A Story, Season Two.

SKIP DOWN IF YOU KNOW THE RULES
RULES N STUFF (I want you to hate me so much, and you will.)
So, I wrote way more than needed to simply to setup the season premiere since we had a large gap and also to better try and help place an arc around everything. Everything after my last post in the prior thread is a non-canon dream that could potentially be a premonition (if you hate us all) BUT the actual season ends with the police/security at the door about a murder.

Everything after that moment is UNDEFINED for NINE MONTHS until the post ellipses (...) of the season premiere happens.

The "season premiere" timeline should be considered the three months of getting the job and before the planning begins. And after THEN the operation up until it launches.

Are you lost yet?

Essentially we can define it like this:
I: Everything in the prior thread but the posts after my last one. (Part I)
IA: "Dream"?
II: Everything that happens between then and "And I wake up sweating." in the first post of this season. (Part III)
III: Everything that happens after that but before and into how the main character gets the job, the season premiere happens in the MIDDLE of this. (Part IV)
IV: Everything that happens after that but before and MUST BE INCLUDING the very start of the season premiere. (Part V)

It's very very good to use these numbering systems before your addition to the story!

WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING THIS?

Because I thought we didn't do horribly writing a simple story, let's see if we can completely destroy a canon.

Other rules are basically the same, one to six paragraphs please. And yes, yes, yes, read at least two posts in your canon. If you're a dick and can't read the entire canon.

You dick.

To be honest, if this works, I may consider "new seasons" more regularly to change things up during the "offseason" and throw better spikes into it.

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SEASON PREMIERE
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Part V
And we're out of the pass, the dish is headed to the table. If everything we were told was right this goes down without a hitch and we'll be gone before they trace it back here.

I got here eight months ago; we spent six months planning for this and this is the do or die moment. We don't really have an out if this goes wrong.

We need him to survive at least twelve hours after the first bite.

...

Part IV
And I wake up sweating.

I don't want to get up, but I have to. It's not just the job, it's the fact I can't stay in this sweatbox that is this single sheet any longer.

It's not like I'll sleep much more, if anything anyway. Once I'm up, that's it, until I black out again...

Sitting up on the bed is when the hangover kicks in. You regret it always. Until it's gone. Then it's time to prep for the next one. I part my hands and look in the mirror. Neon? Blood? I washed my face before, wait no, that was the dream.

If those newlyweds were legit they'd have their first child by now probably.

You'd think I remember something of significance from the last nine months; and it's coming slowly. But the last thing I remember is security at the door, there was a murder. Was I involved? What happened to the mission? To Fats? Yuri? Wait, those newlyweds? John?

It's all a blur. Something happened then, that puts me here. Why am I here? Why am I free?

For now anyway I'm the saute chef at Le Chartre le Buff. Or something like that.

I don't really remember or care. It's in a hotel anyway. As long as I find the building and can understand the orders who gives a fuck? If I get to the front of the house it's not going to be this place.

It's always fun when I come in and we decide who is most hungover or maybe later in the evening who is most drunk. After we get through the chefs, maybe the maitre'd? Or the bartender? The hostesses? What about the slutty watresses?

That's not to say they're all sluts, that's unfair. They can be sluts and drunk or hungover, but they can also not be sluts and hold the same attributes. But at one point you just don't even care anymore.

It's not like this was a random assignment, I was told to be here, get this job and hold it for a few months, because eventually, something, maybe, might, potentially, possibly happen that; only I can pull off.

When I step off on my break and get a hit from Mernandez, I look around at everyone else in the kitchen, everyone entering and exiting with each table, the dishwashers and so on. I realize I've somewhat managed a rapport with them. Yet, at any moment I could slip up and every single one of them could be dead.

Not to mention me.

Yeah, Mernandez, I need another hit.

I'm called back, a VIP table, I rush it out fast and as best as I can so I can steal a glance through the doors at who it is. It's not that I'm a gawker, it's that one of these people might be why I'm here. Maybe I'm a decoy, maybe this is nothing, but I'm going to assume I'm here to poison someone. And you don't do that to someone new, you do it to someone who comes through all the time. Even if I'm a decoy this is valuable knowledge for many reasons. What if I'm the first poisoner, the fake out poisoner that hides the later one?

Break is over, I need to focus back on the line.

...

After work. I like always join the rest of the crew at a nearby bar. And like always sit alone at the bar. It's not that we haven't talked and hit it off, it's that they want to talk restaurants they've worked in and I can't exactly talk about where I've worked. The rumors they invent are probably better than the reality though.

