Captured Hero - Tumblr Posts
The Point (Captured)
“First of all, I’d like to start us off with a big ‘fuck you.’”
The villain had been quiet for way too long, sitting in that chair across from the hero just staring at them. It was quite frankly unnerving, and the hero wasn’t going to stand for it. Well, technically they weren’t going to stand for anything, considering they had just woken up tied to a chair, but the point still stood (unlike the hero of course).
“What makes you think you get to start us off?” The villain asked, amused. They didn’t change their position, still sitting casually across the room with one ankle crossed over the other thigh, aside from the smirk that now spread unapologetically across their face.
“Your utter lack of manners for one,” the hero began, “For two I would say the absence of a gag in my mouth. For three, that stupid face you’re making that was practically begging for me to break the silence first.”
“My lack of manners? I hardly remember calling your face stupid,” the villain retorted, mock offense lighting up his eyes.
A fair point, but one the hero would ignore nonetheless.
“And I don’t remember kidnapping and drugging you and letting you wake up in an undisclosed location tied to a chair while I stare at you without saying a word for ten whole minutes!”
“Ten whole minutes huh? I don’t remember putting a clock in this room.” The villain made a show of looking around the walls, which were disturbingly bare. The villain really hadn’t put much of anything in this room, let alone a time piece.
“Maybe I was keeping the time by counting your number of blinks. The world knows there’s not much else to do in here.”
The hero rolled their head back, stretching their neck and letting out a therapeutic sigh.
“My apologies for not entertaining you enough.” The villain stood and swept an arm out theatrically. “I’ll be sure to remedy that for future captives.”
The hero rolled their eyes before leveling the approaching villain with a dead pan stare.
“Why am I here, Villain?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” they drawled, but spared the hero any dramatic circling around their chair.
“Yes, that’s why I- Hey! What’s that for?!” The hero sounded equal parts startled and offended as their eyes flicked from the knife held in the villains hand them back to the villains face.
“You are a prisoner you know. And I’m a villain,” the villain mused, entertained but also annoyed by the hero’s lack of a fearful reaction.
“And you haven’t even asked me anything yet! Since when do you partake in pointless torture?” The hero strained to sit up taller in their bonds, genuinely affronted by the villain’s behavior.
The villain flicked the dagger through their fingers.
“Pointless? The point would be fun, my dear hero,” they chuckled, looking down to focus their eyes on the blade.
“Sadist.”
“Masochist,” the villain shot back, smiling.
“Okay yeah, maybe a little,” the hero relented, but no shame showed on their face as they produced a smile to match the villain’s.
They always were a fun pair.
The Point (Captured)
“First of all, I’d like to start us off with a big ‘fuck you.’”
The villain had been quiet for way too long, sitting in that chair across from the hero just staring at them. It was quite frankly unnerving, and the hero wasn’t going to stand for it. Well, technically they weren’t going to stand for anything, considering they had just woken up tied to a chair, but the point still stood (unlike the hero of course).
“What makes you think you get to start us off?” The villain asked, amused. They didn’t change their position, still sitting casually across the room with one ankle crossed over the other thigh, aside from the smirk that now spread unapologetically across their face.
“Your utter lack of manners for one,” the hero began, “For two I would say the absence of a gag in my mouth. For three, that stupid face you’re making that was practically begging for me to break the silence first.”
“My lack of manners? I hardly remember calling your face stupid,” the villain retorted, mock offense lighting up his eyes.
A fair point, but one the hero would ignore nonetheless.
“And I don’t remember kidnapping and drugging you and letting you wake up in an undisclosed location tied to a chair while I stare at you without saying a word for ten whole minutes!”
“Ten whole minutes huh? I don’t remember putting a clock in this room.” The villain made a show of looking around the walls, which were disturbingly bare. The villain really hadn’t put much of anything in this room, let alone a time piece.
“Maybe I was keeping the time by counting your number of blinks. The world knows there’s not much else to do in here.”
The hero rolled their head back, stretching their neck and letting out a therapeutic sigh.
“My apologies for not entertaining you enough.” The villain stood and swept an arm out theatrically. “I’ll be sure to remedy that for future captives.”
The hero rolled their eyes before leveling the approaching villain with a dead pan stare.
“Why am I here, Villain?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” they drawled, but spared the hero any dramatic circling around their chair.
“Yes, that’s why I- Hey! What’s that for?!” The hero sounded equal parts startled and offended as their eyes flicked from the knife held in the villains hand them back to the villains face.
“You are a prisoner you know. And I’m a villain,” the villain mused, entertained but also annoyed by the hero’s lack of a fearful reaction.
“And you haven’t even asked me anything yet! Since when do you partake in pointless torture?” The hero strained to sit up taller in their bonds, genuinely affronted by the villain’s behavior.
The villain flicked the dagger through their fingers.
“Pointless? The point would be fun, my dear hero,” they chuckled, looking down to focus their eyes on the blade.
“Sadist.”
“Masochist,” the villain shot back, smiling.
“Okay yeah, maybe a little,” the hero relented, but no shame showed on their face as they produced a smile to match the villain’s.
They always were a fun pair.
Pinned
(Mild blood/injury description)
The hero had put up a good chase, but not good enough.
And so Villain sat, pinning them to the forest floor. The face of the hero beneath them was scrunched up and they were breathing heavy, both probably after effects of the pursuit and subsequent collision with the ground.
“That little chase certainly wore you out,” the villain taunted as they watched the rapid rise and fall of the hero’s chest.
The hero did not waste precious oxygen replying the villain, instead training their eyes on the lush canopy above them.
The villain opened their mouth to continue their mocking of the defeated hero, but something stopped them.
They felt a touch of dampness, and looked down to see blood seeping from under the hero’s clothes into the villain’s pant legs.
Well that was interesting.
“Where’d you get that?”
“It’s not a good fucking day for this,” the hero groaned, throwing their head back and disturbing a collection of dead pine needles in the process.
“Hm. Too bad.”
The villain focused their gaze on the blood-soaked waistband directly beneath them. Their calculating eyes scanned the stains to look for slashes that might indicate where exactly the blood was coming from. This was made difficult as the hero continued to struggle and wince beneath their weight.
