After jamming the phone back into its proper place Riley kicked the wall angrily, severely chipping the paint and shattering his toe in a flash of white-hot, tentacled pain. During the few minutes that followed (which consisted of hopping around in his living room on one foot and cursing uncontrollably), he deducted it probably hadn't been such a good idea to kick a hard object shoe-less. Figures.

As soon as the cloudy-minded techie could bother himself to walk again he snatched his hoodie from a hook on the wall and hastily stepped into his action-tattered brown boots, grumbling all the while. Not long afterward the worn apartment door slammed shut and a key met the brass doorknob angrily, the jostled mechanism locking with a forlorn click. Riley silently reasoned with himself as he strode down the dim, boring hallway. Where to? Outside. Why? Because.

Leaving the apartment building actually proved to be a positive experience despite it being entirely spur-of-the-moment. The damp, freezing February air spun around Riley in cold, clingy tendrils as he descended the set of stairs just outside his building, chilling him to the farthest reaches of his cells but liberating any and all of his more rational thoughts.

Almost immediately after setting out on his infuriated stroll down a nearby sidewalk, however, Riley craved alcohol. He was not the type to drink in excessive amounts– heck, he had the alcohol resistance of a twelve-year-old– but it was easier for Riley to drink his anger away than deal with the guilt that came with feeling such emotions in the first place. God knew he sucked at facing his problems. Besides, Ben was his best friend and hopefully always would be, despite his occasional ignorance. Still, much of Riley's anger was, he felt, justified.

For too long Ben had mistreated him. Riley was always at the height of danger during their so-called "adventures," and he was just as often forgotten by the Speedster and his too-perfect sidekick, Cute-blonde-whom-he-never-had-a-chance-with. And still, he always came out of their ordeals with the least. Ben never considered how often he needed Riley's help and how lost he'd be without his technical support; without Riley, Ben would never have been able to steal the Declaration of Independence in the first place. Without Riley, Ian probably would've found the treasure. But now, when Riley had given the couple a chance to make years of inconsideration up to him at the book signing, they skipped out.

What made them think their absence wouldn't bother him? Both Ben and Abigail knew he could never sell any books on his own: an author's career had always been a difficult one, and his pals definitely weren't helping him along. What great friends they were.

After ten minutes of walking alongside other apartments and storefronts sodden with freezing rain (although it was actually more of a furious march than a walk, to be honest), Riley arrived at the liquor store on the corner of Fifth Street and Courthouse Avenue, immediately seeking out the comfort of a particular brand of beer located in a refrigerated cabinet near the back of the premise. A brief argument with the cashier on the topic of Riley's age followed; fortunately the twenty-six-year-old had not forgotten his ID while exiting his apartment. Much to his relief, he left the store still upholding a shred of dignity.

Shortly afterward, Riley seated himself on a bench located under a maple tree at the nearby park. He mused that it was still warm from someone else's ass, a feature he didn't actually mind. His ass was particularly frozen as it was, and a bit of leftover ass-warmth couldn't hurt during such cold weather. He snorted, snapped open his beer with stiff fingers, and took a hesitant swig.

Unfortunately, his unaccustomed taste buds took to arguing with him, causing Riley to fall into a coughing fit when the liquid filled his lungs. God, he hated beer. It was way too bitter. How could people stand that stuff?

The author was in the middle of seriously doubting his decision to spend a couple of bucks on the bottle and opting to pick up a Coke instead when he felt a hand on his shoulder; and, like any respectable bystander, he jumped.

"Got'ny change ta spare, buddy?"

The voice was too close to his ear, too warm and moist and uncomfortable. Riley shivered and turned, finding himself only inches away from the weather-worn and dirtied face of a homeless man who he'd seen on a street corner not too far from his apartment several times before. Eager to rid of the man, Riley fumbled around in his pockets to find the change left over from his previous purchase.

"Err, hold on – I've got something here, just... uh..." Riley attempted, pulling out a handful of lint and coins and placing the contents in the shaking hand of the man just behind him. "Hope you don't mind the extra fuzz."

The man smiled (revealing several chipped and missing teeth in the process), muttered a slurred "thanks a bunch, friend," and stumbled across the slippery street, soon disappearing into a dark alley on the other side. Meanwhile Riley, uncomfortable with the disruption and still experiencing the type of mild shock brought on by such awkward social interactions, couldn't help but notice, in that instant, another man lingering in the shadows of the alleyway; though appearing better-dressed and more inclined to personal hygiene, the stranger earned Riley's sudden and slightly irrational dislike. Leaning against the wall, clad in a dark suit and sporting an expensive-looking watch, he reminded the treasure hunter too strongly of government agents, car chases, anxiety, and jail time. It wasn't a pleasant combination and was therefore quelled by another sip of the too-bitter beer, which this time evoked teary eyes and a painful jump-start of his gag reflex.

But his antidote didn't last: the mysterious man, completely oblivious of his onlooker, was mouthing words Riley couldn't make out from such a distance, and it took Riley a bit longer than it should have to work out that the stranger was speaking to the homeless man for whom he'd emptied his pockets just moments before. Riley's eyes instantly narrowed with the slightest and almost imperceptible cocking of his eyebrow in an attempt to understand what he should make of the situation. Each time the man looked even remotely toward the bench on which the treasure hunter was sitting Riley hurriedly glanced down, nervously peeling his stiff fingers from his freezing beer bottle, a shiver climbing up his spine from both the cold and the suspicious alarms going off in the back of his head. It was then Riley decided to make a run for it, just in case. He just had to wait for the opportune moment –

But then Riley realized he'd taken his eyes off the man for too long, and now he was nowhere in sight. Breathing a sigh of relief the techie closed his eyes, relaxed his shoulders, and cracked his neck from side to side, abandoning the bottle he had been mutilating with his nervous grip on the bench beside him.

When Riley opened his eyes, however, all he saw was black; all he felt was an arm securing him in a headlock; all he heard was his pulse in his ears; all he tasted was the copper pungency of blood from a bitten tongue; and all he smelled was the mingled scent of cologne, leather, and the mint-laced breath whispering a death threat in his ear.

As he slowly realized what shit he was in, Riley couldn't help but think he almost would've chugged the entire beer bottle sitting beside him if it meant getting out of the current situation.

Almost.

Author's Note:

Wow. Long time no update, eh?
[Yeah. Sorry 'bout that, guys.]

A big thanks to everyone who kept pestering me about getting this chapter done - I don't know what I'd have done with out you! [Probably would've never finished this chapter, no doubt.]

Anyway, I hope you don't mind that this is sorta just filler until the real action begins. It just had to happen, really. Also, if you spot any awkward sentences and/or grammatical errors, please don't hesitate to point them out to me! I don't ever have anyone beta my stories, and sometimes after proofreading the same sentences over and over and over again I tend to grow less and less sensitive to my own mistakes. So, by all means, review!

Also, I don't normally like leaving author's comments, so unless I have something important to remark on in future chapters, this'll be the last one. Just know that I'm always open to critique, and I love your feedback/alerts/favourites! Thanks a bunch! C: