Content Warnings: fairy whumpee, female whumpee, female whumper, threats of dismemberment, improper use of household appliances, coercion, mentioned nsfwhump, filmed whump
Author's Notes: I just love putting fairies in fucked up situations.
"No - no, no, no, please, mistress no! Don't do this! You don't have to do this!"
It was Cinder's only hope that her pleas would not fall on completely merciless ears as she clung to the rim of the blender. Terror filled her to know she would already be sat amongst the blades below if she hadn't managed to catch herself when her owner attempted to dump her into it, and the fact that she was clearly only putting a half-hearted effort into pushing her further in did nothing for her pounding heart.
Above her, the human woman Renee pouted her pink-glossed lips as she pressed down on the space between Cinder's wings, her nails perfectly manicured and camera-ready, despite the violence they threatened - the violence they had committed.
"Gosh, Cindy, I just don't know," Renee whined, her voice thick with mock indecision. It was the type of tone that normally would've made Cinder hate her all the more, if not for the spirit-deep horror she felt that this might be the day she finally did it. "I mean, I promised my followers I'd do a shoot for my new fairy smoothie recipe today. I kind of had to, since you haven't really been raking in the views yourself recently."
Furious tears stung at Cinder's eyes as she desperately tried to beat her wings and scrabble her feet against the blender's smooth interior - anything to help her gain ground. It wasn't her fault if her monstrous audience wasn't satisfied!
She'd endured everything this woman had put her through - bones broken like twigs in her hands; smothering makeup tests that left her choking on chemical powders; a month of isolation in a jar with nothing but a twig to keep her company - and all for a two-minute timelapse of her breakdown! Cinder was fighting to live through it all - and Renee still thought it was her fault if she wasn't getting enough views
But the moment she dared to point that out, Cinder knew full well her chances of escaping here would go from slim to none. She'd seen what happened to other fairies who were foolish enough to insult their owner's fragile ego.
"I can do better - I promise!" Cinder cried out. "I'll - I'll do a photoshoot in that moisturizer you sell! Then you can upcharge for it! Isn't that worth something?"
Renee's face gave the impression of considering this for half a moment - just long enough to give Cinder an ounce of hope. It was such a disgustingly practiced move, and yet Cinder still kept falling for it.
"Nah, sorry babe," Renee laughed. "You're losing your star power, so - gotta mix it up!"
With that, the human stopped with her performative efforts. She reached out with her free hands to yank Cinder off the side of the blender with ease, dropping the fairy into the middle before she had the chance to grasp another else, before slapping the plastic lid over the top.
There was no time for Cinder to linger on the chill of the unforgiving blades beneath her. They may only be inert for a moment longer. She rose to her feet and began slamming on the glass with her tiny fists, screaming with all her might.
"Mistress! Mistress, please don't do this! Don't do this to me!"
Through the thick glass, she watched Renee grab something from across her kitchen - the stunning and well-appointed space the suffering of Cinder and others like her had paid for. She returned a moment later and lifted the lid back up, allowing Cinder to once again briefly imagine she might try to mount an escape - only for a mound of ice nearly as tall as she was to come spilling in, crushing her against the rim with its frigid embrace.
Cinder had barely even begun to catch her breath as more weight followed. Chopped strawberries, thick mango slices, two halves of a banana, all filling the world with a cloying, overripe sweetness.
She was already freezing to her bones, and yet, more hot tears still escaped Cinder's tiny, shuddering frame. One of the blades of the blender was pressed right against her trapped left ankle, and she could already feel the threat of just how quickly it would tear her to shreds.
It couldn't end like this. Not under crushed ice, and cut fruit, and a fucking breakfast appliance. Not matter what it cost, she hadn't lived through everything to die like this.
"Mistress, I'll - I'll do the shoot! The one you've been asking me to!"
The blender lid hovered over her in a half-eclipse, before Renee drew it away. She grinned down at Cinder, her demonic face as wide as the sky.
"Oh?" the human purred. "And which one would that be again?"
Cinder struggled to swallow against her own pride, and all the vitriol she felt for this woman, but still, she forced herself to look away. Her shame only ever made it more exciting for Renee and her audience, so it that was what kept her alive now, that was what she would give them.
"I'll...I'll touch myself," she mumbled. "On camera. However much...in whatever ways your followers want me to. I'll do whatever they want."
