Flight

In Russia somewhere,

Patrick Kane sat in some kind of cell. The bars that held him in were electrified and glowing. He wasn’t sure why he was being kept in such a state. It wasn’t like he’d be able to break out of regular ones either. Besides, that would require him first being able to break the chains clamped to his wrists and ankles, holding him securely to the wall.

Did his kidnapper and captors think he had super powers? He didn't. He couldn't grow twice his size or produce anything that could help to get out of his predicament.

As he looked around, he noticed that the cell he was in wasn't dirty or gross, like a prison. It was just simple stone, with a single barred window to the right side of the wall, he was attached to. It was too high for him to look out and just big enough to let in sunlight, which shone on him. There were intense shadows all around him, but the small room was tiny enough, that he could faintly see through the darkness to the other side.

There was no place to sit, and heck he couldn't even if there was. The way he'd been chained up, there was limited movement, with which he could make.

And he still wasn't sure exactly where he was. He was flying over what looked like a city in Russia and then he'd been flown into some building and locked in this cage, before he knew it. He had been so focused on fighting and trying to get free.

Where was he? What was going on? He had to find out. And he had to get some answers. He was owned them.

“HEY!! LET ME GO!! LET ME OUT OF HERE!!” he had continued to shout, thinking that it might piss someone off enough to finally talk to him and give him the answers he was seeking. He wasn’t being held captive here for nothing.

He wasn’t sure what was going on or why, but he had been kidnapped by some flying birdman. It was like something out of a movie or from the Wizard of Oz. But it was no Flying Monkey...it was a bird-like creature.

“SHUT UP IN THERE!! Заткнись! Молчать! (Shut up! Silence!)” someone finally snapped back at him.

Patrick glanced up at the bars and spotted someone moving around. He got to his feet and came forward as best as he could. Then he cleared his throat and shouted, “What do you want with me? Please, give me an answer!!”

The person turned to him and came over to the bars. Between the spaces, the blond forward saw a tall man, smirking at him. He looked so familiar. And then the name hit him.

“Kaleta?!”

“Hello, Patrick Kane, good to see you again, blondie!”

“I’m not happy to see you. Why did you have some pet of yours kidnap me?”

“My dear fellow Buffalo native, I wanted you, because you possess something so amazing that I hate.”

“And that is?”

“Your hockey skill...those hands of yours...they’re magical. I don’t like it.”

“So you're jealous of my skill then, right?”

“Not really jealous, more like infuriated.”

“Infuriated?”

“Yes, I’m not going to crack and tell you the complete reason, but I don’t like you.”

The Chicago winger wasn’t amused. He jerked at the chains, which rattled noisily behind him. It made the evil ex-hockey player cackle. “Why are you doing this?”

“I hate you. I hate hockey and I hate the NHL. When I came to the KHL, they welcomed me and they praised my skill and game style more than the NHL ever did. The NHL used to be such a physical and dominating game...and then your type showed up. The league started turning to skill first and guys like me, we had no place.”

“It’s not your game its your dirty approach!”

Kaleta spat on the ground. He wrapped his hands around the “bars” of the prison and stuck his head through the slot, between the two bars in his hands. He glowered at the blond, who took a step backward. “My dirty approach...oh, what they call a good hit that happens to knock a little princess like yourself out of the game? Maybe if you’re not tough enough, you shouldn’t be playing. Take the hit like a man, recover and come back.”

“That’s not right!”

“It’s hockey!”

“No, hockey is a game that is fun, not rough!”

“It once was rough and tumble, then you showed up!”

“It’s not MY fault!! I can take a hit, what I can’t take is a goon thinking drawing my blood is a good idea!!”

Kaleta snorted. “Yeah, yeah, fancy moves are for figure skating, not hockey!”

“Let me go!! This is ridiculous! You can’t keep me here because you hate me!”

“Oh no, Kanerboo, there’s more to this than just my hatred of you. But, in a few minutes your little friend should be arriving.”

“What did you do to Jonny?”

“Jonathan Toews is the second half and now that I’ve got two halves, there’s one piece missing. I need a KHL-NHLer to finish off the plan. I need a Russian American! Perhaps Ovechkin or Malkin...maybe Sergei Gonchar...anyone of them will do, but I need the blood of the innocent and unfortunately none of those circum to that.”

