#captive hero

How long had Omen left him here? He was parched, he realised as he swallowed. His saliva like sand as he glanced around the room as far as he could see. His head pounded when he tried to look out his periphery, a flash of intense, glaring light ignited in his brain when he did. He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut and hung boneless.

His power buzzed through his veins, humming under his skin, mocking him. It was cruel. It would have been kinder if Omen had just put him in power dampeners. At least then he could pretend he couldn’t do anything to save himself. As it was, his power was there; he could use it. But, if he wanted to stay awake and alert, he couldn’t. He didn’t exactly enjoy frying himself with his own electricity, but what could he do against the villain that destroyed Noble? He wasn’t even a proper Hero yet, he hadn’t debuted officially… not that he minded, but if Omen could take down the Superhero of the city what hope did Kit have against him?

Kit shook his head. No.

No.

He refused to be so easily defeated. He wasn’t going to help Omen by destroying his hope. He’d get out of here. He would! He’d get away from Omen… somehow. Pins and needles erupted in his legs, and he grimaced as he began to shake them out. He gasped, grasping pathetically at the cuffs as he almost slipped again but caught himself in time. He glared down at the basin of water. He’d start with that; he couldn’t do anything about the cuffs right now.

At least he had a moment of peace from the villain. His feet were fully submerged in the clear water up to his ankles. It was just a normal looking basin. He should be able to kick it over. He glanced up, trying to get a grip of the chains but he couldn’t reach them. Fuck. Fine. He lifted a leg and kicked the edge of the basin, but it didn’t budge. He tried again. All it did was splash some water out. Kit frowned, leaned forward to get a better look then winced as his arms groaned in the chains.

“Ugh, FUCK!”

The edges of the basin were bolted down into the ground, or, no, not the ground, some other heavy thing, like a wooden platform.

Fine. The water wasn’t going anywhere but that doesn’t mean Kit had to stay in it.

Carefully he lifted a foot and set his sole on the edge of the basin and tested putting weight on it. It slipped down the edges into the water with a weak thunk.

Alright. New plan.

Kit lifted his other foot and ran it down his rolled-up trousers, drying it off slightly before trying again. He loosed a breath as he got his foot up on the ledge and nearly cried in relief as the weight in his arms lessened.

Okay. Okay. Now the other foot.

He could do this, Kit nodded to himself, bracing his shoulders as he held his weight on his arms above his head and lifted the other foot out of the water, drying it on his trousers again. The moment he got his second foot on the side of the basin, balancing on his opposite ankle, he almost sank with the relief in his arms. The pressure alleviated, he felt as light as a feather, as free as a bird… in a cage, but still.

Kit remained as still as he could, basking in his brief respite.  

Oh god that feels so good. He just needed to enjoy it right now. He was okay. This he could deal with. Kit closed his eyes and took a couple easy deep breaths. Slowly in through the nose, long and deep, expanding his chest and filling his lungs with sweet, stress-free air.

Holding it there for a moment.

Then a drawn-out exhale until his entire body deflated like a balloon.

And again.

And again.

He repeated this for another while before he felt a little better, his head a little lighter, his shoulders less stiff. His head cleared enough so he could finally take stock of his situation properly. He glanced up at his wrists to see exactly how they were strung above his head. The metal cuffs were padlocked to a chain that ran up to a hook in the ceiling. The hook curved in and around and it was far too high for Kit to even think about trying to get the chain free.

Which meant for the moment his arms were stuck above his head. Okay. That’s okay… that’s fine. A sudden hot flare of panic reared its mighty head in his gut, but he pushed it back down. He was trapped. There was nothing he could do. Panicking right now wouldn’t help him. He just needed to pause and breathe… panic only benefits the enemy, that was one of Noble’s lessons. One of the lessons Kit learned on the streets as well.

Kit looked down to his feet again. He risked stepping a foot down onto the platform the basin was attached to, but it stretched his arms awkwardly, the cuffs too far up so he stood on the side of the basin again and let out a quiet whine.

“I like that sound,” Omen purred behind him. Kit flinched but thankfully his balance kept him up on the side of the basin, arms relaxing slightly above him, still numb. “Make it for me again.”

“Let me go,” Kit snapped instead, his voice coming out tired and raspy, the words scraping against his throat.

“Hmm,” is all Omen replied. The sound of his shoes clacking against the concrete was the only thing Kit focused on. The villain’s smooth, confident footsteps. How Omen grew closer and closer, winding Kit’s nerves tighter and tighter until the footsteps stopped behind him.

Kit’s breath hitched.

A hand bunched into the back of his shirt and Kit could barely let out a cry of protest before he was yanked backwards, his feet splashing into the water. His scream turned into a breathless curse as the fall yanked at his wrists, the fire in his shoulders re-ignited with a vengeance as if his arms were being ripped from his body.

“That sound was even better,” Omen said, a smile in his voice as he walked around to face Kit, so he could witness Omen in all his horrifying glory.

The villain’s face looked paler in the dim lighting, as if he were never touched by sunlight. His raven hair was half tied back so strands didn’t fall around his face, exposing all the sharp edges of Omen, his cheek bones, his jaw, the razor-sharp curve of his smile. He wore a black button up shirt today, the top button undone, no tie or suit jacket. He reached a pale hand up to Kit’s cheek. Kit flinched away, water sloshing, cursing himself silently for his fear. Omen dropped his hand for now, slipping it easily into his trouser pocket.

“Ever heard of personal space?” Kit snapped. Omen smiled. He just kept smiling and Kit wanted so badly to just rip it from his face. Just once, to see it slip, but that would leave Kit in a worse off predicament.

“I know about personal space. I’m just not a fan of it with you. You know, it’s hard for me— this,” Omen said, gesturing between the two of them. His bottomless black eyes grinning. “Not using my powers on somebody, not knowing their every thought. It’s strange. Quaint. How do you live like this?”

Kit scoffed and looked away. “Right. So, when you can’t invade somebody’s brain against their consent, you’ll just invade their personal space instead?”

“It’s not that I can’t invade your mind, Atlas, it’s that I won’t. An important distinction to remember.”

Kit screwed his lips up. “Fuck you. You’re fucking weird. I want to feel your fear,” Kit mocked, mimicking Omen’s posh accent, though the effect was diminished through the voice changer. “Don’t you have your own fucking emotions, prick? I’m Omen and I am socially inept, so I need to read people’s thoughts, but not yours Atlas. No, I just want you to know I can because I am a big stupid bitch.”

Omen laughed at Kit’s outburst which just made his irritation grow. “You put it very succinctly. There’s something so… different about other people’s fear, Atlas, but yours? Hell, it’s like a drug… like an adrenaline rush if you will, because you’re just absolutely terrified, aren’t you? I just need to know, need to see your fear you’re so desperately trying to hide from me. Need to feel it, do you know what I mean?”

“No, sorry,” Kit said. Omen raised a suspicious brow at Kit’s seemingly empathetic tone. “I’m not a sociopath so I recognise normal human emotion without having to be weird about it.”

