The City of Taxon

With a tired sigh, Dr. Temperance Brennan stabs the button of the elevator with her thumb, taking a few steps back in the cubicle as the doors slide shut and cut off her view to the Jeffersonian Institute’s modular skeletal storage. Or “limbo”, as Angela had so casually begun to call it. Leaning against the elevator wall, Brennan lets her eyes close for the few moments it takes to ride back up to the Medico-legal laboratory. The day has been busy - another day, another decomposed body found in a federal park; cue Booth ushering her out at 7AM, insisting that she Chop chop, Bones! Grab your stuff and let’s go! while she was still struggling to wake up. The tall takeout cup of coffee he’d pushed into her hand just then had narrowly saved him from getting punched.

After conducting the initial examination of the victim, Brennan had promptly fled down to limbo for one hour of precious, full silence and a set of old remains. She'd sorely needed that hour to herself, now feeling ready to join the bustle of the lab again. Brennan pats a hand over her lab coat pocket and stifles a groan upon realizing that she’s forgotten her cell phone in her office. If Booth has tried to call her with anything case-related and gotten her voicemail while she’s been down in limbo, he wouldn’t be very happy. How to deal with Booth’s temper is the last coherent consideration that crosses Brennan’s mind as she toes the line between sleep and wakefulness, the steady hum of the elevator further lulling her into languid stupor. The gentle jolt of the elevator coming to halt causes Brennan to snap her eyes open, blinking rapidly. Did she just have a microsleep episode? She must be more sleep deprived that she thought. Wiping one hand quickly across her face, Brennan steps out of the cubicle as the elevator doors slide open.

But instead of the state-of-the-art laboratory of plexiglass, steel catwalks and vaulted ceilings with skylights, Brennan arrives into a circular chamber she’s never seen in her life. She pauses in mid-stride, her astonishment turning into dread at the soft sound of the door behind her closing. Jolted into activity, Brennan spins around; but the door she just walked through doesn’t seem to exist anymore, replaced by a seamless wall of metal. Wide-eyed and slack jawed, she glances around while questions begin to fill her head. Where is she? How did she end up here? Is she still dreaming? Drugged and hallucinating? That last cup of coffee did taste a little strange... now she’s sounding like Hodgins, but Brennan thinks she’s entitled to a moment of paranoia in this situation.

Brennan draws in a few deep breaths, knowing she needs to remain calm. Generally speaking, most adult abductions are motivated by ransom money; she is a fairly acclaimed author and enjoys considerable financial wealth. A more career specific option is another perp about to get caught seeking to thwart the investigation by kidnapping the lead examiner. Either way, Brennan is convinced that Booth will find her. She just hopes it’s sooner rather than later.

“This was a stupid thing to do, you know,” Brennan states bluntly while her eyes roam the smooth metal walls, searching for any indicators of cameras or speaker systems. “My partner will find me, and I guarantee that he will be extremely angry with you when he does. He shot a clown once for being annoying, what do you think he’ll do to you for abducting me?”

It was a mechanical clown, but these kidnappers don’t need to know that. There's no response, but she didn’t really expect one. The impudent words serve their purpose, lessening some of the nervous anxiety thrumming along her bones at the uncertain situation. Panicking isn't conducive to rational thinking, and now she can examine her predicament in a calm, methodical manner. She’s been kidnapped before, had her life threatened in foreign countries as well as in D.C. Wherever she is now, nobody is around to hold her at gunpoint, at least. Brennan places this detail on the pro column of her mental list; the fact that she appears to be confined in this strange, metallic chamber finds its place on the con side. However, logical deduction dictates that if there’s a way in, there’s a way out.

She directs her attention to the pedestal by the stairs leading down from the raised platform she’s standing on, her curiosity piqued at the item perched atop it. Slowly, Brennan descends the stairs, reaching out her right hand to grab the device on the pedestal – but freezes as her gaze zeroes in on the metallic bracelet attached around her wrist. Her jaw drops as she realizes the wristlet is embedded into her skin, the metal melding seamlessly with the living tissue. She tries to dig her fingertips under the lip of the bracelet, but to no avail; the thing refuses to budge. With a frustrated grumble, Brennan gives up, knowing she risks physical harm if she tries to tear it out. Perhaps it’s a tracking device? Aside from the machines at the lab, technology isn’t Brennan’s strongest suit; she happily leaves that to Angela. Her unease begins to escalate again along with the accumulating ticks on the con side of her mental tally. Crossing her arms over her chest, Brennan rubs her upper arms, mostly to ward off the slight chill clinging to the room but also to comfort herself.

“Come on, Booth. Please,” she breathes almost inaudibly, despite her rational side chiming in that Booth can hardly hear her.

With a sudden bout of determination straightening her spine, Brennan doggedly shakes off the paralyzing hesitation. Instead of just standing about, Brennan refocuses on the gadget displayed on the small dais. It looks innocent enough, like one of those expensive, fancy mobile phones. Brennan’s head tilts as she frowns at it, puzzled. Why would the kidnappers leave a phone in the room with her? Are they stupid? Irrelevant speculation, she decides, grabbing the apparatus off the pedestal. The moment she does, a door slides open a few feet away, startling her. Years of martial arts training have Brennan reacting on autopilot, her body sliding into a defensive stance with no wasted movement. But as nobody comes charging in, Brennan allows her tense muscles to relax. Warily, she edges to the open doorway with the device still clutched in her hand, her back close to the wall. Bracing her free hand against the doorframe, she leans forward enough to take a quick look outside.

“Ange did insist I take a vacation, but this is…” she trails off with a slow shake of her head as she stares, wide-eyed; unable to find an appropriate word to describe the mixture of incredulity, dread and awe she’s feeling. With a twinge of regret, Brennan thinks of the hefty handgun tucked away in her desk drawer at the Jeffersonian. Cautiously, Brennan inches forward, leaving the austere room of metal. She whirls around as the door to the room closes behind her, sealing off access to the chamber as if it never existed. Swallowing uneasily, Brennan backs up a few steps and turns again, glancing around.

“…Hello?” she calls out tentatively at first, clearing her throat and adding with more volume, “Anybody here?”

[ooc | ...took me long enough to get this up! sorry for the length.]