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“They’re going to come for you and when they do, they’re going to die.” The voice that spoke was old, deep, and wheezy; his tone was matter of fact as if he were commenting on the weather instead of the fate of her friends, her family...Overkill.
Her eyes watered as his breath assaulted her nose; it was heavy, meaty, rotten. His golden eyes glowed unearthly, getting brighter as he smiled. Her heart began to beat frantically against her ribs, hard enough that her chest hurt.
“They’re going to die and you won’t be able to warn them.” He raised his hand, running a finger over her lips, his smile growing into something grotesque. He had sewn them shut some time ago with wire and a dull needle. She was too tired to flinch at the touch, the pad of his thumb strumming along grotesquely. Her accelerated healing couldn’t heal around the cable and left constant ache that she couldn’t escape, “Can’t tell anyone the future if you can’t talk!!”
The dream broke sharply but consciousness didn’t bring Dot any comfort. Fear and panic ripped air from her lungs in shallow, frightened gasps. There was a body pressed against hers and she clung to it blindly, burying her face in a hard chest as if it would erase the images that lingered in her mind. Tears leaked from her eyes as she struggled to breathe.
“You’re okay.” Overkill’s voice reached her ears, cutting through the sound of her labored breathing, “You’re okay.” His hand slowly stroked her back.
She concentrated on the heavy weight of his hand and the way it trailed up her spine. The way the scent of him filled her nostrils: of denim, leather, cotton. A fine undercurrent of sweat, deodorant, soap. Of metal, of oil. She could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest pressed against her face. Solid. Real.
Cracking open her eyes, all she saw was blackness. Her brain pieced together it was his t-shirt and she slowly pulled back, disengaging herself from him reluctantly. Rolling on her back, she realized they were in her bed and her heart canted. She didn’t quite remember how they got here.
“What happened?” She groaned, pressing a hand to her head, as if it could stifle the ache that blooming in her frontal lobe.
Overkill sat up, looking way too spry. “You got super drunk. I took you home, put you in bed, where you trapped my arm under you and asked me to stay. I tried to sit on the floor next to the bed but my arm went numb so I’ve been up here since three.”
“Fine. Make sense then.” Those pieces seemed to fit in with the vague memories that she could recall. “Why not just move me off you?” She asked lightly, “You know you have permission to touch me.”
He shrugged.
Dot pushed herself up and her stomach roiled and a mini bomb when off behind her eyes. Her hand went to her mouth and she squeezed her eyes shut.
“You’re not going to vomit, are you?” Overkill sounded faintly alarmed.
She ignored him and focused on her breathing, steady inhale and exhale. Once the nausea dissipated, she shook her head. There was something about this that didn’t feel like just a hangover. Were there such things as nightmare hangovers?
“What were you dreaming about that scared you so bad?” Overkill asked, his voice soft.
“I wasn’t scared.” She instantly objected.
He stared at her, unblinking. His blue cybernetic eyes swirled a little bit and glowed but never lost intensity as he studied her. It was his disbelieving stare. It drew a sigh from her.
“The--” Dot swallowed hard as the lingering images flashed through her mind’s eye, “The Terror.”
His lips flattened until they became a straight line. “Was this a normal nightmare or something else?”
“I don’t know.” She admitted, a small tremor running through her at the thought of being anything other than just a dream.
“Have you ever dreamt of him before?”
Dot shook her head. “No. He was always more of Arthur’s boogeyman than mine.”
Overkill was quiet for a moment. “What did you see?”
“He was taunting me.” She murmured, her hand unconsciously moving to her mouth, “I think I was his prisoner…” Absently, she traced her lips, expecting them to catch across wire.
“What?”
“He sewed my mouth shut.”
She felt his body go stiff even with the space between them and he caught her hand, squeezing it. The cybernetic prosthetic beneath his glove didn’t have the same pressure as a human hand would. He was getting better at gauging how hard to press when he grabbed her.
“It was just a dream. I would never let that happen. I would have to be dead first.”
She knew he was trying to assure her but the thought of Overkill being dead, well, dead again, made her stomach drop to her knees. They’re going to die and you won’t be able to warn them. Dot nearly bolted off the bed, The Terror’s words hitting her hard.
“Weren’t we doing something today?” She asked, desperate to move on past her nightmare.
He grunted, glancing at her alarm clock. “We’re meeting Bob in an hour.”
Oh, right.
Now that she was his partner in the field, Overkill insisted on getting her proper attire and that meant a call to the mysterious Black Market Bob. She had no idea what to expect of Bob. Or her outfit, for that matter. Well, other than body armor and lots of black.