Omen shrugged, unbothered. He began unbuttoning the cuff of his shirt and rolling up his sleeves slowly, black eyes focused on Kit’s the whole time.

“I imagine it’s not unlike your weirdness, Kit,” Omen said, his voice flowing like mercury, charming and smooth. Kit understood the term silver tongue when Omen spoke. It’s like you wanted to hear everything he said, hang onto every word. Even without Omen using his power on Kit, his voice still affected him to some extent.

“Us heroes and villains, we’re all where we are today because we didn’t fit into the normal life. We didn’t get powers to squander them and sit in an office all day drinking coffee with normal humans. We’re all weird, even you and your sensitivity to electricity,” Omen said, unbuttoning his second cuff and starting on his other sleeve. He levelled Kit with his black eyes. “My guess is you can feel the electric currents in the environment around you. Am I right? In the air, in the water, in our bodies?”

Kit didn’t say anything. “Static electricity doesn’t affect you? No?”

Kit must have given something away because Omen smiled.

“Hah, you’re lucky. It can be a real bitch, but I respect you want to keep your power private. My point is, that normal people are affected by static electricity, and you have a resistance to it. That little spark show you exhibited yesterday told me you don’t have full immunity, but a normal person would be dead if they had that much electricity coursing through their body.”

“What’s your point?” Kit snapped, tired with Omen’s villain monologue. He stepped up to Kit, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and yanked him down with one hand, while the other went to Kit’s cuff enclosed hands and tightened the metal until it bit deeper into his skin. Kit cried out as Omen put more pressure on his arms, cursing.

“What did I say about being nice to me? Didn’t I say I could make things uncomfortable for you?”

Kit’s screams faded into loud groans of pain as he bit down on his tongue, but Omen pulled him down harder and Kit couldn’t bear the strain as he cried out.

He reacted on instinct.

He hadn’t meant to do it.

It just happened.

The strain on his arms, it felt like he was going to pop, and Kit just needed Omen to let go of him, to just stop—

His legs shot up. His foot planting squarely on Omen’s chest and knocked him back a couple steps. Omen’s dark eyes blew wide, and he finally released Kit. Kit’s foot landed on the edge of the basin giving Kit some relief from the strain on his arms.

Nothing moved between them.

Not even a breath.

Kit was too scared to dare breathe, to blink, to do anything other than stare at Omen with wide eyes, too stunned to do anything. He wanted to apologise suddenly, which was ridiculous but he just–

Omen’s face cracked. A shocked laughter escaped him, filling the silence of the room. He clapped his hands wordlessly as his melodic laugh filled the air and the dread in Kit’s gut only increased when he should have been reassured.

Omen finally composed himself, and stood up taller than before, delight shining on his face. “You— are just full of surprises, Atlas. Here I thought you were deathly afraid of me, and yet, if I was deathly afraid of somebody… I know I wouldn’t have kicked them of all things.”

“No, no, Omen,” Kit pleaded as Omen advanced. “Please, I didn’t—”

“Oh, but you did, Kit,” Omen said, putting a hand on Kit’s shoulder, shushing him as Kit flinched. “Ssh, Sssh, sweet Atlas, look at me…”

Kit was shaking his head, his eyes closed. “Look at me,” Omen commanded, and Kit opened his eyes, still shaking his head at the villain.

“I’m… I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologising,” Omen told Kit, putting a finger under Kit’s chin, stopping Kit from shaking his head. Kit couldn’t fight the shiver that ran under his skin at how close Omen was. What he could do to Kit… without touching him. He didn’t even need to touch Kit for his power; he could do it from across the room. He just wanted to show Kit that he could do whatever he wanted, and Kit would just have to deal with it. The fear came back with a jolt and Kit fought back tears at the overwhelming helplessness of his situation.

“Omen—”

“Hush. Let me bask in your fear, I haven’t seen it all day. It’s like nicotine, it makes the day a bit better, makes the air you breathe a bit cleaner. You’re practically shaking! Look at you, I have one question for you. Are you paying attention?”

Kit nodded because he couldn’t trust his voice.

“Good,” Omen praised, “very good. Now, tell me why you fear me so much.”

The chains above Kit were shaking, his teeth rattling in his skull. It was a cold fear that washed over him at the question, at what Omen could do to him.

What Omen could do to him…

And Kit was powerless to stop him; he had no chance.

“Omen… please,” Kit sniffed, fighting back tears, but the villain heard his voice crack through his mask. Omen sighed and stepped back, removing his hands from Kit. He clicked his tongue against his teeth and shook his head.

Omen’s grin remained on his face. It remained, but something shifted, something changed, something unknown to the human eye but Kit could feel it, in the knot in his gut, in the dread that fell like a cloak over his shoulders. Omen chuckled, and it sucked all the air from Kit’s lungs.

“You know,” Omen began conversationally as he began to circle Kit, “I was thinking about what you said. How I retired after the fight I had with Noble.”

Kit bristled but at least he could finally breathe now. He hated when the villain said Noble’s name; it felt wrong, like a demon saying God’s name without any retribution. No divine smiting or punishment, like it was inconsequential.

“It’s the only fight you’re recorded to have had.”

Another soft laugh echoed through the bare, concrete room. “Careful, Atlas, you sound like a fan. But you’re right. I only ever fought Noble, so I guess it must have been hard for your little Hero agency to gather a proper profile on me, right?”

Kit rolled his eyes. Fingers in his hair yanked his head back. He cried out, cursing as his feet shot up the side of the basin, scrambling as he tried to pull his head free.

“Have you forgotten your manners already, Atlas?”

“Ngh, get off me!”

Omen clicked his tongue and yanked harder. “You’re like a bold child.”

“Fuck you! FUCK!”

“Go ahead. Curse. Swear. Struggle. It won’t get you anywhere,” Omen told him, his voice droning and anything but bothered while Kit’s scalp was on fire. He struggled to try and keep the weight off his shoulders, but every time he adjusted even a centimetre Omen would pull harder.

It wasn’t until Kit’s back was bent at an unnatural angle, his eyes facing the ceiling and the ligaments in his arms being ripped from the bone that he finally cried out: “SORRY! I’M SORRY! PLEASE!”

Omen released him instantly. Kit sprang back to his standing, gasping as tears streamed down his cheeks. He panted as he tried to catch his breath, his body screaming at him for being so disobedient.

“See? Was that so hard?” Kit whimpered in reply; his chest ached from the strain. His ribs felt like there were in a hydraulic press, squeezed together and flattened as he hung, every breath was just a little bit more difficult, a little more laboured. “Now, I’m guessing you heroes have no profile on me, am I correct?”

“Yes,” Kit answered, his voice barely above a whisper. He could feel the villain’s smirk behind him, but he didn’t want to cause himself any more pain as he stood there so he bit his cheek.

