Kidnapped!

The doctor quickly pushes on the door… it doesn't open. Handle, handle… there isn't one inside… looks to have been removed. Phone… no signal. Ah, he hasn't given the radio back yet…

“Mayday, the trailer was a trap, mayday,” the doctor screams into the handheld as the trailer lurches into motion.

Instead of static, or even the chief's voice, an obviously synthesized voice grates back in perfect clarity, “You're in a Faraday cage, MISS Bimbo,” the synthesized voice chuckles, “Nothing is getting in or out that doesn't go through my relay. And before you ask, no, the driver doesn't suit your appetites, the vehicle is run by remote control and broadcast video: It is as simple as it can possibly be and still do what it needs. The sheep should fill your appetites, however: I had them handy due to buying out the city's usual supplier. You're welcome to have a snack… I don't want you running on empty for what comes next.”

The doctor takes a breath to calm his nerves, and yes, steal the life from the sheep, “Who are you, then?”

“Someone in need of your particular services,” the electronic voice continues, as the doctor considers his options and tries the other obvious doors… unsuccessfully.

Hmm… “What? You want to be a hypersexualised woman?” The doctor checks his pocket… yes, the multitool he always carries is still there… he takes a look at the door's hinges… ‘keep talking, please,’ Benjamin thinks, ‘I'll need information to take you down… I hate roboticists….’

“Not exactly…” the electronic voice answers, “...I do, however, have a need for the effect on a few others… and they're not interested in booking appointments, so I need to bring you to them.”

“I have met enough would-be tyrants to know not to obey them,” Dr. Bimbo starts twisting one of the machinist screws holding the door's hinges in place. “How do you expect to get me to cooperate?”

“You're not the only one I'm rounding up…” the voice chuckles, as the doctor finishes one screw and moves on to the next, “you just need the lightest touch. Will you really resist when you're face to face with watching one of your long-time companions die for good?”

The doctor considers that, finishing up the screw he's on and getting a third started… last for this hinge, “I lose people regularly, it's a downside of immortality. Bowing to threats only improves the position of the one making them. It sucks for everyone when the would-be tyrant follows through, but as painful as it is, it's eventually better than whatever you have planned.”

“Well…” the voice pauses as the doctor gets the last screw for that hinge out and moves to the other hinge, “...we'll see how well your ethics hold up in practice.”

“Quite well, you'll find…” Dr. Bimbo gets another screw loose, “you would have been better off presenting a deal with a clearly stated end goal.”

“I didn't think you'd like it,” the mystery voice has all inflection stripped by the delivery method. Annoyed, Dr. Bimbo gets the second to last screw loose as the computerized voice continues, “So I'll need to tack-weld the screws in place next time?”

“I have been kicking around for a while,” the man kept physically a woman by the side effects of his own power shrugs as he extracts the final screw, “there's always SOMETHING people forget about.” ‘Especially me…’ he avoids adding.

“Yes, a half million dollar, six month operation foiled by a pocket tool costing twenty dollars and a few minutes’ work,” the electronic voice complains as Benjamin hits the door a couple times to break the paint, “live and learn.”

“I've been packing it for decades,” the doctor laughs as he pulls the door inwards, fast winds stirring the hay into a mess in the air, “I originally bought it for a dollar.”

“You don't have to rub it in,” the voice almost sounds emotional as the hero sticks his head out to see where he is, “oh, and we're on the freeway, you may want to wait a bit…”

“No, this is my stop…” the doctor jumps onto the side of a passing green van, which swerves and brakes hard, crashing into the barrier at the side of the road.

The doctor only burns a small amount of life **** recovering from minor scrapes and dizziness… it could have been a lot worse. As the driver of the wrecked vehicle gets out, the doctor swiftly realizes: It still could be. The hero of the story looks over the driver:

A weightlifter, obviously… a muscle beach type, going for ‘the look’ rather than a power lifter. He has to be at least six feet tall in his white tank top, his tanned skin almost matching his sandy hair perfectly. His hands curl into fists at the sides of his blue jeans, and he starts by shouting, “What's the hell lady?!”

