Chapter Text
He’s still learning how to properly utilize the Voltage Strike that he’d tomfuckered his way into while scuffling in Rajan’s temple. He’d panicked and had just sparked up, lightning arcing from his cane as he’d swung.
He didn’t currently have his cane, unfortunately. Hopefully he could still do it.
. . .
He’s dead. He can’t quite find it in himself to be guilty, but he’s definitely about to be dead.
Sly had meant to use the Voltage Strike alongside some kind of escape plan. Knock out some guards, turn off the power, something.
She’d startled him. He’d shocked the Contessa. He’s about to die.
An icy fury burns in her eyes as she glowers at him. Like a deer caught in headlights, he freezes, ears pinned to his skull. He has half a mind to apologize— but he doesn’t get the chance. (And he really doesn’t feel bad. For a split second, before the oh shit had settled in, he had thought it was funny.)
The Contessa smiles. Her expression remains dangerously dark, mandibles clicking as she fucking grins at him. If he hadn’t already been convinced of his imminent demise, that would have done it.
“Hold him here for a moment,” she hisses between her teeth, still smiling.
When she returns, the guards practically scatter away from him, desperate to avoid her wrath. Suddenly unhindered, Sly scrambles backward. He pins himself to the wall, claws scrabbling against the stone.
She has something, held behind her back like one might hold a surprise present, still beaming. He growls, only for it to pitch up into a frightened hiss as she continues to approach.
Unfazed by his (frankly pathetic) attempt at a warning, she gives a quick gesture. Two of the wolves lurch into action, taking him by the shoulders and wrenching his head upward.
“Get off of me—!” He thrashes, of course he does, but the struggling doesn’t do much.
She clicks something into place around his throat. It digs, turning his breaths quick and shallow. It’s not enough to choke him— that is, until she hooks a claw into it and yanks, and he’s cut off with a sharp strangled sound.
“That’s a fascinating ability you have, Cooper,” she coos, waving a ‘hand’ once more and allowing the wolves to release him, “Unfortunately for you, I’ve come prepared.” He flattens backward again, hand coming up to press at the strange—
—collar? She’d collared him?
“Go on!” The Contessa claps her hands together like an excited child. “Try your cute little party trick now.”
…Sly really, really doesn’t want to do that. But he knows better than to disobey an order like that. (The gashes still crisscrossing his back ache pointedly.) So, reluctantly, he reaches into that feeling, letting—
—White hot agony arcs through him. He lets out a choked cry, now-twitching hands coming up to desperately scrabble at the collar— at the shock collar. He’s sent spasming, writhing away from the pain— get it off, get it off, get it—!
All at once, the worst of it is over. It’s like a switch is flipped (belatedly, Sly realizes that’s probably exactly what happened), and the pain sizzles off into an ache. He slumps, eyes glassy, panting.
The Contessa stands over him, looking positively thrilled. “Well, that was a wonderous show,” she coos, crouching down enough to cup his chin and tilt his gaze to hers. He whines, ears pressing down as he tries to pull away. Her grip turns bruising, and he stills. “I think I’ll keep that on you for a while. Teach you some lessons, yes?”
Sly hisses again, and almost immediately regrets it as she draws back to turn the collar on again.
“Now your training can truly start,” she smiles, though she knows he can’t hear him. “I can’t wait.”