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Sunday, June 20th, 2010 09:23 pm
Title: Idle Spite Has Won the Day (SNIPPET though, not a complete fic)
Fandom: Thunderbirds (movie-verse based)
Rating: If this were a complete fic, I would foresee it as being around PG-13 level.
Genre: Gen, drama, h/c
Notes: This is the first of several snippets I will probably be posting (from different fandoms). The basic premise of this story would be that a villain (probably one with previous connections to Jeff Tracy) has discovered the Tracys are in fact the Thunderbirds. He uses this to his advantage, kidnapping one of the boys, burying him alive, and after several hours of taunting and generally driving the rest of the Tracy clan into a frenzy, he would then instruct them to use their various rescuing devices to attack places containing some kind of technology he needs (or a bank from which he can get lots of money) in exchange for releasing said captured son. Of course, the gang would figure out who the villain was and stop him before the Thunderbirds would both lose a member and have their reputation tarnished. Happy endings all around.

Keep in mind that this is just a snippet, not a complete story. It will not be finished in the near future, and it is not my most stellar piece of writing. Additionally, it has not been beta'd, although it has been spell checked via Microsoft Word and my own mind.

Notes the second: There is a slight chance that I will continue working on this story, but it's roughly equivalent to a snowball's chance in hell. So if you (yes, I'm looking at you) have the desire to take this story and run with it, by all means, do so. It doesn't even have to necessarily be in this fandom, although I would love you forever if it was. I do request credit for idea inspiration, but if you don't give me that, I don't actually care all that much, seeing as how the majority of the idea isn't even mine--it's inspired by various poetry and other shows.

So yeah. Do what you will.

Disclaimer: I don't own Thunderbirds. This snippet was highly influenced by an episode of CSI (you fans will know which one I'm talking about), and the "Cry baby bunting" poem is actually a poem written by Felix Dennis so I can't even claim that.

… “John, have you figured it out yet?”

John shook his head, his forehead furrowed as he continued to work away on Five’s monitors. “What I wouldn’t give to have Alan’s hacking skills right now,” he muttered as ACCESS DENIED flashed across the screen again.

Gordon tapped his foot nervously as he watched his father and brother work. “I’ll say. What a weekend for the Sprout to go incommunicado. And he doesn’t even like camping!”

Scott snorted and opened his mouth to reply when suddenly the monitors went dark for a moment. “John? John!” Jeff barked.

“Still here, Dad. Something must’ve cut the video--I can’t see you all anymore, either,” John replied.

“You alright?” Virgil asked.

“Yeah. Can’t figure out how the video feed cut, but all systems are reading normal at the moment.”

Then a deep chuckle no one recognized issued from the speakers. The Tracys gathered around John’s portrait as the screen changed, revealing part of a man’s face. The picture cut off just below the man’s nose; most of his features were obscured by a large pair of aviator sunglasses and the shadows cast by a wide-brimmed hat. “Who are you?” Jeff demanded, fists clenching. “How did you access this frequency?”

The man chuckled again and held up a single gloved finger close to the camera. “This is not the question you should be asking, Jefferson Tracy,” he answered.

Each of the Tracy sons stiffened as they looked from the screen to their father. Jeff frowned, his fists clenching at his sides. His voice was calm as he asked, “And what is it that I should be asking?”

The face on screen tilted slightly as the man cocked his head. A few lines appeared on his face, physical evidence of the smirk they could hear in his voice as he replied, “What do you want?”

“Fine. What do you want?” Jeff snapped.

“Temper, temper,” the man replied. He snickered and held up an antique pocket watch. “It’s 4:16 p.m., Jefferson Tracy. Do you know where your children are?”

A shiver ran up Jeff’s spine. “What are you--”

The screen went black again, but the man continued to speak, his voice lyrical as he recited:

Bye, baby bunting,
Daddy can’t go hunting,
Horse and hound are put away,
Idle spite has won the day
.”

Then a new image popped up on screen, a close-up of a face colored with shades of green from a night-vision camera. The Tracys sucked in a collective breath as they recognized the figure in the video. Alan’s face was slack, his eyes closed, and they could see the beginnings of a bruise forming on his right cheek. The camera pulled back enough for them to see what he was lying on. Even in the unusual lighting, it was easy to see the pillow his head rested on was made from a fine silk--the same silk that lined the container he was lying in.

“Oh my god,” Scott breathed.

“It’s a coffin,” John whispered in horror over the connection. “He’s inside a coffin!”

The man chuckled again as the image cut back to his face.

Cry, baby bunting,
Daddy can't go hunting;
Not a chicken in the pot,
Foxes came and ate the lot
.”

The image cut once more, this time to a solid black screen, save for the numbers 10:00:00 emblazoned in white at the center of the screen. They immediately began scrolling down: 09:59:59, 09:59:58, 09:59:57…

“It’s a countdown,” Virgil said. “Alan… he’s… he’s…”

“He’s been buried alive,” Gordon finished, eyes wide…

End snippet.

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