Kidnapping Storm, Part 1 - Fear's Blindfold

Note:  Image and text are slightly updated from the original post.

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Ororo Munroe was excited to see tonight's performance with Herbie Hancock.  Peter had given her tickets as a birthday present two months ago.  Peter insisted that she take a non-X-man on a date with her.  She agreed because it provided her the opportunity for asking out the man she had fantasized over for so long:  Pierre Guillemot, a well-respected financial entrepreneur.  The day had finally arrived, and now she was to meet him outside the VIP entrance.   There was something mesmerizing about his personality, beyond his celebrated philanthropy for African charities, which attracted her to him.    It's almost as if you have me under a spell, she had joked to him over the phone.

She pulled her sporty convertible in the nearby parking garage that Pierre recommended.   Storm had wanted them to ride together, but Pierre had offered to meet her there, professing a mandatory meeting that might run late.  He insisted that Ororo not miss the start of the show on his account.   So she drove alone.   Driving was an activity she did not enjoy.   The confinement of being in a vehicle always made her nervous.   Tonight she was the private person of Ororo, not the public spectacle of Storm, so flying was out of the question.   With her hair up and out of costume she could blend in largely unnoticed with the crowd. 

She turned off the radio as she drove up beside the parking attendant's station.  She never really cared for Phil Collins' "In the Air Tonight."   The young attendant, smartly dressed in business attire, scanned the pass which Pierre had loaned her and gave her directions to her reserved spot.  Most of the garage was closed, presumably for renovations, but having a date with the owner privileged her to this special perk. 

"No valet parking," Ororo inquired.   The attendant looked sheepishly at her.   His mouth opened but there was a delay before his lips finally moved:  "Not tonight."   Ororo knew that her beauty sometimes distracted the opposite sex, so she politely ignored what she considered a faux pas.  "That's okay.  I can park and walk."

She drove slowly, mentally reciting the route, which consisted of just a few turns to the fourth lower level.   She backed into the space marked "Reserved PG 999."   She checked her makeup in the rear-view mirror.   Her face was dripping with a nervous sweat.   Being four floors underground had prompted her claustrophobia to surface.  She tabbed her face with a handerkerchief and reapplied her blush.  Distractions lessen the mind's fixation on fear, she reminded herself.

Taking a deep breath, she got out of her coupe, putting the keys in her handbag after the annoying beep and flash signaled the car was securely locked.    A police officer, who struck her as fresh out of the academy given the youth of his face, was putting his cellphone away as he walked toward his van.  Ororo laughed to herself that she must be getting old when everyone else around her seems so young. 

"Ma'am," the officer said, breaking the eerie silence.  "The stairwell is closed.  You'll have to take the elevator.  It's straight ahead on your left." 

"Thanks," Ororo responded in haste, the annoyance in her voice scarcely disguised.  She tried to flash a polite smile, but the thought of being in an elevator exacerbated her rising fear of confined spaces.   She felt faint.    It always humiliated her that, despite her uncanny powers, this phobia could reduce her to such a pathetic state.  She discerned the footsteps of the officer approaching her, undoubtedly about to ask her if everything was alright.  She had heard it a thousand times.  "Ma'am?"  She hastened her pace.    She wanted to avoid turning around.   That would expose the fear in her face that she could no longer mask.   She almost cringed as she expected a hand to touch her shoulder.    Instead she felt something knobby jab into her back.  That was the last thought she experienced as she immediately succumbed into the darkness which followed the bright discharge of a high-powered bio-pulse taser.   "Christ," the officer exclaimed, shocked at the arcing coils of energy wrapping around his victim.  Even his own skin tingled with static.  He released the trigger button.   The energy seemed to withdraw back into the device in an instant.   Storm jiggled and convulsed then collapsed face-down.  Her limbs twitched but she did not rise.   The officer craned his neck back, looking and nodding at a security camera mounted on the ceiling behind them.

Sitting at his desk Pierre Guillemot stared mischievously at the image before him on the leftmost monitor of the three gatefold-arranged screens.  Finally he tore his gaze away.  He pressed a button on his intercom while he focused on the central monitor.  "Hurry with Wonder Woman. "  He turned to the monitor on his right.  "The game goes live tonight."


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The story continues here .