The protagonist gained consciousness on a bed. A very soft, luxurious bed that felt like heaven - until common sense kicked in at any rate. Common sense hurt almost as much as the protagonist’s ribs.
“Easy there, gorgeous.” The antagonist’s voice drifted from across the suite, followed by the sound of...a record player. Was that a record player?
The protagonist squinted against the bright light, struggling to adjust, before the rest of the room came into focus. It was better described as a suite, dominated by the large bed that the protagonist was laying on. Nope. Restrained to. They were restrained to the bed, how joyous!
“Relax,” the antagonist said. “I’m not going to do anything to you. You’re on the bed because you need to rest and recover from your wounds, and beds are typically more conducive to rest than a chair.”
“And I’m tied to your bed because?”
“Because you’re an international highly trained spy and I don’t trust you?” The antagonist appeared by the bed’s left side, eyebrow raised.
That may have been a fair point. Still.
“That doesn’t answer the question of why I’m tied to your bed in particular,” the protagonist said. “I could have rested somewhere other than your quarters. There must be more suitable places for prisoners you do not trust.”
The guards had continued to interrogate the spy with all of the antagonist’s advice, and when staying conscious enough to answer questions was no longer so viable an option, they’d dumped the protagonist in the antagonist’s quarters as requested. No doubt thinking that the antagonist had some cruel amusement planned. Fast forward, click play, and there they were.
“No,” the antagonist mused. “I suppose it doesn’t.” They skated their fingertips idly up along the protagonist’s abs. “How are you feeling?”
“You know how I’m feeling. You told them what to do.”
The protagonist was hurt in just enough ways for the pain to be maximised, and the lasting damaged minimised. Much easier to keep someone alive that way. Much easier to keep asking them questions. Part of the protagonist was still stupidly grateful that all of their current injuries would heal with time - they’d heard of other operatives who were not so lucky.
“I can make guesses,” the doctor said, “based on my understanding of the human body. But we are all individuals. You seem to be coherent enough to carry on a conversation, I suppose, but then we’re back to the fact that you’re a trained spy. Your pain tolerance is likely higher than most people’s. All this to say, really, do you require any medication to manage your pain?”
“Would you give it to me if I did?”
“Depends how much pain you’re in.”
“You have an unusual bedside manner. Don’t tell me you had me bought here to give me pain medication.”
The antagonist considered them for a moment longer, a thoughtful expression on their face, before they sat down on the edge on the bed. “You are here,” the antagonist said, “because this is one of the few places on the base without security cameras or bugs to record our conversation. One of the privileges of being me.”
“And your employers are cool with this?”
“They appreciate that our working relationship goes better when they do not give me sufficient reason to fight them. Besides, I have manufactured a reputation over the last years should I need it for cases such as these.”
“A reputation?” The protagonist’s mind jolted back to the guards’ ugly, jeering laughter. Their eyes met the antagonist’s.
The antagonist shrugged, speaking lightly. “I find when I am sufficiently cruel to those I care nothing for, I have far more lenience to offer some semblance of mercy to those I can be bothered to invest in.”
It made a twisted, ruthlessly pragmatic sort of sense. The antagonist played the role of monster exceptionally well - indeed, they undoubtedly were one in some capacity. But not exactly the kind that the people around them looked for. Get enough people to believe you are capable of the worst torments, and they’ll start expecting it so much that they no longer feel the need to observe the actual evidence so closely. Once you know something is a monster, who needs to keep trying to prove it?
“And you want to offer me mercy.”
“You offered me my life, is that so surprising?”
The protagonist’s mouth dried to hear it so simply put. They weren’t sure if ‘hesitation’ counted as sparing someone, but maybe in their game sometimes it did. Either way, they weren’t going to spit in the face of the closest, if most warped, thing they had to an ally.
“Don’t suppose your mercy extends to helping me escape?”
“My mercy,” the antagonist said. “Extends to ensuring that you don’t. I did tell you that you wouldn’t get very far, didn’t I?”
“Why?” the spy asked. “What kind of security do they have?”
The antagonist laughed softly.
“Nice try.”
A weak, tired smile curved the protagonist’s lip.
“Nice catch.”
The silence stretched between them for a moment.
“You don’t want to be free?” the protagonist asked, and maybe it was the pain to make them question so bluntly. “Your employers make you do terrible things.”
“You’re not a terrible person.”
The antagonist smiled, but it didn’t reach their eyes. “How far can you truly hope to separate terrible people from the terrible things they do?”
“Far enough for my job to exist. Far enough that you are offering me mercy.”
The antagonist laughed again. Their hand shifted up, carding soothingly through the protagonist’s hair. “This isn’t altruism,” they said. “This is making the most of someone who understands before my bosses decide you’re better off dead.”
“You’ll let them kill me?”
“Perhaps you want me to ask them if they’ll let me keep you as a pet? You are pretty.”
“No - I mean - that’s -” Would that be worse than death? It would give them an opportunity to escape, perhaps, give them time.
The antagonist’s grip tightened in their hair hard enough to hurt, yanking the spy’s head back into an awkward angle.
The spy’s gaze snapped them to them once more.
“You’re not dragging me into your schemes, so don’t even think about it.” The antagonist said, calm and deadly. “You’re pretty, but not pretty enough to die for. Got it?”
“As I said, terrible person. Terrible things.” The antagonist loosened their grip again. They patted the protagonist’s cheek gently and rose to their feet once more. “I’ll get you some water. You should drink something, make sure you have enough fluids. Food if you can stomach it. Then, get some rest. I’m sure they’ll have lots more questions for you in the morning.”
“Don’t think I missed you avoiding the question and distracting me with intimidation tactics,” the spy called, after their back. “That means yes. You want to be free.”
The antagonist turned the music up higher, pointedly, and started to hum.
The spy...took the tiny win, the confirmation, and took the opportunity to rest. They would need everything they had to make it out of this mess.