“Good,” Omen hummed, walking back into Kit’s line of sight. Kit didn’t take his eyes off the Villain as he walked towards the wall in front of Kit and leaned against it, hands casually in his pockets. His obsidian eyes flashed with an awful knowing. Kit bit his cheek harder, trying to stop himself from saying anything that would antagonise the bastard. “Telepathy is just one part of my powers, you’ve experienced first hand I can make you do what I want, but I don’t need to be in your head to compel you to obey.”

A molten hand of fear wrapped around his heart and squeezed, burning like cold fire in his chest. “What?” Kit asked, his voice quiet. Omen seemed to like when he spoke and engaged in conversation. Fuck, was he really considering appeasing a villain? His muscles screamed yes, to not agitate Omen more. His body couldn’t take it and he’s only been here for… for… however long. A day? Maybe two? Maybe less? No, Omen changed clothes… and it was night when he was taken so he assumed it had to be at least a day, right?

“Yeah. Verbal commands are just as effective as mental ones. I guess they both come from the same source, right?” Kit’s heartrate picked up in his ears as he stared wide-eyed at the villain. “So, I don’t need to get in your head to enjoy my influence over you.”

Kit shifted, trying to stand up taller, pulling on his too-tight cuffs just to do something. It was pathetic. He was trying in vain to prepare for something he couldn’t prevent. He couldn’t stop. He couldn’t fight back.

“I’ll take your silence as awe.” Kit swallowed down a curse and settled for glaring at the villain. Omen tilted his head. “Or maybe it’s just confusion,” he suggested with a shrug, crossing his arms across his chest. “Maybe an example will help.”

“NO!” Kit’s eyes widened impossibly further. “NO! Please! Please, I’m not confused. I’m not, I swear. Please!”

Omen’s lips quipped at the edges. “So mannerly, Atlas. You’re learning.”

“Please,” Kit begged. “Please, please, I’m sorry.”

Red the colour of bright, fresh blood flooded Omen’s lips. “Still, I think it will be helpful to remind you of what happens when you’re disrespectful.”

“No! NO! DON’T! Please! I’m sorry.”

“What’s bizarre is that my ability can bypass things like logic and self-preservation in your brain,” Omen continued, his eyes darkening. “If it’s something you can’t physically do, your body won’t recognise that and keep trying, no matter how much it hurts.”

Kit’s lips curled back over his teeth, panic flooding his body as he cursed. “You’re a fucking sadistic piece of shit! Let me go!”

Omen grinned with too red lips. “I don’t plan on letting you go,” he said with a shrug. “In fact, I want to keep you, and if I’m not going to let you go…” Omen paused. Kit swore he wouldn’t be able to hear the command over the rushing of blood in his ears. “Then you don’t need your mask, do you?”

Kit stepped back but he didn’t get anywhere. “Wait, please. Omen–”

Omen tilted his head to the side. “Funny how you remember your manners after being threatened. You see how that shows me negative reinforcement will work with you, Atlas?”

“No! Please, don’t remove my mask, please. Please. I’m begging you, please,” he couldn’t remove his mask. Then Omen will know what he looks like and Kit and everyone he knows, and loves, will be in danger. He wouldn’t be able to go outside, continue his normal life… he would… god he’d be fucked, forever.

“I didn’t say I’d remove your mask, Atlas, don’t worry.” The mirth dropped from Omen’s eyes, replaced with a cold glee. “Because you’re going to do it for me. Take off your mask, Atlas.”

Kit blinked. Then, like he too often did, he spoke before he thought. “Sure, no problem, man, I’ll take my mask off as soon as you let me out of these cuffs.”

Omen stared. “Take off your mask, Atlas.”

“Like I don’t know, you said you could command me to do it.”

“Yeah, but I’m trying to be nice, right? You can do it your way, you can try, or you can disobey and then I’ll force you.”

Kit blinked. He glanced up at his hands in the cuffs, then looked back at Omen. He blinked again. “Are you stupid? I- I can’t!”

“You haven’t even tried yet.”

“Are you–” Kit shook his head. “No, actually. Don’t answer. I have my answer, you are fucking stupid. My hands are currently locked above my head.”

Omen’s black eyes lazily traced up Kit’s arms to the cuffs, as if confirming they were there before he nodded. “They sure are.”

Kit scoffed. “So?!”

Omen rolled his eyes and let out a dramatic sigh. “Fine. I tried doing it the easy way. So, Atlas, take off your mask.”

Kit didn’t feel the viscous icy sludge flood his skull before he was moving, yanking his arms down from the cuffs. He tucked his elbows close to his head and tried in vain to press the release clasps on his mask. He knew that wouldn’t get him anywhere though, so he went back to plan A, pulling viciously at the cuffs that wrapped snugly around his wrists.

“FUCK! PLEASE! Stopstopstopstop,” he pleaded, crying out as he felt his wrists become slick with blood already.

Omen slipped his hands into his pockets again and shrugged. “Why would I tell you to stop now? The blood could act as a lubricant to–”

“Let me go! Stop! Please, fuck, fuck. AGH!”

“–help you achieve your goal faster; I don’t want to impede your progress like that. That would be cruel.”

Kit screamed as his legs lifted and he jumped, slamming back to his feet and yanking down with his entire body weight as he crouched. “Please, Omen…” Kit cried as he jumped again. He felt his skin rip, the metal biting into the bruises and already split cuts. “P–ple- GAHH FUCK!”

He jumped again before Omen said: “alright, you can stop. It would kind of ruin the mood if you degloved yourself.”

Kit sagged immediately, whimpering as he tried his best to lift his hands above the biting metal, blood running down his wrists and forearms as he bit his cheek, trying hard to compose himself in front of the villain. He didn’t notice Omen approaching, he didn’t notice the hand reaching for him and slipping under his chin, not until his head was gently tilted up as he hung.

“Wouldn’t it have been easier to just listen to me?” Kit couldn’t stop himself from trembling as he raised pained gaze to the bastard in front of him. A hand ran through Kit’s hair, combing through it softly. Warm bile climbed Kit’s throat as he tried to pull away weakly. “See? That’s the look I wanted from you. That, right there, your fear. How desperate you are to hide it from me, Atlas. Your stubbornness, even when it would help you to submit to me, look at you. Even now you’re glaring at me like an angry little puppy.”

“Fuck off,” Kit croaked. His stomach turned at the look of pure delight that flashed across Omen’s eyes, how happy he was at Kit’s continued defiance. This guy was fucking sick. What the fuck? How did Noble even…

A lump formed in Kit’s throat.

Right. Noble didn’t escape him. Noble didn’t survive him. He was forever imprisoned in his own mind, a prison of Omen’s design. Kit didn’t… his knees buckled, and Kit slumped further into Omen’s hold, whimpering at the pain, pain, pain dull and throbbing through his body aggravated by every miniscule movement.

Omen crouched so he was looking up at Kit, inky eyes gleaming like polished coal. “Atlas, Atlas, Atlas,” he tsked. “This is only some light torture. Doesn’t your namesake hold up the world on his shoulders? You can’t even hang from yours for a few measly hours?”

