Villain cursed as their knees hit the floor, almost toppling over without their arms to balance them, relying on strong hands that gripped their bound arms. Light blurred their vision as the black hood was yanked away.
"Well well, if it isn't Villain in the flesh." Supervillain was sat facing them, leaning back as they took a drawl of their cigarette, smirking.
"Let me go Supervillain. I don't work for you anymore." Villain twisted their shoulders, trying to get out of the henchmen's grips.
"Yes, I know. You're a 'good guy' now or something, right? Going after thieves and petty criminals. Don't you miss having a challenge?"
"Do I miss getting the shit beat out of my every week by hero league? Funnily enough, no."
Supervillain tutted. "Language, Villain. I taught you better than that."
Villain couldn't help but laugh. Kidnapping civilians was fine, blowing up buildings was fine, but cursing? No, that was too far for the greatest villain in the city.
A punch to the face had Villain's eyes and nose watering. Or was it blood making their upper lip damp? One of the henchmen stepped back, fists ready to make another move should they act out of line.
"Let's cut to the chase, Villain." Supervillain stood up, sucking slowly on their cigarette, almost completely burnt away by this point. "You know why you're here."
"I haven't told hero league anything-"
"Shhh..." Supervillain was right in front of them now, one hand cupping their cheek. "I know you haven't. Because you know what I'd do to you if you did. No, no, no. The question I have for you is how much pain will it take before you agree to work for me again?"
Villain just shook their head, fear settling into their bones. They had never meant to become a villain. They had just wanted revenge against Hero. Supervillain had helped them with that but now they wanted their life back, they didn't enjoy it the way villains had to.
"Such a pity." Supervillain tugged open their shirt and put their cigarette out on Villain's collarbone. "But I can't-" they continued over Villain's sobs, "-have my employees defecting. It's bad for moral."
"Please..."
"Hush now, Villain. We'll have plenty of time to talk down in the cells." Supervillain said, raising Villains head to theirs with a single finger. "When you've had time to evaluate your choices."
CW: living weapon, forced to watch (listen?), light dehumanisation
Whumpee looked at the ranking with relief. Fourth. Still in the top five. That was all that mattered to them now, staying in the green zone.
"Three, Four, with me." Whumpee stiffened at the sound of their commander's voice but quickly fell in step beside Three, not sparing a glance at their fellow soldier.
Whumpee knew what exactly what they were doing when they exited the elevator into the lowest floor of the compound. Their footsteps echoed against the damp concrete walls, shadows barely taking form in the dim fluorescent lights.
The commander stopped outside the closest steel door, a quick nod all the instruction they needed.
Three quickly went to work on the deadbolts, pulling each one back with a slam. Whumpee tried to calm the pounding in their chest as the door opened and the pair went in, heading straight for the shivering figure huddled on a cot against the back wall.
One didn't look up as they went for him, jaw trembling from more than just the cold as Whumpee gripped his left arm.
"Please," One whispered. "Please, no..."
It was only when they started to drag him out of the cell did One start to resist, feet digging into the floor, strong arms (too strong) pulling back against Three and Four.
"No! Please, don't!" He was screaming now and it took all of Whumpee's strength to keep hold of him as they dragged him towards the furthest room, the commander already opening the door.
Whumpee half stumbled as One yanked violently against them seeing the chair in the centre of the room, his shouts turning into sobs. Whumpee bit the inside of their cheek.
He won't remember it. It's for his own good. It's just a job.
It was like a mantra in their head, a selfish reminder that they didn't have a choice, that they weren't a monster.
This was the hardest part, getting him into the chair. One thrashed, catching Whumpee in the jaw. Three already had their side restrained and helped shove One's shoulders back as Whumpee struggled to hold his arm down long enough to secure the thick metals cuffs.
With his arms finally immobilised the rest was easier: ankles first, then the strap across his chest, and finally his head.
Whumpee looked to their commander, who jutted their head towards the door. Get out. They couldn't leave fast enough, even if it meant the next stage would come so much sooner.
