They struggled and thrashed there on the floor, Bryn fighting back for all he was worth against the determined, overwhelming assault of his hulking foe. If he'd been able to break loose and actually fight, Bryn thought he might be able to hold his own against this guy, if not beat him. But as much as Bryn refused to admit it, there was little doubt who would win in a wrestling match between them. He gave the man a hell of a time, but in the end his foe managed to get him turned around, pulled back against his chest with both of Bryn's arms trapped in a bear-hug, pinning him all-but helplessly.

The man rose, lifting his kicking, thrashing burden up with him, and immediately started backing toward the van. Bryn opened his mouth and managed a quickly-muffled, "Hel - MMMNPH!", cut short as his captor's black-gloved hand shot up and clapped hard across his mouth. Bryn bucked and fought like a madman, throwing his head around ferociously, trying to slip the grip of the stifling hand...which might as well have been welded to his face for all the good his struggles did to dislodge it. Even still, he continued trying to shout for help, the frantic cries reduced to nothing more than smothered grunts and growls. He tried, despite the fact that he knew there was no one to help them, the closest neighbors too far away to hear, even if it hadn't been the middle of the night... He had to do something, and just then such futile - if heartfelt - ploys seemed all he had left to him.

Though having a rough time of it, his captor dragged Bryn inexorably toward the van's wide-open rear doors, inch-by-hard-fought-inch. All the while, the semi-free lower half of the catboy's right arm stretched hopefully, desperately toward the gun, as if refusing to accept that neither it nor anything else would help, and that the battle was lost...



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On to Rude Awakening, part 11