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Chapter or Story 
Chapter or Story
Disclaimer: The characters Miss Parker, Sydney, Jarod, Broots etc. and the fictional Centre, are all property of MTM, TNT and NBC Productions and used without permission. I'm not making any money out of this and no infringement is intended.
Author's Note: Hey. I got this idea after a bitchfest with my best buddygal Missa. She brought up the idea that she could believe that Raines was P's father, but that Jarod's was some other guy (not Charles). I countered with the concept that MP's dad might not have been introduced yet. Well, here is the result of months of thought and weeks of proofreading. Thanx 2 Missa for helping fuel my creative fires in substitute of my muses, all but one of whom were destroyed when they fought over the last cigarette.
FEEDBACK!!! AND ARCHIVE WHERE EVA YA WANT!!
Enjoy.
Hunter
part 3
by P_Effect
I awoke with the slamming of a door, and suddenly felt on ends about my current position. So new, so vividly distracting, so many stimuli pounding into my skull-- and for the first time ever, I yearned for my prison. I didn't miss my cell, but more missed the reassurement and the known boundaries they had set for me. Before, at least I had known exactly where I stood and where I was always going to be, in contrast to the strange environment I now found myself in.
A few computers sat dormant in the corner, a pattern of flying toasters playing over the screens. A pair of heavy steel reinforced doors were the main entrance, and a sub office lay behind me, hidden by two glass double doors, frosted with abstract designs. The room had a strange mix of elegance and "warehouse" to it, not at all unbecoming.
I was lying on a black leather couch, staring up at the ceiling, which had the patterns of water playing over them in a glorious cycle. A glass of water was sitting on the low table in front of me, and I gulped it down gladly, then lifted the leather jacket on the table gingerly, smiling in thanks as I did.
A gun. 9MM to be precise.
Suddenly, the heavy steel doors automatically slid open with a flourish, revealing three men, accompanied by a pair of women. I grabbed the gun off the table, rising and pointing it steadily at them.
"Who are you and what do you want?"
The elder of the two men held his hands up soothingly, and the two women bustled around me, ignoring the gun in my hand.
"They're going to get you cleaned up, Mr. Hunter. We mean you no harm."
I looked at him for a moment, then slowly lowered the gun. The two women pushed me into a chair, then took out scissors and combs and set to work on my hair, all the while the elderly man talking to me.
"You'll be perfectly safe here, you have my word."
I looked him up and down critically. He didn't really look very strong, or able to keep me safe from anything that I wasn't able to keep away myself. As if sensing my thoughts, he motioned to one of the other men with him, one with a stony complexion and a black suit.
"Sam is a Sweeper. He's trustworthy and fully trained in the use of weapons and unarmed defense." I nodded suspiciously towards him, and was rewarded with a nick on the chin from the woman shaving my beard off.
"Sit still," she chastisized. I sighed and looked towards the nervous man looking over his shoulder in 3 second intervals.
"Who's the chipmunk on crack?" The old man smiled, and the jittery balding man looked up.
"W-Who me?" I ignored the query and looked towards the elder. He chuckled.
"This is Broots. He's a technological advisor, and one of the most trustworthy people in the Centre."
"That isn't saying much, sir. And if you don't mind, I'd like your name as well?"
He smiled. "I'm Sydney."
I gasped, feeling Parker's works swim up into my mind. "They won't remember you. I can make sure of it."
I rubbed the back of my newly cut head. "Damn it, he was right."
Sydney raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me, Mr. Hunter?"
"You don't remember me, do you?"
He shook his head. "I'm sorry, have we met before?"
I smiled ruefully, feeling the bile rise in my throat. "I knew you...a life time ago."
"I'm sorry, but I don't recall it-"
"No, you wouldn't." I swallowed the sickening taste in my mouth down, and sighed.
The women began to pack their tools up. One of them handed me a suit and pointed towards a screen (one that hadn't been there when I made my initial assesment, but I can't see where it might have come from) which I was then unceremoniusly shoved behind. As I slid the suit on, the thoughts I had had down in that cell; the ones that raved that I'd never be shoved into a suit like the ones my captors sported, they all chose that moment to flood my mind. I forcefully quashed them and slid into the shoes, then stepped out from behind the dressing screen. The women clicked their tongues in disapproval, and set about bringing the cuffs up, straightening the tie, and rearranging the way the shoulders fit. I let them whirl around me awkwardly, listening with half an ear to the talk between Sydney and Broots.
"Syd, when's she getting in?"
"She said she was making sure it was safe. Knowing her as I do, that means that she's loading up her guns and sliding her knife and brass knuckles into her pockets."
"Do you think Jarod knows?"
