The door of the limousine finally slammed closed, sealing Magenta inside and the baying hordes of paparazzi outside the car. She flopped back onto the seat and let out a breath of sheer exhaustion and relief that the evening was over and another premiere was behind her. Scarlet was always amused by the fact that there were millions of people who would have swapped places with an actress of her fame and glamour, but she wondered if they really knew how much sheer hard work went into it on a daily basis.
As the limousine pulled away, she slipped her heels off and curled her legs up under her so that she could massage her feet. Through the opaque nylons that she wore, the soles of her feet were too numb to feel sore and she rubbed feeling back into them simply to feel the aches that were hiding under the surface.
Magenta was hoping that she could make it into her hotel without arousing much attention, counting the blocks until the building came into sight in anticipation. But then the limousine made an unexpected turn and she realised that they were headed in precisely the wrong direction.
She pressed the button for the intercom.
"Billy," Magenta was still young and uncorrupted enough to want to know the people that worked for her by their first names rather than their job title, "why the sudden detour?" Her voice was light and she was in a joking mood. "Did you get a sudden craving for some sushi?"
There was nothing in reply but silence.
"Billy?" a note of concern had crept into her voice as she saw the streets down which they were driving becoming more and more deserted and further from the bright lights of the urban centre.
"For the love of..." Magenta hammered on the frosted glass that separated her from the driver.
Her only reward was a sudden and surprising sound of hissing, which seemed to be coming from every corner of the space in which she was travelling. Although Magenta could see and smell nothing more than her own perfume starting to mix with the fine beading of perspiration her situation was creating, she was well versed enough in the lore of Hollywood to jump to the conclusion that the sound was that of some kind of gas being pumped into the back of the limousine. Magenta was soon convinced that she was feeling dizzy from something; though she was clear-headed enough to wonder if it was actually gas or she was convincing herself that it was and making herself feel sick as a result.
Sure that she would get no help from whomever was driving the limousine; Magenta grabbed one of her shoes and in desperation swung the thin metal heel at the nearest window. But the effort was in vain as the shoe simply bounced off the glass, jarring her arm as it rebounded.
The irony of the strengthened glass being intended to keep her safe and now trapping her in the car was not lost on Magenta and as she slumped in her seat, her last thought before she blacked out was bizarrely to wonder if the designer of the glass had ever imagined a starlet in a designer dress attacking his invention with dangerously fashionable Italian shoes.
But then there was nothing but darkness.
While Magenta was unconscious, the limousine reached its destination and pulled into an industrial compound so quiet and dark that it might have been deserted. But that was not the case as when the vehicle came to a halt before the large doors of a building that might have been anything from a warehouse to a factory or even a laboratory of some kind; they slowly opened to allow it entry.
The interior of the building was dark as night and once the limousine had come to a stop; the sound of the doors closing behind it was the only sound. Their final closure was accompanied by the sound of air pressure being regulated as an air-tight seal engaged around the doors.
Only when the seal was in place did the harsh white illumination flicker into life and reveal that the limousine was parked in the centre of a large room devoid of any kind of feature save for the doors through which it had entered and another, smaller door in the adjacent wall. The room itself was a stark space, the walls lined with white tiles and the floor bare concrete. Save for the low humming of the lights, the room was as silent as the grave.
After a few moments, the silence was broken by the sound of another seal being opened and the smaller door swung outwards into the room. A pair of figures clad from head to toe in what looked like pure white hazmat suits emerged, wheeling a medical gurney across the concrete floor towards the limousine.
The driver, whoever he was, made no effort to exit the limousine at their arrival. But the smooth metallic sound of the vehicles doors being unlocked at their approach confirmed that the person in the front of the limousine was in league with the men in the suits.
The pair wasted no time in opening the door to the rear of the limousine and one gazed in for a few seconds as if gauging the condition of Magenta as she lay slumped on the back seat. Satisfied with who knows what, he motioned for his colleague to bring the gurney as close as was practical and they began to lift her prone form gently out of the limousine.
Soon Magenta was laid out on top of the gurney, her wrists and ankles strapped down firmly but not brutally to the surface so that she would remain in place.
Once their prize was secured, the men wasted no time in wheeling her back to the smaller door and through it to wherever they intended to take her.
As the seal on the smaller door hissed back into place, the limousine stood still and inert in the otherwise empty room.