Earlier today hot oil jumped out of a pan and hit me right on the hand, I finished the table. They were pretty amazed, which is fair. A couple drops of oil, some burns, a few cuts, what's that compared to what I saw a decade ago?

But it drives something in them. Kristen and Rachel approach me. Rachel only seems to want me when Kristen does though. Is she just trying to make Kristen jealous or is this something more?

Should I be on guard?

It's at this point I decide that no, I shouldn't be.

I could blame the alcohol.

The copious amounts of alcohol.

But I shuodl no betetr.

I sioudl know...

My head pounding, I awoke to a familiar sight: half a broken bottle and some shards of glass at the side of my bed. My room, as always, was musty and tomb-like. As it swam into focus, I glanced at my mirror and discovered that some thoughtful individual appeared to have hastily scrawled something in lipstick. Rubbing my eyes, I dragged myself from the bed and shuffled over for a closer look at the message.

My heart raced in a panic as I read the words "Welcome to the world of AIDS!", but it returned to its normal pace when I noticed "(PSYCHE!)" and a smiley face below. I then recalled that I had in fact written the message myself, in the midst of crashing about the room in a drunken stupor - that would explain the busted-up toaster in the corner there, too - and complaining that it was no longer glamourous to be a spy, that we had to be all dark and brooding instead of cool and suave like the old James Bond movies. As I recall, my argument was quite eloquent and not at all expressed at an inappropriate volume, despite what the asshole next door claimed. I vowed to bring up the point at the next union meeting.

Of course, it might be slightly more glamourous for those spies who aren't currently working as the saute chef at Le Chartre le Buff. I couldn't rule out that possibility. My mind drifted back to the lipstick message and I wondered where the hell the lipstick had come from, as I was quite alone when I woke up and could not recall being accompanied back to my humble abode in the wee hours of the morning. I bet James Bond was never left to wonder about such things, though I suspect he picked up a few other nasty problems along the way. I once wrote a Bond screenplay, The Man With The Gross Infection, but MGM weren't receptive. George Lazenby also took out a restraining order against me. I'm not a fan of him anymore.

The pounding in my head was suddenly interrupted by a pounding on the door and an angry voice that I knew all too well. I shuddered. I should have seen this coming.

Yuri. that lucky bastard. So many questions, so little time.
*BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!*

"I know you are in there! Open up!"
I need a quick survey of the room as it looks nothing like I had left it last night. I throw on my plain white T-shirt to make myself presentable. Ugh, it reeks of the whiskey from the bar last night. Where are those pants?? Protection, I need protection. There's the open tube of lipstick carelessly thrown on the floor... a bra... a used condom... no I don't need that type of protection right now... there's a thong... a makeup bag... oh! there are my pants underneath the rusty metal bed frame. I slip on my pants, zip 'em up and I remember my good friend. I reach under the mattress and grab my USP, my partner in crime, and slide the magazine in. I quickly tip-toe to the door and I lean back onto the door. I slowly open the door, let the deadbolt stop it and I chamber the first bullet.

"Easy! Easy my old friend! No need for hostilities here." I instantly recognize that Ukrainian accent. But why is he here? What the hell happened to him? to his dad? to Fats?
"You know what will happen if you try some shit on me, don't FUCK with me right now, man!"
"Okay Barbie! Gun is gone, I put him to sleep." Same ol' Yuri. It's as if we were still working together, when he first called me "Barbie" to describe me as the pretty boy American, but I think he meant the Ken doll. He never got it when I tried explaining the difference between Barbie and Ken and shrugged it off, even when I told him my black hair & brown eyes didn't even qualify me as Ken.

With my USP still drawn, I undo the deadbolt and step back behind the door for cover. He slowly steps in and I shut the door. with the gun, I motion to the chair in the middle of the room and he sits down, still with that fake, sheepish grin on his face.

I had all these questions for him, but couldn't really think of one to ask.

"Talk." was all I could muster.

"Listen, Barbie. I need your help."

II.

"Oh sorry, I was expecting room service. A murder? Really? We didn't hear anything, although we did just get back."

IV.

"What."

"Things didn't go the way I thought they would and maybe, a good friend could help me out?"

"A good friend? After what you did? After when you sold me out? After when you left me there to survive by myself?"

"Hey. You know better than anyone. Sometimes you have to sacrifice."

V.

I step back away from the line. Mernandez is on tap at the sink, ready, but I can tell he knows this isn't the standard "sip" to calm the nerves.

Thank god, he doesn't speak English. I thank him like normal and let him get back to cleaning the dishes.

II.