Renee had put forward the idea of an after-dark edition of her channel months ago, and while she had put Cinder in a few positions, the goal always seemed to be to get the fairy to be a more "active participant" in the shoots. In all that time, Cinder had resisted, less on principle and more because, as one of the few things she could actively resist, it was one of the few bargaining chips she possessed.
And now had been the time to play it.
A hand as big as she was reached into the blender and began to scoop out the fruit and ice. Cinder let the careless removal press against her body without complaint. It was far from the worst pain she'd suffered at this hand.
"Ohhh, that's a good, good girl, Cindy," Renee cooed as she at last grasped the fairy again. "What a smart idea! You're going to make so many people so happy - and that's going to make me so much money! Let's see how well you do with this, and maybe then we can forget this whole nasty blender thing eeeeever happened, kay?"
Cinder did not struggle in Renee's hands as the woman gave her a quick wipe with a dampened paper towel, before depositing her back in the carrying case where she spent most of each shoot day. She simply shrouded herself amongst the scratchy, cotton-like substance that covered the floor and tried to find an ounce of either warmth or dignity amongst its embrace.
Yet, the reassurances were few as she was left to stew on the kitchen counter while Renee was free to begin making preparations for the next shoot. Cinder may have saved her life for now, but all it would do was fill this monster's wallet, and make herself even more detailed material for her sick fans' fantasies of her.
All while knowing, likely sooner rather than later, there would be another someday to replace her. Maybe her end wouldn't be as messy as the one Renee's blender had promised, but she had seen enough fellow fairies come and go to know what fate awaited her.
Someday, her fans would get bored, and Cinder wouldn't even be worth the cost of fairy feed anymore, and the only worth she would have left would be to provide them with a dreadful spectacle of a death.
Tucking herself into a corner of her case, Cinder gave herself the only assurance she could - that prolonging her own life saved another fairy from having to take her place.
With her only bargaining chip gone, that was all she had to hold onto.
I think I have reached new heights of obsession, which is, apparently, defined by writing long, metatextual notes about my own character? (Something I previously only did with others’ works.)
Content Warnings: superhero whumpee, female whumpee, team whump, negotiations, implied assault and abuse, stream of consciousness, superhero worldbuilding
Author's Notes: Stonebroker POV!
The Ridley Street Heroic Association was not, generally, a money-making endeavor for its employees. Working there could pay the bills - generally, if they led fairly frugal existences - but with the limited amount of heroes they employed, they were all constantly on-call and often involved in more intensive casework than the kind of “punch-clock” heroes they often derided.
As a result, these heroes often lacked time in their personal lives for the kinds of activities that could earn other heroes additional income - private security side gigs, brand deals, public appearances, that sort of thing. They also often lacked time to have, well, personal lives, period.
Through the combination of these factors, it was incredibly uncommon for Ridley Street heroes to ever take on wards and sidekicks. Having a sidekick was something that, in order to be done well, took both an immense amount of time out of a hero's schedule for years ongoing and was often costly in order to help cover their ward's costuming and equipment.
While there were many Ridley Street heroes that could have made for excellent mentors, and, in fact, would have enjoyed imparting wisdom on how to perform as a hero with principles and a strong moral compass, it simply wasn't in the cards for them - not with existing demands on their own time and money.
Which was why it had stunned everyone in their office, and perhaps none moreso than the hero Stonebroker, when one day, with no great to-do, Red Sand had stomped into their office, trailed by a 14 year-old girl.
Wearing screen-printed galaxy leggings and a purple cloth mask that looked as though it had been had cut from a pillowcase, this wide-eyed girl had been a strange combination of already appearing to know all the heroes in the office and yet still wanting to both interview and introduce herself to all of them, and it had only been Red's snapping command that had gotten the little hurricane to calm down even a little.
"Watch her for a minute, Stony," Red had definitely more told Stonebroker than asked as she grabbed the girl and sat her down in a spare office chair beside his desk. "I gotta go talk to the captain about this."
She swept off, ignoring the teen's attempts to call after her and ask if she could come too. There had been a pout of disappointment on her face for only a fraction of a second, but then, she was spinning around in her chair, turning all her brilliant attention onto Stonebroker and peppering him with every question that appeared to pop in her head.
And Stonebroker, for all that he was a private and reserved person, couldn't help but feel a crack forming in his exterior from the immediate impulse of wanting to share all he could with this young hero in the making.