Kit glared at the villain, but there was no real bite behind it. He was tired. He was scared. No, he was terrified out of his mind, and the only thing keeping him up right now was the villain’s hand under his chin, but he wasn’t about to tell the bastard that.

“Who filled your head with the ideals of being a hero, hmm? Because clearly, you’re not cut out for it.”

“Fuck you!” Kit spat. His head whipped to the side, and he cried out as the chains above him jangled, rattling with the force of the slap that echoed around concrete.

“You’re like a feral cat someone just found on the street,” Omen said with an amused scoff. Kit swallowed the comment and tried to smother it in the back of his mind, because that one hurt. Just the shock of being slapped somehow stung more than a punch, it felt more personal. Kit hissed as the chains pulled taut and he tried to push himself up. “Even now, you’re just misbehaving for the sake of it.”

“If I’m such a fucking hinderance,” Kit hissed through clenched teeth, “then let me go you bastard!”

Omen smiled. “Come on, Atlas. I’m enjoying our,” his eyes flicked to the chains, “hanging out.”

“Fuck you. Fuckyoufuckyoufuc–” Kit tried to pull himself up and was half–successful this time before his foot slipped in the water and he bit his lip to dim his scream. Hot, thick iron filled his mouth from biting his lip too hard and he moaned a muffled groan.

“But clearly you’re not,” Omen sighed theatrically and dropped his hand from Kit’s chin. Kit whimpered as his entire body slumped in the chains. “And as my guest, it’s only right that you’re comfortable right?”

“Wh– what?” Kit lifted his eyes to follow Omen’s movements as he went to the corner of the room and started unwinding something. Kit squinted and realised it was a rope that was attached to the – “no, no, wait! No! Hold on!” Kit scrambled to get his feet under him in time, but he was too late.

Tension freed from the chains holding him up with a whoosh and Kit’s body dropped like a sandbag. He tried to angle the chains away from his face as he fell. He collapsed into the basin, his chin slapping off the edge and blood flooded Kit’s mouth, threatening to drown him as he mewled, trying to lift his limbs anyway but they were too heavy, and Kit was too weak.

He only barely heard footsteps before a hand grabbed the chains connected to his cuffs and Kit whimpered as his entire body screamed at him, blood pooling out over his lips, down his chin and beneath his mask, spilling into the basin of water below.

“Look at me.” Kit obeyed. This time there was no glare, no neutral features, nothing Kit could do to hide the pain from his gaze and his body as he silently begged Omen with his eyes to be gentle. Omen looking ravenous, drinking in every little detail he could see. At least the mask covered Kit’s lower half of his face so he couldn’t see Kit’s lips trembling. Omen crouched again in front of Kit and grinned at him. He put a hand in Kit’s hair and Kit winced, bracing for the pull, the pain.

So, when Omen ruffled Kit’s hair he stiffened completely. “You are just adorable,” Omen cooed. Kit wanted to bite him, to curse, to throw a fit but his body was too tired. He glanced down at his wrists and saw the damage his struggles to take his mask off did. A sudden wave of dizziness and nausea rippled through Kit’s body, and he slumped forward. His head hit Omen’s chest, and he shivered, unable to pull himself up as he closed his eyes.

“Please,” Kit begged, his voice so small. “Please just let me go.”

Hands went under Kit’s arms in reply and pulled him from the basin. Kit cried out as his limbs were aggravated and warned him to still, but he couldn’t stop the villain from lifting him over the basin. Kit’s knees hit the concrete with a dull thud followed by his feet after the sloshing of the water, but Omen kept dragging him until Kit was in the villain’s arms.

“No,” Kit protested weakly, trying to push himself away from the villain’s chest, but Omen didn’t seem to mind. It’s not like Kit could go anywhere anyways. Instead, Omen grabbed Kit’s cuffed hands and unclipped them from the chain. “No, get off.”

Omen whistled as he saw Kit’s mangled wrists. “Oh… that looks like it hurt.” Kit hissed when Omen ran a thumb over the wounds. “Don’t worry, I’ll clean them for you.”

“Just let me go,” Kit whined. Omen cooed at Kit again and dragged him back to his chest, wrapping his arms around Kit and hugging him to his chest. He put his hand in Kit’s head and pressed it to Omen’s shoulder. Kit shivered. This was worse. This was worse than hanging by his wrists. This was worse than trying to unmask himself. This was worse than frying himself with his powers. “Please, pleasepleaseplease.”

“Shhhh, Atlas,” Omen said, running his hand soothingly through Kit’s hair. Kit whimpered, his body too heavy to move or fight the villain off of him. Ice rushed through Kit’s mind, and he shot up with the last dregs of adrenaline left on him, but Omen simply pushed him back and shushed Kit again as Kit’s body slumped against his will.

“Ng… no, no, no.”

“You’re just going to go for a little nap for me, Atlas, you need your energy.”

Kit’s lips didn’t move, his mind seemed to shut down as he fought his eyes from closing. “Don’wanna.”

“You’re just so cute,” Omen cooed. His soft voice and his fingers running in a steady rhythm lulled the last fight from Kit as his body lost all tension and Kit lost the battle as his eyes closed, and he slumped boneless against the villain. Omen smiled as he felt the hero give into his command.

Oh, this hero was too fun, well worth taking. And he held out for so long, fighting him with everything he had left… and after dangling like that for two days, to have that much energy still. He was strong and stubborn and fiery and didn’t know what was good for him.

Omen frowned. This wasn’t like him. This wasn’t like him at all, he didn’t take Heroes. He didn’t fight heroes; he was barely a villain for crying out loud and then that water hero just… Omen sighed. He was here now. Omen was being impulsive and dumb, reckless, but the hero was far too interesting to just let him go… eventually he will, he decided. Wipe the hero’s mind and let him go about his life again, but for now…

Omen smiled down at the slumbering hero. For now he could have his fun with the curious little heroling.

***

Continued here

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Ambrose clenched his teeth. This guy was getting on his last nerve and he’d like nothing more than to just shiv him with a broken bottle, or anything else sharp he could find. But then Max would kill him. But it would be worth it to see this bastard bleeding out under him.

“A fisherman?” Ambrose asked, voice deadpan. He shrugged, an irritated thing. “What does that mean?”

“You’re fishing for information,” Jude replied.

“Yeah, no shit. I’m starting to think that maybe you don’t even know Supervillain and just say you do so you have someone to talk to.” Ambrose said, getting to his feet and grabbing his jacket.

Only when he turned his back did he hear Jude say: “wait!”

Ambrose stopped, glancing back over his shoulder to the smiling idiot. Though he may as well have been looking at another man. Jude’s expression shifted in the flash of Ambrose’s disinterest, from a playful, smiling jackass to something completely different. Closer to Ambrose, or Kit, though colder than Kit was.

Serious, Ambrose realised, and he fought back a smile. Finally.

