A light flared up from inside the man's cupped hands, illuminating his face and the cigarette hanging from his lip -- momentarily pushing back the darkness. It was gone in a second, though, replaced only by the tiny glow of the man's cigarette.

Chris had settled into the opposite corner of the dark elevator, legs out in front of him, head bowed, arms resting on his knees. The sound of the man's lighter made his head shoot up.

"What are you doing?" He was trying to not sound panicked, but he wasn't doing a very good job. The man took the cigarette from his mouth, a streak of red through the blackness.

"Having a barbecue. What do you think I'm doing?" The man's voice wasn't malicious, it just contained no interest in talking to Chris.

"I..." Chris stumbled. He wasn't sure what to say. "My mom smokes. ...Smoked."

"I'm sorry for your mom. But what's your problem?"

"I can't stand the smell of smoke." Chris' trembling uncertainty had been replaced with annoyance. Chris didn't think he was going to get the man to put out his cigarette, but they might as well be clear on where the other stood.

"Sorry kid," the man said, surprising Chris. The glowing tip of the cigarette dropped to the floor and disappeared under the man's shoe. The elevator was completely dark again. "Problems with your mom?"

Chris' mouth opened and closed. He wasn't sure what to say.

"Hey, what's your name, kid?"

"Um, Chris," he replied. His uncertainty had returned.

"Mine's Guy. Guy Noir. I'm a private eye."

"Wow, that's so cool! I wish I wer--"

"No, it's not. And no, you don't."

The elevator fell into silence. Chris gave a weak "oh..." under his breath.

"Sorry, kid. Uh, Chris. It's just not all it's cracked up to be."

"Oh." Chris didn't know what else to say.

"You were just about to tell me about your mom."

"I, um...." Chris still wasn't comfortable with this guy, but he was getting a little better at dealing with him. "No, I wasn't."

Chris couldn't see Guy smirk in the gloom, but he gave out an audible snort, a laugh of sorts. "Okay, kid, okay. Smart to keep your mouth shut these days. I was just askin', but I wont push ya."

"Thanks," Chris muttered somewhat shortly.

Guy sighed and reached inside his trench coat. Chris' eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness and he could just barely make out the other man's movement. He had pulled something -- a flask or bottle -- out of his jacket and was unscrewing the top. Chris saw him take a quick, violent swig from the flask, and rescrewed the top. Silently, Guy slid down the wall of the elevator, stretching his legs out in front of him.

"How long are we going to be stuck in this God-damn elevator?" Guy asked rhetorically, irritated.

"I'd rather be in here, then out there," Chris said emphatically.

"Safety is nice, kid, but it aint livin'. No use in being a well-protected vegetable."

"I--" Chris started in tenaciously, but was cut off. A cacophony of yelling and banging came from overhead. Suddenly the roof of the elevator crashed down, and light poured in from above. Chris and Guy both jumped up and backed stiffly against the wall of the elevator. A rope dropped down and thudded thickly to the floor of the elevator, followed after a second by a man in military combat garb. As soon as his heavy boots had hit the floor, his laser pistol was drawn an aimed at Guy.

"Who are you?" the man demanded in a loud, gruff voice, after the fashion of his stereotype.

"Wow there soldier," Guy said in a lazy manner, considering the gun pointed at his forehead. "The name's Noir. Guy Noir. Just the friendly neighborhood private-eye."

The soldier glared at Guy. "I.D." he said shortly. Guy reach into his trench coat for his wallet. "Slow there, big guy," the soldier said, adjusting his grip on the pistol. Slowly, Guy pulled out his wallet, wordlessly offering it to the soldier for visual inspection. When the soldier nodded, Guy opened it up and pulled out his driver's license, handing it over to the soldier. The man regarded it for a short time, taking in the information, and looking up at Guy once or twice to judge his appearance against the image on the card. With a grunt of approval the soldier handed the card back to Guy, who replaced it in his wallet which he slipped back into his coat.

"Over there," the man motioned with his head behind him, to where Chris stood, trembling. The soldier's gun staid trained on Guy as he made his way over to stand beside Chris. "And what's your name, kid?" The soldier addressed Chris now. Somewhere in the back of Chris' mind, he wished that people would stop calling him that. That part of his brain was too overwhelmed by his panic, though, to come through at all.

