Ilya Kuryakin knew he was in trouble; he didn’t yet realize how deeply.

              It was supposed to have been a simple fact-finding mission: low risk, no pressure, just have a look around
              and do a little researching in the local library.  Easy as pie.

              This particular pie had held more than it appeared.  Instead of the four-and-twenty blackbirds of the nursery
              rhyme, however, it was full of THRUSHES; far too many too evade, no matter how he tried.

              He’d been dragged, bloody and half-conscious, into the satrapy’s HQ after he ’d been captured, and taken
              not to a dingy, unfurnished cell but to what appeared to be a dentist’s office.  He tried to fight the mask they
              placed over his face after they strapped him down, even tried holding his breath against the gas, but a punch
              to his solar plexus had him gasping it in by reflex.  His last conscious thought had been that it didn’t smell or
              feel anything different from nitrous oxide.

              He awoke some unknown time later in the dingy cell he’d envisioned earlier, chained wrist and ankle and
              clad in nothing but his boxers.  Added to his previous injuries was the feeling he’d just had a lot of dental
              work.  He slid his tongue around the inside of his mouth; his teeth didn’t feel quite right.  Before he could
              reach in with his fingers to confirm what he suspected, the door opened and a well-dressed gentleman
              walked in, followed by two hulking, well-armed guards in THRUSH coveralls.

              “Ah, I see you’ve noticed.  If you’re looking for the additions your UNCLE made to your dentition, I’m
              afraid you’re simply out of luck: they’re no longer there.”  His captor reached out, left-handed, and brushed
              the hair from Ilya’s forehead, letting his fingers trail down the side of his face. “Not to worry; we found
              them a very good home.  One of my former minions was fortunate enough to have the same height, build, and
              coloring as yourself; I think he even had the same exquisite cheek bones.  Too bad he didn’t have anything
              else going for him; he might have survived a little longer.  By now, he’s had a little accident with his car,
              wearing your clothes of course; off the road and over a cliff, with a fire to obscure details.”

              He stepped around the Russian, letting his arm curl around his neck and leaning in close enough to whisper
              in his ear.  “They won’t be coming to rescue you.”  The fingers trailed down his neck and over his chest to
              toy with a nipple.  “We have all the time in the world to get acquainted.”  His captor leaned forward,
              pressing against his body, and nibbled his ear.  “But we haven’t been properly introduced,” he murmured,
              continuing to kiss and nibble Ilya’s neck.  “My name is Clarence Phillips.”  His other hand slipped down
              the Russian’s flank and under the waistband of the boxers.  “I’m looking forward to getting to know you
              much, much better.”