*****
Despite her initial resistance to the idea, Red Sand most certainly became the mentor Grav Girl - eventually, Nebulous - deserved. Somehow, she managed to take her on the kinds of dangerous missions and patrols she was used to while keeping her (relatively) safe, on top of getting her to continue with regular schooling, and seeing she reached adulthood as a surprisingly well-adjusted individual.
It was clear to everyone that Red adored the girl and would do anything within her power to see her grow up with her optimism and innocence intact - but she was also not the only one at Ridley Street who felt that way.
Having someone as young and bright-eyed as Nebby around seemed to energize all of their heroes, and even the most hardened among them were happy to pitch in with her, taking her on their own missions, walking her through their casefiles, and imparting in her the wisdom that had helped to make them the heroes they were.
Perhaps, Stonebroker had often reflected as he watched Nebulous grow into the shining star she was, that communal responsibility they had taken on for her was why Red had been able to mentor her so well.
No one person on Ridley Street had enough to give to be able to raise a young hero on their own. However, when everyone could at least give a little, then even a bunch of hard-shelled curmudgeons like them could successfully give shape to a brilliant, young hero like Nebulous.
Just a little pridefully, Stonebroker had mentally apportioned more than an even share of Nebby's growth to his own involvement as well.
After all, as Red's closest friend at the association, it was him she had called on most frequently to look after Nebby, especially in her rough patches with Falconess, making him almost like an uncle to her.
It was him who had brought in snacks and sack lunches for the kid when he knew she'd be going on stakeouts, in an attempt to teach her a hero couldn't survive on beef snacks and fruit chews alone.
It was even him who had sat down with Nebby in the wake of that first incident with Silver Silt and talked her through what she'd experienced, when Red hadn't had the bandwidth to go any deeper than 'It wasn't your fault.'
Red Sand may have been her mentor on paper, but Stonebroker was part of the village that raised her. Even if he didn't show it half much as Red, or that Octave or Prince, he cared. He worried. He wanted Nebby safely brought home as much as everyone else - and he saw to this in the way he handled every other aspect of his heroic career.
While each successive failure to rescue Nebby saw the rest of the team more fractured and scattered, Stonebroker would always simply pick himself up the next day and start pounding pavement, head down, an ear out for trouble. Slow and steady, no matter how long it took, he was never a man who expected any easy solution for anything worth doing - but he would not turn his nose up when one presented itself either.
Which was why, two weeks after their latest failed rescue, when Stonebroker arrived at RSHA headquarters and found an envelope on his desk containing only a location he should go to alone if he wanted to discuss the future of Nebulous, he didn't question it. He just grabbed his overcoat and was right back out the door.
*****
Unlike the warehouse district at the docks, Marlon's was the kind of place someone would go to if they actually wanted to be discreet, rather than have a meeting with the mere trappings of being clandestine. This small, shabby bar sat on the outskirts of southern Newton, in the midst of a rundown neighborhood that was nearly suburban in its size and design.
It was the kind of place no self-respecting villain or hero would want to be associated with - and that likely made it perfect for what he had been called there for. The fact that Stonebroker had never stepped foot in Marlon's but still knew its shape as soon as he stepped through the paint-flecked front door spoke to that anonymity the situation demanded.
From the beer-sticky floors, to the lingering cigarette stink despite a 20-year ban on smoking in public businesses, to the thin crowd of regulars peppering the tables who clearly had nowhere they would rather be on a Wednesday afternoon, Marlon's could have been any of a hundred identical bars in the area. Even Stonebroker's bulk and metahuman stone protrusions barely caught the attention of any of the downcast eyes present as he headed towards the bar.
However, even in a place with such implicit discretion as this, he still had to coach himself into being a bit louder with his steps than he normally was. A man as big as himself who was silent, he had found, ironically drew a lot more attention than one who made himself obvious.
It was tricks like that, from having spent 20 years as the RSHA's man on the street, that told him, even without written instruction, that all he would need to do was get a seat at the bar, order himself a beer, and keep his eyes down like the rest of its patrons.
Sure enough, he had been there nursing the bottom shelf, bottled swill for no more than 10 minutes before he heard the sound of the metal door creaking open once again. Stonebroker gave no more than a cursory glance over his shoulder at the sound, but the glance gave him no more information than he already could have guessed.
A muscular figure - taller than himself, though not quite as broad - stalked through the bar, his leathers and booted feet similarly making more sound than necessary as he walked. The only difference in their approaches was that this new figure first made a pitstop at the dim neon jukebox at the far end of the bar, feeding the poor thing a few quarters and setting it to play something with plenty of mournful twang.