Three closed the door after them, not bothering to lock it before taking position standing guard.
Whumpee matched their stance on the other side of the door, arms behind their back, feet planting firmly. Silently they braced themselves for the screaming.
It didn't take long. One's screams were raw and feral, cutting through the silent corridor and Whumpee's conscience like a scalpel. They swallowed the bile that threatened in their throat.
Did Three hate this as much as them?
Somehow they doubted it. Three had never shown any sign of a conscience, or morals at all for that matter. Whumpee supposed that was why they were higher on the ranking.
The screaming was more ragged now, choked and hoarse. They'd heard it enough times to know that they were around the fifteen minute mark. Another fifteen and it would be over.
Whumpee knew the routine well. They just didn't know why it happened. One was the best: the most efficient, the most ruthless, the most powerful, the most loyal. At least for three weeks. And then it was like he turned into another person, a person who didn't enjoy hurting others or taking orders. And then they'd bring him down here and the whole cycle would start again.
If you did that they'd decommission you.
But Whumpee wasn't the best. Whumpee wasn't even the second best. Whumpee was fourth. Barely above Five, barely staying in the green zone of warm showers and palatable food.
If you were number one they wouldn't need to do this to you.
The screams were now ragged gasps, quickly getting swallowed by the steel door until only the sound of flickering fluorescence lingered in the corridor.
A few moments later and the door opened, the commander stalking past Whumpee and Three without a second glance. They didn't waste time before heading inside.
One was limp in the chair, breathing shaky and uneven, eyes rolled back under half-closed eyelids. They undid the restraints quickly, pulling One's arm around their shoulder and heaving him upright, dragging the dead weight man out of the room, his feet trailing uselessly behind him.
They headed towards the elevator, past the open door of the cell they had first dragged him from kicking and screaming. Whumpee wasn't sure if they preferred One's unnatural silence.
Upstairs, Whumpee and Three deposited One in his room, the regular one that wasn't kept freezing cold. Three left without a second glance but Whumpee lingered for a second, watching One's chest rise and fall.
Was it not enough? Being the best? Whumpee told themselves they didn't understand why the commander had to keep breaking One. Why One kept defying his superiors. Why he couldn't just accept the privileges that came with being the best.
He's holding onto his humanity. Just like you gave yours up to be number four.
Apologies this is another dialogue heavy one but I couldn't get this conversation out of my head
Masterlist
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CW: recaptured, ref to past captivity and torture, ref to suicide
The cellar was just as cold and damp as she remembered. Marcus had made a habit of locking her down here whenever she tried to run away, so she'd always worn one too many layers so she'd have something to use as a pillow.
This time she didn't have any extra layers. Just a pair of jeans and a baggy t-shirt with some band she only half recognised on it in fading colours.
At some point she must have fallen asleep, too practiced at finding comfort on hard surfaces, though it didn't stop her already bruised body from aching even more.
The bright light of day silhouetted Evangeline in the doorway as a plastic bottle hit Rowena's leg.
"Drink up."
"You sure you're allowed to give me that?" Rowena groaned, picking it up and sniffing the water.
"If it wasn't clear by now, Marcus doesn't want you dead. Tired, cold, hungry, whatever. But not dead."
Rowena sighed, shuffling back to lean against the wall, bottle of water held loosely in her hands. "I can't do this again, Eva."
"Do what? Work for him or fight him?" Evangeline crossed her arms.
"Either? Both?" She sighed, rubbing her face. "I was just starting to have a normal life. Why-"
"Because life's not fair." Evangeline interrupted. "So suck it up and make your choice. You can try to comply with Marcus, or you can fight this. I know which one I'd choose."
"Yeah well, you never had to worry about complying, you were always the favourite. Perfect Evangeline could never do anything wrong, could she?" Evangeline stiffened almost imperceptibly and Rowena knew she'd fucked up. "Sorry. That was-"
"Urgh, don't bother. I hate pity more than I hate split ends." Rowena huffed a laugh. "Just don't pretend it's my fault you couldn't follow basic fucking rules."
