Time and location (sometime in the past): 6:52pm, Brooklyn, New York

Desmond exploded out the apartment door, not caring whether it had closed behind him or not. His first instinct was to run to the elevator, and he cursed what had become habit before changing his course and heading for the stairwell. He hit that door like an NFL linebacker as well, nearly smashing into a neighbor who was approaching from the opposite side. The woman cursed him profusely as he continued forward without slowing his pace, but all he heard was a loud buzzing in his ears. It was as if a grenade had gone off at close range, replacing all sound with nothing but a violent ringing. Internally, it felt like a grenade had indeed fragmented, its shrapnel piercing into every inch of his body; stinging, burning, screaming in agony. He had already flown down the first three flights of stairs, leaving four more before he hit the lobby. As he rounded the corner and just before he began down the next set of steps, the door to the fourth floor burst open, and he was tackled hard. The next thing Desmond knew, he was being pinned to the concrete by two men clad in black body armor, their identities safe behind helmets and masks. He panicked like a wild animal, flailed and screamed, forgetting his humanity in the moment and losing the coherency to form actual spoken words. As he struggled relentlessly, the futility of it all set in and the sounds of the surrounding world began to fade back in. He could make out someone shouting his name, garnering his attention and pulling him back from the brink of insanity.

“Desmond! Are you listening to me?!”

Now, as he relaxed and stopped resisting, the two men lifted him from the floor. The first man secured his arms behind his back with cuffs, and then the second slammed his face against the cement wall of the stairwell, holding him there firmly. Desmond attempted to plead with them, though his left cheek was being smashed into the wall with such force it hindered his ability to talk.

“Please! You have to let me go; my son is in danger! I’m begging you man, let me go!”

He stomped hard on the guard’s foot and was displeased to feel a steel-toed boot beneath his heel. Despite the fact that Desmond clearly had failed in injuring him, the man yanked his head back and slammed his face into the concrete once more. A third man appeared in Desmond’s field of view, now slightly obscured by blood that was trailing into his left eye. Casually leaning against the wall mere inches away from his face, the man reached out to the guard, tapping his shoulder in protest.

“Easy Oakley, this man is our guest, not so rough.”

Alright, so the guard with the temper is Oakley, who are these other clowns? As if he had read Desmond’s mind, the third man adjusted his angle, now uncomfortably close, and calmly introduced himself.

“My name is Dr. Atticus Cais. My friends here are Richard Oakley and Elliot Shaw. They work for me. I need you to listen carefully Desmond, your son’s life depends on it.”

My son? What do they know about Dominic?! Desmond began to struggle again, but now the man he referred to as Elliot Shaw stepped in, aided Oakley in restraining him.

“The more you struggle, the worse the outcome will be. If you silence yourself and listen, this will end much more favorably for you and your boy. Not to mention your beautiful wife, Nora. Let’s consider the two of them as leverage, it may sway your decision regarding my offer.”

Everything in him said to resort to savagery, to rip these men’s throats open with his teeth if he had to, but he needed to get to Dominic. He was running out of time. Cooperation would be the quickest route forward. Desmond stopped panting, focused on controlling his breathing and gathering his composure before he addressed his assailants.

“What do you want,”

Atticus Cais smiled, and for a moment Desmond thought he had met the devil himself.

“There we go, much better. It’s quite simple Desmond. You have something I want, no; something I need. I cannot divulge what that something is, there’s a lot of red tape surrounding this… shall we say, sensitive matter.”

Desmond gritted his teeth in frustration.

“How can I give you what you want if you can’t tell me what it is?”

“That’s the joy of it; all you need to do is come with us. If you cooperate fully, we’ll save your son’s life, and no harm will come to Nora.”

He was starting to lose himself again, the ambiguous way his captor spoke pricking and irritating every fiber of his being.

“Come on man…. Just let me go to my son! He’s bleeding out on the street!”

Tears began to well as his voice cracked and desperation creeped in. Every second lost was another second that Dominic’s life hung in the balance.

“I’m aware; he was shot on my orders. We needed a big enough distraction to catch you alone. The less witnesses, the better.”

Desmond looked up from the floor, his eyes widened as his gaze homed in and locked on Atticus. Then, all equanimity was lost as he thrashed ferociously, lashing out for Atticus’ throat. Desmond’s fingers grazed the man’s neck before he was subdued by Oakley and Shaw.

“You son of a bitch! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill all of you!”

Something sharp stabbed at Desmond’s shoulder. Moments later, Shaw and Oakley released their grip on him. He stepped towards Atticus, faltered and fell to his hands and knees. Atticus crouched down in front of him.

“I do wish you had chosen to cooperate; It’ll be much more difficult carrying you out of here without being seen by civilians, but so be it.”

Everything was closing in, his vision blurring. It was clear now that he had been sedated and was quickly losing consciousness. Desmond thought about Dominic, now possibly dead. He thought about Nora, and how he hadn’t even known where she was, if she was okay. He thought about the future he dreamt of, the one that had seemed so distant only moments ago…the one that was now nonexistent.

Next Chapter: Chapter 7: Falsification