Mission Accepted: In The Dark
Relative disclaimers apply.

Relena took a deep breath, then gently pushed the door.

She hesitated before stepping into the warehouse. Would she be yelled at, scolded, or yanked into the warehouse and yelled at or scolded? And who would do the scolding?

She held her breath and stepped inside.

I apologize, but this is my business too, and I intend to take care of it.

Nothing happened, but she did have to put a palm over her mouth and nose to stifle a sneeze.

Ready or not, here I come.

She switched a small flashlight on, looked around, hesitated, nodded, then pulled on a pair of white leather gloves and ran in the direction she had chosen.

Quatre sneezed three times in a row, reflexively took a deep breath and then sneezed twice in a row.

We didn't know how filthy this place is. I don't even have a handkerchief!

He swept his flashlight around his surroundings, revealing a tiled floor with the imprints of his steps in the dust and dirt covering it, his dirt-spotted clothing, a hallway with numbered doors on each side of it, his face and eyes red from the sneezing, and broken spiderwebs in his hair.

It hadn't been easy navigating the hallways with only the flashlight as a guide.

What floor am I on now?

He didn't know. He'd lost track of that sometime in all the turns he'd made and the stairs he'd stepped on.

And all of the doors that he'd seen so far were numbered only for their position in the hallways, with no floor information on them of any kind.

They were plain as well. Same dull, faded fake-wood paint on all of them, with no accompanying windows or indications as to which businesses had once occupied this building.

All to throw intruders off. Or maybe just us. But this place has been this way for a long time. Even the dust smells stale.

Speaking of the others, where were they? He was certain that he should be hearing their footsteps at least. The warehouse wasn't soundproofed in any way.

His eyes widened. Had something happened to them? No, he would feel it if that were so, he was certain of that as well.

He exhaled, sneezed again, and walked a little faster, not knowing why but not questioning it.

Then he saw that the door numbered 24 was ajar.

What the...

Curiousity led him towards it, even as caution slowed him down a little.

"I must be crazy..."

Duo used a handkerchief to muffle another sneeze, but there was nothing muffling the noises of him opening and closing each door in the hallway he was in.

"Nothing here....nothing there....Dammit. Nothing here...nothing there...Nothing! What kind of place is this?"

He spoke out loud to both warn the still-unseen enemy that he was coming towards him and to let the others know where he was.

He hoped they heard him. He had yet to hear any of them. Not even a cough or sneeze!

But I have to show this guy that I'm not afraid, of him or this place or not knowing where they are.

One door was already open, about an inch or two.

Duo gave it a perplexed look, waved his flashlight over it, then strode over to it and opened it about halfway.

A series of soft sounds made his head jerk upwards, towards the source of the sound.

"Ack! It's a freaking storage room —"

About sixty unwrapped and dust-dirty rolls of paper towels and toilet tissue fell upon and around him. He covered his head with his arms in time to stop some of them from smacking him on the head, but the force of the objects soon knocked him off balance and to the floor.

He uttered a groan, then was silent.

Trowa thought he heard a yell. He stopped where he was and assumed a wait-and-see pose.

Nothing.

He exhaled - he was almost sure that he'd heard a yell - then relaxed and resumed walking.

Nothing here to see.

There were no doors in this hallway. The walls were bare under their thick layer of dust and dust.

Trowa thought that was unusual, for a warehouse at least.

This place was very popular with the businesses that were here. And there's plenty of room. Why section one off?

A small object caught his eye - a light switch.

His eyes narrowed. He looked up. But there was nothing unusual about the bare bulbs suspended from the ceiling by a few wires each.

Should I? It could be some kind of automated trap.

He flicked it anyway.

A loud whir made him gasp and jerk backwards, then look up.

The ceiling was opening up. More specifically, three-by-three foot squares of ceiling next to the light bulbs were about to fall to the ground.

Trowa watched, both dazed and fascinated.

Why aren't I moving?

He grimaced and sneezed as the squares crashed to the ground, then cursed as the holes they had created were replaced by spinning ceiling fans.

The fans were descending. And there were twenty of them, spaced evenly along the hallway.

Trowa cursed again.

Which way do I go?!

Heero opened every door that he saw.

Nothing. This place was cleaned out.

One of the doors was slightly bigger than any of the others that he had seen.

Hmmm.

He opened it....and nearly fell two stories to the lobby.

"What the hell?"

This room had four walls, but no floor.

If it was someone's idea of a joke, it failed. Heero was not amused.

He slammed the door shut and —

Wait a minute.

He opened the door and shone his flashlight on the lobby.

One, two, three, four, five...six tracks in the dust.

His eyes narrowed to slits.

She's here.

Now what was he supposed to do? Find Relena and stop whatever plan she had in mind - though he could guess what that plan was - or find Briggs and stop whatever plan he had in mind?

Relena had done a stupid and selfish thing, coming here.

He closed the door and exhaled. She would have to fend for herself.

At least until I find you.

He resumed walking.

Wufei knew he'd heard a yell, said yell consisting of a very foul word.

He grimaced.

"Braid-boy."

He'd been shining his flashlight all around the hallway he was in, and not finding anything interesting.

Finding Duo would end the dreariness of the monotony, at least.

He briefly closed his eyes, then walked towards the source of the yell.

Room Number 24 consisted of audio-visual equipment in a seemingly haphazard arrangement on the floor: Video cameras, monitors, VCR's and, on the lone desk in the absolute middle of the room, a microphone, a computer keyboard and a video editing control unit.

Quatre was staring at the monitors because each of them - there were ten in all - showed what his companions were experiencing.

At least they're alive. But for how much longer? Who's monitoring this equipment....

He quickly looked around the room.

...and who's monitoring me?

He dragged his eyes away from the monitors to stare at the microphone and keyboard.

Is there a way that I can tell them where I am?

If he had thought about this a bit longer, he might have realized that not everything was being shown on the monitors. But only talking to the others was on his mind now.

His eyes narrowed. He walked over to the desk.

"Oh no you don't, former Master Quatre. And I do mean, former."

Quatre was about to whirl around to see the face behind the unfamiliar voice, but suddenly a gun was at his temple and there was another one aimed at his chest.

"Hawton," he hissed, still trying to see who it was.

The man chuckled.

"I'm honored that you figured that out."

Quatre felt himself being lifted up and out of the room.

I'm sorry. I failed...I should have done more research. I'm so sorry! Dammit! I've FAILED!

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