Slip Slidin' Away - Short Affair 9/14

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Prompts: fizz, silver
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The last thing he remembered was a sound, like… fizzzzzzz… fizz… fizzy… Definitely something that made his tongue vibrate when he tried to pronounce.  He was trying it now, and judging by the look on Illya's face it wasn't turning out as he had heard it in his head.

"Napoleon, please stop doing that.  I cannot tell if you are trying to communicate or have simply lost your mind entirely.  In either case my head hurts and you need to be quiet."

"Where are we?   I can't remember anything except that noise, the…"

"Do not make that noise!  Please, I beg of you."

Now that Napoleon looked a little closer he could see that one side of his partner's face was turning a peculiar shade of blue.  That fizzing noise in his head must be what he heard before ... an explosion?  Why couldn't he remember?

"Are you hurt?  I mean I see bruising but…' The blond head shook a negative response, but in so doing it was obvious that something hurt, somewhere.

"Yeah, you're hurt all right.  Where is it? Ribs, arms,..?"

Illya attempted to stand up but instead yelped out in pain and collapsed back onto the floor.  It didn't help that beneath them the flooring appeared to be stainless steel; silver and slick, making it difficult to maneuver considering their shoes had been removed.  They were both dressed in white overalls, making Illya appear more pale than usual against the steel background.  Napoleon's dark hair stood out in all of the colorless surroundings, an odd contrast in a peculiar situation.

"I think my wrist is broken, judging by how that felt."  Illya was cradling his right wrist, a grimace of pain still evident.

"Okay, let's move more slowly and see if we can't get out of here."  Napoleon managed to stand up and then gingerly took hold of his partner's arm, unsure if anything else might be out of whack.  Without sliding and with a great deal of concentration, the two men were both upright and taking inventory of their battered bodies.

"I seem to be in one piece, although that sound in my head is still there.' Napoleon looked around the room, it's shiny surfaces all reflecting them in a slightly distorted way.  Who built rooms lined with steel?

"Monroe.  Edgar Monroe, we're on Napila Island and …"

"Very good Mr. Solo.  You do remember me."  The voice resembled the fizzing sound in his head, and now Napoleon remembered that the madman named Monroe was himself partially galvanized, confined to a wheelchair of his own design that motored around this island laboratory like something out of a science fiction movie.

"Yes, I remember you Monroe.  What have you done with Miss Ivy?"  The innocent, the young woman whose heart Monroe could not win but was held, imprisoned, as retribution for the rejection.  Her father was an industrialist who had foolishly invested in Monroe's ambitious scheme to create a robotic workforce that he envisioned as the future of THRUSH.  James Ivy had not grasped the vision, had blindly funded what was now surrounding them all; all except James Ivy, who lay dead in his home from whence Florence Ivy had been kidnapped.

"My little flower is safe and sound, Mr. Solo.  She will remain so as long as your people leave me alone.  I will send that message along with your dead body, something that will certainly let Alexander Waverly know that I am a force to be reckoned with."

While this was going on Illya had moved very carefully to the wall facing Napoleon, assuming that the view of the room was coming from the little camera he had spotted over the door.  By disappearing from Monroe's sight he hoped to provoke something in the way of action, or reaction.

"Where is the Russian?  You two had best not try to initiate anything aggressive, you are helpless to leave here.  I will have my world, my Florence and my revenge!"

As if on cue, the door swung open and in rolled the fizzing, silver entity that was Edgar Monroe.  He held Florence Ivy in an iron grip, a 'hand' that was attached to the man's steel frame.  She was terrified, her face red from the tears shed as she cowered in the presence of this madman who loved her.

Illya was holding himself against the wall, flat as he could manage and almost invisible in white against the reflective steel.  When Monroe was fully inside the door he saw the source of his machine's power, a small battery that had connector wires attached beneath an acrylic cover.  As swiftly as he was able, Illya lifted the cover and  pulled every wire; the fizzing noise that accompanied Monroe wherever he went was suddenly quiet, the grip on Florence's wrist immediately released.  Edgar Monroe cried out as he realized what had happened, gasped for air as the oxygen he depended on began to falter along with other functions inside his mobile, life-giving unit.

"Illya, he's going to…" Napoleon hadn't realized the man depended on oxygen, hadn't recognized it as part of the clever design.  It was too late when Illya tried to reconnect the wires, searching for only the one that would save Monroe's life.

"Let him die, please… don't bring him back."  Florence broke down then, falling in Napoleon's arms as she cried, the release of her torment and fear finally finding voice as she realized that the man responsible was now dead.

Illya shook his head, motioning for Napoleon to escort Florence back out into the hallway and closing the door behind them.  The few guards that were employed by Monroe would not wage a battle; there were merely hired grunts with no love for the man they served.  Within a few hours the island was secured by UNCLE personnel, some of whom would remain to try and decipher the world Monroe had envisioned.

Napoleon, Illya and Florence Ivy flew back to New York via the UNCLE helicopter sent by Alexander Waverly.  He would need to inform the young woman of her father's death, and hopefully help her to rebuild a life without fear of Edgar Monroe.

Illya and Napoleon spent the obligatory time in Medical, neither of them particularly anxious to go anywhere.  Sometimes a day or two in a quiet room with accommodating nurses was just what was needed.

Sometimes being home, and alone, was not what an agent wanted.

Comments

[carabele.livejournal.com]

The concept of this particular villain is quite intriguing. Maybe you could do a 'prequel' on this one?

[laurose8.livejournal.com]

Strong ending! And I like the innocent being the one to decide.

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Oh yes, prequel please? Really intriguing images, wow!

[jantojones.livejournal.com]

Another one for the 'Expanding Stories'. This was an excellent story, and I too would like to learn more about this villain.

[lindafishes8.livejournal.com]

A very evil man got what he deserved. Good one, Glenna.

[jkkitty.livejournal.com]

Some times we all need someone to help us along. Very nicely done

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

I could certainly add it to the list. See the posts at this tag: expanded file affair

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

She certainly had a right to not see him come back from the dead.

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Seriously, another story to expand? I have to admit there's room for it though ;)

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

I will put it in the file folder and see how it goes.

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

IT's good to be able to do away with evil once in a while.

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Yes, and thank goodness Miss Ivy had our fearless heroes.

[otherhawk.livejournal.com]

Like everyone else, I'd love to see this one expanded. A very dark and chilling villain.

And I am oddly amused by the notion of Napoleon waking up and attempting to imitate the fizzing noise that was the last thing he remembered. Nice use of the prompt there.

[glennagirl.livejournal.com]

Thank you, especially for the nod to Solo's fizzing. As for the 'expansion', perhaps during our Halloween week it will make an appearance.