I - Jonathan Toews and Patrick Kane

It was dark outside, when the two players for Chicago, the twins Patrick Kane and Jonathan Toews, walked out of the United Center. They were laughing and clutching at one another. The blond haired man held a bottle of beer in his hand and tipped it upward into the air, allowing some of the burning alcohol to rush down his throat into his stomach.

“Careful there Kaner, can’t have you go getting drunk during the season now.”

“But we won, Ta-Taze--Tazer!” He hiccuped, as he dropped his arm down to his side. Jonathan took the bottle from him and tipped it up, for a drink.

“That shit is good!” the older man stated. He tossed the empty glass into a near-by trash can, as they halted under a street lamp.

“Come on, I’ll take you home, buddy!”

Patrick leaned on the garbage can, cracking up. “Okay, but tell me the story about how Sharpie ran into Bur on the ice, when we played the Sharks!” He could barely get the sentence out, before another wave of laughter filled him and made it impossible to breathe.

“Come on, Kaner. It’s not that funny.” He bit his lip, struggling not to burst, as he thought about it.

“It’s fucking hilarious, Jonny!”

Suddenly, Patrick’s laughter faded and he rose upward, like a guard dog. He perked his head upward and pointed his finger toward his friend. “Jonny, look out!” The smaller man screamed.

Jonathan stopped laughing and spun around. Before he could get fully around, a hand gripped his arm, holding him in place and preventing him from turning anymore. He glimpsed a person with a black mask standing there, gripping him tightly by the wrist with leather gloves.

“Hey, man….” That was all the captain of the Blackhawks got out, before the man flew his other hand around his head and clamped it over Jonathan’s mouth. In the leather gloved fingers was a cloth drenched in liquid. The leader screamed into the hand, fighting back and trying to break free. But he weakened and eventually sank to the ground at the man’s feet.

Patrick gulped and attempted to back away. He was shaken with fear. “Jonny?”

The masked man stepped forward. His eyes glowed black as the night and his outfit and his mouth was curved up in a smirk. He had his eyes on the blond haired winger now. Patrick stole a glance to his friend’s body, slumped lifeless on the ground.

“What’s going on? What do you want?”

He continued stepping backward. A crisp breeze blew at him, making him shiver. He was petrified and his heart raced. He wasn’t ready for the quick movement of the masked man, as he lunged forward and grabbed Patrick, knocking everything from his hands. Patrick fought the man.

“No, please! Don’t----!”

“I’m not going to rape you, Kaner, now hold still and let me--” The man sneered, with a sharp focus on his work. He broke off, as he pinned the small man on the cool gravel of the parking lot and placed the same cloth over his mouth. “--knock you out with Chloroform!”

Patrick struggled and screamed behind the cloth, but his eyelids fluttered shut and he fell unconscious. The man hesitated, remaining on top of the Blackhawk with the cloth and his hand still in position, before he finally pulled back. He carelessly flung the chloroform drenched material onto Patrick’s equipment bag. It was almost like he wanted it to be found.

He wanted fear from the others. He craved it. Fear was good for his enemies and especially the one who he was targeting.

“Now, it’s time to play a little game.” His voice was as deep as Andrew Luck’s from the Indianapolis Colts. He flashed his clever smile to himself and his success and let lose a wicked cackle into the evening air of Chicago, Illinois.

He scooped up the bodies and placed each Blackhawk - somehow - over each of his shoulders and walked off with them into the night.

****

II - Nathan MacKinnon

Nathan MacKinnon settled into his bed. He was happy to finally be able to get some well-deserved sleep. The Colorado Avalanche had just beat the New York Rangers. And he had helped contribute to the win with two goals and two assists. It was a good evening for him.

The centre for Colorado smiled, as he pulled the covers up his body and snuggled into his cozy bed. He reached over to the small table and turned off his lamp, before closing his eyes.

After a few moments, he snapped his eyes open and stared into the darkness. A door creaked in the direction of the foot of his bed. Did he dare look to see what was causing the sound? He slowly pushed his covers backward, away from his face. And his breath caught in his throat, as he saw a tall dark figure standing at his door. He heard a lock click into place, before the shadow moved. Toward him.

