Post by Deleted on Oct 19, 2014 7:44:24 GMT -5
Recently, Alfred had gotten into the habit of picking up the produce for the manor himself. Normally, specially with the seasons turning, he would get them delivered to the manor. But, with Dick all grown up and Tim who filled his day time hours with schooling, it was a good excuse to get out of that dreary manor when Master Bruce was out attending to other things. It was a lovely fall day out, anyway.
The wind was light but crisp and when the clouds parted the sky was pale blue and the sun was warm. Even on a weekday, the shopping district was packed and much to his displeasure; already covered in Christmas decorations. The grocery store he choose to shop at was (un)fondly called Whole Paycheck by those who populated the South side. It mercifully only had a handful of shoppers inside.
It didn't take him long to find everything he needed. He checked himself out at the self-checkout. A young cashier offered to help him carry his single paperbag (masterfully packed, with only tall head's of celery stalks poked out) to his car. Alfred declined the offer, politely, hiding the fact that he was mildly insulted. He certainly hoped he didn't look that frail.
Alfred made his way towards the exit when the power suddenly went out.
Someone, Alfred guessed in the bakery department, screamed.
The doors of the grocery store were electric, and while he could likely easily pry them open, he wasn't in any sort of hurry so he stood patiently waiting for the back up generators to turn the power back on. He mused about the reliance on technology, despite himself being very adept in tech and not prone to thinking pre-dawn of internet era was a superior time, when he heard a soft sound. The sound of a shoe sole sneaking on lightly moist grocery store tiles. He turned about but it was too late.
Whoever was behind him roughly covered his breathing holes with a coarse black cloth covered in chloroform. Another assailant (who had previously convincingly looking at the tomatoes before the power was cut) covered the butler's head with a black sack.
The last thing he remember was dropping the groceries, as a third body lifted him up. He heard the rounder produce roll on the floor before everything went completely black.
When Alfred woke, he found the sack had been removed. He felt groggy and disoriented. Both strange and foreign feelings to him.
That said, it didn't take him long to become oriented to where he was. Alfred found he was tied to a rather sturdy large wooden hair. His arms were tied to the arms of the chair with heavy looking rope, the kind people use to tie boats to the dock. His legs were similarly tied to the front legs of the chair but his middle was not restricted at all. He looked about with minimal head movements as possible. He was positioned under, seemingly, the only light on in the place. The floor he was on was concrete and what he could see he was surrounded by were shipping crates marked with boat names and destinations in hurried looking red paint long ago dried. That, and the place messed of dead fish,salt water and damp mould. From these things, Alfred surmised rightly that he was in the Docking District. Alfred also surmised that his captors had seen one too many mobster movies.
But that passing thought gave way to a more panicked one, one which he could not fully conceal on his face. What if Master Bruce's secret identity had been compromised somehow?
This generic scene could have been any number of Bruce's rogues gallery work. Most of them weren't above getting hired thugs and kidnapping, in fact many seemed to take delight in it. He shifted his body just slightly in the chair. He could feel his wallet and cellular phone were both missing and his stomach did a series of flops. He had to steady himself, remind himself that he only used the first letter of his contacts and even then only spoke over secure connections and most often on disposable, untraceable numbers.
There was muffled talking in the darkness.
He heard a masculine voice say something, raising above the muffle but he couldn't make it out. Somewhere among the boxes, his captors were having an argument. He hoped they would carry on, continue to be distracted, because he started to make a minimal movement with his arms. Gradually, back and forth, he moved his arms. This kind of rope and knot allowed him the tiniest bit of movements. All he needed to do was loosen the knot up enough to yank himself free with force.
Had he told anyone where he was leaving? Where he was going? No, no, those were wrong thoughts to be having. He was a very public face in Gotham. No doubt his abduction had already made the local news, a story was already been quick printed in the newspaper and trending on social networking sites--his stomach did another series of unpleasant flops.
If his captors did know Master Bruce's secret identity it was likely Alfred's kidnapping wouldn't be the thing those media outlets would be a buzz about if....if they were that type of criminal. If they were the more flashy, unhinged, types Master Bruce had the misfortune of dealing with regularly then this would be a game of exchanges. A type of criminal who relished in forcing the hand of their foe, rathering that Bruce outed himself than broadcast it to the world. Alfred inhaled, taking small comfort in that...because...