"You broke the rules all the time!"
"Only the ones I knew I could get away with." Evangeline said with a smirk. "And missing curfew is miles away from refusing to complete a contract. Or run away."
Rowena winced at the memory - screaming bloody mary as Marcus dragged her down the cellar steps, leaving her there for a whole week with nothing but a few bottles of water and a bucket to piss in. Waiting for the door to open and the pain to begin.
"Shit." Evangeline interrupted her reminiscence. "Come on, let's go. I may be the perfect favourite but I don't want to keep his majesty waiting."
Rowena groaned, tilting her head back against the wall, eyes closed. Nearly every part of her was bruised from her fights with Evangeline, and it seemed every one of them decided to speak up at once. The thought of more pain - more injuries - on top of that seemed unbearable. You used to take worse pain than this. It was an uncomfortable realisation.
Evangeline coughed. "Do I have to drag you?" When Rowena made no move she started forward.
"Okay! Okay. I'm- I'm getting up, hold on."
___
To Rowena's surprise they didn't go to the training hall but instead to Marcus's study.
It would have been more suited to history professor than an internationally renown assassin were it not so spotless. Not a hint of dust on the dark panelling, every book uniform and organised by topic - even the carpet by the window wouldn't dare fade.
Marcus didn't look up from his paperwork. It was intentional; designed to make her wait for him to tell her to sit down. Fuck that. Rowena plonked herself down on the chair already positioned in front of the heavy walnut desk.
"I can come back later if you're busy." When he just kept writing, Rowena pushed the chair back slightly and put her feet on his desk as casually as possible, heart racing.
Marcus paused, grip tightening on his pen as he looked at her, only his eyes moving. Slowly, painfully slowly, he raised his head, gently placed the pen in its designated holder, and leaned back.
"There are two ways to have this conversation." His tone could have been mistaken as casual if not for the slight edge underlying it. "It is your choice where you want to continue it."
Rowena slid her feet off the desk. "I'm not going to turn you in to the police - I could, but that would require turning myself in too and I've spent enough time in prison, thanks. Not to mention the fact they're too incompetent to catch you in the first place."
"Nevertheless, you remain a security threat."
"Then kill me!" Rowena laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. "I've always been a failure anyway! Why do you want me back so badly?"
"I don't." Marcus was an emotionless blank slab. "Your... return was not my decision."
Rowena frowned. The only people who could overturn Marcus on something like this was the other leaders of The Organisation. Why would any of them give a shit about her? She'd only ever met two of them excluding the prick sat opposite her, and only one had shown her anything more than a passing interest.
"Which leads me onto the topic at hand. You have two choices-"
"Roll over and be a good dog or get the shit beat out of me until I die?"
"Crudely worded, but yes. If you don't comply I will use force."
"I'll come back and work for you." Marcus nodded but Rowena continued before he could interrupt. "But circumstances have changed, you can't bully me into submission anymore. And I have some conditions. The first being that you're going to answer my fucking questions."
Marcus flexed a hand, eyes boring into Rowena, daring her to admit a bluff. For the first time, Marcus gave in first. "You can ask as many questions as you want, though I cannot guarantee you'll receive any answers."
"If you don't I'll stab myself with your letter opener and bleed out on your carpet." Rowena cocked her head and grinned. It was all in the micro expressions: the slight fear that she actually would, that confirmed Marcus needed to keep her alive. "What happened when I was arrested? What exactly did you know?"
He shifted just a little, folding his hands on the table, tension releasing from his shoulders. "I received a phone call informing me of what had happened shortly after you were arrested. Evangeline was sent to trace the target and a few days later I was informed you had been sentenced to death."
Well that was new information. "I was vaguely aware of the human research facilities and negotiated a deal to have your sentence changed to life imprisonment."
"You should have let them execute me." It was him. It was all his decision. The floor threatened to swallow her up and Rowena braced her head. "Would it really have made a difference if I died in a prison or a lab? Would you have even know?"
