05-04-2014, 08:49 PM
Jensen studied the sign above a pair of very dark doors. One of the letters was dark, but the name of the facility was obvious enough. He looked to his left and right, and a shudder crawled over his skin. This couldn't be the right place.
Maybe the driver brought him to the wrong plant? He turned to ask, but the car sped away. Jensen jumped into the cloud of diesel fume, but waving his arms did him no good. The man was gone.
Jensen blew out a sigh from his cheeks. The place was dead; not a sound chirped in the distance. He was reaching for his Wallet when the doors flung open in front of two heavily built men.
He took a step back without realizing it, eyes wide. He didn't know whether to be afraid or relieved.
"You are Jensen?"
The one on the left asked. He had a thick, smokey accent that rumbled from deep in his chest. The other was tight lipped and said little.
Jensen nodded, "Yes, I am. I guess I'm in the right place after all."
He slipped the Wallet back in his pocket. The way the second man watched him do it made Jensen tell himself to not turn his back on him. "And you are?"
The first pulled open the door. He gestured that Jensen enter while introducing himself. "I am Khigir."
He flipped his eyes toward his companion. "This is Asmik."
Jensen passed through Asmik's shadow as he followed Khigir inside. He looked up on the way and offered an uneasy smile. "Jensen, pleased to meet you."
Asmik didn't shake his hand.
"Um, where's Yefim?"
Jensen asked as they crossed through what he gathered to be a small lobby.
"Around back. I show you if you follow."
This was likely a very bad idea, but the Plant offices seemed legitimate enough. Though they were cold and dark, there was evidence of ongoing work in the daytime. If Yefim had nefarious intentions, they would have met somewhere more isolated.
Khigir pushed open a steel door that led into a cavernous aluminum building. Large tanks of water were churning as far as the eye can see. Jensen rubbed the back of his neck. This room was definitely isolated.
Asmik bellowed a string of words in Russian, but among them Jensen recognized his own name. A second later, Yefim appeared, arms spread as wide as his grin.
"Jensen! My friend!"
He strolled forward and clapped Jensen in a burly hug. The smell of vodka hung on his breath.
Despite that, the man's mood was contagious, and Jensen felt his anxiety fade with the deep exhalation of relief.
Yefim steered him toward the cold night air looming around bay doors thrown open at the end of the warehouse. Once there he found an older gentleman in a zipped up jumpsuit slumped over a table. Across rested a pristine black bike helmet. An empty vodka bottle was beside him. He was thumbing a shotglass in one hand and spinning the point of a knife with the other. The name on his chest patch read Boris. The set of his jaw tightened when he looked up. Jensen glanced at Yefim, but there was no acknowledging the older man's presence. Jensen decided not to bother him.
"She is more beautiful than I said, am I right!?"
Yefim led on, laughing, and showed him toward what was actually a rather dirty bike parked just inside the warehouse doors. He hadn't washed it for a potential buyer. Then again, Jensen could see through the grime, and this had been very short notice. He forgot about the old man and strode forward.
Pieces of black chrome shone through the grimness of the exhaust. Black, blue and green paint streaked down the side of a rocket built with aerodynamics in mind. The seat was low and curving and favored a bent position for the ride. The controls hummed with power-saving mode. The speedometer and other dash controls were lit with a pale orange that glowed like a distant sunset. Just looking at it and he could feel the rush of air against his face, and see the slant of the horizon tilt with every banking curve.
Yefim leaned toward him, "You like."
Jensen smiled, "It's fantastic."
He pulled a folded over clip of money from an inner coat pocket. Even with large bills, it was a hefty lump.
But Yefim didn't pull the cash from his hand. Instead, arms crossed, he looked away to where Khigir and Asmik waited.
"We agreed on bank transfer, not cash."
Jensen shook his head, "You can count it. It's the same amount."
He offered the cash once more. Why would he want a bank transfer?
The sound of a metal chair screeched across cement floor. Without looking at any of them, Boris stood and left. The shotglass was downturned, the bottle empty, but the helmet and knife remained.