“You’re gonna make it worse,” the villain pointed out in a neutral tone, their grip tightening in a silent warning.
The hero seemed to finally accept this, letting their head fall back into the dirt, resignation etched into their face as they pointedly avoided looking at the villain atop them.
Once the villain was convinced they had truly stopped struggling, they lifted their hips to sit a few inches further back towards the hero’s legs, taking pressure off the wound.
The hero let out a sigh of relief, but otherwise didn’t acknowledge the move.
When reinforcements finally arrived, the villain took the time to properly inspect the hero’s wound. Held between two henchmen and hauled to their feet, the hero glared defiantly at the villain as they approached.
The villain paid the scowl no mind as they lifted up the fabric of the hero’s shirt to reveal a significant stab wound in their lower abdomen. The bleeding had already slowed, and it appeared from the layer of crust and dried crimson mixing with a fresher red that it had been at least a few hours since the injury was acquired.
The villain knew they certainly were not responsible, as you typically don’t sustain a clean stab wound from twigs and rocks in the forest.
They didn’t bother to question the hero about it again, knowing their response would be something along the lines of ‘go to hell.’
It didn’t matter, the villain would find out who had laid hands on their hero one way or another.
Overexertion
(Villain POV)
To say I was impressed may have been an understatement.
I didn’t really realize how many people were in the building when I rigged it to collapse. Now, I was watching a steady stream exit from every available opening. Easily hundreds of people flooded the streets, melding into the crowd that was already gathered outside. I knew that Hero would be able to slow the collapse, but I had no idea she would be able to hold it for this long. The plan was to tire her out so I could initiate a battle with a higher chance of capture. At this rate though, there may not be much left of the hero to capture.
More chunks of granite and marble slid off the sides of the building, luckily avoiding the major crowds and leaving stragglers to successfully dodge the falling debris.
The people exiting the courthouse slowed to a trickle, and then to a stop as the remaining structure began to shake and show clear that collapse was imminent.
Finally.
A heavy rumble and a chorus of shouts and screams erupted in front of me as I smiled. The commotion made for a great cover.
The second the dust settled I was scanning the crowd for where Hero had escaped to. I expected to see her ferrying wounded or checking on the children with first responders, maybe administering first aid or helping to reunite families. She was nowhere to be seen though, leaving those jobs to the police, medical professionals, and a few helpful civilians.
I turned back towards the collapsed building. The rubble was all greys and whites and reds, no sign of the conspicuous violet I sought. She wouldn’t have left the scene, not before everyone was taken care of and she was absolutely sure no one else needed to be rescued. But looking at the remains of the county building, I couldn’t imagine there being many survivors left inside.
She couldn’t have died, right?
I located the closest hole in the rubble and dashed in to explore. This wasn’t my first demolition and I was fairly certain there would be minimal shifting for at least a few minutes and what remained of the building was fairly structurally sound, but still, I needed to be quick.
It had been almost five minutes when I finally spotted a metallic purple jacket. For a second I feared that I would find Hero’s body pinned under a pillar or a large part of the ceiling with her chest caved in or something equally mission-ending, but I was relieved to find her lying in a small but completely open space, no debris but a thick layer of dust touching her form. I had been prepared to fight, but there was no need. Hero was definitely unconscious.
I approached quickly but quietly, sticking two fingers on her pulse point to detect a slow but steady heart beat. I immediately recognized her state as exhaustion. After all, there was no way she should have been able to hold up the entire building for as long as she did. Luckily, it seems she had been able to push long enough to protect herself with a small shield when the building did come down, with her still in it.
I had to work fast, before the site was deemed safe for rescue crews to enter and Hero was discovered before I could take her.
I wanted to leave unnoticed, partly due to the heavy police presence outside that I did not feel like dealing with today, so I had dressed rather inconspicuously. Jeans and black t-shirt. Hero, however, was in full dress so I stripped off the recognizable jacket and replaced her hood with a beanie. Her thick black leggings were passable, as long as no one looked too closely at what was sewn into the pockets. I rolled her into a hoodie I had wrapped around my waist, shoving her iconic jacket into my bag then picking her up and retracing my steps out into the crowded streets.
We were both covered in dust, looking inconspicuously like any two victims who had resolved to get themselves to the hospital instead of dealing with an expensive ambulance and backlogged roads. Unfortunately for Hero, the hospital was not our real destination.
Too busy with their eyes glued to the news or their phones to check on family members, nobody noticed me carry Hero back to my base on the other side of town.
She graciously stayed asleep for the walk, and would probably continue that for at least another day or two. All the more convenient for me.
I laid her down on a table in my receiving room, finally resting my sore arms from the trek across the city. As much as I would have loved to fireman carry her out of there, a bridal carry was much less suspicious on the streets of City, especially between a man and a woman.
I was just glad she wasn’t awake to question me about it. Gentleness and chivalry were not exactly on brand for me, and I liked it to stay that way.
I pulled her jacket out of my bag first and rifled through the pockets for anything of any importance. I came across an accordion folded card with a front that was caution-orange and stopped to read the text printed on the front. It read:
Yes I know my limits, I just choose to ignore them.
If found, pls read (or not lmao I’m probably too dead or unconscious to care)
I knew that some people carried emergency cards on their person with important information, but it was always a trade off because you ran the risk of it being found and revealing information in a situation in which you would rather it not. I wondered if Hero would want me to read this in this particular situation or not, had she been conscious. Either way, I entertained myself by unfolding the paper. It did say please, after all.
It continued:
So obviously I did something either super heroic (I hope) or really stupid (probable). Maybe even both.
Anyway if you’re trying to keep me alive, good luck.
It then listed key medical information such as blood type and medications, complete with a large print ‘please skip to here if actively dying’ label.
Villain scanned through information before moving to the back of the comically long card with comically tiny print and reading:
If I’m dead (and you’re taking requests) I would like to be cremated and have my ashes mixed with a tree. (And preferably planted somewhere I won’t be cut down or die within a year lol)
Have a great day :) (or, if you’re a villain: I hope both sides of your pillow are warm every night and you jump every time you hear a toaster go off.)
