<div class="floatleft">(http://img542.imageshack.us/img542/4937/spjtehnoochness.png)</div><hr/><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;"><strong>  Name:</strong>       Jack Trenton<br/>  <strong>Title:</strong>          SpringJack<br/>  <strong>Affiliation:</strong>  Resistance<br/>  <strong>Location:</strong>   Moscow, close to Doom's ship<br/>  <strong>Tags:</strong>          Doom, Darkbird, Dynamo and Black Widow<br/><br/></span></span><hr/><br/>There were no dreams for the blacked out Jack Trenton. Besides, most of his nightmares were now reality, and nearly all of his hopes were dashed. In his over exhausted state, a simple pitch dark sleep kept him dreamless. But if he were to dream, he would perhaps envision a luscious flame-haired super spy, possibly some Russian beauty, in a skin tight black outfit that was both complimentary to her svelte figure and practical at the same time, leaning over him with pouty lips puckered up, her soft breath touching his skin, her mouth in a little gorgeous 'o' as she moved down towards his own face...<br/><br/>As Jack woke up, he loved consciousness.<br/><br/><em>That's it. I was wrong. I've been a flaming atheist all my life, and look. I'm in Heaven. How am I gonna explain this to the G-man? Oh, he is not gonna like me...they're gonna throw the book at me here. I bet books in Heaven are </em>huge<em>.</em><br/><br/>As Romanov-sponsored oxygen flooded into his lungs, his other senses began relaying to him what was<em>actually</em>happening. No, he certainly wasn't in Heaven...although there was, at least, one slice of the divine.<br/><br/>"Ohshit..." SpringJack coughed and spluttered. He had still been breathing, but perhaps the mouth-to-mouth had rebooted his consciousness. Blinking, he looked around, first dreamily at Black Widow, then hastily at the others, then realised...his face was awfully cold.<br/><br/>"Ohshit!"  He grabbed his mask and rapidly slung it back on. Still not being able to think straight, he of course didn't really need to protect his identity now...but still. Old habits die hard.<br/><br/>"Thank you. For that. MEDICAL procedure. Which I assume has no lingering...romantic connotations. Of course. Ahem." SpringJack made a note to himself that, if he ever got another cool little flat in cool little Dalston (for his last one had almost certainly been destroyed in the fighting) he would chalk THAT moment up on a little pedestal somewhere.<br/><br/>Taking in the rest of the group, he was about to probe them with further quippy questions, when he saw a figure behind them. A figure not so much whom he knew, but that he was familiar with in the same way that children are familiar with the bogeyman that their parents have told them about.<br/><br/>"D-Doom..."<br/><br/><em>Fuck it. I've just had the Black Widow pressed on my face. What do I have to lose?</em><br/><br/>"If you're gonna kill me, or put me in some kind of lab, or splice my arms and legs with a Doombot or something...and I wouldn't blame you for that, I do have good legs...all that jumping, y'know...then can I at LEAST get a cup of tea or something. If there's one person who can get hot tea in the middle of Russia, I assume it to be you."<br/><br/>He winced underneath his mask. He was pushing it. But hey...he really didn't have anything to lose. They could have ressucitated him just to be conscious for some hideous procedure.<br/><br/>Well. As long as he got a cuppa (and he was pretty dehydrated) then to hell with it. He'd had a good run. Kissed Black Widow and sassed Dr Doom? Why, he was almost beginning to feel like a rockstar again...