As the police leave I close the door and sigh against it. Yuri steps towards me but I put my finger to my lips.

We walk back into the full room where Sergei still sits. And that's when I break.

"What the fuck is this? What the fuck are you doing? Why the fuck am I being left the fuck out of everything?"

Yuri looks down, he won't look me in the face. But Sergei speaks.

"Cursing is like the boy who cried wolf. I suggest you reconsider your usage."

III.

I open the envelope and instantly recognize the photo. I haven't seen him in at least a decade but it's a face you can't forget.

I'm not surprised as I figured he would turn up at some point. Especially after the disaster of an operation that went down at the hotel after Yuri and Sergei showed up.

That doesn't mean I'm happy. Then again, I can't remember the last time I was happy so I guess it doesn't matter.

In the end, I need to suck it up. Focusing on the past won't get me anywhere. Nor will dwelling on the dead like Yuri and Sergei.

IV.

"Yeah, sacrifice. Why don't I think you'll be sacrificing much at all?"

"This isn't like before, either we leave together alive, or we leave apart in body bags."

Yuri's serious. Not the old fake serious. Not the playful serious. Not the Yuri who wants to get off on the danger. Not the Yuri who wants to go in and improvise because we're better than anyone else out there.

No, this Yuri is serious for a very different reason. This Yuri is afraid. Fear is driving this risk taking.

And the fact that Yuri is afraid, makes me afraid.

I studied Yuri, appraisingly. I didn't trust him as far as I could throw Manhattan, which past attempts had proven to be not very far at all. There was a nagging doubt in the back of my mind, a shrill but insistent voice that was telling me this was all bullshit. Sure, Yuri seemed scared out of his mind but he could be a very good actor when he wanted to be and knew just how to manipulate me. Even if he was telling the truth, the voice reminded me, it's likely I'll be getting a knife in my back at some point.

Yuri sensed my doubt, mainly because I had not in fact been listening to a voice in my head but rather monologuing out loud while he pushed past me and took a seat. Sly bastard. Agitated, he insisted that this time was different, the shit had hit the fan and we needed to work together to get out of this mess. He certainly seemed genuine but once again, a voice warned me that I was being suckered. I began to monologue, but he cut me off.

"Look, you idiot. Look at this."

He held out a crumpled envelope. I opened it and read the letter inside. I closed my eyes and let out a groan. He wasn't bullshitting.

IV.
Admittingly, it wasn't entirely the letter, that read like standard stuff. It was the crappy security cam photo attached to it. It was him. Again.

Over a decade as a ghost, and now twice in a year.

With his face attached the otherwise mundane letter took on another level. It meant not only was what was listed there was happening, but something bigger, more important and more secretive.

V.
Moving back to the line I take a glance at the tickets on their way out and let Jose know I'm ready to take back the saute station when he's finished.

That's when I realize what one of the orders was. I run around the pass and yell to halt the waiter taking it out.

III.
Twenty-four hours later and I'm camped out on a rooftop. The door is barricaded but it's not like they can't get up here. And they have to be camped out on every rooftop in a full circle around this one. This isn't a botched mission, this was planned from the start. At least I know that now.

I'm the fall man, I take the blame for what I didn't do and they heroically bring me down.

Yeah, like I'm going to participate in any of this. If I get out of this and I see him again, anywhere, he's dead. With or without a mandate.

At the least, I won't be taking any other offers from him.

It sucks I wasn't able to pull off what I was I assigned to do though. But I wouldn't be broken up if I didn't get another chance.

IV.
I know what Yuri wants. He's not getting it. I tell him I have to get into work and chastise him for not only drugging me but employing two of my waitresses in the scheme.

Yuri tries to assure me "that wasn't me, I wouldn't lie to you."

"Yes, you would."

For what is probably the first time in a while since he came back to life again, Yuri laughs. "Not in this instance. I found you like this."

"I have to go, I expect you to be gone when I get back."

"Wait." And he's serious again. "I don't need or want you for this. I owe you that. But I do need you for something else."

"Yuri..."

"It's simple, a side-job, for my family when I'm gone."

II.
"Alright. What the hell do I have to do?"

Before he can answer I add "but after this I better not see you ever again."

Yuri smiles, "get in line."

A simple side-job? He was already changing his story and there was little reason for me to believe he hadn't gotten to Kristen and Rachel. I knew there'd be nothing simple about this job, that I'd be in the thick of things. Again. Still, as I glanced around at my squalid surroundings and thought of the ennui that greeted me each morning, I felt a desire for something more and a renewed thirst for adventure.