P.S. don’t feel bad about any of this, I knew what I was doing (unless, once again, you are a villain, in which case go fuck your self, feel bad all you want, dirtbag)
I allowed myself a small chuckle. She wasn’t consciously around to hear it anyway.
A broken com, some cash, and miscellaneous tools were all there was to find in the rest of the clothing I searched.
My next order of business was checking Hero for any injuries, a process which I will admit is a lot easier and less awkward when your subject is conscious. Still, I didn’t need the hero bleeding out or dying from some unseen wound while incapacitated in my care.
Rolling her back out of the hoodie, I crumpled and tucked the fabric under her head and neck to separate them from the hard surface.
A cursory inspection revealed no clear cuts in the fabric of her tank top or visible skin of the front, nor any bloodstains in the lighter sections of her leggings. I lifted and turned over both of Hero’s bare arms, finding nothing of concern anywhere I could see. The same was true for her lower legs and abdomen.
Resolved to simply deal with any other possible hidden wounds if the issue later arose, I retreated deeper into my lair to further prepare for my guest.
An empty cell awaited, and Hero would not stir on the cot for some time.
Overexertion
(Villain POV)
To say I was impressed may have been an understatement.
I didn’t really realize how many people were in the building when I rigged it to collapse. Now, I was watching a steady stream exit from every available opening. Easily hundreds of people flooded the streets, melding into the crowd that was already gathered outside. I knew that Hero would be able to slow the collapse, but I had no idea she would be able to hold it for this long. The plan was to tire her out so I could initiate a battle with a higher chance of capture. At this rate though, there may not be much left of the hero to capture.
More chunks of granite and marble slid off the sides of the building, luckily avoiding the major crowds and leaving stragglers to successfully dodge the falling debris.
The people exiting the courthouse slowed to a trickle, and then to a stop as the remaining structure began to shake and show clear that collapse was imminent.
Finally.
A heavy rumble and a chorus of shouts and screams erupted in front of me as I smiled. The commotion made for a great cover.
The second the dust settled I was scanning the crowd for where Hero had escaped to. I expected to see her ferrying wounded or checking on the children with first responders, maybe administering first aid or helping to reunite families. She was nowhere to be seen though, leaving those jobs to the police, medical professionals, and a few helpful civilians.
I turned back towards the collapsed building. The rubble was all greys and whites and reds, no sign of the conspicuous violet I sought. She wouldn’t have left the scene, not before everyone was taken care of and she was absolutely sure no one else needed to be rescued. But looking at the remains of the county building, I couldn’t imagine there being many survivors left inside.
She couldn’t have died, right?
I located the closest hole in the rubble and dashed in to explore. This wasn’t my first demolition and I was fairly certain there would be minimal shifting for at least a few minutes and what remained of the building was fairly structurally sound, but still, I needed to be quick.
It had been almost five minutes when I finally spotted a metallic purple jacket. For a second I feared that I would find Hero’s body pinned under a pillar or a large part of the ceiling with her chest caved in or something equally mission-ending, but I was relieved to find her lying in a small but completely open space, no debris but a thick layer of dust touching her form. I had been prepared to fight, but there was no need. Hero was definitely unconscious.
I approached quickly but quietly, sticking two fingers on her pulse point to detect a slow but steady heart beat. I immediately recognized her state as exhaustion. After all, there was no way she should have been able to hold up the entire building for as long as she did. Luckily, it seems she had been able to push long enough to protect herself with a small shield when the building did come down, with her still in it.
I had to work fast, before the site was deemed safe for rescue crews to enter and Hero was discovered before I could take her.
I wanted to leave unnoticed, partly due to the heavy police presence outside that I did not feel like dealing with today, so I had dressed rather inconspicuously. Jeans and black t-shirt. Hero, however, was in full dress so I stripped off the recognizable jacket and replaced her hood with a beanie. Her thick black leggings were passable, as long as no one looked too closely at what was sewn into the pockets. I rolled her into a hoodie I had wrapped around my waist, shoving her iconic jacket into my bag then picking her up and retracing my steps out into the crowded streets.
We were both covered in dust, looking inconspicuously like any two victims who had resolved to get themselves to the hospital instead of dealing with an expensive ambulance and backlogged roads. Unfortunately for Hero, the hospital was not our real destination.
Too busy with their eyes glued to the news or their phones to check on family members, nobody noticed me carry Hero back to my base on the other side of town.
She graciously stayed asleep for the walk, and would probably continue that for at least another day or two. All the more convenient for me.
I laid her down on a table in my receiving room, finally resting my sore arms from the trek across the city. As much as I would have loved to fireman carry her out of there, a bridal carry was much less suspicious on the streets of City, especially between a man and a woman.
I was just glad she wasn’t awake to question me about it. Gentleness and chivalry were not exactly on brand for me, and I liked it to stay that way.
I pulled her jacket out of my bag first and rifled through the pockets for anything of any importance. I came across an accordion folded card with a front that was caution-orange and stopped to read the text printed on the front. It read:
Yes I know my limits, I just choose to ignore them.
If found, pls read (or not lmao I’m probably too dead or unconscious to care)
I knew that some people carried emergency cards on their person with important information, but it was always a trade off because you ran the risk of it being found and revealing information in a situation in which you would rather it not. I wondered if Hero would want me to read this in this particular situation or not, had she been conscious. Either way, I entertained myself by unfolding the paper. It did say please, after all.
It continued:
So obviously I did something either super heroic (I hope) or really stupid (probable). Maybe even both.
Anyway if you’re trying to keep me alive, good luck.
It then listed key medical information such as blood type and medications, complete with a large print ‘please skip to here if actively dying’ label.
Villain scanned through information before moving to the back of the comically long card with comically tiny print and reading:
If I’m dead (and you’re taking requests) I would like to be cremated and have my ashes mixed with a tree. (And preferably planted somewhere I won’t be cut down or die within a year lol)
Have a great day :) (or, if you’re a villain: I hope both sides of your pillow are warm every night and you jump every time you hear a toaster go off.)