“Fine. We can be boring and talk business.” Jude conceded, gesturing for Ambrose to take a seat again. Ambrose did and the girl emerged from the shadows again with a tray of something Ambrose probably shouldn’t drink. The girl placed the bottle on the barrel, and two glasses onto the coasters already on the table.

Ambrose kept his black eyes trained on the girl as she blows a bubble of chewing gum and pops it before melting into the shadows again.

Was she watching them from now on, then? Two on one? Best to proceed as if they are, and if there’s two, why not twelve, especially if you’re Supervillain. Always good to have friends.

Jude poured Ambrose a glass and then himself, three fingers of bourbon each. A heavy pour. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re trying to get me drunk.”

“Afraid of a little libation?”

Ambrose lifted his glass, meeting Jude’s light eyes over the rim. “You look like a bottom, so I’m down to clown.”

Jude’s eyes drank in Ambrose as he took a hefty sip of the bourbon, Ambrose’s black eyes never leaving Jude’s. He really fucking hoped that his wasn’t poisoned or spiked, because he would never live that down if anyone found out.

Ambrose lowered his glass with a smack of his lips. “That’s good,” he said, feeling the grooves of the cut glass, the same glasses Max used in his bar so at least they were consistent. Ambrose appreciated the attention to detail. “It has some bite to it. Now.” Ambrose said, clasping his hands together on the barrel, black eyes catching Jude’s again. “Supervillain. Talk.”

Jude’s gaze fell to the glass and lazily trailed back up to Ambrose’s face, a slow, lazy smirk crawling it’s way onto his handsome face like the Cheshire Cat who knew something Alice didn’t.

“I could have poisoned that for all you know,” Jude said.

Ambrose shrugged. “What’s for me won’t pass me by, but I do have another stop after this exchange, so if you don’t mind talking. I’m a busy man.”

“You’re getting ahead of yourself. I don’t even know your name.”

“Ambrose,” Ambrose said flatly, eyes going to the bottle of bourbon. It really was a nice bourbon, and Ambrose didn’t usually drink it, so he grabbed the bottle in his hand, letting his eyes scan over the label.

“That’s all I get?”

“That’s all you get. Now. Jude, Supervillain. Do you know him or not?”

Jude scoffed out a laugh. “You’re a stubborn bastard, Ambrose, aren’t you?”

“You’re not the first person to accuse me of that.”

“You’re used to getting what you want.”

Ambrose shrugged. “Something like that. Are you going to talk, or can I go?”

Jude tsked, glancing to his right. Ambrose followed his line of sight to another table that was filled with more reserved patrons. Though, Ambrose suspected, Jude was probably looking into the darkness for the girl rather than at the other guests.

Jude grabbed his glass and threw back the liquid in one gulp, slamming the glass onto the table and exhaling with a sharp hiss. Ambrose grinned at him. Jude nodded at Ambrose. “Finish your drink.”

Ambrose obliged happily, and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth after. Jude filled the glasses again. “Why’re you looking for Supervillain?”

Ambrose stared at Jude, tilting his head slightly. Somehow, Jude had grown more serious in the time that Ambrose felt himself loosen up. “I want to help him destroy the heroes in the city.”

Jude’s smile seemed lopsided. “You do, do you? A random civilian, albeit dapperly dressed, wants the heroes gone from the city? The protectors of our daily lives?”

“You don’t drink and meet people in the back of Dead Men’s Fingers unless you have some grudge against heroes, as I’m sure we both know.”

Something passed over Jude’s expression, as if Ambrose had just passed some test. Jude dipped his head, his hand over his glass. He tapped his index finger against the rim, never breaking eye contact with Ambrose.

“Drink.”

Ambrose didn’t hesitate. Jude’s eyes darkened. Ambrose blinked back the taste, the liquid burning his throat, running down hot and warming his gut. Jude grabbed the bottle, filling Ambrose’s empty glass again. Ambrose raised his brows, looking at Jude’s still full glass.

“Drink.”

“You first,” Ambrose said, his eyes narrowing.

Jude smiled a knowing smile, the same kind of smile that Ambrose imagined he wore when he first met Kit. The satisfied smirk of having all the control and power over a situation, and knowing it too.

“I have information and you want it, Ambrose. This isn’t a mutual exchange,” Jude said, pushing Ambrose’s glass towards him. Ambrose fought the urge to swallow and throttle Jude at the same time. “Drink.”

Ambrose pressed his lips into a thin line grabbing the glass and taking a sip. Jude shook his head with the same smirk on his face, though his eyes had lost all humour, dead-eyed and staring. “All of it.”

“I usually only let very sexy people get me drunk, Jude, and I hate to say it, but —”

“Drink, or I walk.”

A muscle in Ambrose’s jaw clicked and he swallowed back a scoff. He licked his lips and then threw his head back. The whiskey’s pleasant bite now seemed more of a pain than a plus, slithering through his mouth and down his throat like a viper caught in a net, nipping and biting at every place it could to try and free itself. A trapped, feral thing, something Ambrose could well turn into if Jude wasn’t careful.

Jude filled the glass the moment Ambrose set it down, and Ambrose wanted nothing more than to reach across the table and beat the shit out of the blond. But, to Ambrose’s relief, Jude let go of the bottle and sat back in his seat, smiling friendly at Ambrose again.

“Now, tell me, what’s your power.”

Ambrose blinked at Jude. He knew that Jude probably tried to access Ambrose’s head the same way Jude tried to reach in and grab the relevant information about Supervillain, but to know that Jude had attempted the same on Ambrose left him a little cagey.

“You tell me yours.”

Jude tilted his head to the side, as if to say: really? But to both of their surprise, he answered.

“I can possess people,” Jude said with a wry smile, taking a sip of his bourbon, his eyes crinkling at the taste. “Like a ghost.”

“Possess their body?” Ambrose asked. Jude nodded. “Interesting.”

“Mmm,” Jude hummed, something flickering briefly across his expression that was gone too fast for Ambrose to register. “Your turn.”

Ambrose hesitated. Aside from Kit, who he had compelled to keep silent about his Villain identity, Ambrose had never told someone his powers. Usually he wiped their memory after, ensuring he covered his tracks when he dabbled in and out of people’s minds.

Jude’s gaze sharpened. “Ambrose… I’m waiting. Tell me or dr—”

“It’s charm speak,” Ambrose said, meeting Jude’s bright green eyes. Ambrose tried to appear uncomfortable at the slip, bristling at the reveal. If he navigated this properly, Jude wouldn’t know for sure he was Omen.

“Explain.”

“I can be very persuasive. Make people like me more, get better deals in shops, get away with parking tickets.”

Jude hummed. Then nodded at Ambrose’s glass. “Drink that down and I’ll tell you what you want to know about Supervillain.”

Ambrose hesitated again. “Before you do… why the drinking? What’s in it for you?”

Jude shrugged. “You’re a telepath like me. Some are stronger than others, some are weaker. Sometimes, getting them drunk means that they lower their mental defences and I can play with them a bit. Find out how their abilities work.”