Yuri must have sensed this in my expression as he pounced without hesitation. "Do this, help me out, and you'll never have to live in a shit-hole like this again. One last adventure my friend, one last dance! Then you can put it all behind you, live that life of luxury and you'll never see my face again."

Yeah, right. If I had a nickel for every time I'd heard that, I'd probably have been able to get booze from the top shelf last night. Still, temptation is a nagging bitch of a seductress wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma, so I found myself stupidly saying "Like James Bond?"

"That's right. Just like 007."

What the hell. "I'm in," I told Yuri. "What next?"

He laughed and clapped his hands together. "Alright! Now the fun begins, eh? Here's what I'm thinking..."

II.
It took some flirting with the "attractive" front desk clerk but I have the room I need.

Yuri and Sergei finally came clean, the man in the lobby is the target. And this is what I dread. He's the legislator in charge of my entire program. Shockingly, Yuri won't speak but Sergei does. He claims that I was going to be betrayed in the meeting and a thorn in the side of The Progress would be out of the picture.

"Then what do I do?"

"You have to kill him."

I lost it, the entire notion was insane. There is no way I could organize and mount a mission to take the legislator out. He had to have bodyguards on his room, and coming up with a plan to do this all in the time allotted?

Yuri smiles, "we already have one. Ten minutes tops."

Sergei glares at me, "he will have you dead by this time tomorrow."

"Then I guess your plan better work."

III.
The shots open up but I make it to better cover in time. I can't go down the stairs, I can't get to another roof, I can barely move on this one.

At this point I'm wondering how many I can spot so that I can take as many of these bastards with me as possible. And pondering if there might be a fall I can survive.

That's when it happens, it's loud and bright, there's no firing.

Piercing the light is a shadowy figure who remarks "come on, what other rational choice do you have at this point?"

As I stand and walk towards the helicopter he comes into view.

And that's when I realize just how fucked I am.

II.
Sergei and Yuri have subdued the door guards and I enter the high level suite. Paid for by the taxpayers of course.

He knew.

He welcomes me in as he moves onto the balcony. And then he turns and informs me "you've lost."

"What makes you think I'll be coming out there?"

"You don't have to, your associates are dead by this point and I'm in full view of more than you can handle. I go down, you'll have hell to pay. And if I don't, well...your little fun is over anyway. You don't have a way out."

For a bit I consider that he's right, all my training says he is. But there is one thing. It's a no-win scenario, so it's time to make my own rules.

"You're right. I'll send you a check."

Two shots and he's down. As I sprint for the balcony I hear the door breached and the shouts. As I set foot on the balcony I hear the snipers hitting the sliding door. They've missed and the opportunity is there, as the men in the room open fire, in motion I put a hand on the edge.

And I jump.

V.
I say I need to make a modification to the dish.

What I don't say is I'm leaving a signature.

II.
And I land.

A floor further down than intended. And it hurts. A lot. But I have to move, the snipers are on me already by now.

The two shots to this rooms sliding door mostly confirms that. As I move through the room and into the hallway two things become clear. First, they weren't expecting that in anyway. And B, since they'll run to the stairwells, I should stay on this floor as long as possible.

I know that if I get through this I'm going to be sore in the morning, and for weeks after, anyway so I bust open a random room door. After shutting and setting the deadbolt and the other locks and throwing furniture in front of it, I take a breath until I hear the teams enter the floor. So I move, limping more than I'd ever want to, trying to ignore how many things I've broken, into the room and see two beds.

I grab the sheets from the first one and get to work.

IV.
"...we get him down the pool, ply him with a few drinks." Yuri gestures to his "friend" who brings over a few pages. "Then we solve the problem. It's nothing big here."

This has to be different though. For one thing, if I'm getting out of this I may have to betray Yuri.

It's not that I want to necessarily, although I could enjoy it, it's more of a question of how this might make me reconsider things going forward.

V.
There rearranged. That's better. Now he'll know.

Better check. Yep, fine.

Alright, send it out.

IV.
I'm out on a simple scouting mission, to ply my drink and observe the movements of everyone. Nothing of any relevance seems to happen for hours. Then someone enters, he paces the floor for a bit before approaching the front desk. Not unusual in and of itself but then things change.

He leaps over the desk and puts a gun to the temple of the woman behind it. He demands Austin Davis come to the front desk or "a lot of people might have to die" something I have to disagree with.

I order the people around me to cover and start to make a move when someone steps forward and declares himself to be Austin Davis.

One problem is that I know for a fact he's not Austin Davis.

And second problem, now I probably have to get him out of here.