P.S. don’t feel bad about any of this, I knew what I was doing (unless, once again, you are a villain, in which case go fuck your self, feel bad all you want, dirtbag)
I allowed myself a small chuckle. She wasn’t consciously around to hear it anyway.
A broken com, some cash, and miscellaneous tools were all there was to find in the rest of the clothing I searched.
My next order of business was checking Hero for any injuries, a process which I will admit is a lot easier and less awkward when your subject is conscious. Still, I didn’t need the hero bleeding out or dying from some unseen wound while incapacitated in my care.
Rolling her back out of the hoodie, I crumpled and tucked the fabric under her head and neck to separate them from the hard surface.
A cursory inspection revealed no clear cuts in the fabric of her tank top or visible skin of the front, nor any bloodstains in the lighter sections of her leggings. I lifted and turned over both of Hero’s bare arms, finding nothing of concern anywhere I could see. The same was true for her lower legs and abdomen.
Resolved to simply deal with any other possible hidden wounds if the issue later arose, I retreated deeper into my lair to further prepare for my guest.
An empty cell awaited, and Hero would not stir on the cot for some time.
Small Mercies
(Context: Hero is restrained in a previous event and abandoned, Villain comes back to find them post-event)
[Warnings: blood, graphic fatal injury (of unnamed characters), helplessness/desperation]
The building was far quieter than it had been a few hours prior. The villain walked into the decimated room, scanning for the hero that they had come to collect. The floor was covered in debris, tables turned over and chairs askew with broken legs. They turned towards the center of the room, where they had gotten Hero cuffed to a vertical bar that used to hold a booth in place. Villain was moderately surprised to find they were still there, though not for lack of trying, if the ring of bruises adorning their wrist like a bracelet was any indication.
They were unmoving, head resting on the beam and cuffed hand slung slightly in the air.
Impressively, they appeared to be sleeping.
That just wouldn’t do.
Villain kicked a piece of debris and they startled, eyes shooting open and locking on the criminal. For a second, they attempted to scrabble back before a glance at the cuff hooked into a rivet hole had them going still again.
Villain waited until it appeared they had some semblance of their bearings in the waking world before they continued to approach. Hero’s eyes never left theirs, tracking their movements like a cornered animal.
Villain stopped cautiously, completely out of reach, but the hero made no move to do anything but glare.
Part of the villain had expected them to start throwing daggers the second they made themselves known. It was their specialty, after all. A quick glance to their belt revealed the answer as to why they hadn’t.
Every loop and sheathe was empty. All their blades were gone.
As if sensing the impending question in the Villain’s gaze, the hero flicked their eyes behind them and to the right. When Villain’s gaze followed, they saw several bodies strewn on the floor, each impaled by a knife or two.
There also appeared to be a rather fresh puddle of blood in front of the restrained Hero. Following the smear of it around the beam, another body laid, this one clawed and disheveled. Sticking out of its windpipe was none other than a fountain pen.
Clearly, Villain had not been the first to come back for Hero.
Upon closer inspection, the hero looked absolutely exhausted. Crusted blood covered their free hand and a small amount was sprinkled on their face and smeared—like they had tried to wipe it away. Their eyes were wary, but in a way that suggested they could do nothing to act on their caution.
Villain knelt, ignoring the biohazard on the floor and taking the metal cuff in his hand. The lock was scratched and the links were scored but they were still functional—again, obviously not for lack of trying.
“Is this thing made of titanium or something?” Hero joked weakly.
Villain shot a quick look to the hero, their posture still completely defensive, knees drawn up to their chest. They pulled out a key, inserting it into the side of the cuffs that was attached to the beam. A twist and a click later and Hero was no longer tethered to the rebar.
They didn’t pull their hand back immediately as Villain might have expected, instead leaving it limp, held up only by the grip Villain maintained on the metal. Villain reached for their other hand, pulling it from their knee and locking the open side of the cuff over Hero’s previously free wrist.
They let them, but the hatred in their gaze intensified greatly as the metal cinched closed.
Unbothered, Villain produced the key again, and Hero eyed them suspiciously as they slid it into the mechanism clamped over their mottled wrist. After freeing the injured hand, Villain rose to their feet, pulling lightly at the side of the cuff they still held.
Hero struggled to their feet, bracing themselves on the beam for a minute before allowing themselves to be led away by the wrist.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That was…not what they had expected.
They had had plenty of time to imagine what would happen when—if the villain came back. Terrible thoughts interrupted only by the terrible reality of another group closing in.
When they realized they had thrown their final blade, they knew that it was over. They may have been able to stop one person with their bare hands and some pocket junk, but Villain was different.
The adrenaline that had allowed them to lodge a writing utensil into that trachea was long gone. In its wake, it left total and utter exhaustion.
For better or for worse, Villain seemed to know that.
Hero was taken from the building, confused by the horrors that hadn’t been realized, and dreading the terrors that might yet await.
Small Mercies
(Context: Hero is restrained in a previous event and abandoned, Villain comes back to find them post-event)
[Warnings: blood, graphic fatal injury (of unnamed characters), helplessness/desperation]
The building was far quieter than it had been a few hours prior. The villain walked into the decimated room, scanning for the hero that they had come to collect. The floor was covered in debris, tables turned over and chairs askew with broken legs. They turned towards the center of the room, where they had gotten Hero cuffed to a vertical bar that used to hold a booth in place. Villain was moderately surprised to find they were still there, though not for lack of trying, if the ring of bruises adorning their wrist like a bracelet was any indication.
They were unmoving, head resting on the beam and cuffed hand slung slightly in the air.
Impressively, they appeared to be sleeping.
That just wouldn’t do.
Villain kicked a piece of debris and they startled, eyes shooting open and locking on the criminal. For a second, they attempted to scrabble back before a glance at the cuff hooked into a rivet hole had them going still again.
Villain waited until it appeared they had some semblance of their bearings in the waking world before they continued to approach. Hero’s eyes never left theirs, tracking their movements like a cornered animal.
Villain stopped cautiously, completely out of reach, but the hero made no move to do anything but glare.
