Gₒₒd ₒₗd₋Fₐₛₕᵢₒₙₑd ₗₒᵥₑᵣ Bₒy ~ Dᵢᵣₖ Gₑₙₜₗy

A Confrontation At Dusk

Sicillian cursed herself for coming unarmed. She was utterly defenseless to whoever or whatever was waiting for her. The address she'd been told to go to was funnily enough, the same bridge that Gordon Rimmer had held Farah hostage on back in the Lydia Spring Case.

It seemed weird to think that so much time had passed, in a few weeks, it would be a year since Dirk had resurfaced into her life, spinning it upside in the worst and best ways. Thinking of the brit back at the Detective Agency sent a pang of sadness through her chest, having a strong feeling Blackwing would take her back.

She knew it was Blackwing. Who else would contact her with threats of a rendezvous without which her friends might die? And if they did take her in, Lord knows she'd go down fighting. But either way, this was to ensure the safety of Farah and Todd. And to an extent, Dirk. However, she had a concrete feeling the minute the detective found out where she was, he'd come running.

Her hand brushed against the rough brickwork as she turned the corner, the bridge entering her sight. The pain on its metal beams had somewhat rusted, flakes of cobalt blue fluttering to the floor in the wind. The green eyed American could just make out the silhouette of a car parked atop it, no sign of people.

The Hollistic Assistant made her way along the river bank, cautious not to draw attention to herself from the rustle of nettles as she walked over them. Every step made her heart pound more. She was terrified. She didn't want to go back. Who would? But in this situation, she was choiceless. The brunette would have to grit her teeth and get on with it. Lest they punish her friends.

See, the thing about Sicillian Presque, was that the greatest weapon against her was the people she loved.

She winced at every resonating clang that her footsteps made upon the metal stairs. She ascended quickly, the nerves and adrenaline pumping through her leaving the America's whole body to shake. She finally reached the top, stepping out tentatively into the harsh neon lights that lit the bridge.

The engine of the car shut off. The windows were tinted, making it impossible to see who was inside. The door swung open, revealing who had requested her there that night.

"Samantha?!" The incredulity in her voice wasn't misplaced.

"That's Director Wilson to you, Cain." She pulled a smart pistol from the pocket of her long coat. "Get in the car."

It made sense now. How Dirk had recognised her voice, but not her. For their entire childhood, the woman over the intercom had always just been known as the Director. Sicillian had heard the name Wilson thrown around, but it was common enough for it not to stick with her. The ginger had sat and given the orders for the testing and torture of every Blackwing subject contained in the 90s. She was a hated figure, even if none of them knew her face.

"What do you want from me?" The assistant asked, desperately trying to stall.

"I want you to get in the car." The Blackwing Official repeated, pointedly.

"I don't think I want to do that." Sicillian replied quietly, taking the smallest steps back.

"Fine, have it your way." Samantha tapped the com in her ear twice. "Priest, give the order to execute Mr Brotzman and Miss Black on my command." What?!

"Wait..."

"Three," The brunette froze, "Two," Her heart was pounding. She had to make a decision, "One-"

"OKAY STOP!" She yelled. The American put her hands above her head in surrender. The fact that Priest was also here sickened her slightly. She'd heard from Tina that he'd come round their hospital rooms as her, Hobbs and Farah were recovering, asking questions. Apparently his face had been split in two by something that could only have been a pair of scissors. She thought the wound might have killed him, but apparently not. She couldn't put Todd and Farah in more danger.