"Initially there were plans to renegotiate your release after a year or two, but they were abandoned when you became unresponsive."
The world reeled again, but this time it wasn't from the lack of food and water. Part of it was the way he said it - so casually he could have told her it was going to rain tomorrow. Rowena forced herself to stay calm.
"How, exactly, did you know I was..." she couldn't bring herself to say the word out loud. Broken.
"I received monthly updates on your condition from Rudy Barker."
Evangeline stirred behind her, hiding her surprise with a breathy cough. She stared at Rowena for a moment before looking at Marcus and turning away.
Rowena turned back to Marcus. "I want to read them." He frowned. "The updates he sent you. I want to know what he said."
Marcus opened his mouth to object but thought better of it and nodded tersely. "I'll send you the file. You mentioned some other conditions?"
"Yes, um..." She took a deep breath, recomposing herself. "As I said, the first is transparency. Second: you will not interfere with my personal life. I'm not stupid, I can keep work separate from any socialising I do on my own time.
"Thirdly: I get a say in what contracts I do. Fourth: I want a fifty percent cut of any contracts I do take. And lastly: you will not hurt me ever again. You do not get to break my fingers, burn me, electrocute me, stab me. Ever. Again."
There was silence for a while as Marcus considered it. "Twenty percent."
"Fourty."
"Thirty."
"Done." Neither reached out to shake hands on it.
Marcus thought some more. "I will also reserve the right to use appropriate amounts of discipline in regards to your training."
Rowena leaned forward, fixing him with a hard stare.
Rowena is a captive at Voscland Human Research Facility (VHRF), and is one of their most defiant lab rats. Rudy is her handler, who's job is to try and keep her in line. (lab whump, lady whump, magic)
The Contortionist and the Bodyguard
Olive is an underpaid contortionist at Madame Tatania's Circus of Delights, or at least she was. At auction she meets Leon, a security guard who was kidnapped and now waits to be sold to the highest bidder. (captivity whump, non-boxboy pet whump, lady whump)
As Rowena took out her frustrations on a punching bag, it was as if nothing had changed. A clever lie to pretend everything was fine. Nothing was fine, obviously.
She was vaguely aware of Evangeline watching. They hadn't spoken since she'd caught her watching that video a couple of days ago. The nightmare Rowena had had that night didn't help.
A phone rang and she spun around, glaring. Evangeline just shrugged and grinned as she answered, strutting away down the hall.
Rowena turned back to the punching bag, taking the wraps off her hands. Her knuckles were red, a small blister beginning to form on the left. She looked back to the door.
Evangeline was still in the corridor, just loud enough for Rowena to hear without being seen.
"-compete for my attention. And I love it when you're jealous." Interesting. Evangeline was flirting, and it didn't sound like the person on the other end was just another target. Which meant...
"Who?" Her tone had shifted, focused now. Rowena risked a glance round the doorway. She was stood in the middle of the corridor facing away from her, finger tapping like it always did when she was thinking.
"Sounds like a pretty common name. Have you got an address? Work, friends, anything?" Another pause. "Don't be a bitch." She was annoyed now; impatient. "Just send me the information how I taught you. Not a fucking text this time."
Rowena moved back out of view. Evangeline was running jobs without Marcus's input. More than that, she was emotionally involved with whoever was working with her. Leverage. That's all it was at this point, something to have in her pocket should she ever need a reason to blackmail her.
"So now you're a clingy bitch. Not sure yet, hopefully by the end of the week." When she'd complete the mission? "Maybe. I might meet someone prettier. Anyway, I've got to go." Footsteps faded away upstairs.
It was Wednesday now. In a few days Evangeline would be out of the house, leaving her alone with Marcus. Good or bad news? That depended on if Rowena could get her hands on a gun.
Grabbing her phone (new, cheap, disposable) Rowena headed outside. There was only one number in it, the only number she'd memorised since getting her life back, but it was the only one she particularly cared about.
