There's trouble blowing like a hurricane
Billy get your guns
That's the price on your head for the price of fame
And it'll never change
Billy get your guns
— Bon Jovi "Billy Get Your Guns"



     Kaleb had no concept of how much time had passed since he was drugged and dragged off into some...place. It was a magnificent place like a a suite up in the Hamptons. Talk about going in style. But he still had no idea where he was, where Lorna was, or why he was here. This happened when they tell you things like 'just rest' but not other things like their name.

They were bad hosts.

He made a point to give this place a 1/5 star review.
Okay 2/5. The chef here was impeccable and these were 800 thread count sheets.
He had to give them that.

     He woke up, hungry and tired. He had no idea what was being injected into his arm but at least his tongue stopped feeling like gum rolled in sand. Ugh, just...awful. His eyes were a bit less glassy, though his senses felt entirely dulled from being medicated. Funny enough the tinnitus stopped making his head feel like a ringing bell right now.

Small mercies. Still he was awake enough to feel spiteful and feeling anything was a step up.

Lorna wasn't here that he knew.
His brother wasn't here or he would know.
His team wasn't here as it was entirely too quiet.
He was completely alone which is everything and not at all what he wanted.
Not like this; not with those little motes of humanity taken out of his world.

     His eyes closed and he forced his mind to focus. He forced his mind to try to reach out and identify waves of sound but all that was really coming up were too faint to force or were like trying to make static into one tone. He had not the energy for it. Okay, new plan; one involving getting that IV out of his arm and focusing on staying awake for longer than ten minutes. He’d finally taken a wander around the room he was imprisoned in and noticed a few things. For one he was on the second floor but that was a modest assumption from this high off the ground. The door was locked and made of solid wood. There was no phone and no nearby neighbours at least on this side to flag down. The sonic was stuck.

     It was when someone came to pick up his lunch to him that Kaleb went for answers. It was about to be a bad day to be in the service industry. That he was only in his striped boxers and a t-shirt and dragging an IV stand with him didn’t seem to slow him down much. One hand clamped around the ‘waiter’s’ throat and just crushed slamming him back against the wall. It took every bit of focus and effort that he had. His senses were still entirely blunted but running off of pure adrenaline seemed to be working well enough for government work. This didn’t stop him from trying to force the man to bend to bend his will. He demanded, “Answers. Now. Who is keeping me here. Where is the woman I was with?”

     The surprised man gasped for air, and tried to grasp at the white knuckles that were clamped around his esophagus. He gasped and tried to utter “I...don’t...kn-” But Kaleb’s hand didn’t budge and his blue eyes knew nothing of warmth or concern for what the man didn’t know or couldn’t tell him. He watched the attendant’s eyes flutter and his face flush violet.

     That too calm voice returned and it was he older, pleasant gentleman that seemed to infer Kaleb’s compliance in this fiasco. This caught Kaleb’s attention. “Mr. Miller if we could quickly dispense of either the staff or the theatrics we do have much to discuss.” Kaleb didn’t want to let go. He wanted to be angry and he wanted to make something else hurt. Still there was something cautionary that sat in the back of his head that Magneto warned him of and the dangers of senseless violence. The young sonic’s jaw set and though it took every ounce of will to quell his ire, he let go.

     The staffer gasped for air. Clutching his throat the servant scrambled back out of the room. TIred and angry Kaleb turned to the older man and promised, “My father… will hear of this. Name. Now.”

     The elderly man smiled warmly, though a predatory glint hit his eyes. “You may call me Mr. Pendergast. And you will be telling your father nothing, Mr. Miller. I’d be happy to call him myself and tell him what we know and I don’t think you want that either.” This gave Kaleb pause and he glanced briefly to his arm where blood was drawn. Shit. They likely have me on file. was his immediate thought. Pendergast continued, “There are a few things you don’t know that I’m certain you will find agreeable when you better understand your...unique situation.”

     Kaleb was invited to have a seat and as the adrenaline was waning a bit he felt that was the more prudent choice than fall over. He walked, IV stand in tow, to the table and sat at one of the Queen Anne chairs heeping his eyes on the Pendergast fellow. He otherwise remained silent.

      “I didn’t bring the woman to you or… anyone.” Hell he didn’t even know if they had her. He was running a blind gambit. “If she’s harmed I’m withdrawing all support.” He took a gamble based on them needing something from him. It was worth seeing how that would go. The problem was whatever was in his system was catching up to him and staying awake for any length of time without throwing up would be an issue.

     Pendergast laughed, “Son, you haven’t a leg to stand on. But you could. And you will. And I know that you did not bring the young woman for any reasons but your own, but I think you’ll find you may wish to keep that to yourself. For her sake, for yours, for your brother’s. I find the term ‘Heir and a spare’ is usually good enough motivation to prompt any to listen. Ah. I have your attention now? Good.” The flash of anger that lit up Kaleb’s expression was telling enough to know he’d found the nerve. “Tell me, how well do you really know your father, Mr. Miller?”

It was about to be one of those talks.
He really had no choice but to play along, listen, and firgure out what he could.

Shitshitshitshitshit...