“Why?”

A flash of teeth. “Why not?” He was hiding something, Ambrose realised dumbly, though his eyes weren’t as sharp as they usually were so he couldn’t ascertain what. He let out a long sigh as his black eyes stared into the brown liquid in the dim lighting.

Just one more drink and he can get out of here. Ambrose’s fingers tightened around the glass. Just one more.

Ambrose didn’t think. He brought the glass to his lips and tipped his head back, gulped the liquid, squeezing his eyes shut as it tore down his throat, abusing his oesophagus but swallow it he did and set the glass back on the table, smacking his lips.

Jude’s shark like smile still on his face. “Now. Where can I find Supervillain?”

“You don’t. He finds you.”

Ambrose glared at the smirking man. “What? You said you knew him!”

“I do. I pass on the information that someone wants to get in contact, and then he finds you,” Jude said smugly. “But don’t worry. I already know he’ll be interested in you. He likes telepaths.”

“So how long is the wait?” Ambrose asked, running a hand through his hair. “Actually, nevermind it’s fine. Annoying, but fine. I have a better question: what’s his abilities?”

A smug knowing glint inflected the corner of Jude’s eyes, turning them up into smiles of their own. Ambrose suddenly understood what made him so terrifying to Kit in the first place — excluding the fact that he destroyed Mentor’s mind — telepaths had an otherness to them. Most powered individuals did, but telepaths… right now, in front of Ambrose, Jude looked more monster, or god of chaos and trickery, than man. The quick-witted fox who knew how the story would play out.

“That would be spoilers, Ambrose. Something I’m not at liberty to discuss.”

“So you wanted to get me drunk to lower my defences so you could poke around in my body and see what powers I had, and what? Then you go and report it back to Supervillain? Are you auditioning people for—”

Jude tilted his chin back, the smug smile remained as realisation crashed into Ambrose like a truck. “Oh,” he said and Jude’s smile widened, leaning over the table on his elbows.

“Oh.”

Ambrose sat back, his head spinning, his eyes taking a moment to adjust with the movement, a little woozy from the booze. “Supervillain who attacked Mentor’s statue, that could’ve been you, possessing Mentor’s body. Using his powers.”

Jude didn’t say anything. His eyes twinkling in the darkness. “Then again,” Ambrose continued, thinking exclusively out loud about it. “You could just be a middleman like you say, working with Supervillain and helping them get connections, but connections for what? And then that all flies in the face of the shapeshifter theory because you’re new on the villain scene Jude, or at least, the villain drinking scene.”

Jude didn’t twitch or flinch, or make any movements to agree or disagree with Ambrose’s open pondering, his face remained annoyingly stoic, the smile remaining on his face, green eyes drinking in Ambrose’s expressions.

Ambrose laughed, sitting back in his seat. “You need eye contact for possession, don’t you?”

Jude inclined his head as if he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar, but knew he wouldn’t get in trouble. “Yeah. I do. Though, I have to give credit, Ambrose. You’re tougher than you look, and you look plenty tough.”

Ambrose didn’t know whether they were going to kiss or kill each other, but a civil understanding passed between them, that neither of them could attack the other and so they were on a more level playing field than most people they encountered.

Ambrose’s phone buzzed and he pulled it out. Jude reclined further back, glancing into the darkness. “Something important?”

“You have no idea…”

(20:36) Kit: Supervillain at old town clocktower. Omw.

If Supervillain was in old town, that meant Ambrose could reach him first, but then again he didn’t want to underestimate Kit’s speed. Ambrose lifted his eyes to Jude’s, to find the green pools grinning at him.

“You’re not Supervillain,” Ambrose said.

“You so sure?” Jude asked, whistling lowly as he drummed his fingers over the barrel of a table. Ambrose grinned back.

“Certain.”

When the girl melted out of the shadows, Ambrose grabbed her wrist and slammed it down, causing her to flash into materialisation but that was all Ambrose needed. “Be a dear and kill Jude for me.”

Ambrose didn’t have to wait for her to obey the command. She grabbed the bottle of bourbon and smashed it off the table. As Ambrose slid out of the booth a stray shard caught his cheek and lodged there. He hissed in pain, grabbing his jacket and barrelling through patrons in the bar.

Max emerged from the kitchen, his eyes finding Ambrose and sharpening to a glare as Ambrose waved his apology. George grabbed the gun from under the counter, checking to see if the double-barrel was loaded while Max clicked his fingers. A handful of fire lit up his striking face and cast shadows in all the right places, making him look more like a vengeful angel than a man.

Ambrose walked out onto Fagan’s lot, working his way back through the maze of skinny alleyways to get to the Clocktower. A hand seized his upper arm and pulled him sideways. Ambrose’s eyes widened, head turning, the disembodied arm was pulling him towards a brickwall and Ambrose panicked, his hands flying up to protect his face.

He didn’t hit the wall. Instead, he fell through it, and he felt as if his entire body was being grated, or strung through a mincer, grinding his bones and organs and then he was on the other side of the wall and he could breathe again, his feet back on the ground.

He fell to his hands and knees gasping. “Freaky, innit?” Ambrose groaned at the sound of Jude’s voice, though a bit pleased to see it was slightly laboured.

Ambrose looked up, the room zooming in and out like a camera trying to focus. Shadow walking when drunk is not something he wanted to experience again. He saw Jude standing ahead of him, half hunched over a wall, one hand out while his elbow propped a towel into his other hand that was red with blood.

Smiling green eyes met black. “I must say, you almost got me there. I had only managed to possess Selena here after she sank that broken bottle into my hand,” he said with a good natured laugh. “Good for you I only need one.”

“Pity,” Ambrose said. A snake of shadows wrapped around Ambrose’s neck, cold and vicious as they slithered tighter, leaving enough oxygen for him to breathe, but not comfortably.

“I think they call this an impassé, Omen.” Jude said with a heavy breath. Ambrose narrowed his eyes, focusing hard on Jude’s free hand with his fingers splayed, as if he was playing an octave on a piano. It was trembling. “I can’t release Selena until you compel her not to kill me, which means Selena’s shadows won’t release you either.”

“Seems like a you problem.”

A swift kick to the face sent Ambrose sideways with a grunt, the stray shard of glass crunching further into his cheek. He could taste iron in his mouth and grimaced.

The shadowed hands righted Ambrose to his knees again, the coil of snakes winding a little tighter until Ambrose could only suck in a breath after choking on three.

Jude’s next words cause Ambrose to freeze. “Don’t you want to try and save Kit?” Jude’s playful chuckle followed the motion, and then the shadows turned into a rope, pulling Ambrose towards Jude. Ambrose dug his heels into the ground, trying to fight against them, but he felt a hand on his back, pushing him forwards too, ensuring he couldn’t fight back.

Ambrose stumbled forward at the jolt of another tug, but caught himself before he fell. Jude’s smile widened to the size of a shark, and two hands forced Ambrose to his knees in front of Jude.