Only then, after providing that cover for a quiet conversation, did the man follow Stonebroker's trail, landing two seats down from him at the bar and ordering himself a drink.
At any other bar in Newton proper, the sight of Ridley Street hero Stonebroker and the infamous villain-for-hire Dog Star would have been a sure sign of a fight to come.
But at Marlon's, it was just another anonymous Wednesday afternoon.
"I take it your employer wants to offer us another deal."
The words came out of Stonebroker's mouth in a low rumble, directed as much at his beer bottle as they were to the man to his right, but Dog Star heard them all the same.
"You'd be right," Dog Star said.
He moved to take a swig of his own beer, but when he set it back down, Stonebroker couldn't help but notice the level in the bottle had not changed. For not the first time in his life, he found himself wondering what kept professionals like Dog Star - and, if he was being honest, like Red - surviving without even trusting the few creature comforts their lives should have afforded them.
"What's changed?" Stonebroker asked. "If you don't mind me pointing out the obvious, your side's been secure in their holdings this whole game, so why bring us to the table now?"
"Not my place to say."
Dog Star's curt response at last earned him a more direct look from Stonebroker and just the smallest twinge of annoyance.
"I'll need more than that to take back to the team," he grumbled. "Especially after your less than genuine previous offer."
The villain offered him the slightest shrug. "I came to you with a disingenuous offer, you came back for a disingenuous trade," he said. "Occurs to me it's not my fault if you were the ones unprepared for that night."
There was an annoying degree of truth in Dog Star's words, and Stonebroker certainly wasn't going to bite back about the fairness of Davis Davies's underworld - so perhaps it was the comfort of his victory in that exchange that led the man to carry on.
"However, if I were to guess," Dog Star said. Another fake swig of his beer. "I'm here because my employer already has nearly everything he set out to achieve. Crime and major acts of villainy are at a 20-year high. Riding on that wave, he's made alliances with some of the biggest names in Newton. And, most importantly, he's destroyed that little gnat, and given everyone from here to the northside know just how satisfying that is."
Stonebroker had to hold back a rare flare of fury from showing in his face at Dog Star's last words, knowing full-well what the man was implying.
He'd seen the photos too.
He knew what had been done to the kid who used to sit at his desk and ask if he was going to eat the pickle with his sandwich.
"Then I take it your employer, in his infinite generosity, intends to simply let her go free?" Stonebroker asked, his words more than his tone conveying his sarcasm.
That, at last, earned the smallest show of emotion from his counterpart - the slightest tug at the corner of his grizzled mouth. "Not quite," he said, then began to reach into some inner pocket of his leather vest.
Without flinching, Stonebroker watched him pull out an envelope and set it down on the bar between them. He had just begun to reach for it before another sentence slipped out of the villain's mouth that made him freeze.
"He wants you to break Robert Redgrave out of prison."
Stonebroker stared at him, his hand hovering over the envelope he had expected to contain the terms of this deal. It was almost - almost - enough to make him appreciate Dog Star's style. To have it said outright - and to have that be the terms - had managed to throw him in a way few people could.
And because it had been so blunt, there was no point in dancing around it. No 'He can't be serious' would remedy this situation. The act that was being asked of them, to help the most public face of crime and villainy in Newton City escape imprisonment and any semblance of justice, was not only something that could destroy the lives and careers of all heroes involved while eroding trust in heroes as in institution, it -
It would spit in the face of Nebby's last great act as a hero.
Davies had to know that. He had to understand exactly what such an act would cost them.
But he also had to know that he held every card now, and the heroes had nothing to bargain with but what he asked of them.
So, instead of questioning the legitimacy of any of that, Stonebroker simply asked, "Why?"
Another fake sip. By that point, it was so obvious, Stonebroker almost thought he was doing it just to annoy him.
"Still not my place to say," Dog Star said. "Although, I might speculate that...my employer is a man who strongly believes there is an order to things. An order to villains, and to heroes, and to the rules that govern them and keep things in balance. If I was to guess, I would say that this is his way of righting a wrong, and finally setting our world back into that balance."
Another shrug, the smugness of his position implicit.
"But I'm just the messenger," Dog Star finished. "What do I know?"
Crk.
Stonebroker heard the slightest crack in the glass of the beer bottle still in his left hand - not enough to shatter it, but enough to threaten the shattering of their increasingly uneasy peace.
