Vengeance: A Fan Fiction

This is something I've been meaning to do for a while now, and I recently sat down and had a whole host of new ideas to use, so here goes.

A while back (I think it was 2002), on VGChat, a couple of us had a collaborative story, lead by one of the moderators there. Each of us played a certain part, and we took it in turns to advance the story, guided by the moderator. It was fun, but it never really finished. I took it upon myself to finish it, and recently picked it back up again (after massive revision). Enjoy the prologue.

Some of you might even guess what it's a fan fiction of.



Prologue

Derek awoke to commotion outside his window. Twisting himself out of his tangled sheets, he peered out into the cobbled street five storeys below. The shouting appeared to be coming from the alley at the base of his window, a girl’s voice louder than the gruffness of most of the yells.
Derek shut the window, and turned over, trying to get back to sleep. Here in Saffron City, it was somebody else’s problem. It was best not to get involved.

Down in the alley, a man clad in black checked off a box on a list, and barely murmured in appreciation of a job well done. Casting a trained eye over the alleyway behind him, he noticed – just for a brief moment – a light flicker and die in a fifth-storey window.
With nothing but a click of the fingers and a flick of the wrist, four men dressed identically in uniforms devoid of colour darted towards the doors of the apartment building, and swiftly sped up the stairs, making no noise despite their number and bulk.
The door was forced, making a sound like a gunshot in the night. Splintering wood flew across the room inside, closely followed by the four.
A bearded African man stood to their left, but he barely had time to utter a sound before he was gunned down by a sleeping blow-dart. His pupils contracted, his knees buckled, and didn’t even feel his head as it hit the tiles.
The group moved on, seemingly flowing over everything in sight – their goal assured.

Derek awoke again to an unfamiliar smell. His eyes took a moment to register what he was seeing. Squirming under the rag the stranger was holding, Derek found he could not move his arms or legs – they were being pinned by four burly men, absurdly dressed in some dark uniform.
Struggling, out of breath, he took another involuntary drag from the chloroform-soaked rag. His mind swimming, Derek passed out, and was not conscious to witness being dragged downstairs, or his brutal shoving into an unmarked black van, which drove into the inky night.