Green eyes met black, all humour gone from them, replaced with a wildness. Unpredictable and chaotic. “I can kill you right now Ambrose, and your little compulsion will die with you. So how about, to save your little friend, or brother— whatever fucking weird family thing you got going on, I suggest you compel Selena to not kill me.”

“How do you know Kit?!” Ambrose demanded, choking on Kit’s name. The question was answered by a crushing force on his throat that felt strong enough to obliterate his oesophagus. “Okay,” he wheezed, tapping Jude’s leg as blackness circled his vision like vultures stalking their prey, waiting for it to die. “Ock— kay!”

The shadows recoiled from Ambrose’s throat and he fell forward, sucking in air, his eyes so close to Jude’s ugly trainers. Actually he took it back, he’d rather be choked by shadows than endure Jude’s disgraceful taste in shoes.

Ambrose got to his knees after he caught his breath. Green eyes cut into his face as sharp as the glass still embedded in his skin. “No funny business, Omen.”

Ambrose turned and told the girl to stop trying to kill Jude. He turned to Jude who smirked at him. “Get rid of the word trying, and do it again, asshole.”

Ambrose shrugged, lighthearted. Technically, if Ambrose had compelled her to stop trying to kill Jude, the way the brain would pick that up is stop trying to kill Jude and just kill him. Always fun to do business with a telepath.

Ambrose lifted the compulsion, and turned back to Jude, spreading his hands, as if to say: there. Jude dropped his splayed hand with a sharp exhale, and Ambrose could see the sweat running down his forehead from the panic he hid so well from Ambrose.

“You can rest easy now,” Ambrose told him.

Jude sighed and pushed himself to his feet. “Yeah. No can do, unfortunately. The boss has called us in, so we’ll be on our way.”

Ambrose’s gaze hardened. “What?”

Jude grinned, green eyes shining. “Oops. Did I forget to mention that? Well, no worries, Ambrose. I’ll give Kit your best.”

“What do you—” Ambrose didn’t finish his sentence before his head whipped to the side and the world swam in front of him. He reached a hand up to the side of his head, blinking as he pulled it away. Something warm and wet staining his hand. He met green eyes and something flashed in front of him and he crumpled to the ground, his vision darkening like a vignette. The last thing he saw was Jude’s ugly trainers by the door.

Fuck.

~*~*~*~

The door opened to the basement opened again. Footsteps sounded through the basement, echoing slightly, off the walls and around the room.

“Malyn…” Sawyer hissed in warning. Supervillain smiled at Kit’s hero name. They must really not know who he is. He didn’t know if he should be offended or not, but it wasn’t something he had to decide on his way down the stairs and into the basement.

Sawyer looked up defiantly when Supervillain stood in the mouth of the room. Tides was awake too, eyes trying to burn a hole in his head, though the pair looked a little worse for wear. Tides face was flushed, while Sawyer looked a little grey around the edges. Only Kit remained asleep.

Supervillain crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the wall, his eyes flicking to Tides. “Have you changed your mind?”

“Not in the slightest,” she replied immediately.

Supervillain turned to Sawyer. “Fuck you, dickhead.”

Supervillain shrugged. “Alright then, plan B.”

He walked over to Sawyer, pulling a key from his pocket to unlock Sawyer’s cuffs. Sawyer breathed a sigh of relief mixed with pain when his arms were freed and fell like lead onto his thighs. He kicked out weakly at Supervillain, but Supervillain just stepped forwards him, grabbing Sawyer to his feet under his arm.

“Hey! Get off him! Let him go!” Tides cried, yanking at her own cuffs. Sawyer tried to summon his magic but nothing happened and he cursed, glaring at Supervillain’s impassive mask.

“What— what did you do to us?” Sawyer couldn’t feel any power dampeners on him, not on his wrists or ankles, but he couldn’t feel his power in his body, like every time he went to reach for it, it pulled further away from him.

“I inhibited your ability to use your powers,” Supervillain told him simply. Sawyer’s stomach bottomed out. It felt so invasive, like a gut punch, as if Supervillain had reached in and messed with Sawyer’s physiology. He tried again, harder, reaching, but nothing happened.

“How?” Sawyer demanded, digging his heels in as Supervillain dragged him to the centre of the room and left him there.

“Stay,” he said and Sawyer couldn’t move. Supervillain walked to the corner, grabbing a chair and dragging it over to where Sawyer was before shoving Sawyer into the chair. Sawyer threw his hands out, trying to catch any part of Supervillain’s body but then he froze in his seat as he heard the door behind him open again. But Supervillain was beside Sawyer, dragging one of his wrists behind him and tying it to the chair.

Sawyer’s struggles renewed, pushing at Supervillain and when that didn’t work kicking him. He lunged up and tried to step away but his legs didn’t respond, still obeying the stay command. Supervillain put a hand on Sawyer’s chest, tilting his masked head to the side.

“You want to try again?” Sawyer met Tides wide eyes with his own, his mouth suddenly dry. He didn’t want to just give in, but if Tides saw that he obeyed willingly she’d think he deserved whatever torture that Supervillain had planned for him.

Sawyer pivoted and punched Supervillain’s mask, sending him stumbling back, then grabbed the chair his wrist was loosely tied to and held it up to the masked villain, holding the legs out like a shield and a weapon all in one.

“Sawyer!” Tides cried, but Sawyer was already turning so his body branched out to both threats. The other man was in his thirties, with dirty blond hair and forest green eyes. He had a freshly bandaged hand which was half stuck in his grey sweatpants pocket.

“Come on, fuckers,” Sawyer snapped, his teeth echoing at how sharply his jaw formed around the words. “Just let us go!”

“You sure you wanna do that, kid?” The blond asked, inclining his head. His green eyes smirking at the defiant spark in Sawyer. The blond glanced to Kit’s sleeping form and then to Tides pointedly. “Maybe we can’t get you, but think about your friends. You want to get them hurt too?”

Sawyer clenched his jaw, fingers curling around the arms of the chair. No, he didn’t want to get them hurt, but he didn’t want to get hurt either. “I’m not just gonna lie down and let you torture us. Beat us fairly, in combat. In the field.”

Jude clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and glanced at Supervillain. Supervillain dipped his head and Jude shrugged. He walked over to Kit and Sawyer’s heart leapt into his throat. Jude reached down and Sawyer yelled out a terse: “wait!”

The blond paused, glancing back at Sawyer, waiting for him to continue. Sawyer slammed the chair down and sat again, locking eyes with Tides who bowed her head too. A wordless understanding blossoming between them. They both would’ve done the same thing.

One of them grabbed Sawyer’s free hand and tied it behind the chair, attaching it to the wood and then his other wrist, enough room left so that if he struggled the coarse ropes would rub against his flesh, burning it. He swallowed his fear and sat silently.

Superhero would find them, wouldn’t he? He would come to the rescue. Sawyer didn’t even believe his own lie, but it was all the comfort he had as the blond guy came around to face Sawyer.