"You don't get to act like a neutral party in all this," he growled at the villain for hire. "You know what he's done to her. What he's doing to her still. You're selling your soul to help him torture the kid who should be leading her generation. How does that create balance?"
Dog Star's scarred chest rose and fell with a heavy breath at the accusation. It was impossible for Stonebroker to tell if it was in an act of actual self-reflection...or mere annoyance with the situation.
"Those ideas of heroes...villains...balance," he said. "Those belong to my current employer - just like my morals. I'd sell my soul to damn that girl if the devil is the highest bidder. The only question now..."
And at that, he turned and at last gave Stonebroker a significant glance, if only because it was the only one he would deign to give the hero.
(Also, sorry for the long delay on this one - the chapter wasn't really grabbing me, and my brain has not been holding onto creative impulses this past month, but it's here now!)
Lou blinked in the bright, white light of the laboratory as she tried to remember how long it had been since she’d been there last. It was hard enough, even without the buzzing fluorescents above her, harsh and disorienting after…
After…
How long now?
Lou hadn’t seen sunlight since the day she had been dragged into the hall for the science fair. Everything she had been conscious for afterwards had been in her dungeon, and without any sign of night or day, even her most rudimentary method of timekeeping - the Cats - had begun to fail her.
She couldn’t count the days by when she slept. That was nearly every hour she was left alone.
She couldn’t count them by when she ate. She had no idea how frequently her meals were brought.
The closest thing Lou had left to give her any clue as to how much time she was losing was…her.
Silver Silt.
The villain had come to visit her another five times since the day she was branded. Lou could only guess she was coming to see her once a day now, so every time she left, she would drag her exhausted body over to the edge of her mattress and add another Cat.
Or…or, at least she tried to. At least one day, Silver Silt had left her too tired for even that, and she had just laid where she was left, curling around the cat plushie as she had quickly gotten in the habit of doing.
And sometimes she wondered if it even mattered. Whether she actually remembered drawing anything or not, there always seemed to be more Cats in the notebook. Lou wasn’t sure they were even coming from her anymore.
So did it even matter when -
"Alright, sweetie pie, let's get started with the new experiment!"
Lou barely even flinched as the Doc's voice once again blared in over the loudspeaker to the lab. If she raised her eyes, she could just see the top of the woman's head and her bulging eyes over the line of monitors and controls beyond the windows separating them - but, as always, it was what was in the lab with her that should've been more concerning.
For the moment, the only thing that was present was...a ball. It was slightly smaller than a basketball and appeared to be made of a dark, matte metal.
It seemed so innocuous.
But the way things seemed didn't matter.
Memories of the last time she had been in this place already had Lou's heart racing, her fingers twitching with a trained desperation for any action that would protect her from the pain. She could only wait to jump on whatever it was the Doc would ask of her today.
"Today, we're going to be running more experiments to see how well those suppressants of yours are working," her voice continued on jovially. "Of course, we'll be catching up with sample collection after this - I bet you've got a lovely bit of spinal fluid waiting for me by now - but I thought we should do something a bit more involved first. How does that sound?"
Lou tried to swallow against her dry throat and pulled her knees closer to her chest. It sounded horrible. Of course it did. But she could say - she could do nothing to stop it. Just comply to try to make it end faster. Let the doctor do what she wanted with her body and escape back to sleep.
"Wonderful! Let's get started then. Today, I would like you to try to use your power on that sphere in front of you."
That made Lou blink in confusion.
She...what?
There were a few moments of silence, filled only with the background hum of the lab, before the Doc's voice crackled back over the loudspeaker.
"Sorry sweetie, you must not have heard me. Try to use your powers on the sphere, please."
The sharpness in her voice at the end sent a pulse of panic through Lou. The Doc was so saccharine in nearly everything she said, despite the implied threat already behind them. To hear an actual note of threat in her was - was -
To show that she was at least trying, Lou threw out her right hand, just as she must have done thousands of times over her career. Despite more than a month of being deprived of her power, and despite how much her hand shook as she did it, she still found her way back to that familiar form - palm down, fingers splayed, all of her focus aimed towards that sphere to...
But again, to what? The Doc had to know Lou couldn't access her powers. It wasn't as though that had changed by now, unless...
Unless...
Her heart skipped as the mere possibility pierced the haze that had begun to permanently surround her brain. Maybe the Doc was testing for a reason - a real reason. A real uncertainty that even her suffocating drug couldn’t last forever.