*Hi, you've reached Paz. Please leave a message.*
It was the fourth time she'd tried calling. None of her text messages had been read either. Paz wasn't the type of person who ignored multiple missed calls and messages. He also wasn't the type of person who lost his phone. Her stomach twisted into a familiar knot.
___
Marcus was in the dining hall, sat at the head of the table, a bowl of hot soup and a plate of artisan bread in front of him, his phone face down by his side. He looked up as Rowena entered, brows furrowed ever so slightly.
"It is rude to interrupt someone while they're eating." He set his spoon down softly and dabbed the corner of his mouth.
"Don't worry. If you say what I want you to say, this won't take long." Rowena said, facing him at the other end of the table, hands braced on a chair. "Where is Paz Gamoreni?"
Marcus held her gaze for a moment before picking his spoon back up. Rowena slammed her hands on the table.
"No." He looked up, anger and surprise flashing in his eyes. Rowena glared at him. "One of the conditions of my return was transparency, yes? Where is Paz?"
"What exactly is it that you want me to say?" He was infuriatingly calm.
"What I desperately want to hear is that he is safe, at home, far away from any of this bullshit. But if he is anywhere else I need you to start talking right fucking now." Marcus's silence told her everything she needed to know. "You BASTARD! YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT-"
"Did you honestly believe I'd let you back in if I didn't have insurance?" Marcus said, standing up spoon still in hand.
"Insurance?!" Rowena scoffed, stepping towards him. "Paz is a human being, not a pile of cash you can blackmail me with! You agreed you wouldn't involve anyone else. Paz has nothing to do with this."
"So he knows nothing?" Fuck. "Your... conditions failed to specify that I could not take measures to ensure you would not betray me again, and that boy is just as much of a liability as you are."
"Forget the fucking conditions. I quit." Rowena spun around. She'd pack her stuff and leave as soon as could. Fuck revenge. Fuck Marcus and Evangeline and this house and-
"If you leave this house without my permission I will order the murder of Paz Gamoreni."
Rowena froze. Looked back over her shoulder. Marcus was sat down again, carefully sipping his soup.
"You kill him and I'll burn this house to the ground with us both inside." It was an empty threat and they both knew it.
"You should return to your training, Rowena." His eyes were hard and unforgiving - daring her to fight him, to defy him. Testing the strength of his insurance.
Rowena turned and left. She didn't bother wrapping her hands before raining down on the punching bag, the pain blending with blind fury. Revenge was back on the table. Step one was rescuing Paz.
Her room hadn't changed, save for the layer of dust that lay over everything.
Rowena opened the windows and stared at the view she knew so well. The trees that blossomed white in spring, the thick hedges flanking the narrow lane, the overgrown fields beyond that might have once had sheep or cows grazing but were now a maze of brambles.
The space felt so much smaller now. As she looked aimlessly around the room, Rowena noticed the dust wasn't in fact covering everything. Parts had been disturbed - no doubt by Marcus or Evangeline snooping.
Sure enough, the burner phone under the mattress was gone. As was her stash of protein bars and mints behind the wardrobe. And her favourite bottle of perfume.
It didn't take long to wipe everything over with a damp cloth and shake out the bedding. It took slightly longer to boot up her laptop, which took its sweet time updating itself after two years of dormancy.
True to his word, Marcus had emailed her a file. Seven documents and two videos.
Rowena hovered the mouse over the earliest dated document. 27th August. Did she really want to read it? She could practically hear Rudy's voice in her head, taunting her. Fuck it.
Rowena is definitely one of the most persistently defiant and self destructive inmates I've encountered. She's set a new record for most escape attempts in a less than a month (six) but is slowly coming round to her new situation.
It continued in the same vein. Details on her abilities (one of the largest variety of abilities but not very powerful), what methods of torture were most effective (tazing is good for quick results, but a blowtorch is the fastest way to get her really screaming), her habits and routines (she spends half her time exercising and the other half sleeping).
There was a video with the same date. It had been filmed on a phone, slightly out of sync with the security footage it captured, lines flickering where the shutter speeds interfered with each other. Rowena watched as she ran down familiar corridors, chucked up a brief wall of flame at some pursuing guards, and was surrounded by people with guns. Tranquilisers, she now recognised.