“This one’s Kit?” The blond asked, but Supervillain’s distorted voice replied behind Sawyer: “no. The sleepy one’s Kit.”

“I see,” he said, straightening, his cat-like eyes going back to Kit. Sawyer kicked a leg out at the blond who gasped as if shocked.

“Don’t touch him asshole.”

“Yeah? What’re you gonna do about it, hero?”

Sawyer kicked him again, but this time, he aimed for his hand and the blond drew back with a curse. Sawyer grinned as the blond drew his fist back and punched him square in the face, and then hit his nose again until tears sprung to his eyes, dizzying.

“Leave him alone, Jude. We won’t break them by beating them.”

The blond — Jude — sighed theatrically and turned to face Tides instead. Unfortunately, he had the sense to step out of Sawyer’s kicking range.

“Fine. You’re the boss…” he said, then whistled as he walked over to Tides, crouching down to be eye-level with her. “Hello gorgeous.”

Tides spit in his face. Jude laughed, his hand shot out and grabbed Tides by the throat, tilting her head up to face him. “Oh, darlin’, you’ll regret that real soon. I’d apologise to Sawyer if I were you.”

Sawyer bristled. “Why would she apologise to me dickhead?”

Nobody answered. Sawyer shifted in the chair. “Hey! Asshole!”

Nothing.

The sound of Tides’ restraints unlocking strangely sent a cold chill down Sawyer’s spine instead of being reassuring. Jude stood and so did Tides, silently, the noiseless echo choking him as he stilled in his chair, waiting for… something to happen.

Jude stepped away from Tides, revealing her to Sawyer. She looked bad, her broken wrist hung limply by her side but in her other hand she had a knife, her expression an eerie blankness.

Sawyer shifted in his seat again, pushing back in the chair, trying to escape from the ropes, but they just rubbed raw against his wrists. “Hey. Tides. Tides! Wake up! Tides! Hey, Tides! What’re you doing?!” Sawyer yelled, turning his glare to Jude who stood with his hand out, fingers splayed as if he were conducting a marionette, his fingers moving in tandem with Tides approaching Sawyer where he sat.

“If you refuse to quit being a hero,” Supervillain said behind Sawyer, Tides stopping suddenly in front of him. “Then we’ll have to do something drastic to change your minds, won’t we? Did you know, Sawyer, back in the day, before heroes were called heroes, a lot of them stopped being heroes because of the horrors they witnessed. The PTSD haunted their dreams, and when it got too much, they retired. Some killed themselves, some went mad. But they did stop being heroes after a lot of pain.”

Sawyer flinched when Supervisors put his hands on his shoulders, kneading the tense muscle with his thumbs. “Of course. You can just vow to quit now, and we don’t have to do anything nasty. Tides won’t have to hurt you, and you won’t have to let her. Is your pride really worth all the trauma this will cause?”

“Don’t—” Sawyer choked out, his eyes pleading as they found Tides’s bright blue ones, dull and dead. “Tides please, we’re friends.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Jude said, “she’s not in control of her actions, but the guilt that will come after?” He whistled. The sound went through Sawyer.

“You can stop this,” Supervillain whispered. “You don’t have to go through with this Sawyer. Tides is out of it and I can make her forget if she remembers, and Kit is sleeping. Neither of them will judge you if you want to tap out now.”

“Please,” Sawyer said, shaking his head at Tides. “Tides, wake up! Please! Please! Fight back!”

Jude laughed. “Oh she’s fighting alright.”

“Let her go, you psychos!” Sawyer screamed, thrashing in the chair. Supervillain sighed above him, tightened his grip briefly, then stepped away.

“I’m sorry it had to come to this,” Supervillain said, and the worst part was that he sounded genuine. Jude however was smiling behind Tides, his green eyes fixed on Sawyer who squirmed as far back as he could away from Tides.

“We’ll start slow,” Jude said, and Tides sliced an arc down Sawyer’s face. Sawyer screamed through clenched teeth, humming as Tides withdrew the blade from his skin. It probably went an inch deep, because the blood was pouring down his face, leaking into his eyes and mouth.

“Crow?” Kit. Finally awake. “Crow! Tides! Stop! What’s going on?”

“Don’t worry, Kit,” Supervillain said and the three heroes stilled, their blood running cold. How did he know Kit’s name? He was right… they know who Supervillain is… Kit’s wide eyes turned to Supervillain’s two toned mask. He could feel Supervillain’s smile, hear it in his distorted voice. “You’ll get your turn after Sawyer.”

“Who are you, you bastard!?” Sawyer screamed, his head whipping to Supervillain. “Who the fuck are you?! Are you one of us? You fucking traitor!”

Kit trembled, cold, his wrists rattling in their restraints despite himself. “You heroes are so spirited,” the blond said, his eyes bright and cruel. “It’s adorable.”

“Do you want to stop being heroes?” Supervillain asked again.

“Go to hell,” Sawyer barked. Kit wanted to… he really wanted to stop, to not fight Supervillain on this and let him wipe his memory. Let the villain make the decision for him, let him quit while he’s ahead, he doesn’t want to end up like Mentor. He doesn’t.

He raised his head, looked Supervillain in his mask and said: “swap me with Sawyer.”

“What?” Sawyer asked, his voice a little hollow. “Kit—”

“Swap me out for Sawyer,” Kit said through clenched teeth. “Please, just please.“

If Kit could take the pain, and someone rescued them soon, then the other two wouldn’t have to suffer as much. Kit already dealt with Ambrose, he could take it.

Supervillain hummed on the way over to Kit. He crouched down in front of the hero, and took his chin in his hands. “Why would I do that? One hero is hurting another, it doesn’t matter which is which.”

“Please,” Kit said, his eyes pleading. “I’m begging you. Just let me go first. If you’re a hero you’ll understand. Please.”

Supervillain glanced back at Jude who kept his laughing green eyes on Kit, amused. “Hell, kid. I’ll even do the honours myself, I owe you one from your friend, Ambrose.”

Kit didn’t take his pleading eyes from Supervillain’s face, though he wanted to ask the blond a million questions. How do you know Ambrose? What do you mean owe him one? “Please.”

“I know you, Kit. I know it would kill you, and devastate you to see your friends in danger, in peril, and not be able to do anything to save them. I don’t want to cause you pain, I want you to stop being heroes. I want this to be quick and painless.”

“Supervillain please don’t do this!” Kit begged, shaking his arms in his cuffs. His voice breaking as he pleaded. “Please! Please, just let them go.”

Supervillain stood again. He nodded at the blond. Tides sliced again and Sawyer screamed. Kit flinched as if he was the one being cut. Only when Sawyer’s screams stopped did Supervillain say that was enough for the day, and leave the three heroes in the basement.

They didn’t even tie Tides up again, but her sobs filled the room instead of the screams, crying into Sawyer’s legs and apologising for it all. Kit stared numbly forward, his mind blank. He didn’t know what to do, so he did nothing.

And he didn’t know which would haunt him more.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here