"If he did, and he didn't tell her, I would not want to be in his shoes when she receives his next tease. Because if she puts her mind to it, she can track him down like a dog."
"Then there's no way in hell I'd want to be Jarod right about now-" The doors slid open with a hiss.
"You'd never want to be Jarod, Brootsie. Because that'd mean that I'd actually have an excuse to shoot you."
The two women bowed to the figure in the door and left, taking their tools with them. I suddenly missed them and their silent bustling, as opposed to this hissing voice. Sydney simply smiled and even Broots didn't seem to take it seriously.
"Is everything all right, Miss Parker?"
She stepped into view, one eyebrow raised. "Is anything ever all right around here, Syd?"
I gasped and quickly rose, the gun again in my hand.
Catherine's face looked back at me once more...but it was accompanied by the name of my enemy.
She looked at me solemnly, her eyes quickly taking in my appearance, position, and weapon. All done within a fraction of a second-- anyone else would never have noticed. I only did because this woman did it in the same style I did; quick and coolly. And then, in a voice that could freeze Hellfire and turn lava into the polar ice caps, she addressed me.
"Mr. Hunter, I've killed men for less. Whatever links you may have had to my mother, she is dead, and I don't need your information badly enough to suffer having a gun pointed at me."
She descended the stairway with the ease and stalk of a predator, her hips swaying gently, her shoulders held high, her eyes glued to mine. I was frozen in place, swallowing spastically. A hunter-- that's exactly what she was. A kindred spirit.
She walked until she was face to face with me, ignoring the gun I had pointed at her, giving it no more notice than a lion would a beetle. "Now," her voice was even lower and icier, "are you going to put the gun away, or do I have to have your dental records handy so they can identify you."
I let the gun drop to my side, and she took it, and turned away from me, handing the weapon to a shaking Broots. With a wave of her hand, she compelled me to sit in the nearby chair, and then turned back to me, handing me a cup of coffee, then sipping at her own. I looked at her cautiously, sniffed the coffee, and tasted it suspiciously. She didn't look up to affirm me, simply stated, "The only drug in there is caffeine."
I drank.
We sat in silence for a few moments, my thoughts going a million miles an hour. Who was she? Obviously a relation of James, hence the MISS Parker. Early thirties with a distinct look of power about her. The face of Catherine. The instincts of...me.
"Oh my God," I muttered under my breath. She looked up, one brow raised, and I swallowed thickly. Sam, sensing the tension, came down the stairs to stand behind her chair, one hand on the back of it in a manner of a protective brother. I didn't care.
He'd said he'd raise my daughter as his own...That she'd call him daddy instead of me...That Catherine wouldn't remember me...
I remembered the conversation I'd overheard informing me about Catherine's passing. *"...right in front of the little girl? Man, Raines has balls."* Catherine had had my daughter. Parker claimed her.
"You're Catie's daughter...Morganna." She rose quickly, the chair overturning in her haste. Sam grasped her arm in reassurance and looked down into her face calmly. Sydney ran down the stairs and Sam turned her over to the older man. Syd grasped her shoulders in his hands, squeezing to bring her back to reality. She breathed shakily and looked at him in fear. He whispered something to her that evened her breathing and calmed her erratically darting eyes. She took several deep breaths, and then turned back to me, her face no longer as uncaring or cold as it was before.
"How did you know my name?" I felt a burst of happiness. Catherine's subconscious had remembered-- I had been given a place in my child's life.
"That was what she wanted to call you. It was my grandmother's name, and Catie always loved the Celtic feel to it. Said it reminded her of mystic knights, and Merlin, and red-haired princesses...She and I agreed that you'd be nothing short of that, a princess."
She looked at me with confused eyes, her lips parted softly. "Who...who are you?" I swallowed and looked her straight in the eyes. My daughter had been lied to her entire life-- and I was going to give her the only thing I could offer her.
The truth.
"I am the founder of the Centre-- the last remnants of the time when this was a place of good will and honesty. Before James Parker took over," okay, even I have to admit that was rather melodramatic, "before the Triumvirate began to rule everything...Before I lost Catie and my life...
"My name is Jonathan Hunter. I'm your father."
The once overpowering force before me looked at me in silence for a few moments, then swallowed thickly. Sam grasped her hand in an offering of strength, but her fingers were loose and unresponsive. She looked at me, and then lowered her eyes.
"Excuse me," she murmured and turned away from us all, walking back into her office and closing the doors behind her.
Sam turned on me. "I swear to God, Mister, if your just playing with her, I will rip your body into bite sized shreds and feed them to rotwillers on Level 4." Then with a final glare in my direction, he walked through the frosted glass doors, closing them firmly behind him.