Part of the villain had expected them to start throwing daggers the second they made themselves known. It was their specialty, after all. A quick glance to their belt revealed the answer as to why they hadn’t.
Every loop and sheathe was empty. All their blades were gone.
As if sensing the impending question in the Villain’s gaze, the hero flicked their eyes behind them and to the right. When Villain’s gaze followed, they saw several bodies strewn on the floor, each impaled by a knife or two.
There also appeared to be a rather fresh puddle of blood in front of the restrained Hero. Following the smear of it around the beam, another body laid, this one clawed and disheveled. Sticking out of its windpipe was none other than a fountain pen.
Clearly, Villain had not been the first to come back for Hero.
Upon closer inspection, the hero looked absolutely exhausted. Crusted blood covered their free hand and a small amount was sprinkled on their face and smeared—like they had tried to wipe it away. Their eyes were wary, but in a way that suggested they could do nothing to act on their caution.
Villain knelt, ignoring the biohazard on the floor and taking the metal cuff in his hand. The lock was scratched and the links were scored but they were still functional—again, obviously not for lack of trying.
“Is this thing made of titanium or something?” Hero joked weakly.
Villain shot a quick look to the hero, their posture still completely defensive, knees drawn up to their chest. They pulled out a key, inserting it into the side of the cuffs that was attached to the beam. A twist and a click later and Hero was no longer tethered to the rebar.
They didn’t pull their hand back immediately as Villain might have expected, instead leaving it limp, held up only by the grip Villain maintained on the metal. Villain reached for their other hand, pulling it from their knee and locking the open side of the cuff over Hero’s previously free wrist.
They let them, but the hatred in their gaze intensified greatly as the metal cinched closed.
Unbothered, Villain produced the key again, and Hero eyed them suspiciously as they slid it into the mechanism clamped over their mottled wrist. After freeing the injured hand, Villain rose to their feet, pulling lightly at the side of the cuff they still held.
Hero struggled to their feet, bracing themselves on the beam for a minute before allowing themselves to be led away by the wrist.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
That was…not what they had expected.
They had had plenty of time to imagine what would happen when—if the villain came back. Terrible thoughts interrupted only by the terrible reality of another group closing in.
When they realized they had thrown their final blade, they knew that it was over. They may have been able to stop one person with their bare hands and some pocket junk, but Villain was different.
The adrenaline that had allowed them to lodge a writing utensil into that trachea was long gone. In its wake, it left total and utter exhaustion.
For better or for worse, Villain seemed to know that.
Hero was taken from the building, confused by the horrors that hadn’t been realized, and dreading the terrors that might yet await.
A Gambit
[CW: threats, blood, knife violence, captivity]
(Hero POV)
There was a knife at my throat, which was pretty expected honestly.
I mean, I didn’t exactly expect to sneak into public enemy number one’s private base and be greeted with warm milk and cookies. Sure, being held at knifepoint wasn’t ideal, but stakes were high enough that I was running out of options.
This was a risk I was willing to take.
I slowly raised my open hands. Surrender: the logical course of action when one is caught effectively off guard deep in unfamiliar territory.
“Don’t move and I might consider letting you live another second,” was whispered harshly in my ear, and I heeded the command disguised as a suggestion. The slow and controlled rise and fall of my chest was the only movement I allowed my body to make as my captor grabbed a hold of one lifted hand and pulled it behind my back, my arm folding painfully to provide the physical leverage the knife against my neck could not. Undoubtedly uncomfortable, but I tried not to worry about anything more than my main objective: staying alive.
“Grab your weapon slowly. Drop it. Kick it out of reach,” he ordered concisely.
I obediently unclipped the large knife sheathed on my belt, then dropped it to the floor and kicked it away.
Apparently, the distance the knife skittered was not satisfactory because I was subsequently yanked backwards a few more feet until we stopped and my shoulders were once again flush with the collarbones of the chest behind me.
“Give me one reason I shouldn’t slit your throat right now. Tell me what you’re doing here,” I was questioned, and thus the careful game begun.
It was much too early to show all my cards, but I had to say something. While it was a decently good sign that I wasn’t killed the second I was discovered, I certainly wasn’t going to push my luck by not providing an answer.
“I need something. You have it,” I answered simply, forcing the words out as strongly as I could and hoping to buy myself a ticket to a second location with a less immediate threat of death.
The hallway in which we currently stood seemed to be closing in on its self, the shadows threatening to swallow me the second the knife would pierce my skin and end my life. I needed to get out of here.
I needed to survive.
I didn’t lie per se, but I was certainly aiming for a misleading omission with my statements. I felt like a shady salesman pitching a hook, except this salesman’s life depending on this customer’s purchase.
“Yeah? And what might that be?” The voice sounded deceptively interested, but it came from dangerously close to my ear.
And that was my cue to shut up.
“Ok. We can do it this way.”
My knees were kicked out from behind, and I went slamming into the floor. My tongue caught between my teeth on the way down, and metallic blood soon found its way across my taste buds. Hands ran across my clothes and into my pockets, methodically stripping me of my tools and supplies. My boots were removed and their knives tossed across the room. Pressure on my shoulder kept me down, but on a positive note, there was no longer a blade biting against my skin.
I focused on the iron taste and taking steady and clear breaths as the man above me worked. A renewed grip locked both arms behind my back and I was hauled onto my feet again. An aggressive push had me starting to walk, my sock-clad feet padding against and periodically tripping on the concrete toward a door settled into the far wall.
I was harshly marched down two more halls and through a smaller room, becoming more and more disconcerted that my captor wasn’t bothering to hide the layout of the base as we walked.
We eventually reached a room that was clearly equipped to handle prisoners. It was stocked with tools and restraints, which my captor made quick work of using to secure me. The room accomplished the intimidating vibe of a concrete box with bright-in-one-spot-but-dark-in-all-others fluorescent lighting, complete with chains along the wall and a metal chair bolted to the floor in the center.
Once I was settled into the aforementioned chair, I realized it faced away from the only door in the room, leaving a view of only a blood spattered wall.
This was certainly a second location. Mission accomplished, sort of.