If that was the case -
If there was even the slightest chance -
In that moment, Lou focused all the energy and willpower and hope she could, trying to draw from that well she had once freely drawn on every day of her life. She sent every ounce of strength she could down the length of her arm, and tried to will the sphere to escape the gravity that kept it pinned down, because if she could, then -
…
Nothing happened.
Lou stared straight ahead of her, confused by the sheer amount of nothing.
Because…no, there should have been something, right? Why else would she be here today?
Again, she tried. Holding her arm out, then using her other hand to support it as she began to shake from the effort. Clenching her eyes shut, trying as hard as she could to form the haziness in her brain into any point of focus, because -
This couldn’t be nothing.
This - this should have been the turning point.
When everything was darkest, that was when heroes were supposed to triumph, and if she couldn’t even do something now, then when? When?
Spots began to dance behind Lou’s eyelids and a moment later, she found herself collapsing forward, her head spinning out of control. She gasped for breath, only just realizing she hadn’t been breathing amidst her attempts to focus. Shaking, she raised her head to see if anything had come from her efforts, but Lou already knew what awaited her.
She had come nowhere close to touching her own well of power. The sphere remained exactly where it had started.
Her chest heavy with a defeat she hadn’t felt so freshly since her first day of captivity, Lou lowered her forehead to press it against the cold tile floor and tears stung at her eyes.
If not now -
If not now -
“Ohhh, bad luck sweetie, but very good job trying! I can tell you really wanted to give me your all there.”
The condescension that crackled in the Doc's voice was even more unbearable given that she had tried - but just as painful was the fact that she was relieved to hear it. The Doc wasn't nearly as likely to hurt her when she was sounded condescending. It was much more dangerous when she was disappointed.
"But don't you worry - we've got a few more tests lined up today to help figure things out. And you won't have to do a thing."
The next few minutes were a terrifying buzz of mechanical and human action. The lab's doors whirring open. The pair of goons that had brought her there dragging her back onto her feet. Their hands gripping her arms and shoulders in an all too familiar crush. And then, another machine - a new one Lou had never seen before - rising up through an opening in the floor at the back of the room.
The machine had a shiny, metallic exterior ring, and with the shape it was in, Lou's first thought was that it was some kind of portal - maybe something the Doc wanted to push her through to see how it affected her. It was only when four metallic buds pushed out of the inside of the ring - two up top, and two at the bottom - that she began to realize the Doc didn't want her going anywhere.
In short order, Lou found herself further manhandled as her hands and feet were locked into inner points of the ring. Even though she was allowed to keep her disposable hospital gown for whatever was coming next, she still felt deeply exposed to be left in a position that was all too much like being cuffed spreadeagle on the bed.
Unable to close her legs in the X-shape she had been forced into, she felt a twinge of phantom pain in the still-shiny brand on her thigh, her body clearly remembering what this shape could be used for as well.
The fact that, instead of leaving the lab as they always had for the Doc's experiments, the pair of goons remained to leer at her, also did nothing to quell the hammering of her terrified heart.
"Alright sweetie, time for phase two," the Doc's voice chimed in a few seconds after Lou had been settled into her new position. "We're just going to see if some external stimuli might be able to help unlock those snoozy little powers of yours. Mr. Massey, if you will?"
Massey, apparently the goon waiting on Lou's left, had slick blond hair, broad shoulders, and an even broader grin on his face as he was given the go-ahead to carry out the Doc's experiment. Lou felt herself tense in anticipation of whatever that could be as he took a few decisive steps towards her, having grown to expect all manner of cruelties from her captors -
- and yet still found herself shocked when the punishment he delivered was no more complex than delivering a right hook to her face.
So shocked, in fact, that she hadn't even begun to process the pain of the blow before another one followed, hitting the same spot as the first - and finally letting the pain barrel into her like a freight train.
Lou could still barely even process as the punches began to rain on her. As Massey beat her face, she felt her chest and throat swell with heat, and she struggled to breathe through the shock. As he switched to pummeling her stomach, her eyes - including the swelling left one - began to spill tears and she wailed, her reaction no different from that of a child shocked to knock their head against a hard surface.
Her limbs twitched instinctively but just as uselessly in an attempted bid for freedom. She howled and babbled without the proper words to be able to beg for mercy and an end - humiliatingly, she knew, from the way the goons cackled at her.