Yefim raised a hand, and Khigir stepped forward. Asmik cracked his knuckles as a sinister grin slid across his lips. Jensen felt the blood fall from his face. There was no sound but that of the ever-churning water sloshing in its tanks.
He slowly returned the cash to his pocket. "It seems I've made a mistake."
With the regret flooding hot in his throat, so also did the sad joy of the Gift grip his heart. His voice was a whisper, "Please don't make me turn it against you."
The Gift spun on the edges of his sight, a sphere of pressure and force that coiled tighter and tighter. His palms curled up until his nails dug painful into his skin.
They didn't care for his plea. Khigir slapped his hand across the knife and rushed him. Asmik curled his fists into clubs and swung low.
Jensen squeezed his eyes shut and cried out. From arms thrown wide he unleashed what he had built. It crushed him to one knee. Blood-curdling screams filled his mind, and he threw his hands over his ears.
It was over and his heart was pounding. He warily opened his eyes. The scene around him lifted his brows in awe. He slowly rose to stand.
Khigir and Asmik were thrown at least twenty feet away, sprawled on their backs. They groaned and rolled weakly around. The table was upturned. The vodka bottle was no where in sight. The helmet rolled up against Yefim's leg where he lay crumpled.
Standing over the man that tricked him into this set up, Jensen rubbed his own hair from his forehead. Light and blessings slid through his fingers, beckoning like a whisper on the wind to be put to use. He knelt and the moment he touched Yefim's unconscious face, he felt every organ inside as through they were his own. The heart was steady. The mind stunned.
Jensen wrapped the man's injuries with the Gift, and for the moment, his spirit mingled with the wider spread of the universe beyond. It was astounding, and he knew Yefim would recover.
At peace, Jensen released the connection with a slim smile. He sat back on his heels and grabbed the cash from his pocket. He dropped it on Yefim's chest.
"I'll take care of her."
With the promise, he grabbed the helmet. Yefim was already stirring by the time Jensen strode to the bike.
Boris peeked back in as Jensen sped out. The old man cast a long, flat gaze around the space, shrugged and disappeared.
Edited by Jensen James, May 4 2014, 09:42 PM.
Maybe the driver brought him to the wrong plant? He turned to ask, but the car sped away. Jensen jumped into the cloud of diesel fume, but waving his arms did him no good. The man was gone.
Jensen blew out a sigh from his cheeks. The place was dead; not a sound chirped in the distance. He was reaching for his Wallet when the doors flung open in front of two heavily built men.
He took a step back without realizing it, eyes wide. He didn't know whether to be afraid or relieved.
"You are Jensen?"
The one on the left asked. He had a thick, smokey accent that rumbled from deep in his chest. The other was tight lipped and said little.
Jensen nodded, "Yes, I am. I guess I'm in the right place after all."
He slipped the Wallet back in his pocket. The way the second man watched him do it made Jensen tell himself to not turn his back on him. "And you are?"
The first pulled open the door. He gestured that Jensen enter while introducing himself. "I am Khigir."
He flipped his eyes toward his companion. "This is Asmik."
Jensen passed through Asmik's shadow as he followed Khigir inside. He looked up on the way and offered an uneasy smile. "Jensen, pleased to meet you."
Asmik didn't shake his hand.
"Um, where's Yefim?"
Jensen asked as they crossed through what he gathered to be a small lobby.
"Around back. I show you if you follow."
This was likely a very bad idea, but the Plant offices seemed legitimate enough. Though they were cold and dark, there was evidence of ongoing work in the daytime. If Yefim had nefarious intentions, they would have met somewhere more isolated.
Khigir pushed open a steel door that led into a cavernous aluminum building. Large tanks of water were churning as far as the eye can see. Jensen rubbed the back of his neck. This room was definitely isolated.
Asmik bellowed a string of words in Russian, but among them Jensen recognized his own name. A second later, Yefim appeared, arms spread as wide as his grin.
"Jensen! My friend!"
He strolled forward and clapped Jensen in a burly hug. The smell of vodka hung on his breath.