She remembered that particular escape attempt - she'd made it all the way to the main entrance - but there was a part she didn't remember. The quiff of sandy blond hair was unmistakable though. Rudy was crouched next to her unconscious body, stroking her hair as he spoke silently to someone behind him.
Rowena knew that was the event that got her assigned to him, but she never realised he had been there; petting her like a child in a pet shop.
Each report followed a similar structure: any 'incidences', drug trial results, which torture methods Rudy preferred that month, any changes in behaviour. It straddled the line between professionalism and some kind of sadistic diary.
The other video was dated as October 25th. Another shaky phone video, this time with sound. She couldn't remember the reason for that particular torture session, not that Rudy needed a reason, but remembered him leering at her from behind a camera, remembered as he passed it to his friend and gave her the scar that ran down her cheek.
Rowena didn't watch more than a few seconds, cringing away from her own face; so gaunt and pale and scattered with bruises in every stage of healing. Nausea rolled over her. The rest could wait until she had eaten something.
___
The kitchen was mostly empty, bar several expensive ingredients in a multitude of languages. Olive oil from Greece, miso from Japan, salt from Iceland, parmesan from Italy. It was the kitchen of a man with expensive taste who lived alone and probably had a private chef.
There was at least soup and bread. The soup was some overpriced brand she hadn't heard of, but Rowena knew the local bakery the bread came from - she'd bought the same loaf every week for years.
In an act that Marcus would disapprove of, Rowena microwaved the soup until it was just hot enough to stay warm without burning her mouth. Gods it tasted good. The soup was perfectly smooth, the fresh bread soaking up just the right amount.
The kitchen had always been something of a safe place in a house that held precious few happy memories. No matter who was pissed off at who the battered kitchen table was a neutral zone; a place where Evangeline had taught her how to play cards, where Marcus bandaged her hand after she burnt it on the stove, where they had made gingerbread at Christmas.
A creak on the stairs told her Evangeline was heading upstairs. The familiarity of it pulled at Rowena's chest. Some things never changed, and yet everything was different. Her stomach ached distantly. Well, that's not changed. She always had a stomach ache after not eating for a while.
Rowena washed up slowly, delaying going back to Rudy's voice waiting for her upstairs. Eventually there was nothing left to do though.
___
A strange noise made her pause on the stairs. It had the tinny quality of a bad phone speaker, and almost sounded like a fight scene in a low budget tv show. It was coming from her room, the door half closed.
Even through the laptop speakers, Rudy's laugh was unmistakable.
"What the fuck are you doing?"
Evangeline was leant over the desk chair, one hand on the mouse pad as she watched the video of Rowena's torture. She wasn't fast enough to pause the video before Rowena slammed the laptop shut.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" She wasn't quite shouting, too shocked to properly feel angry.
Evangeline stepped back, hands up in mock surrender. "I was curious."
"Get out."
She wasn't sure if she was relieved that Evangeline left without protest, giving her a wide berth as she breezed through the door. Rowena slammed it.
Air caught in her throat. She was suffocating, the air was too thick of dust, the ceiling too low, the walls caving in around her. Expensive soup threatened to rise. No no no no no.
Rowena pressed herself into the corner by the door, sliding down the wall, legs suddenly weak. Her face tingled like there were bees under her skin. Tension coiled in her muscles and she pressed her nails into her palms, digging them in hard enough that pinpricks of blood welled hot against her clammy hands.
Breathe. It was too hard, her heart was going to fast to let the air in. A choked sob half escaped and she forced it down. She would not let them hear her cry.
Eventually the overwhelming... overwhelmingness began fading. Breathing was easier now, her heart beating at a more reasonable rate. Rowena was exhausted.
She allowed herself another minute before standing up, one hand braced against the wall as her legs shook. Walking to the bed felt like an impossible challenge but somehow she succeeded, collapsing and curling in on herself.