Nathan dove out of his bed, not even daring to turn on the light. He crashed to the ground, terrified, as the man jumped on him, putting his hand over Nathan’s mouth. The sophomore hockey player was freaking out and he wasn’t sure what was going on. He didn’t like this though, that much he knew.

Nathan clutched at the man’s hand, wanting it to release his mouth. Was this a nightmare? It sure felt real enough. Unfortunately though, for young Avalanche forward, he felt a sharp pinch in his shoulder, as something was inserted into his system.

The hand finally withdrew, as Nathan’s vision blurred and he fell to his side, colliding with the floor of his room. Then he blacked out, seeing the room around him spin and he felt like he was being lifted upward, off the ground.

“Like the first snowflake falls, so will you, Nathan MacKinnon.”

****

III - Valeri Nichushkin

Sergei Gonchar was flung violently to the side of the dark alleyway, where they had been chased to. Antoine Roussel was the only remaining member of the group. He was bleeding from a cut on his lip, but it didn’t bother him. He had his fists raised.

The masked figure snickered and slewfooted Antoine, who crumpled to the ground, before he was whacked over the head with a metal bar. The French forward fell unconscious, bleeding out from the gash on his head.

Val looked around for a possible escape, but he saw none. The figure paced forward toward him, stepping over his bleeding teammate. The dim light from the street lights on either end seemed to shine and illuminate this strange man, who glowered at the Dallas Star winger.

“I’ve been looking for you, my little Russian Dallas Star!” the guy sneered.

Sergei struggled to his feet, using the wall as a crutch. One of his eyes was swollen shut, but he maintained his strength. He fight until he couldn’t. He was there for Val. “Get away from him! Leave him alone!”

The man swung the bar weapon and it knocked the defenseman backward. He fell to the ground with a sickening crunching noise that made the Russian kid yelp softly. “Sergei!” He cried. He saw the brave older man’s eyes close, before a hand wrapped itself around Val’s wrist, yanking him forward.

Val pulled at the grip, as he was bound, quickly around his two wrists and pushed out of the alleyway. He whimpered, as the man flung him against the wall and tied a cloth around his head, over his mouth. He shook his head, trying to get it out, and in the process made low pitiful humming noises. The man slapped his cheek a little bit in good play.

“Don’t worry, “Nichy”, that’s what they call you, right? That’s what SHE calls you!”

With that, he whisked Val off, his muffled cries echoing in the evening and his mournful thoughts about his teammates, who had attempted to fight and help him out. Who was this man and what did he want?

****

IV - Brandon Saad

Brandon Saad finished getting dressed for bed, but he wasn’t ready to settle in completely and call it a night. No, he wanted to enjoy his freedom and down time a little bit. He walked out, into his living room and sat down on his couch in his living room. He had the TV on, tuned to his channel. It was good to sit back and relax, if only for a few days, before the season would start to pick up and it would be nothing but hockey, until hopefully June!

He leaned back into the soft, cushiony couch, before a hard object came down across the back of his head. He blacked out instantly and slumped over to the side. Before his eyelids shut, he spotted a black figure come into view, scoop him up and lift him off of his couch.

Then everything went black.

****

V - Tyler Seguin

Tyler Seguin gathered his belongings in the locker room of the American Airlines Center. He bid farewell to Jamie Benn, his new partner-in-crime. The captain walked out, leaving him alone. He vanished out the door.

Tyler finished getting his bag ready. He closed his bag up and then he picked up a dressy black jacket that he slipped on, pulling it over his gray shirt underneath. When he was satisfied with its placement, he picked up the strap of the bag and slung it over his shoulder. He snatched up his hockey sticks up and walked the same path as Jamie Benn, out of the locker room.

He made his way down the tunnel and out the side door, leading to the player parking lot. He stepped outside into the cool Dallas evening. A light breeze blew at him. He saw Jamie’s car zoom out of the lot and into the Dallas evening.

In the distance, a severe storm raged, lightning lit up the sky and low rumbles followed. Tyler lifted his head up, pausing in place. He closed his eyes for a brief second, before continuing on.