"C--Chris..." his voice was trembling, which was appropriate as it fit what the rest of his body was doing. He was covered in sweat but didn't notice.

"Chris what?" the soldier demanded coldly.

"Oh, uh, Stevens," Chris replied hastily, swallowing back his fear.

"I.D." the soldier repeated his earlier question shortly.

"Err, um... no..." Chris said. He was mortified. Suddenly a thought struck him. "I mean, uh, I don't have any! N--not that I wont give it to you. Um. If I had it, I would give it to you, it's just that I don't have my driver's license yet, an--"

"I get it, kid," the man said coldly.

Chris swallowed. "Err, uh, okay."

Without lowering his gun or his gaze wavering from the two men, the officer pulled a two-way radio off of his belt and began giving orders through it. "Give me a background check on a Guy Noir and a Chris Stevens, stat." The man's arm dropped to his side while static poured out of the tiny speaker of the radio. After about twenty second a young voice cut through the static. "Noir, Guy J. Age: forty-two. Occupation: Private eye. Master's in psychology with emphasis on criminal behavior. There was no entry on a 'Chris Stevens', though there is reference to someone by that name in another file."

"Whose?" the officer asked into the radio.

"...Anne Stevens," the voice replied, in a tone which seemed implied something that Chris was unaware of. "She... she's listed as having a son named Chris, and under the circumstances I'm not surprised there's no entry. If he was treated like the rest...."

"Understood. That will be all." The soldier clipped the radio back on to his belt and gave a shrill whistle. On that signal the lights that trimmed the top of the elevator came on and the low rumble of machinery somewhere far above them coming slowly filled the elevator. Gingerly, the soldier put his pistol back into its holster and stepped to the side of the elevator opposite the two men, pressing the button for floor one.

Eying Chris, he said, "Anne Stevens. Is she your mother?"

"I have no mother," Chris said coldly.

The soldier raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"She's dead. As far as I know or care anyway."

"And your father?"

"He was a criminal. And a poor one. They took him."

"The Monos?"

"They're the Crown!" Chris erupted furiously. "How dare you refer to them so coarsely!"

"Anne Stevens... she was your mother... wasn't she?"

Chris glared back at him. "Yes."

"Chris," the soldier said slowly, "I know what they told you about your parents. All of you. In your orphanage. They told you that your parents were bad. Crooks. Horrible people. Deserters. It's not true."

Chris was too furious now for any fear to be left in his body. "I know what is true and what is false! Don't you dare preach to me about my own parents you piece of scum!" Chris pitch was frantic now; his heart was racing and his eyes had closed and his fists had clenched. The sound of the soldier's lazer pistol arming jolted him back to the tiny elevator shaft and his immediate peril. He was behind enemy lines.

"Cool it buddy," the soldier said condescendingly. "I'm not known for my restraint in high tension situations. And I'm the one with the lazer pistol. Just try to keep that in mind, okay?"

Chris swallowed and took a deep breath. "Yeah," he said mutedly.

The elevator lurched to a stop and dinged. "This is our floor, gentlemen," the soldier said, redrawing his pistol. "If you'd be so kind as to exit in front of me...."

Chris followed Guy out of the elevator and in to the lobby of the hotel in which they had been staying. The normally hectic air of the lobby was replaced by an eerie stillness. The front desk was deserted, the patrons were no where to be seen; the only people in sight were from the Rebel military.

"Sorry, Chris."

 

Chris woke up with a pounding headache. His hand instinctively tried to make it's way to the back of his head to make a tactory inspection of his wounds, but he found that his wrists were bound. It didn't take long to ascertain that all his limbs were bound. The only freedom of motion he had was in his neck, but that did him very little good; there was only darkness.

After having lead there for what he estimated to be several hours, his meditations were interrupted by the muffled sound of someone approaching the room. The footsteps stopped, and suddenly a bright rectangle of light appeared, with the silhouette of a person contrasted strongly in it, about six meters from the foot of the slab to which Chris was bound.