“Leave the NHL’s innocent alone!”

“And you are going to do what exactly to stop me?”

Patrick yanked at the chains. “You’re a monster Kaleta. You’re not human!”

“You’re right, I’m not. In fact, I’m a supervillain. And as I think about it, looking at your blue eyes and blond hair, I think I’ve got the perfect man for the third piece. Tell me Patrick, do you know someone named Valeri Nichushkin?”

Patrick stopped yanking and froze in place. He shook his head, but Kaleta caught his false persona. “Don’t lie to me Kanerboo. You do know Nichushkin. Well, he’s the one I’m going to get next.”

Patrick bit his lip. He knew just who Valeri Nichushkin was. He was a sweet, innocent Dallas Star forward, who was Russian born. He’d come to the NHL, because it was his dream. He’d worked hard and he was talented. Even if he was a rival Dallas player, Patrick couldn’t see him as anything other than innocent and a hockey brother. “No! You’re not going to capture Val!”

Kaleta rolled his eyes and finally removed his face and hands. He turned on his heels and walked off. “VANEK!!”

Patrick saw another man dart in. This guy had on an all black outfit on, like something similar to the Canuck green-men or the Riddler. A big “V” was plastered on his front, over his chest. “Yes, Kaleta?”

“Kanerboo, you remember Vanek don’t you? Maybe Thomas Vanek? He’s an ex-Sabre and a wicked slapshot artist. But he’s a bit immature and the league didn’t want him.”

“Actually, I didn’t care for the league. The NHL doesn’t care that I’m talented. All I did was break a few drug-related rules and soon they are kicking me out of the league like I’m Matt Cooke.”

“Vanek, since you’re still new here, I was debating including you in this part, but I think I want to. I want you to pay a special Dallas Star a visit.” He sent a quick look to Patrick, who was glaring at the man.

“No!!”

“His name is...Val Nichushkin!” Kaleta finished, ignoring Patrick’s screams. He smirked evilly as he spoke.

“I won’t fail you Kaleta!”

“I’m sure you won’t.”

Kaleta and Vanek parted ways with a nod and “unique” handshake like two best friends might do. As soon as the new supervillain darted off, another man entered. In his hold he had someone else. This man was huge and vaguely familiar to the blond Blackhawk, who saw the brunette man in his grasp struggling fiercely. He had some black adhesive stuff on him, restricting his movements and making him struggle more like a worm on dry land.

“Oh, Jonathan Toews, welcome, welcome.” Kaleta sneered. “Kanerboo, you’re precious Jonnyboo’s here!”

“Let him go, Kaleta!”

“And you are going to make me let him go? How exactly are you going to do that, blondie?” Kaleta snickered, as he turned to his friend and whispered something to him.

Then they both walked over. As they got closer, Patrick could see his friend was wrapped up in a bunch of tape. Tape around his ankles, legs, elbows, arms, wrists...mouth...pretty much everywhere. It almost mummified him.

“Jonny!!” Patrick gasped. He jerked at the chains holding him again, but failed to go anywhere.

“Get the tape off of him, Brawler and do as I told you. I’m going to handle Kanerboo, here.”

“No you’re not!” Patrick stated, backing up enough to raise his fists to just under his armpits.

“I am and you won’t fight me, Patrick! You’re going to be a good little hostage and not make things difficult for Kaleta.”

“No!! I’ll never stop fighting! What do you want with Jonny and I?!”

“That, you shall find out soon enough. Once I have my third piece, you revolting Blackhawks won’t be around anymore to tamper with clean goals!” He began to cackle evilly.

Notes

I'm going to continually be changing this story. It so sounded much cooler in my dream...but as I write it out, it's lame and cheesy...maybe superhero tales are supposed to be like this, but I prefer the stuff like Perils and No Place! Suspense and thriller mystery stuff! Ya!
But hey, A Shruinger thanks for all the help with this. I hope it's fine in terms of cheesiness and all.


Next up: Who's Spencer? (I realize that there is no Spencer, but this is what the next chapter will answer.)