He didn’t get very far. A masked figure attacked him, grabbing his arms and pulled them behind and up his back at awkward angles. His bag and sticks were knocked from his hold. Tyler fought back, pulling at the holds. But the man ultimately won. It was an unfair battle, as it was practically two against one.

“Let me go! What the hell’s going on?” Tyler screamed, as he struggled, jerking around.

The man picked up one of his sticks and brought it hard into Tyler’s face. The young man’s head snapped backward with the pain and agony from the high-sticking. A tormented cry of distress came from his mouth. His arms were released momentarily, as his hands shot up to his face. He clutched at his nose.

Before he could make a move, he heard his hockey stick clatter on the ground, as the man dropped it once more. Blood stained the tape work on the blade. The man paced forward and grabbed his arms once more. He forced him back into the arena, abandoning his equipment.

“JAMIE!!” Tyler screamed, as he vanished once more into the Center.

The strange man dragged him back down the tunnel and shoved him into the equipment room. The black curtain draped over the entrance. It was tied back, leaving an opening wide enough for a person. In here, he was quickly bound about his ankles and wrists and then gagged with some kind of black tape, before he was draped over the man’s shoulder and taken through the back of the short connecting room.

****

VI - Gabriel Landeskog

Gabriel Landeskog leaned over the railing of the top of the Pepsi Center. He gazed down at the ice, longingly. It had been a really long off season and he was looking forward to the start of the next game. His hands gripped the black railing, as he cocked his head to the side and sighed.

It took only a few moments, before he sensed something was wrong in the chill air of the building. He let go and spun around, coming face-to-face with a black figure.

“Uh, hi?”

“Gabriel Landeskog or “Landy”, I take it?”

The blonde captain nodded, biting his lip. His heart rate accelerated, as he stared into the cold, dead eyes of this man before him.

“Great. That’s all I needed to know.”

He made a sudden move shoved Gabriel backward, against the railing. The forward, helplessly had his arms pinned to either side and he couldn’t move them anywhere, as the man stabbed him in the neck with something, while cupping a gloved hand over his mouth. Gabriel screamed, but was horrified to hear how faint it sounded and how helpless it sounded too. What was going on?

He soon felt extremely drowsy and light-headed. His eyes became heavy and his vision blurred over. Everything got worse, until he blacked out. He fell limp and was thrown over the man’s shoulder. He purposefully dropped the syringe on the floor and walked out with Gabriel’s body, dangling over his shoulder.

****

VII - Reilly Smith

“See you tomorrow, Smitty!”

“Yeah, you too, Marchy. Don’t get too caught up in the bachelor life now!”

“I won’t!”

Reilly Smith walked down the sidewalk, toward his car, parked at TD Garden. The air was fresh and cool from the first cold front that had come through earlier. It was the first hint at fall and it meant that the hockey season was on and in full swing.

He loved Boston. I mean, he’d loved Dallas, but he loved Boston more. Just something about this city and it’s fan base made him excited to have been given a shot at being a Bruin. He was willing to take every chance and shot to remain in this city with these players.

He reached out to open his car door when a flash of black shot out and smacked his hand down and away from the vehicle and the handle. He was startled. He dropped all of his stuff on the ground at his feet and spun to the side.

Didn’t matter. He was jumped from behind and slammed against his car.

“What’s going on here? Let go of me!”

The man shoved him harder into the door of his car. “Shut up Reilly Smith, or Smitty or maybe it’s Reils...I don’t know, SHE tends to refer to you by all three names!”

Reilly felt a bag being placed over his head, blocking his vision, followed by his hands being forced together behind his back and tied there. He tried to break free, but his muffled grunts, in the bag, plus the lack of oxygen weren’t helping his case any.

He slowly struggled, fighting for air and gasping. “Let me go!” He tried to scream, but he only felt himself being picked up and loaded into something and then the sound of a door or lid shutting. He was trapped in a trunk, bound and helpless to do anything. He managed to get his head free of the bag and he gulped in whatever air he could find, choking on the dust of the trunk.

What was going on? Who had kidnapped him? And why?

Notes

Uh oh.....