[b][right]YEAR AND A HALF AGO[/right][/b]

There was a crack as Conors head hit the cold hard tile floor. He pulled himself up onto his feet, the shackles on his wrists clattered and bit into his flesh. He rushed to the door as it slammed closed. Running straight into it with his shoulder he groaned as the pain shocked through his entire body. "Why don't you come and have a go then?!" He yelled as he pounded against the door. He ignored the pain rocking his body. Kicking the door one final time in frustration, tears welling in his eyes as the rage boiled inside of him. "Never should have come [i]fucking[/i] home." He turned to examine his new home. Some form of hard mat for sleeping lay in one corner, a solid steel toilet in another. No windows. 

He couldn't help but notice that there was nothing to write with. He continued his scan around the room, looking straight up he saw the camera on the ceiling. Brilliant. He raised his heavy hands towards the ceiling throwing them the finger from both hands. While he did so he took a loser look at the shackles, though that might have been a misnomer. They had no chain between them and were more like bracelets. He could see several glowing runes. He reached down with his left hand and touched a sequence of runes on his upper calf, and as expected instead of the usual rush of vigor and strength pain wracked through his body. Grinding his teeth together Conor tried to stay on his feet until the pain became too much and he fell to his knees.

Julian would be proud of him for testing a theory. That was if he wasn't currently lying in a vegetative state, though to be fair if he wasn't Conor wouldn't have run the team into the ground, go home, and subsequently get captured. 

A slot in the door opened revealing an eye that sent a cover down his spine. It was old and inhuman. Conor forced himself to his feet, bracing himself for whatever was about to happen. A slot in the door opened, and through it he could see a figure in shadow holding his staff. The sound that escaped Conors lips was almost as primal and guttural as it was full of pure rage as he saw his staff snap in two, before being folded over and snapped again. He ran forward to the door, stretching his hand through the hole to try and grab something. Anything. 

As soon as his hand passed through the door his flesh started to burn and peel. He pulled his hand back, pulling it back to his chest and protecting it with his other one. "You bastard. You'll pay for that!"

A dark and heavy laugh echoed through his cell as the slots in the door closed once again. [b]You're never getting out of here O'Brien. You belong to me now.[/b]


[hr]

[b][right]NOW[/right][/b]

[img]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/267065033480077312/1157424910520549449/65e90b35cb616e984a80f4e70efd6733.jpg?ex=65188f72&is=65173df2&hm=5bf4cf378a2956359d310c5e7fc54f90102d3510e0473fae35d589af50a76ef6&[/img]

His tattered cloak billowed in the wind against the back of his knees. His clothes had seen better days, and as he had worked his way back to Chicago. It had been almost two years since he had left. Some of his smaller, less important storage units had been looted. Some had been sold on and emptied. He was a little disappointed but it wasn't a complete loss. Conor had to admit he was slightly trepidatious about this. This warehouse had his most powerful protective spells, scrolls and books, artifacts, and of course the techno-magi prison that held  Elisidur Du Hex. The first mission he ever went on with Julian. 

He walked up to the door, shadow crawling around him unnaturally as he did so. Placing his hand on the brick wall he stroked his hand over it in a certain pattern. The door subsequently opened off its own accord. He noticed a cigarette butt on the ground as he waited for the door to open, but thought nothing of it. As the door shimmered as it continued to open his heart sank. Books and tomes were littered all over the floor, shelves were knocked over. Glass broken.

Walking between where the aisles were he could feel the glass crunch beneath his feet. The one part of the room that seemed untouched was the vault door. Walking over to his desk he noticed a hastily written note at the centre. 

[right]My bad O'Brien.
Had to borrow a few things.
Demons didn't like that.
Owe you one.
~C[/right]

"Fucking English Bastard."

There was only one place he could go now.