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The Brain Game Affair

Chapter Text

The Brain Game Affair

Napoleon Solo, Chief Law Enforcement Agent of the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement, rolled over on the blanket covering the sagging bedbug ridden cot. The chains that bound his hands and feet to the the head and foot rails severely limited his range of motion yet he was willing to try anything to relieve the pressure points on his buttocks and shoulder blades. He had lost track as to how long he had lain on the mattress, his head resting on an equally dirty pillow black and slick from the hair oil of countless prisoners who had been unfortunate guests of Dr. Pierre Boucher over the years.

Dr. Boucher, aptly named for his surname meant butcher, was well known among national and international law enforcement entities and the criminal elements, as well. He was a self proclaimed scientist and neurological expert specializing in experimentation on control of the human brain. As a matter of fact, that was why Napoleon and his Russian partner, Illya Kuryakin, had traveled to Litchfield, Connecticut. The location was the perfect location for Boucher to carry out his experiments, allowing him to hide in plain sight. He ran an asylum for the mentally ill. What better place to find his subjects for his experiments. Unfortunately, someone from UNCLE had leaked information to the doctor and Solo and Kuryakin were captured immediately.

Napoleon had not seen his partner since their capture. He didn’t know where Illya had been taken as they were split up and dragged off in different directions. He ended up tossed into the cell, chained up, and had been, more or less, left alone. Guards brought him meals on an irregular basis and allowed him to relieve himself at those times before being chained again to the bed. Each time the guards stretched him a little tighter reminding him of the time the Partridges had him on the rack in their dungeon.

On what Napoleon guessed to be the third day, Dr. Boucher paid him a visit. “Ah, Mr. Solo, how are you fairing as our special guest?” The old man’s shrill voice echoed loudly against the cell walls, reminding Napoleon of the days in high school when he and others found it fun to run their fingernails down the slate blackboards.

“I can’t say I think much of your accommodations. The housekeepers haven’t been in to freshen up my bed since I’ve arrived and the food leaves much to be desired,” came the dry retort. “But, I’ve been in worse, I guess. Maybe a bit bored.”

“Well, I guess you just don’t know how to appreciate the finer things in life, hmmmm, Mr. Solo. I mean you have been provided free accommodations and food for the past four days. Don’t you think you’re being a bit picky?”

It did not escape Napoleon’s attention that the doctor had just provided him with information telling him how long he had been cooped up in the cell. “Well, doctor, I only hope that you are providing my partner with at least as good accommodations as you have me. Where is my partner, by the way?”

Dr. Boucher cackled, “Oh, you need not worry about Mr. Kuryakin. He and I have been spending quite a bit of quality time together. Are you aware that he has an extremely high threshold for pain? Why most of my subjects haven’t lasted more than half a day before they succumb and die.” The doctor squealed with delight, rubbing his hands in excitement. “And here we are on day four and the man is still among the living!”

Napoleon jerked at his chains, trying to turn on the bed to face the doctor better. “You son of a bitch, what have you done to him?”

“Oh, dear, you mustn’t get yourself into such a state!” The doctor sneered. “It is in my best interest to keep Mr. Kuryakin alive. You see, I’ve been testing him and have found that his intellectual capacity is quite high. Did you know he is a borderline genius?” The man started pacing the cell nearly exploding with glee. “Why he is the best specimen I have procured yet. Oh yes, he’s perfect for my experiments!” He clapped his hands together, rubbing them back and forth.

Napoleon’s chest tightened with fear for his friend. “What kind of experiments?” He asked, his voice tight with rage.

Dr. Boucher stopped his frenetic pacing and turned to face Solo. “I have several important guests with me, today. They are here to see my success which will result in more funding and your partner is going to help me. You see, Mr. Solo, your partner is a magnificent specimen. Not only is he very intelligent, but his brain is larger than most mens’ and that means that he, and it, should be able to endure what lays ahead in my neurological studies.”

“You bastard! I want to see him, now,” Napoleon demanded. “Let me see him, now!”

“Now, now, Mr. Solo. I don’t think you are in any position to make demands. As a matter of fact, I really don’t need you, you see. While you have an IQ on a high average level, your brain is of no use to me. So,”...his voice lowered and hardened, “if you don’t stop your belly aching immediately I’ll have you killed and let my assistants dissect you to see what makes you tick. I understand that you are quite the ladies’ man. Maybe we’ll dissect your brain and compare your hippocampus to that of a patient who has little sex drive. Yes, that would be very interesting to see.” He looked sharply at his captive. “So, I suggest you shut up and settle down before you find yourself on my operating table.” He glared and then his expression changed. He turned to one of the guards and mumbled some instructions. The guard left immediately.

“You mentioned, my dear man, that you were bored. Well, I think we can make things a little more entertaining for you. How would you like to watch a little television?” On cue, the guard returned with a television. He plugged it into an outlet just outside the cell and positioned it so that it could be watched from the cell without actually being inside it.

Napoleon became suspicious. “Ah, no thanks. I appreciate the offer but I’m really not one to watch daytime soaps.”

“Oh, you’ll find this far more entertaining than a soap opera,” The doctor giggled. Again he turned to the guard. “Tighten his chains up another link or two on each end. We don’t want our guest to thrash around from too much excitement as he enjoys the show.”

The guard snickered and did as he was ordered. Napoleon’s limbs had already taken about as much abuse as a person could stand. He bit his lips to keep from screaming as they were stretched further, but he couldn’t keep his eyes from tearing up and emitted a soft groan as sharp pains stabbed like lightning at his shoulders and hips.

The doctor, seeing the discomfort on his prisoner’s face, chuckled. “Yes, Mr. Kuryakin’s pain threshold is definitely much higher than yours,” he observed. He spun on his heels and left the cell. The door slammed shut and Napoleon heard the audible click of a lock being turned.

“Guard, the show should be starting in about 15 minutes. Turn the TV on in 10 minutes, please. We don’t want Mr. Solo to miss the beginning of the program.” He laughed and disappeared down the corridor.