The lights coming out from under the door dimmed, and I was left in the glowing light from the computer terminals, bathed along with Broots and Sydney in the artificial sunshine.
Author's Note: Hey. I got this idea after a bitchfest with my best buddygal Missa. She brought up the idea that she could believe that Raines was P's father, but that Jarod's was some other guy (not Charles). I countered with the concept that MP's dad might not have been introduced yet. Well, here is the result of months of thought and weeks of proofreading. Thanx 2 Missa for helping fuel my creative fires in substitute of my muses, all but one of whom were destroyed when they fought over the last cigarette.
FEEDBACK!!! AND ARCHIVE WHERE EVA YA WANT!!
Enjoy.
part 3
by P_Effect
I awoke with the slamming of a door, and suddenly felt on ends about my current position. So new, so vividly distracting, so many stimuli pounding into my skull-- and for the first time ever, I yearned for my prison. I didn't miss my cell, but more missed the reassurement and the known boundaries they had set for me. Before, at least I had known exactly where I stood and where I was always going to be, in contrast to the strange environment I now found myself in.
A few computers sat dormant in the corner, a pattern of flying toasters playing over the screens. A pair of heavy steel reinforced doors were the main entrance, and a sub office lay behind me, hidden by two glass double doors, frosted with abstract designs. The room had a strange mix of elegance and "warehouse" to it, not at all unbecoming.
I was lying on a black leather couch, staring up at the ceiling, which had the patterns of water playing over them in a glorious cycle. A glass of water was sitting on the low table in front of me, and I gulped it down gladly, then lifted the leather jacket on the table gingerly, smiling in thanks as I did.
A gun. 9MM to be precise.
Suddenly, the heavy steel doors automatically slid open with a flourish, revealing three men, accompanied by a pair of women. I grabbed the gun off the table, rising and pointing it steadily at them.
"Who are you and what do you want?"
The elder of the two men held his hands up soothingly, and the two women bustled around me, ignoring the gun in my hand.
"They're going to get you cleaned up, Mr. Hunter. We mean you no harm."
I looked at him for a moment, then slowly lowered the gun. The two women pushed me into a chair, then took out scissors and combs and set to work on my hair, all the while the elderly man talking to me.
"You'll be perfectly safe here, you have my word."
I looked him up and down critically. He didn't really look very strong, or able to keep me safe from anything that I wasn't able to keep away myself. As if sensing my thoughts, he motioned to one of the other men with him, one with a stony complexion and a black suit.
"Sam is a Sweeper. He's trustworthy and fully trained in the use of weapons and unarmed defense." I nodded suspiciously towards him, and was rewarded with a nick on the chin from the woman shaving my beard off.
"Sit still," she chastisized. I sighed and looked towards the nervous man looking over his shoulder in 3 second intervals.
"Who's the chipmunk on crack?" The old man smiled, and the jittery balding man looked up.
"W-Who me?" I ignored the query and looked towards the elder. He chuckled.
"This is Broots. He's a technological advisor, and one of the most trustworthy people in the Centre."
"That isn't saying much, sir. And if you don't mind, I'd like your name as well?"
He smiled. "I'm Sydney."
I gasped, feeling Parker's works swim up into my mind. "They won't remember you. I can make sure of it."
I rubbed the back of my newly cut head. "Damn it, he was right."
Sydney raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me, Mr. Hunter?"
"You don't remember me, do you?"
He shook his head. "I'm sorry, have we met before?"
I smiled ruefully, feeling the bile rise in my throat. "I knew you...a life time ago."
"I'm sorry, but I don't recall it-"
"No, you wouldn't." I swallowed the sickening taste in my mouth down, and sighed.
The women began to pack their tools up. One of them handed me a suit and pointed towards a screen (one that hadn't been there when I made my initial assesment, but I can't see where it might have come from) which I was then unceremoniusly shoved behind. As I slid the suit on, the thoughts I had had down in that cell; the ones that raved that I'd never be shoved into a suit like the ones my captors sported, they all chose that moment to flood my mind. I forcefully quashed them and slid into the shoes, then stepped out from behind the dressing screen. The women clicked their tongues in disapproval, and set about bringing the cuffs up, straightening the tie, and rearranging the way the shoulders fit. I let them whirl around me awkwardly, listening with half an ear to the talk between Sydney and Broots.
"Syd, when's she getting in?"
"She said she was making sure it was safe. Knowing her as I do, that means that she's loading up her guns and sliding her knife and brass knuckles into her pockets."
"Do you think Jarod knows?"
"If he did, and he didn't tell her, I would not want to be in his shoes when she receives his next tease. Because if she puts her mind to it, she can track him down like a dog."
