Fic: An Old Family Friend (Airwolf, PG)
Jan. 21st, 2012 05:14 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jeriendhalJust one of those random scenelets that has been kicking in my head for a while. One of These Days I'll adapt it into the "Wolf Reborn" Airwolf reboot script that I've been thinking about.
Ducking into the alley had been a tactical mistake, Abe realized. He should have stayed on the street. He might have found an open restaurant, or a knot of people heading home from a party, or even a Civil Protection patrol car. Now he faced a brick wall with no exit except the opening he'd entered and a locked garage door.
The four thugs that had been chasing him paused at the entrance to the alley, their shock sticks at the ready as he turned to face them. "Back off," he snarled.
The lead thug smiled. "Give us what we want, and we'll leave you alone," he said.
"What do you want?" Abe demanded. "Money? Even if you had my credit cards, I'm locked out of my accounts right now."
The lead thug turned off his shock stick and slipped it back into his pocket. Which would have been a helluva lot more reassuring if his hand hadn't emerged again with a a wicked looking knife, its blade black carbon, in it. "Just a bit of blood," the thug said, flipping the knife idly. "Genetic locks are such a pain."
"Go to Hell!" Abe dropped into a fighting stance, calculating the odds. Four armed men, and he only had his fists and nowhere to run. Not good.
The lead thug began to advance, holding the knife down low in front of him. A professional, Abe judged. Not good at all.
There was a sharp, muffled paff! noise, then the thug suddenly toppled over, as a wide red spot appeared on his chest. The remaining three thugs began to turn, but then also fell as they were shot, never having a chance to see their attacker.
Abe took a step back, as a tall Latino woman entered the alley, a silenced pistol in her hand. As she stepped into the circle of light underneath the light fixture by the garage door, he could see she had long, curly black hair and wore a tailored white pantsuit. Entirely too elegant looking for this side of the city.
"Please don't move," the woman said, lowering her pistol slightly to aim in the general direction of his kneecaps. "I'm under orders to keep you alive. 'Unharmed' is optional."
"Go easy on the poor boy, Moira," a male voice said. "He's had a rough night." A figure stepped into the alley, keeping to the shadows. "Abraham Nguyen-Hawke?" the figure asked politely. The accent sounded upper class, Bostonian maybe, and a bit rough with age.
"Yeah," Abe replied. "Who the hell are you?"
"An old family friend, you might say. Or at least not your enemy."
"What do you want?"
"At the moment, to keep you alive and unharmed. I'll venture those, er, private contractors that were following you had the opposite intentions."
"That's all?" Abe asked. His eyes flicked to Moira, who was keeping her pistol trained on him, even as the man spoke as politely as a business associate at a dinner.
"No," the man said. "You have something of mine that I want. Something that was stolen from me by your grandfather a very long time ago, and that I allowed him to keep, because he seemed born to wield it."
Abe blinked, the clues finally sliding into place. "This is about that chopper in the mountain, isn't it? What did Grandpa String have to do with it?"
"Oh, Airwolf is much more than a mere helicopter, and even fifty years after it was built it has secrets that men would be willing to kill for to uncover. String knew that however, so before he died he made sure that it could never be piloted be someone... unworthy."
"That thug was talking about genetic locks," Abe said, thinking fast. "They wanted my blood to unlock the system security on Airwolf."
"Exactly," the man said. "I want the same thing of course. The difference is, I want you alive to pilot Airwolf as well."
"Even if I wanted to, why should I do you any favors? Who are you anyway?"
The man stepped into the light. He looked perhaps seventy years old, so Abe added twenty years to that as he took in the immaculate white suit, white fedora, and silver headed cane. The man's right eye was bright blue, the left pure black. Camera lens, Abe realized.
The man smiled brightly, showing off perfect white teeth. "My name is Michael Coldsmith-Briggs. But you can think of me as your guardian angel."
Ducking into the alley had been a tactical mistake, Abe realized. He should have stayed on the street. He might have found an open restaurant, or a knot of people heading home from a party, or even a Civil Protection patrol car. Now he faced a brick wall with no exit except the opening he'd entered and a locked garage door.
The four thugs that had been chasing him paused at the entrance to the alley, their shock sticks at the ready as he turned to face them. "Back off," he snarled.
The lead thug smiled. "Give us what we want, and we'll leave you alone," he said.
"What do you want?" Abe demanded. "Money? Even if you had my credit cards, I'm locked out of my accounts right now."
The lead thug turned off his shock stick and slipped it back into his pocket. Which would have been a helluva lot more reassuring if his hand hadn't emerged again with a a wicked looking knife, its blade black carbon, in it. "Just a bit of blood," the thug said, flipping the knife idly. "Genetic locks are such a pain."
"Go to Hell!" Abe dropped into a fighting stance, calculating the odds. Four armed men, and he only had his fists and nowhere to run. Not good.
The lead thug began to advance, holding the knife down low in front of him. A professional, Abe judged. Not good at all.
There was a sharp, muffled paff! noise, then the thug suddenly toppled over, as a wide red spot appeared on his chest. The remaining three thugs began to turn, but then also fell as they were shot, never having a chance to see their attacker.
Abe took a step back, as a tall Latino woman entered the alley, a silenced pistol in her hand. As she stepped into the circle of light underneath the light fixture by the garage door, he could see she had long, curly black hair and wore a tailored white pantsuit. Entirely too elegant looking for this side of the city.
"Please don't move," the woman said, lowering her pistol slightly to aim in the general direction of his kneecaps. "I'm under orders to keep you alive. 'Unharmed' is optional."
"Go easy on the poor boy, Moira," a male voice said. "He's had a rough night." A figure stepped into the alley, keeping to the shadows. "Abraham Nguyen-Hawke?" the figure asked politely. The accent sounded upper class, Bostonian maybe, and a bit rough with age.
"Yeah," Abe replied. "Who the hell are you?"
"An old family friend, you might say. Or at least not your enemy."
"What do you want?"
"At the moment, to keep you alive and unharmed. I'll venture those, er, private contractors that were following you had the opposite intentions."
"That's all?" Abe asked. His eyes flicked to Moira, who was keeping her pistol trained on him, even as the man spoke as politely as a business associate at a dinner.
"No," the man said. "You have something of mine that I want. Something that was stolen from me by your grandfather a very long time ago, and that I allowed him to keep, because he seemed born to wield it."
Abe blinked, the clues finally sliding into place. "This is about that chopper in the mountain, isn't it? What did Grandpa String have to do with it?"
"Oh, Airwolf is much more than a mere helicopter, and even fifty years after it was built it has secrets that men would be willing to kill for to uncover. String knew that however, so before he died he made sure that it could never be piloted be someone... unworthy."
"That thug was talking about genetic locks," Abe said, thinking fast. "They wanted my blood to unlock the system security on Airwolf."
"Exactly," the man said. "I want the same thing of course. The difference is, I want you alive to pilot Airwolf as well."
"Even if I wanted to, why should I do you any favors? Who are you anyway?"
The man stepped into the light. He looked perhaps seventy years old, so Abe added twenty years to that as he took in the immaculate white suit, white fedora, and silver headed cane. The man's right eye was bright blue, the left pure black. Camera lens, Abe realized.
The man smiled brightly, showing off perfect white teeth. "My name is Michael Coldsmith-Briggs. But you can think of me as your guardian angel."
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