____(f/n) was sitting in the open doorway of a van, her feet and hands tied. There were two men in the van with her, and about seven spread out in front of it. One man was dressed in a slick black dress coat and sunglasses. ___(f/n) was shaking, but silent. She had heard Shinra's voice on the other side of the phone a bit ago, making her feel a bit of comfort, but she had refused to speak not wanting him to come here and get hurt. "Where is that bastard? It's been fifteen minutes... If he keeps us waiting much longer..." The man turned, looking at ___(f/n) with a smirk making her heart race. "It won't be good for out little princess over there." Just as the fear was filling back up in ___(f/n), footsteps echoed in the factory. They stepped closer, before Shinra becoming visible. "Dad!" ___(f/n) finally yelled out with tears streaming down her face. A few of the men chuckled. Shinra stood there with his hands in his lab coat pockets, a smile on his face. The man in the dress coat spoke up. "You made it, I was beginning to think you weren't gonna show." Shinra continued to smile. "So, you must be the man that called me earlier." Shinra said recognizing the man's low voice. The man didn't reply. "What is it I can help you with?" Shinra asked. "Well, you see. I want you. In case you didn't know, we're the Japanese mafia. I've heard of you, and apparently you're a very good doctor, or at least that's what our sources told us. And I want you to work for us. Of course we will pay you generously." The man explained. "It sounds like a great job, but I think I'll have to decline. I just don't work with people that take hostages." Shinra said a loud. "Really? I think you'll change your tune with a little, persuasion." He snapped his fingers and one of the men in the van kicked ___(f/n) from behind, throwing her hard onto the rough ground from the van. "Ah!" Then he grabbed her by her ___(h/c) hair, pulling her head back, blood dripping down from her nose. The corner of Shinra's smile twitched, along with his grey eyes, but he kept his smile. He began stepping forward to the man in the dress suit jacket, fondling the sharp scalpel in his pocket. "You know, I don't think people who kidnap other people's kids just to get them to work for you are very good, especially when it comes to my daughter." Then the sound of a horse came from outside the factory and a black bike came crashing through a window into the building, Celty on top of it. "What the hell?!" "It's the black rider!" A few of the men shouted, the motorcycle landing in the middle of all the men, Celty jumping off. "Why you!" The leader swung his fist at Shinra, Shinra dodging and pulling out his scalpel, slicing across the man's arm leaving a long cut, blood already dripping out. "Dammit! Grab the kid!" Shinra ran past the man, the others all going at ___(f/n) who was wide eyed with fear. Before they could grab her, Celty punched them in the face, going off on them all. She got in a fight with all of the men at once, giving Shinra the opportunity to go up to ___(f/n), dropping down to his knees and grabbing her, ___(f/n) holding onto him with her hands tightly hiding onto the white cloth of his lab coat. "___(f/n), are you okay?" Shinra asked. She nodded, then a man in the van jumped out at Shinra and ___(f/n), a bat in his hand. Holding ___(f/n) to his chest, Shinra jumped back from the man, now standing on his feet with ___(f/n) in his arms. He came at them again and Shinra kicked him in the face, throwing the man back with an "Oof!" "Dad." ___(f/n) said in a worried scared voice. Shinra looked down at her with a smile, his friendly caring usual face comforting her. "Celty, let's go!" Celty threw down the last man, then running back to her bike, transforming it into a motorcycle with a side car. Shinra put ___(f/n) on the back of the bike behind Celty. "Hold onto her." Then getting in the side car himself. The bike neighed and Celty revved up the bike starting off in a bust of speed. "You bastard! Get them!" The men all got onto bikes and in the van, racing off after them.
