Jan. 7th, 2014

[identity profile] mrua7.livejournal.com
Pippa2233, new to Section VII wrote a lovely Picfic but posted it on the wrong day and too early... so I'm putting up a link to it so her fic doesn't get lost in the shuffle.

http://section7mfu.livejournal.com/500682.html
[identity profile] glennagirl.livejournal.com

Literary license: I made the chain a handcuff.
3049345.large

Napoleon Solo was accustomed to sometimes waking up with his head on a velvet pillow, or the velvety smooth skin of a beautiful woman.  This time the pillow was something less than velvet and the handcuffs a stern reminder that the beautiful woman had been a THRUSH agent.

The other thing that was hammering home the point was the pounding in his head.  That meant drugs, and drugs probably meant truth serums, although they wouldn’t have worked.  At least he hoped not.

Read more... )

[identity profile] mrua7.livejournal.com
                   

Dozens of them lay writhing on the ground, men women and children moaning in pain.  The sounds of their agony diminished as one by one they expired; their deaths granting them freedom from their suffering.


Yet there was one who lived, a certain blond agent from U.N.C.L.E. who  remained in pain. Death it seemed had rejected him again.


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[identity profile] mrua7.livejournal.com
                               

It had been weeks since Illya Kuryakin had been held as a prisoner by T.H.R.U.S.H. in a satrap located in the Kazakstan region of the Soviet Union.


His cell was bitterly cold, as it was winter. No glass panes, only bars in the small window letting in the frigid wind and sometimes snow.


He lay there on his cot; the mattress strangely enough covered in what looked like a chidren’s sheet. Dressed in his black suit, though it was in tatters; still, thankfully they had not removed his clothing. There was no heat, or blankets to ward off the numbing temperatures.


At the moment his hands were bound together with heavy chains, as were his ankles. He wore a blindfold and his captors had put ear plugs in his ears….some sort of a sensory deprivation thing.  Though for what purpose, he did not know other than to try and break his will.


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[identity profile] alynwa.livejournal.com

“Napoleon! Quickly, this way!” Illya hissed just as his partner came running down the path. It was after two in the morning in Brooklyn’s Prospect Park Zoo and they had waylaid a THRUSH courier and relieved him of the blueprints he had been carrying. It had been a simple, but effective plan: Illya had been disguised as a homeless bum carrying a squeegee and a spray bottle of water who approached cars stopped for the red light. Intel had been able to provide Napoleon and him with a description of the courier, the make of his car and the route they expected him to take on his way to LaGuardia Airport. With a dirty woolen cap covering his distinctive blond hair, he would dash up to cars and wave the bottle and drunkenly demand money for a window cleaning from the driver. At that time of the morning, there were very few cars so he was able to get a good look at the drivers. When he finally saw his prey, he sprayed the soapy water on the windshield and said loudly, “Gimme a quarter and I’ll make her shine for you!”

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[identity profile] alynwa.livejournal.com

Napoleon was lying on a cot in a cell somewhere in Idaho contemplating his hands. There were many other things he would have preferred to have been doing, but since his wrists were chained together and then, in turn, chained to the cot, his choices were somewhat limited. His captors were not interested in questioning him; apparently, THRUSH was sending a couple of their top operatives to pick him up and personally deliver him to the Central Committee. He had been told that the Chairman himself had demanded that he not be damaged before he appeared before the committee to be interrogated.

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