I still did not speak, what was there to say, really? Begging for my freedom would be pointless, and I refused to show unnecessary weakness of any kind. I was here for a reason after all, I could only hope prayer and patience would be enough to get me through this ordeal.
My captor paced at my back, his footfalls loud as he allowed his shoes to scuff roughly on the concrete floor. They came to a stop.
“Let’s get to know each other, shall we?” He stepped in front of me and smiled wide, and suddenly I was considering the merits of spontaneously dropping dead right there in that chair.
“You see, I don’t take this kind of thing lightly,” he started, “How did you know to come here? Were you planning to steal what you needed, or is this some kind of delusional attempt at a business deal?” He continued, but my lips remained sealed, not that he could tell.
He seemed to realize this too, because he quickly ripped off every piece of clothing that covered my face, leaving it bare to be read and identified.
“Hero, how cute.”
Now he was interested.
His eyes traced the scar that ran from the corner of my nose up to my cheekbone. That’s what gave me away, he would know, because he’s the one who gave it to me. Not to suggest that us crossing paths was a regular occurrence, quite the opposite in fact. I had pledged to avoid the man after our unfortunate encounter, and it helped that I wasn’t much of a front-line fighter to begin with. I preferred sidelines and shadows, subtle work. And I rarely interfered in the big leagues. I was content to not make any powerful enemies, but unfortunately, circumstances change.
“You’re not getting what you came for,” Maybe I am, “so what’s the harm in giving it up?” He asked sweetly, nothing but innocence in his eyes as he stepped closer.
“Don’t think I’ll be asking nicely again,”he followed, and that- that possessive twinkle in his eyes. That was what I was banking on. This was going to work.
He circled me like a shark, slow and deliberate, but never reaching to fill his hands with a tool or a weapon. His relaxed demeanor put me on edge nonetheless. He had nothing to worry about. Capturing me was all business, now this was all play.
Silence continued to be my preferred strategy.
“Still quiet huh? Don’t worry, I’m really good at the quiet game,” he whispered the last part from behind me eerily, before walking away and shutting the door with a loud metal slam and leaving me alone. Maybe this wasn’t my best idea, but it was a little late for second thoughts.
By the time he returned, I had already begun to preemptively associate the sound of the door and heavy footsteps with the sound of my doom. He appeared in front of me much too soon, empty handed with a justifiable air of confidence.
My heart started to race when Villain strutted over to a roll of plastic propped against the wall to my left. Slowly, he kicked it over to the center of the room where I sat in the chair, and then knelt to the ground to roll it out around me. He produced a knife I didn’t know he had been carrying, different from the one that had been held at my throat, previously concealed somewhere in the black cargo pants that covered over the ankle of his black combat boots. He sliced the plastic laid around me into a square perimeter about six feet on each side.
My mind screamed that I needed to change tactics, admit something or be admitted to an early grave. But revealing that I intended to use the most powerful man in the game was not going to work in my favor. What choice did I really have though, be a toy or admit to toying?
Villain stood now. He gave me little more than a glance before starting to walk past me on my left side, presumably towards the door again or maybe other equipment. Unfortunately that guess did not take into account his lighting-like speed.
He turned, and before I knew it a knife was stabbed straight through my hand. I blinked in disbelief at the metal jutting an inch and a half out the palm of my hand, blood starting to well up around it and drip down to the tip of the blade before falling to hit the plastic.
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe this wasn’t better. Maybe this was as certain a death as I was already guaranteed.
Too late to turn back now.
The pain took about a full three seconds to register. I was unprepared for the strike, quick as a viper sinking its teeth into its prey. I choked on my shock, mouth opening but no sound coming out.
Millan seized the opportunity, shoving a ball of fabric into my gaping mouth with forceful fingers.
“You don’t wanna talk? Don’t talk. I prefer it this way anyway,” he spoke, and my mistake became crystal clear.
Salvage. Games. He wants to play games.
His hand returned to the knife he had left skewered through my hand. His fingers wrapped around the hilt and my thoughts ran a thousand miles per minute, searching for something, anything, I could use as an opening move.
I was invited to the table, now I just had to figure out how to play.
The blade slipped easily back out of my flesh. It had missed bone, angled perfectly in the direction of my fingers.
I had to act now, before that blade found a new home in which to bury itself, presumably in a much more damaging location.
I coughed and spit to try and loosen the scrap in my mouth as I attempted to push it out with my tongue. I was making progress, but a hand was heading for my face again to try and re-secure the gag. Running out of time, I forced precious few syllables past the fabric that crudely hindered my speech.
“Ah-so-shee-a-shun.”
The hand reached its destination, but surprisingly opted to remove the obstacle from my mouth and toss it in a soggy heap to the floor.
“What was that?”
“The Association. I know something.”
I made a sour face in an attempt to resalivate my mouth and rid it of the awful cottony feel and taste.
“I have something on The Hero Association.”
“Hero, you do not waste a breath. I knew there was something I liked about you.” That creepy smiled returned, coupled with the glint in the eyes as the knife was wiped off on the knee of his pants. He crouched to a squat in front of me.
“I don’t suppose you’re in a particularly generous and sharing mood?” He cocked his head, studying my face as if seeing it for the first time.
“In your dreams. Sharing is caring, and I could not give less of a fuck about you.” I watched his face as he reacted to my words and knew by the way he lit up that I had picked the right path.
Never doubted it for a second.
“So why bring it up?”
“Figured it might save me a stab wound or two.”
“Or three or four,” he conceded, and I allowed a small smile to stretch my lips.
“Probably five.” He smiled back. “At least.”
The air in the room was lighter, and this exchange was seeming more and more like a tentative opportunity and less and less like certain doom. Blood still dripped from my hand, but I didn’t spare it another glance. I relaxed in my binds, and prepared for my next move.
A Gambit
[CW: threats, blood, knife violence, captivity]
(Hero POV)
There was a knife at my throat, which was pretty expected honestly.
I mean, I didn’t exactly expect to sneak into public enemy number one’s private base and be greeted with warm milk and cookies. Sure, being held at knifepoint wasn’t ideal, but stakes were high enough that I was running out of options.
