Hot date, Race?" Jonny
asked of the white haired man carefully fixing his tie in the downstairs
mirror. With his piercing blue eyes, broad shoulders, and military stance
he looked pretty impressive in his tux.
"Just another woman, Jonny." Race considered
himself in the mirror and, satisfied, turned and walked over to the closet.
Carelessly he removed the jacket.
"So, who is it this time?" the young blond
asked him curiously. With every move his live in bodyguard made, Jonny
watched, learning. One day he hoped to be just like his hero; cool, confident,
self-assured, and good with the ladies.
"Desiree Banks. I'm taking her out to dinner
and dancing over at the Blue Heron and afterthat, well, you can probably
guess," Race said with a confident smile.
"Yeah, I can," Jonny replied with a laugh.
"Have fun!" he called over his shoulder as Race confidently strolled out
the door to his pride and joy, a sleek black sports car.
In the shadows of the nearby stairs a figure crept
back and away, melding with the darkness. A smile twinged her lips in eager
anticipation of the near future.
****
"I can't believe this," Race exclaimed in
annoyance as his finely tuned car sputtered and, as he pulled to the side
of the road, died. He was on one of the back streets toward the boundary
in Rockport. The dark woods that sat to his right and the deserted street
to his left killed any hope of flagging down help. Stepping out of the
car he angrily approached the front
and popped the hood. Smoke billowed up from the engine and clouded
his eyesight. Loudly he cursedthe car's rotten timing. Little did he know,
car problems were the least of his problems.
From out of the woods a silent figure slunk
forward and noiselessly snuck up behind him. Between his engine's death
cries and his cursing, Race Bannon never heard the stranger until he was
upon him, and by then it was to late. With an effortless motion the being
cracked him on the back of his head, plunging the former covert agent into
a darkness as deep as that which engulfed the nearby woods.
****
Hours later he awoke, meticulously bound by
both his ankles and his wrists to a metal gate. He stood there in the middle
of a darkened warehouse, waiting to meet his captor. Race didn't know how
long he stood, there nothing was available to keep track of the time. There
was nothing for him to do but sit back and wait. As the minutes dragged
by, Race's short temper got
shorter and shorter.
With no one around and nothing to do but stand
there as his bindings cut the circulation off in his hands and feet, he
began to curse. Quietly at first his words gained volume as his patience
wore away. In no time he was bellowing at the top of his lungs.
"That will be quite enough of that," said a calm, female voice
from behind him. Race turned to get a look at his captor but was brought
up short by the restriction of the ropes.
"It's been a long time," she continued. "Too long."
Suddenly Race found himself staring into a familiar pair of brown eyes,
eyes he hadn't seen since shortly after his divorce.
"Ilea?" he said as surprise registered in
his voice. He had been on a mission visiting her country when he had met
the young Vietnamese scientist. A hard worker, she had somehow managed
to find herself entangled with the Communist party. His assignment had
been to get close to her in order to draw out several high placed officials.
The plan had backfired and instead he had fallen in love with her, or,
as much as he could with anyone woman. Things had gone from bad to worse
when he was exposed as a CIA agent. Ilea had been caught in the ensuing
battle and, taking her for dead, he was forced to leave. He hadn't seen
her since.
She leaned forward, solidly putting her mouth
to his and locking them in a kiss. It was several minutes before she released
him and when she did both were brought up panting. The kiss had been meant
to be show of power, to demonstrate to him that she could do what she wanted
with him, but instead only proved how much she still cared for him. "Oh,
Race," she said, visibly
upset. "How I've missed you," she whispered as she buried her face
in his neck, breathing in his scent.
"I thought you said you could handle this,"
came a sultry voice. Startled, Ilea abruptly pushed away from Race and
desperately tried to regain her composure. From the same place Ilea had
emerged she came, the black strands of her hair caressing her face as she
tightly pursed her mouth in disapproval. "If there was time to play, I
wouldn't have let you come alone," she said as she glowered at the red
faced brunette. Carelessly dismissing the girl, she turned her
attention to the attractive man who stood before her, still bound to
the gate. Passionately, she delivered her own kiss. "Hello, handsome."
