My eyes scan the darkness, but only morbid shapes come through them. The darkness is horrid, like someone took all the light in the world away and left on only the dimmers. My head hurts, as I move my hands to skim over the soft flesh of my face I feel warmth. But it is also wet and then I know I'm in trouble, only one thing is warm and wet and on your face...it was blood, alright maybe there was another thing that could be there but Tony would be the expert on that. My guess, I'm bleeding from some sort of head trauma. Which could explain the darkness of my sight and the shapes, or it could be the lights are off but I would have more vision than this. I hope at least.
Someone is eating in the background, their teeth are grinding against each other. Which implies that they are eating something soft and smooth, I guess by the smell some sort of noodle. Their fork is scrapping against the bottom, must be nearly finished either that or they were raised on a farm. I try to speak but only get a slight gurgle, they want me silent then I'll be silent for now at least. I know I'm in some kind of warehouse, the dank stench of rotting wood and mold is hitting me along with a slight draft. Tells me this is an old warehouse, still has some use though but more than likely vacant to all but the undergrounders.
The cold steel wrapped around my wrists implies that I was brought here by force, but then again so does the shape that I feel my body is in. My lungs are searing with each and every breath that I attempt to take, they are weak enough to prevent me from having full breaths so I figure that there must be some broken ribs. Possibly even a collapsed or collapsing lung, that would be just my luck me dying in a warehouse by drowning in my own blood.
I can't remember what or who brought me here, the last thing I know for sure is that there was a fire fight. Gibbs and I were pinned down in the front, and Tony was trapped with McGee towards the rear of the building. For the life of me I don't know why, what brought us there or what we were after. I just remember Gibbs popping up, his gun in hand, and then hearing him gasp as he was thrown back by a shotgun blast. Tony came hurtling towards us and that's it, that's all I remember but the shocked and pained blood stained face of Gibbs haunts me now. He is the one man I have always known that was strong at all times, but laying there with his body blown open by buckshot he was the weakest I had seen.
Liquid fire is pouring from my eyes, but I can't have that, my fingers raise involuntarily and I stab at the aqueaous bulbs behind the thin membrane of flesh dubbed eye lids by some fool scientist. Light is starting to pool from under what appears to be steel doors, footsteps pounding the ground. They are coming for me, coming to finish their job I just know it. Suddenly the door springs to life, it's screech of pain makes my head split. The very stab of it's agony rips at my body doubling it over so that my head falls between my knees. In the split second the light is forced into the room I can see how much worse my situation is than I thought. My arms and legs are bound to the ground with lightweight but thick chains, and placed strategically across the room is the one man I couldn't stand but at the same time wished to see no harm come to.
DiNozzo was there, suspended in the light from the far wall. He was bleeding, a large pool already concentrated beneath his body told me that he was slowly bleeding to death. He was of course gagged, not that the middle aged man could talk if he choosed to anyway. His breathing was unsteady, his body was laxed forth giving into the weakness it apparently held. My heart ached at that sight, but then the light vanished and so did Tony lost in the darkness that was this warehouse.
The halls of Norfolk's best hospital reverberated with the sound of many worried and angry men and women alike. Laying in room 256 in the Critical Care Unit was the very weak body of Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Sitting beside his bed was Dr. Donald 'Ducky' Mallard. The english born gentle men was holding tightly to the limp hand of his friend whom was currently fighting for his life through all odds.
Gibbs had been hit by a 22-gauge buckshot shotgun blast, most of the pellets had been caught by the vest, however the rest which numbered to be about 4-5 pellets hit numerous spots. One such spot was the artery in his left shoulder, another grazed his throat, yet another got his gun hand, the others hit nonvital and nonimportant spots.
Director Shepherd was steaming, she was pissed that her senior agent was practically dying and there was nothing she could do and even more pissed that two of her agents were missing. Both she knew were severly injured by the accounts of Junior Agent Timothy McGee, whom was currently residing in the Intensive Care Unit recovering from several knife wounds as well as pure shock from the occurances. More than anything else though, what angered her was the fact that all this happened for no apparent reason.
Gibbs had called her early that morning, way before daylight skimmed her window to tell her about a murder/suicide involving a Gunnery Sergeant, his wife, and seven year old daughter. He was choked up, the man was an old friend but more importantly she knew that it struck a few heartstrngs of the normally emotionless man. More than a few actually, but that was the last she heard from him or the others. They never reported for duty and until the phone call came about a firefight on top of the old Maoke Office Building she didn't know a thing. Now she wished that she could look forward to more than calling the families of her respected agents and alerting them that both were seriously injured and Missing In Action after a firefight without company consent to the case they were working which she knew naught about.