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section7mfulink to chapter 5: http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/196753.html
l
He was surprised the door posts were set so low, surmising that people from those times were of shorter stature than 20th century man.
His mind was drifting, as it always had a habit of doing... leaping from one interesting thought to another. He often seemed to be talking to himself, as somehow his stories, observations and anecdotes seemed to bore people. He had no idea why, as they were usually quite interesting subjects. He corrected himself, now was not the time for meanderings of the mind.
“Focus old man, “ he whispered to himself, but it was too late.
He felt hands grab him from behind, and as he struggled he cried out, “Unhand me you blaggard!”
“Blaggard? That was the best he could come up with? No one talked like that anymore, who was he kidding?
Good question, and who were these people and what did they want of him? They said a name, “Kuryakin.” he recognized it as Russian.
Could these be Russian spies trying to kidnap a British military man? For what purpose?
Too many questions were left unanswered as they injected something into his arm and everything went black...
lHe rose from the bench, walking out of the Egyptian gallery into another, not stopping as now he was sure the man was indeed following him. Eventually making his way into the Medieval section, he quickly ducked into a reproduction of a Medieval street, leading to a low domed gallery supported by intricately carved pillars. It instantly changed the mood to one of something dark and sinister
He was surprised the door posts were set so low, surmising that people from those times were of shorter stature than 20th century man.
His mind was drifting, as it always had a habit of doing... leaping from one interesting thought to another. He often seemed to be talking to himself, as somehow his stories, observations and anecdotes seemed to bore people. He had no idea why, as they were usually quite interesting subjects. He corrected himself, now was not the time for meanderings of the mind.
“Focus old man, “ he whispered to himself, but it was too late.
He felt hands grab him from behind, and as he struggled he cried out, “Unhand me you blaggard!”
“Blaggard? That was the best he could come up with? No one talked like that anymore, who was he kidding?
Good question, and who were these people and what did they want of him? They said a name, “Kuryakin.” he recognized it as Russian.
Could these be Russian spies trying to kidnap a British military man? For what purpose?
Too many questions were left unanswered as they injected something into his arm and everything went black...
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