Despite that, the man's mood was contagious, and Jensen felt his anxiety fade with the deep exhalation of relief.
Yefim steered him toward the cold night air looming around bay doors thrown open at the end of the warehouse. Once there he found an older gentleman in a zipped up jumpsuit slumped over a table. Across rested a pristine black bike helmet. An empty vodka bottle was beside him. He was thumbing a shotglass in one hand and spinning the point of a knife with the other. The name on his chest patch read Boris. The set of his jaw tightened when he looked up. Jensen glanced at Yefim, but there was no acknowledging the older man's presence. Jensen decided not to bother him.
"She is more beautiful than I said, am I right!?"
Yefim led on, laughing, and showed him toward what was actually a rather dirty bike parked just inside the warehouse doors. He hadn't washed it for a potential buyer. Then again, Jensen could see through the grime, and this had been very short notice. He forgot about the old man and strode forward.
Pieces of black chrome shone through the grimness of the exhaust. Black, blue and green paint streaked down the side of a rocket built with aerodynamics in mind. The seat was low and curving and favored a bent position for the ride. The controls hummed with power-saving mode. The speedometer and other dash controls were lit with a pale orange that glowed like a distant sunset. Just looking at it and he could feel the rush of air against his face, and see the slant of the horizon tilt with every banking curve.
Yefim leaned toward him, "You like."
Jensen smiled, "It's fantastic."
He pulled a folded over clip of money from an inner coat pocket. Even with large bills, it was a hefty lump.
But Yefim didn't pull the cash from his hand. Instead, arms crossed, he looked away to where Khigir and Asmik waited.
"We agreed on bank transfer, not cash."
Jensen shook his head, "You can count it. It's the same amount."
He offered the cash once more. Why would he want a bank transfer?
The sound of a metal chair screeched across cement floor. Without looking at any of them, Boris stood and left. The shotglass was downturned, the bottle empty, but the helmet and knife remained.
Yefim raised a hand, and Khigir stepped forward. Asmik cracked his knuckles as a sinister grin slid across his lips. Jensen felt the blood fall from his face. There was no sound but that of the ever-churning water sloshing in its tanks.
He slowly returned the cash to his pocket. "It seems I've made a mistake."
With the regret flooding hot in his throat, so also did the sad joy of the Gift grip his heart. His voice was a whisper, "Please don't make me turn it against you."
The Gift spun on the edges of his sight, a sphere of pressure and force that coiled tighter and tighter. His palms curled up until his nails dug painful into his skin.
They didn't care for his plea. Khigir slapped his hand across the knife and rushed him. Asmik curled his fists into clubs and swung low.
Jensen squeezed his eyes shut and cried out. From arms thrown wide he unleashed what he had built. It crushed him to one knee. Blood-curdling screams filled his mind, and he threw his hands over his ears.
It was over and his heart was pounding. He warily opened his eyes. The scene around him lifted his brows in awe. He slowly rose to stand.
Khigir and Asmik were thrown at least twenty feet away, sprawled on their backs. They groaned and rolled weakly around. The table was upturned. The vodka bottle was no where in sight. The helmet rolled up against Yefim's leg where he lay crumpled.
Standing over the man that tricked him into this set up, Jensen rubbed his own hair from his forehead. Light and blessings slid through his fingers, beckoning like a whisper on the wind to be put to use. He knelt and the moment he touched Yefim's unconscious face, he felt every organ inside as through they were his own. The heart was steady. The mind stunned.
Jensen wrapped the man's injuries with the Gift, and for the moment, his spirit mingled with the wider spread of the universe beyond. It was astounding, and he knew Yefim would recover.
At peace, Jensen released the connection with a slim smile. He sat back on his heels and grabbed the cash from his pocket. He dropped it on Yefim's chest.
"I'll take care of her."
With the promise, he grabbed the helmet. Yefim was already stirring by the time Jensen strode to the bike.
Boris peeked back in as Jensen sped out. The old man cast a long, flat gaze around the space, shrugged and disappeared.
Edited by Jensen James, May 4 2014, 09:42 PM.