“I’ll get ready.” Dot bee lined for the bathroom and shut the door behind her with a soft click. She leaned against it, closing her eyes. Overkill was right. It was just a dream. There was no way she would let The Terror take her prisoner. Exhaling heavily, she began to get ready. After a quick shower, she felt more like human again. Towel secured around herself, she opened her bedroom door, finding her bed made. A small smile tugged her lips; it was oddly domestic of him. As if her thoughts summoned him, Overkill filled her bedroom doorway, watching as she moved around the room.
“Want a protein shake?” He offered, holding up a cup filled with something that looked an unappetizing green.
“Hard pass.” Her stomach churning at the thought of putting anything in.
He nodded and took a drink. As she pulled out a pair of black jeans, she noticed he was still there, still watching. He seemed reluctant to leave her.
“I’m okay.” She assured him, “I feel better now.”
“Uh-huh.” He hummed into his cup.
She unhooked her towel from where she had tucked it around her chest and tossed it at his head. It stuck the landing and blanketed his face. A small laugh quietly left her lips.
“You know you could have asked me to leave?”
“Where’s the fun in that?” She teased, quickly pulling on her clothes and crossing the room to him, plucking the towel off his head with a cheeky grin.
Tucked in a winding corridor, deep inside a warehouse behind two sets of thick blast doors was Black Market Bob’s shop. Dot studied the outside of the second doors, noticing the retina scanner and the camera mounted above the door. Overkill had taken off his mask and scanned one of his eyes, now they were waiting for Bob to let them in.
“Come on, Bob, I don’t have all damn day.” Overkill growled at the camera.
“Somebody drank his cranky juice today.” A deep modulated voice replied through a speaker Dot couldn’t see.
The doors let out a metallic groan as they swung inward revealing an older grandma-type woman wearing what looked like a deep-diver suit. Dot blinked in surprised.
“Dot meet Bobby.” Overkill said, stepping into the shop and setting down his skull mask onto a metal table, “Bobby, Dot.”
“Uh, hi.” Dot said inching closer to Overkill’s side as the heavy doors shut behind them.
Bob—Bobby?—studied her from head to toe. “You’re a tiny slip of a thing, aren’t ya?”
Dot didn’t know what to say to that; words, etiquette failed her. She crossed her arms across her chest, spine straightening. “I’m more powerful than I look.”
Bob smiled. “Glad to hear it, honey.” She turned her attention onto Overkill and her expression softened a bit, “And you, you stubborn bastard, I’m glad you’re not dead.”
He smiled in return. Actually smiled. For a moment. Then it was gone and his usual scowl returned.
“I almost was.” He admitted.
The woman’s expression turned serious. “I’m not helping you with your suicidal tendencies anymore.”
“Understood.”
Dot’s stomach clenched but she didn’t have time to focus on the maelstrom of emotions the words suicidal tendencies stirred. Bob beckoned them deeper into the shop, back to a side door that Dot would have never noticed in a million years amongst the cluttered space.
Through the doorway was a spacious room that had a mannequin in the center. It was dressed in a sleek black outfit. It looked almost identical to Overkill’s but…lighter. She approached it, finding it right at her height.
“You don’t have to just stare at it, try it on.” Bob instructed and pointed to another door, “Bathroom’s there.”
Dot grinned, excitement buzzing through her as she took the garments off. For as light as they looked, she could feel the amour under the fabric. Hurrying to the bathroom with a barely contained squeal of joy. She stripped quickly and folded her long sleeve shirt and jeans, setting them on the counter. Then she slipped on her new clothes. They were soft and not at all bulky like she thought it would have felt like.
She stepped out of the bathroom and Overkill’s attention was on her instantly. His eyes went hooded and a small smile lifted the corner of his mouth. She suppressed a shiver under that gaze.
“How does it feel?” He asked her.
She huffed a quiet chuckle. “Amazing!”
Bob, who had been doing something across the room, rejoined them, holding something in her hand. It was a black mask. It wasn’t a full mask like Overkill’s but close. It had a small upside down v that would give an opening for her mouth.
At first, she thought it was solid black but when Bob set it in her hands, silver details shimmered across the surface.
It almost looked like the gears of a clock. She ran her fingertips over the design. It was beautiful.
“Put it on.” Overkill urged.
She turned it over and pressed it to her face. A startled noise escaped her lips when the mask made a small noise and adhered to her skin. Panic exploded in her chest but before she could do anything, the scientist spoke up.
“You’re fine,” Bob assured her, “It just bonded to you.”
“Bonded?” As her voice reached her ears, Dot noticed that it was a slightly higher pitch than her normal. It was odd, almost musical. But it was another piece that would give her anonymity; much like Over’s mask had a modulator.
“Only your touch will be able to remove it. Just press the side near your right temple.”
Dot rested her fingers against it for a few seconds and it made a soft noise and released. The panic died down and she brought the mask back up to her face and let it bond again. This time when it stuck, it felt more natural. She blew out a soft breath.
