[h1][img]http://i1383.photobucket.com/albums/ah281/Q-C0ntinuum/BlessedWraith%20Weaver%20-%20Copy_zps7aq7ebmi.jpg[/img] BlessedWrath (Weaver)[/h1]
[h2]Samantha Cole[/h2]
Instinctively, the man in the suit took into consideration the Prisoner's Dilemma. Christian would be compelled to say any thing he could think of, if it would save his skin. He'd "interviewed" enough people to know that. The shudder when he heard his fingers through Sam's hair, the nervousness in his voice, the inability to provide a straightforward answer...they all combined to give their captor the answer he'd asked for. These two were no government agents; that was certain. But, then...that wasn't really why they were here.

"Ordinarily," he began, in response to Christian's question. "You'd be right. There's really no need to wait for you to come around, is there?."

He left Sam's side and began a lazy pace which circumnavigated the two chairs. His footsteps transformed from crinkling plastic to the double-click of leather on cement, indicating that he'd left the confines of the plastic sheeting. The smell of blood became a little stronger with every passing minute; something which might almost pass notice under present circumstances.

"But I never waste resources," he continued. "Mr. Walker believed you were a threat to my operations, but I see now that you're just a couple of frightened citizens who have been unceremoniously uprooted from their daily routines and transplanted into my world."

The sounds of the pipe came again, but they were different this time. It became apparent that he had decided he'd had enough of the pipe and secreted it away within his breast pocket again.

At that moment, Sam stirred in her chair. There was an undeniable 'plop' on the plastic beneath her chair as a drop of blood fell from her temple. She groaned at the prospect of having to face reality once again.

"Speaking of resources..."

"What the fu-"

"You're my guests," the man in the suit cut her off. "I will assume that your eyes function a little better than your counterpart. Go ahead and take a look around, for the little good it will do you."

Sam did as he suggested, though more out of instinct than instruction. They were held in an abandoned warehouse, most probably used for automotive parts distribution during one of the many recent booms in car sales. Her eyes immediately shifted between points of interest, though she could not have known why or for what purpose.

"Your friend has not been very informative." Mr. Suit continued, shifting his attention to the still-groggy Sam. He took a few steps so that he could come face-to-face with her. "Maybe you'll be more cooperative."

"Like hell." Sam retorted, her eyes slits.

Mr. Suit frowned and looked down his nose at her. He had buried lesser people. Still, there was that eerie calm about him which did not quite fit with the profile of a man who would order an abduction.

"When you hear what I have to say, you might reconsider your position."

Sam made her face as hard as she could. Considering the circumstances, the best she could do was the face of a teenager caught with a bottle of vodka. Still, she made it work.

"You hurt either one of us, in any way," she seethed. "I'll become the quietest person you have ever heard of."

"Are you sure?"

"I don't help people who hurt me."

"Well," Mr. Suit replied, wearing his most insolent smirk. "I don't remember telling you that I needed to hurt you."

He started forward, his stride still the same confident, evenly-spaced footfalls which had become his trademark. As he closed the distance, his right hand dove into his pocket. Sam could see the outline of a cell phone even before he laid his hand on it.

"No." Sam whispered. She struggled against the cuffs, without effect. "You can't. You don't know what you're doing!"

"Let's see," Mr. Suit grinned as he wrestled her hand open. "If Mr. Walker was telling the truth."