"I leave the two of you alone for a second,"
sounded yet another female voice. This one was dripping with a Russian
accent and was as familiar as the other two. Unfortunately, this one was
mad. "The others aren't going to like this," she said, but the anger had
mostly faded from her voice. "You know Race, you look kind of cute all
tied up like this." Grasping his shirt, she pulled herself toward him as
she covered his mouth with her own. She pushed herself away and smiled
with genuine fondness. "Too bad we didn't think of the ropes when we were
still together, eh?"
"Natasha? I haven't seen you since..."
"Since your government needed to borrow one
of our spaceships to rescue your stranded crew from Ezekiel Rage," she
cut in, the anger returning to her voice. Her face twisted in disgust and
she turned away, unable to look at him any longer. "Thank you, Race. I
believe you have reminded us all of what we are doing here." To the women
she said, "Go alert the others and
hook up the satellite link."
"What's going on? What are you doing," he
demanded.
"Taking what you owe us. You, Race Bannon,
are here for your punishment." In the dim light of the room Race could
make out Jade and Ilea moving heavy looking equipment into the room.
"Punishment for what? Have I saved the world
to many times? Or maybe you're all tired of me rescuing you?" he
snapped but even as he said it, he regretted it. He had no idea what was
going on, just that he was in big trouble. Natasha smiled again, but this
time, it was disconcerting.
"We, the many women of your life, have charged
you with crimes against our sex. Philandering, using, and debasing us as
well as raising young Jonny Quest to follow in your footsteps. For these
things you must pay." She stepped back to where a camera was being set
into place. Jade came forward and took her place explaining.
"About a month ago I got a call from a wonderful
young woman who was hysterical, crying over your latest antic. My heart
broke for her, not just because of the situation she was in, but because
I could relate. I made a few calls and, together with several of your other
exs, I decided enough was enough. We held a formal trial with witnesses,
defense and prosecution
attorneys and a jury of your peers, several other former CIA agents,"
she smiled at the memory.
"They weren't particularly willing, if I remember
correctly. Of course, considering they were all kidnapped...." She began
to laugh and was quickly joined by the other two women. Their laughter
eventually faded, leaving Race with a feeling of uneasiness. She shrugged
and turned away from, helping the others finish with the link up.
"So, what are you going to do?" Race said,
his concern growing by the minute. He didn't think any of them would physically
hurt him, but they were three of the most creative women on the planet,
physical pain wasn't necessarily needed for them to get their desired effect.
Ilea walked over to the side of the warehouse and picked up a silver briefcase
that he hadn't noticed
during his captivity. She brought it over to where he stood, bound,
and popped open the top. Seeing the contents, Race's face drained of color.
"Nnnooo!!" Race screamed the stark fear overtaking
his voice.
*****
From behind Race, a young woman smiled, enjoyment
lightening the sadness of her lonely world. She smiled again, more broadly
this time, as she monitored the Questworld system and checked on the VR
program she had installed.
All was going as planned. Race Bannon was thoroughly immersed
in his own private hell. She had spent months perfecting a
system that would inhibit the "player" from separating the real world
from that of Questworld and now, it was working perfectly.
Quietly, she chuckled to herself as he struggled
desperately against the binds that held him in the lighthouse chair. It
was to no avail, the bindings were perfectly tied, restraining all but
the slightest movements. She was finally paying him back for all
the wrongs he had done her. This act was for all the times he had left
her alone, or ignored her. For every time he had spent the night with another
woman, never bothering to tell her where he was going or if he would be
back. For all
the pain and loneliness he had caused in her life, she tortured him.
She went over and sadly stroked his face, now twisted in fear and pain.
She had never wanted to hurt him, only to get his attention and make sure
he never hurt her again. After years of brooding, she finally had her revenge.
Jessica Bannon stepped back from her
father's side and returned to the monitors to watch his progression into
hell.
****
You like? Send 'em, I'm ready for anything.
Bryne
--------------33F9A0804FD5861BD1B71FFB--