Bob extended her hand and brandished a small ear piece communicator that was identical to Overkill’s in style but small enough to fit her unlike the one she’d been using. She stuck it in her ear and instantly heard voices.
It was Steve and Kevin as they worked on repairing DB’s boat self. It was a lot science stuff in between what sounded like pop music in the background.
“Do you hear them too?” She asked Overkill.
“Unfortunately.”
“And last but not least,” Bob presented her with a tactical sash.
It crossed over her chest, much like Overkill’s ammo one. But in hers had tech. Stuff for locks, smoke and flash grenades, the key card hacker that she had used. There were many pockets that had other accessories that would be handy in the field, including an identical set of tools that she had seen Overkill use for his hands.
Overkill handed Dot her thigh holsters, on was for the knife and the other was for glock he had reluctantly parted with. The holster for the glock had a pocket for extra magazines.
After slipping her boots back on, she put her hands on her hips and smiled at Overkill.
“How do I look?”
“Like my partner.” There was a gentleness his words that gave the words warmth.
It echoed in her chest and damned if it didn’t make her feel more incredible than the first time she dodged a bullet.
“Have you thought about a code name?” He asked her.
She shook her head. “Not yet.”
“As long as you don’t do what your idiot brother did.” Overkill grumbled.
Dot laughed. “No, trust me. I’ll think of something that is not actually my first name.”
“Before you two go, I have a few more things for you.” Bob interjected.
It turned out to be the missing piece that Kevin and Steve needed for the final repair. Dot tucked it into a duffel bag that Bob was willing to part with along with her street clothes. As she shouldered it, Bob stopped her with a hand on her arm.
“You’re good for him, you know?” Bob’s words were quiet.
Dot swallowed thickly. “I hope so.”
Bob patted her arm and turned to Overkill. “I like her. Now get the hell out. I’ve got shit to do.”
Overkill chuckled softly and inclined his head. “Always good seeing you, Bobby.”
They were not but five feet outside the building when the communicator beeped melodiously. Dot paused and raised her eyebrow at Overkill.
“Are you getting a call?” He asked.
“Maybe?”
“Double tap it.”
She did and the beeping stopped and her brother’s voice filled her ears.
“Dot? Where are you? Why does your voice sound different?” His voice sounded serious and her heart leapt in her chest.
“I’m with Overkill.” She ignored the last question and poised one of her own, “Are you okay?”
“Can you meet Tick and I at AEGIS?”
Her spine straightened. Though AEGIS had undergone an overhaul since Hobbes and Ms Lint had left their marks and Overkill had been cleared of his rogue status, Dot still didn’t trust the organization.
“Why? What’s going on?”
“Just come. Rathbone wants to talk to us.”
He sounded tired and though he couldn’t see her, she found herself nodding. “Okay. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”
She double tapped the communicator and silence hung in her ear.
“What is it?” Overkill asked, peering down at her.
“We’re needed at AEGIS. Rathbone’s orders.”
He made a slight growling noise and not the kind she liked to hear from him. “Fuck.” Then he sighed. “I’ll call an uber to get us from down the block.”
After a thirty-minute ride from Antonio, Dot and Overkill arrived at AEGIS. Arthur and Tick met them outside of Rathbone’s office. Arthur was in his moth suit, wringing his hands anxiously. Tick looked unaffected by the wait; he was happily munching on a croissant, his antenna swinging up and down.
When her brother noticed her, he stopped moving and stared at her, blinking owlishly. “What are you wearing?” He asked.
“Armor.” Overkill snapped, “What are we doing here?”
“That will be discussed in my office, son.” Rathbone’s voice interjected, ever commanding.
They piled into his spacious office and Rathbone shut the door behind them.
“I have news that’s not going to be made public for a few days.” The commander moved behind his desk but instead of sitting down in his chair, he remained on his feet.
“What is it?” Arthur asked.
“The unfreezing of The Terror will begin in two days’ time and he’ll be put on trial to face his many, many crimes.”
It felt like the room was suddenly a powder keg, an undercurrent of something volatile on the precipice of explosion. Rage engulfed her body, hot and scalding like it had the day her powers awakened. Her hands tightened into fists; teeth clenched tight. An abrupt noise broke the tension, shaking her from her anger. It was laughter; humorless laughter. A sound so bitter she could taste it on her tongue like bad coffee. And the sound was coming from Arthur.
“You know that’s a terrible idea, right?” He cried, “He’s just going to escape and do more horrible things.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Dot noticed Overkill was smiling. Genuinely smiling. She had said something similar to him once and it had made him just as happy. She knew why: he was picturing his spectacularly blood soaked revenge-murder.
“Oh, sweet fucking Jesus, I hope so.” Overkill sounded practically excited.
Everyone turned to look at him.
“What?” He demanded with a shrug.