"Then there's no way in hell I'd want to be Jarod right about now-" The doors slid open with a hiss.
"You'd never want to be Jarod, Brootsie. Because that'd mean that I'd actually have an excuse to shoot you."
The two women bowed to the figure in the door and left, taking their tools with them. I suddenly missed them and their silent bustling, as opposed to this hissing voice. Sydney simply smiled and even Broots didn't seem to take it seriously.
"Is everything all right, Miss Parker?"
She stepped into view, one eyebrow raised. "Is anything ever all right around here, Syd?"
I gasped and quickly rose, the gun again in my hand.
Catherine's face looked back at me once more...but it was accompanied by the name of my enemy.
She looked at me solemnly, her eyes quickly taking in my appearance, position, and weapon. All done within a fraction of a second-- anyone else would never have noticed. I only did because this woman did it in the same style I did; quick and coolly. And then, in a voice that could freeze Hellfire and turn lava into the polar ice caps, she addressed me.
"Mr. Hunter, I've killed men for less. Whatever links you may have had to my mother, she is dead, and I don't need your information badly enough to suffer having a gun pointed at me."
She descended the stairway with the ease and stalk of a predator, her hips swaying gently, her shoulders held high, her eyes glued to mine. I was frozen in place, swallowing spastically. A hunter-- that's exactly what she was. A kindred spirit.
She walked until she was face to face with me, ignoring the gun I had pointed at her, giving it no more notice than a lion would a beetle. "Now," her voice was even lower and icier, "are you going to put the gun away, or do I have to have your dental records handy so they can identify you."
I let the gun drop to my side, and she took it, and turned away from me, handing the weapon to a shaking Broots. With a wave of her hand, she compelled me to sit in the nearby chair, and then turned back to me, handing me a cup of coffee, then sipping at her own. I looked at her cautiously, sniffed the coffee, and tasted it suspiciously. She didn't look up to affirm me, simply stated, "The only drug in there is caffeine."
I drank.
We sat in silence for a few moments, my thoughts going a million miles an hour. Who was she? Obviously a relation of James, hence the MISS Parker. Early thirties with a distinct look of power about her. The face of Catherine. The instincts of...me.
"Oh my God," I muttered under my breath. She looked up, one brow raised, and I swallowed thickly. Sam, sensing the tension, came down the stairs to stand behind her chair, one hand on the back of it in a manner of a protective brother. I didn't care.
He'd said he'd raise my daughter as his own...That she'd call him daddy instead of me...That Catherine wouldn't remember me...
I remembered the conversation I'd overheard informing me about Catherine's passing. *"...right in front of the little girl? Man, Raines has balls."* Catherine had had my daughter. Parker claimed her.
"You're Catie's daughter...Morganna." She rose quickly, the chair overturning in her haste. Sam grasped her arm in reassurance and looked down into her face calmly. Sydney ran down the stairs and Sam turned her over to the older man. Syd grasped her shoulders in his hands, squeezing to bring her back to reality. She breathed shakily and looked at him in fear. He whispered something to her that evened her breathing and calmed her erratically darting eyes. She took several deep breaths, and then turned back to me, her face no longer as uncaring or cold as it was before.
"How did you know my name?" I felt a burst of happiness. Catherine's subconscious had remembered-- I had been given a place in my child's life.
"That was what she wanted to call you. It was my grandmother's name, and Catie always loved the Celtic feel to it. Said it reminded her of mystic knights, and Merlin, and red-haired princesses...She and I agreed that you'd be nothing short of that, a princess."
She looked at me with confused eyes, her lips parted softly. "Who...who are you?" I swallowed and looked her straight in the eyes. My daughter had been lied to her entire life-- and I was going to give her the only thing I could offer her.
The truth.
"I am the founder of the Centre-- the last remnants of the time when this was a place of good will and honesty. Before James Parker took over," okay, even I have to admit that was rather melodramatic, "before the Triumvirate began to rule everything...Before I lost Catie and my life...
"My name is Jonathan Hunter. I'm your father."
The once overpowering force before me looked at me in silence for a few moments, then swallowed thickly. Sam grasped her hand in an offering of strength, but her fingers were loose and unresponsive. She looked at me, and then lowered her eyes.
"Excuse me," she murmured and turned away from us all, walking back into her office and closing the doors behind her.
Sam turned on me. "I swear to God, Mister, if your just playing with her, I will rip your body into bite sized shreds and feed them to rotwillers on Level 4." Then with a final glare in my direction, he walked through the frosted glass doors, closing them firmly behind him.
The lights coming out from under the door dimmed, and I was left in the glowing light from the computer terminals, bathed along with Broots and Sydney in the artificial sunshine.