"Y'know, I always got told I'd get to punch a superhero someday if I got into this line of work," Massey joked to his co-worker between heavy breaths. "Just never thought it'd be as easy as shooting fish in a barrel."
He punctuated his last word with another vicious jab into Lou’s ribs - and she heard the crack, just as much as she felt it.
“Alright gentlemen, that will be enough now, thank you!”
There was no part of Lou left to see the looks of disappointment on the goons' faces as they at last took a step back. As they began to tend to their knuckles, she was too busy trying to force herself to breathe as her body shuddered, beginning to fully realize the pain that had been laid into it.
Everything - everything - hurt. Everything felt inflamed as she began to bruise, her left eye rapidly swelling shut. Every breath ached, pushing against the uneasy cage of her broken rib. She thought she tasted something coppery in her mouth.
Still, there was so much more to come.
"Well, I suppose I suspected that would happen," the Doc's voice chimed in over the blood pounding in Lou's ears. "Or, rather, wouldn't. After all, if self-defense could've triggered your powers this easily, you wouldn't have been with us nearly so long. But, it still seemed prudent to check, sweetie, given this next method seems to take a bit more of a toll on you."
There was another small, mechanical whir somewhere above Lou's head - one that she only noticed as she felt the prick of a needle jabbing into each of her bound hands. The two goons again escaped her notice - she hadn't even seen them as they slipped out of the lab doors.
"Just remember, sweetie - you can make this stop aaaaany time you feel like moving that sphere."
And then - the acid flooded into her veins.
A searing, blinding sensation filled Lou. She felt as if, vein by vein, her body was preparing to tear itself open, spilling magma out - and yet, there was nothing that had changed but what she felt inside. Every painful terror was locked away inside her, while the rest of the world carried on unbothered.
Just as much as the pain, she felt fear, pursued by memories of the last time she had known this chemical touch. In the tub, at the conference - her head being forced beneath the damning acidic substance, burning breath filling her lungs, her pain being answered by no one as her cruel observers did nothing but watch and take notes.
And it was happening again, and again, and again and again and again and again, again, again, again -
And when would it ever stop?
If not now -
Lou screamed - and the world disappeared around her.
*****
In the aftermath of her latest experiment, Doctor Lyndon could hardly have been happier.
Her adaptation of the non-corrosive acid into an injectable serum seemed to have been tremendously successful. In the scans she performed on Nebulous afterwards, there was, of course, some muscular tearing from her body's instinctual efforts to escape, as well as some additional damage to her lungs and liver, but she could chalk those up to part of the process.
It wasn't as though the girl's organs had been in pristine shape anyway after weeks of her intensive drug regime, so it would be perfectly fine to administer the acid periodically, so long as she was given sufficient periods of rest in between. At the very least, it wouldn't kill her outright, and so long as Lyndon kept her alive, she and Davis wouldn't have any problems.
The power-channeling machinery seemed to be working quite well now too. Given how the girl's latest explosive burst had blown out all the windows and walls on her experiment chamber, there was clearly still some fine-tuning to be done to keep her better contained in the future.
However, she had also successfully channeled some of that gravity power into nearly flattening a sphere of one of the densest metals Lyndon could get her hands on, which was very promising for Davis had in mind for her.
And, as for the girl herself...
From her position behind the computer console, as broken glass was swept away around her, Lyndon watched as the gentlemen Massey and Coop peeled Nebulous out of the machine. As soon as the mechanical cuffs released her, she slumped forward, bruised and limp, like a piece of fruit left to over-ripen on the vine, nearly beyond the point of recognition.
Until moments ago, when Lyndon had at last administered the serum to neutralize the acid, the girl had remained tense and screaming as her power flowed out of her through the machine. Now, there wasn't a speck of movement left in her as Massey gathered her in his arms. In fact, if it wasn't for the monitor in her collar reporting all her vitals back to the doctor's computers, she might've even thought the girl to be dead.
But of course, Lyndon wasn't that careless. After she collected her samples and her latest data points, Davis's goons would dump the girl back in her cage and do whatever it was they did with her on their schedule. She would get time to recover - time enough, at least, for Lyndon to make adjustments on her machines, and then, they'd be right back here for another round of experiments.
Whether Nebulous herself was in perfect working order when she next arrived at the lab was inconsequential. Sooner rather than later, the doctor would have her machine tuned to perfection, and all that mattered was that her little battery had enough of a charge to make it work.