This was a risk I was willing to take.
I slowly raised my open hands. Surrender: the logical course of action when one is caught effectively off guard deep in unfamiliar territory.
“Don’t move and I might consider letting you live another second,” was whispered harshly in my ear, and I heeded the command disguised as a suggestion. The slow and controlled rise and fall of my chest was the only movement I allowed my body to make as my captor grabbed a hold of one lifted hand and pulled it behind my back, my arm folding painfully to provide the physical leverage the knife against my neck could not. Undoubtedly uncomfortable, but I tried not to worry about anything more than my main objective: staying alive.
“Grab your weapon slowly. Drop it. Kick it out of reach,” he ordered concisely.
I obediently unclipped the large knife sheathed on my belt, then dropped it to the floor and kicked it away.
Apparently, the distance the knife skittered was not satisfactory because I was subsequently yanked backwards a few more feet until we stopped and my shoulders were once again flush with the collarbones of the chest behind me.
“Give me one reason I shouldn’t slit your throat right now. Tell me what you’re doing here,” I was questioned, and thus the careful game begun.
It was much too early to show all my cards, but I had to say something. While it was a decently good sign that I wasn’t killed the second I was discovered, I certainly wasn’t going to push my luck by not providing an answer.
“I need something. You have it,” I answered simply, forcing the words out as strongly as I could and hoping to buy myself a ticket to a second location with a less immediate threat of death.
The hallway in which we currently stood seemed to be closing in on its self, the shadows threatening to swallow me the second the knife would pierce my skin and end my life. I needed to get out of here.
I needed to survive.
I didn’t lie per se, but I was certainly aiming for a misleading omission with my statements. I felt like a shady salesman pitching a hook, except this salesman’s life depending on this customer’s purchase.
“Yeah? And what might that be?” The voice sounded deceptively interested, but it came from dangerously close to my ear.
And that was my cue to shut up.
“Ok. We can do it this way.”
My knees were kicked out from behind, and I went slamming into the floor. My tongue caught between my teeth on the way down, and metallic blood soon found its way across my taste buds. Hands ran across my clothes and into my pockets, methodically stripping me of my tools and supplies. My boots were removed and their knives tossed across the room. Pressure on my shoulder kept me down, but on a positive note, there was no longer a blade biting against my skin.
I focused on the iron taste and taking steady and clear breaths as the man above me worked. A renewed grip locked both arms behind my back and I was hauled onto my feet again. An aggressive push had me starting to walk, my sock-clad feet padding against and periodically tripping on the concrete toward a door settled into the far wall.
I was harshly marched down two more halls and through a smaller room, becoming more and more disconcerted that my captor wasn’t bothering to hide the layout of the base as we walked.
We eventually reached a room that was clearly equipped to handle prisoners. It was stocked with tools and restraints, which my captor made quick work of using to secure me. The room accomplished the intimidating vibe of a concrete box with bright-in-one-spot-but-dark-in-all-others fluorescent lighting, complete with chains along the wall and a metal chair bolted to the floor in the center.
Once I was settled into the aforementioned chair, I realized it faced away from the only door in the room, leaving a view of only a blood spattered wall.
This was certainly a second location. Mission accomplished, sort of.
I still did not speak, what was there to say, really? Begging for my freedom would be pointless, and I refused to show unnecessary weakness of any kind. I was here for a reason after all, I could only hope prayer and patience would be enough to get me through this ordeal.
My captor paced at my back, his footfalls loud as he allowed his shoes to scuff roughly on the concrete floor. They came to a stop.
“Let’s get to know each other, shall we?” He stepped in front of me and smiled wide, and suddenly I was considering the merits of spontaneously dropping dead right there in that chair.
“You see, I don’t take this kind of thing lightly,” he started, “How did you know to come here? Were you planning to steal what you needed, or is this some kind of delusional attempt at a business deal?” He continued, but my lips remained sealed, not that he could tell.
He seemed to realize this too, because he quickly ripped off every piece of clothing that covered my face, leaving it bare to be read and identified.
“Hero, how cute.”
Now he was interested.
His eyes traced the scar that ran from the corner of my nose up to my cheekbone. That’s what gave me away, he would know, because he’s the one who gave it to me. Not to suggest that us crossing paths was a regular occurrence, quite the opposite in fact. I had pledged to avoid the man after our unfortunate encounter, and it helped that I wasn’t much of a front-line fighter to begin with. I preferred sidelines and shadows, subtle work. And I rarely interfered in the big leagues. I was content to not make any powerful enemies, but unfortunately, circumstances change.
“You’re not getting what you came for,” Maybe I am, “so what’s the harm in giving it up?” He asked sweetly, nothing but innocence in his eyes as he stepped closer.
“Don’t think I’ll be asking nicely again,”he followed, and that- that possessive twinkle in his eyes. That was what I was banking on. This was going to work.
He circled me like a shark, slow and deliberate, but never reaching to fill his hands with a tool or a weapon. His relaxed demeanor put me on edge nonetheless. He had nothing to worry about. Capturing me was all business, now this was all play.
Silence continued to be my preferred strategy.
“Still quiet huh? Don’t worry, I’m really good at the quiet game,” he whispered the last part from behind me eerily, before walking away and shutting the door with a loud metal slam and leaving me alone. Maybe this wasn’t my best idea, but it was a little late for second thoughts.
By the time he returned, I had already begun to preemptively associate the sound of the door and heavy footsteps with the sound of my doom. He appeared in front of me much too soon, empty handed with a justifiable air of confidence.
My heart started to race when Villain strutted over to a roll of plastic propped against the wall to my left. Slowly, he kicked it over to the center of the room where I sat in the chair, and then knelt to the ground to roll it out around me. He produced a knife I didn’t know he had been carrying, different from the one that had been held at my throat, previously concealed somewhere in the black cargo pants that covered over the ankle of his black combat boots. He sliced the plastic laid around me into a square perimeter about six feet on each side.
My mind screamed that I needed to change tactics, admit something or be admitted to an early grave. But revealing that I intended to use the most powerful man in the game was not going to work in my favor. What choice did I really have though, be a toy or admit to toying?