The doctor grits his teeth slightly at the unintentional jab, and tries to keep a civil tone, “I just escaped a **** attempt. I'm willing to pay for the loss of your vehicle. Please give me a bit…”

The man continues as though he didn't even hear, “Seriously, lady, you can't just jump out of a moving vehicle, are you crazy?!”

‘Well, if he's not listening, it doesn't really matter what I say….’ the doctor shrugs, responding with, “Probably,” and activating his phone's voice assistant, “Call Podunk Police.” Yes, it's the actual name of the town. It's also how the doctor has the department's number stored in his phone.

As it starts ringing, the muscle head keeps talking, “Seriously bitch, are you such a self-righteous cunt that you're not even going to apologize?”

The line picks up as a female employee answers, “Podunk Police department, how can I help you… OH! Dr. Bimbo!”

The doctor rolls his eyes, but answers, recognizing her voice, “Hi Elaine, the sheep delivery was a trap, I was kidnapped, and during the escape…”

The musclehead with the wrecked van interrupts, grabbing the doctor by the shoulders, “HEY! I'M TALKING TO YOU!”

The doctor growls out, “See that hawk overhead?”

The man looks up, and Benjamin focuses a moment: A black flash envelops the hawk for a heartbeat, and it tumbles out of the sky, crashing with a sick thud on the ground nearby. The man blinks, “Umm…”

“See that scotch broom?” The doctor continues.

The man looks again, and the doctor focuses, enveloping a full acre of the green roadside weeds in the black flash… and after, the brown remains are obviously dead. The man looks back at the person in his hands, finally closing his mouth.

Dr. Beaux says just three more words to his assailant, “Let. Me. Go.”

The musclehead pauses, frowns, and lets go… only to immediately grab the doctor by the throat, pick him up by the neck, and press his thumbs into Benjamin’s larynx, “I'm not going to take orders from you. Die you stupid bi….”

The man does not live long enough to finish his sentence, a black flash from the doctor's eyes removing the muscle man's copious life **** from what is now his corpse.

The doctor cringes as he lands on his feet, his eyes faintly glowing pink… “A bit too much… I should discharge…” then remembers he's got the police on the line, “How much of that did you catch?”

The woman audibly swallows before replying, “I overheard the ‘Die you stupid…’ clearly enough,” she pauses and swallows again, “as well as your demand that whoever it was let you go. I'll send a coroners' wagon to pick you both up, and as this is a recorded line I don't imagine you're going to be in trouble with the law but… well… try not to make a habit of killing people, please.” She pauses, “Where are you, exactly?”

“I wasn't driving due to being kidnapped, give me a minute…” Dr. Beaux actually gets his phone out and reads off the GPS coordinates, and identifies that he's on the westbound side of the road based on the sun.

“Great,” the woman types a bit, “the State Patrol says they'll have a uniformed officer on scene in five minutes, and we can get a wagon there in fifteen. You probably already know this, but…”

“Don't leave the scene until the officer in charge of the investigation says so, leave everything be, stay on the line, yes,” Benjamin chuckles darkly, “not my first rodeo.”

The woman chuckles, “I'm still required to make that clear, sir. My rulebook even requires I actively say it, and again: This is a recorded line. So: Please do not leave the scene until the investigating officer says you may do so. Additionally, don't touch anything, as it will be investigated as a crime scene, we want the evidence as fresh as possible. Also, please stay on the line until the State Patrol officer arrives.”

“Thank you,” Dr. Beaux takes a slow breath, “I'm going to mute my mic,” and does so.

“That's fine, I'll do the same, but leave the line open,” the woman on the other end does as she said.

In the meanwhile, the good doctor takes a calming breath, and talks to himself a bit to help him focus, “Too much… need to discharge to avoid an accident… what's a good target….”