If they were dealing with that type of criminal, Master Bruce would already be two steps ahead of them.
The wind was light but crisp and when the clouds parted the sky was pale blue and the sun was warm. Even on a weekday, the shopping district was packed and much to his displeasure; already covered in Christmas decorations. The grocery store he choose to shop at was (un)fondly called Whole Paycheck by those who populated the South side. It mercifully only had a handful of shoppers inside.
It didn't take him long to find everything he needed. He checked himself out at the self-checkout. A young cashier offered to help him carry his single paperbag (masterfully packed, with only tall head's of celery stalks poked out) to his car. Alfred declined the offer, politely, hiding the fact that he was mildly insulted. He certainly hoped he didn't look that frail.
Alfred made his way towards the exit when the power suddenly went out.
Someone, Alfred guessed in the bakery department, screamed.
The doors of the grocery store were electric, and while he could likely easily pry them open, he wasn't in any sort of hurry so he stood patiently waiting for the back up generators to turn the power back on. He mused about the reliance on technology, despite himself being very adept in tech and not prone to thinking pre-dawn of internet era was a superior time, when he heard a soft sound. The sound of a shoe sole sneaking on lightly moist grocery store tiles. He turned about but it was too late.
Whoever was behind him roughly covered his breathing holes with a coarse black cloth covered in chloroform. Another assailant (who had previously convincingly looking at the tomatoes before the power was cut) covered the butler's head with a black sack.
The last thing he remember was dropping the groceries, as a third body lifted him up. He heard the rounder produce roll on the floor before everything went completely black.
When Alfred woke, he found the sack had been removed. He felt groggy and disoriented. Both strange and foreign feelings to him.
That said, it didn't take him long to become oriented to where he was. Alfred found he was tied to a rather sturdy large wooden hair. His arms were tied to the arms of the chair with heavy looking rope, the kind people use to tie boats to the dock. His legs were similarly tied to the front legs of the chair but his middle was not restricted at all. He looked about with minimal head movements as possible. He was positioned under, seemingly, the only light on in the place. The floor he was on was concrete and what he could see he was surrounded by were shipping crates marked with boat names and destinations in hurried looking red paint long ago dried. That, and the place messed of dead fish,salt water and damp mould. From these things, Alfred surmised rightly that he was in the Docking District. Alfred also surmised that his captors had seen one too many mobster movies.
But that passing thought gave way to a more panicked one, one which he could not fully conceal on his face. What if Master Bruce's secret identity had been compromised somehow?
This generic scene could have been any number of Bruce's rogues gallery work. Most of them weren't above getting hired thugs and kidnapping, in fact many seemed to take delight in it. He shifted his body just slightly in the chair. He could feel his wallet and cellular phone were both missing and his stomach did a series of flops. He had to steady himself, remind himself that he only used the first letter of his contacts and even then only spoke over secure connections and most often on disposable, untraceable numbers.
There was muffled talking in the darkness.
He heard a masculine voice say something, raising above the muffle but he couldn't make it out. Somewhere among the boxes, his captors were having an argument. He hoped they would carry on, continue to be distracted, because he started to make a minimal movement with his arms. Gradually, back and forth, he moved his arms. This kind of rope and knot allowed him the tiniest bit of movements. All he needed to do was loosen the knot up enough to yank himself free with force.
Had he told anyone where he was leaving? Where he was going? No, no, those were wrong thoughts to be having. He was a very public face in Gotham. No doubt his abduction had already made the local news, a story was already been quick printed in the newspaper and trending on social networking sites--his stomach did another series of unpleasant flops.
If his captors did know Master Bruce's secret identity it was likely Alfred's kidnapping wouldn't be the thing those media outlets would be a buzz about if....if they were that type of criminal. If they were the more flashy, unhinged, types Master Bruce had the misfortune of dealing with regularly then this would be a game of exchanges. A type of criminal who relished in forcing the hand of their foe, rathering that Bruce outed himself than broadcast it to the world. Alfred inhaled, taking small comfort in that...because...
If they were dealing with that type of criminal, Master Bruce would already be two steps ahead of them.