Villain stood now. He gave me little more than a glance before starting to walk past me on my left side, presumably towards the door again or maybe other equipment. Unfortunately that guess did not take into account his lighting-like speed.
He turned, and before I knew it a knife was stabbed straight through my hand. I blinked in disbelief at the metal jutting an inch and a half out the palm of my hand, blood starting to well up around it and drip down to the tip of the blade before falling to hit the plastic.
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe this wasn’t better. Maybe this was as certain a death as I was already guaranteed.
Too late to turn back now.
The pain took about a full three seconds to register. I was unprepared for the strike, quick as a viper sinking its teeth into its prey. I choked on my shock, mouth opening but no sound coming out.
Millan seized the opportunity, shoving a ball of fabric into my gaping mouth with forceful fingers.
“You don’t wanna talk? Don’t talk. I prefer it this way anyway,” he spoke, and my mistake became crystal clear.
Salvage. Games. He wants to play games.
His hand returned to the knife he had left skewered through my hand. His fingers wrapped around the hilt and my thoughts ran a thousand miles per minute, searching for something, anything, I could use as an opening move.
I was invited to the table, now I just had to figure out how to play.
The blade slipped easily back out of my flesh. It had missed bone, angled perfectly in the direction of my fingers.
I had to act now, before that blade found a new home in which to bury itself, presumably in a much more damaging location.
I coughed and spit to try and loosen the scrap in my mouth as I attempted to push it out with my tongue. I was making progress, but a hand was heading for my face again to try and re-secure the gag. Running out of time, I forced precious few syllables past the fabric that crudely hindered my speech.
“Ah-so-shee-a-shun.”
The hand reached its destination, but surprisingly opted to remove the obstacle from my mouth and toss it in a soggy heap to the floor.
“What was that?”
“The Association. I know something.”
I made a sour face in an attempt to resalivate my mouth and rid it of the awful cottony feel and taste.
“I have something on The Hero Association.”
“Hero, you do not waste a breath. I knew there was something I liked about you.” That creepy smiled returned, coupled with the glint in the eyes as the knife was wiped off on the knee of his pants. He crouched to a squat in front of me.
“I don’t suppose you’re in a particularly generous and sharing mood?” He cocked his head, studying my face as if seeing it for the first time.
“In your dreams. Sharing is caring, and I could not give less of a fuck about you.” I watched his face as he reacted to my words and knew by the way he lit up that I had picked the right path.
Never doubted it for a second.
“So why bring it up?”
“Figured it might save me a stab wound or two.”
“Or three or four,” he conceded, and I allowed a small smile to stretch my lips.
“Probably five.” He smiled back. “At least.”
The air in the room was lighter, and this exchange was seeming more and more like a tentative opportunity and less and less like certain doom. Blood still dripped from my hand, but I didn’t spare it another glance. I relaxed in my binds, and prepared for my next move.
Chomp
Hero found themselves in quite a precarious position, swinging upside down with their foot caught in a snare.
Now, this wasn’t exactly uncommon for them. Getting caught in a trap was nothing new. Such was the perilous life of a hero after all. What was unusual, though, was the pit of crystal clear water beneath them.
Oh, and the dozen or so sharks swimming around in it.
They were suspended over a pool fit for Olympic swimming. Hero was no marine biologist, but they were pretty sure those sleek grey fish weren’t dolphins.
Coarse rope dug into their ankle, but Hero found they didn’t mind too much. They had the core strength to be able to reach the knot but, unfortunately, untying it would probably send them plummeting into the water, and Hero wasn’t particularly up for such a literal swim with the fishes today.
Deciding to save their strength, Hero hung limp, tucking their shirt into their pants and leaving their arms to flop loosely with gravity.
Soon, the one responsible for their current predicament made themselves known from the ground.
“Welcome, Hero!” The villain’s voice boomed excitedly.
There was no catwalk, nothing covering the top of the tank. That left Villain to stand next to the glass at the bottom and having to yell up the dangling hero.
Before Hero could think to ask what they were doing here, Villain answered unprompted, “I wanted to show you my new collection!”
“Is this…legal?” Hero questioned, the words difficult to form with the blood rushing to their head.
“Absolutely not!” The villain exclaimed.
Right. That was probably the point.
“Are they…ok?”
Hero blinked hard, trying to stay present in the conversation.
“Who? Bruce, Anchor, Chum, Brooklyn, Barbara, Mark, Lori, Robert, Kevin, Lennie, Daymond, Nado, and Krill?
Their processing was gradually slowing down but those names seemed…oddly familiar.
“The…the sharks.”
Hero supposed they didn’t look too unhappy, chilling in their own space, not circling for an impending meal. Hero certainly couldn’t claim animal cruelty with the size of the aquarium. The oversized fish must be well fed to be able to coexist like this, which was…concerning for the hero, to say the least.
Their vision blurred as they watched a pointed fin breach the surface.
They realized belatedly that they were about to pass out.
“And they’re just fine with each other?”
“Oh, you see, that’s where my new invention comes in-“
The sound of Villain’s voice faded out as Hero’s consciousness slipped away.
…
They awoke to the sight of teeth flashing in front of them. They tried to scramble back before their brain could process the several-feet thick wall between them and the apex predator.
“You’ve been quite a rude guest.”
Hero turned to the source of the voice, finding Villain standing over them. The rope that had previously entrapped just one ankle now looped both feet together, as well as connecting both their wrists.
“I’m…sorry?” Hero spoke carefully.
That seemed like a reasonable answer, given their ultimate goal of not ending up as chum.
“You fainted before I could finish my monologue,” Villain pouted, crossing their arms and looking down at the Hero sitting against the wall of the tank.
“That’s…uh, my bad,” Hero answered, preoccupied with wondering when the sharks’ last meal was.
“Please, continue.”
Villain crouched down, looking intently into the Hero’s eyes as they started to explain.
“First, you have to understand the aggression patterns of bull sharks vs those of great whites and tigers…”
And that’s how Hero learned way more about Selachimorpha than they ever wished to know.