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Consciousness was an unforgiving bitch with a sadistic streak. Too many unpleasant sensations swam through her, from her head to her toes. Pain and nausea rose and crested through her like a wave, forceful, overwhelming. Suffocating. Slowly, Dot opened her eyes and found herself looking down at a…stage? Given Arthur had been held in an underground tomb when The Terror had kidnapped him, she knew she had no room to complain but it was still unnerving as fuck.
Pushing past the nausea and pain, she gathered her wits and looked around her. She was bound to a surprisingly kind of comfortable theater chair by…fucking chains? Really?! Who the fuck does that?
“Took you long enough.” The Terror’s voice spoke from somewhere off to her left.
She expected to feel something like fear when he emerged from the shadows, dressed in his red armored headpiece and long trench coat; being bound by immovable chains and physically helpless. Instead rage rose. That urge to tear him to pieces was so strong her hands ached. Straining against the chains, the heavy metal pressed into her ribs, and a flash of pain bolted through her.
“Fuck you.” She replied, spitting at him when he stopped two seats over and studied her.
Those gold eyes narrowed for a moment, eyeing her like she was a worthless bug to be crushed under his boot heel, but then he laughed. It was dry and wheezing, sounding like he was ancient.
“Looks like you got all the backbone in your family.” He sounded amused then he sobered, “And the powers.”
Dot stopped then, stilling. Her heart pounded a little harder. “Powers?”
The Terror plopped down in the chair and regarded her with a sharp stare. “Don’t pretend to be a dumbass. I did research on all the Everest family, I know everything about you. From the time you nearly got suspended for fighting at the age of fifteen and started krav maga as an outlet at the urging of your stepfather, how the day you turned eighteen, you became the guardian of your chicken shit brother because your mother couldn’t handle how broken he was, to the fact that you used to work with Stosh out of the back of the roller derby arena, sewing up henchmen.” He slung his arm on the arm rest and leaned in close, way too close for her liking, “I know that you’ve chosen the vigilante route with Overkill, that you’ve been on missions together.”
Dot found herself looking at him, feeling more exposed than if she had been naked, and a slow grin crossed his lips. “I have spies everywhere, don’t look so surprised. The definitive thing about you, Dorothy Everest, is that you aren’t stupid.”
She swallowed hard and met his gaze. Schooling her expression took everything she had and it didn’t do anything but amuse him. Dot wanted to punch him right in his smug face.
“I do admit that I only know of your healing abilities. We kept having to dose you on the way to keep you unconscious. You burned through it fast. Had to give you a quadruplet amount that last time. You only seized for ten minutes after that last one.”
His nonchalant tone did nothing to quell the panic that slammed into her. “Swell.” She muttered, proud that she managed to get the word out without it shaking.
“I bet it would be fun to see what your limits are.”
No.Fear gripped her, leaving her cold.
The Terror wheezed again and bounced to his feet, surprisingly spry. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I’ll do.” He closed the space between them until he was towering over her, “And then when I’m done breaking you, I’m going to break your worthless brother.”
No!
Then he snapped his fingers, she felt a sharp sting at the back of her neck, and her world went dark again.
The former jet of the Flag Five began its descent and so did Frank’s stomach. He hated flying so goddamn much but Lint had been insistent. And well, what the boss wanted, the boss got.
At the controls, Edgelord landed smoothly and activated the cloaking system with a flick of a switch. Frank quickly unfastened his buckle and got out of the co-pilot’s chair. Though the jet wasn’t moving; his stomach still gave a little wobble and he suppressed a groan. Lint emerged from the back, wearing a black jumpsuit looking outfit with cape sleeves. A thick silver belt cinched her slim waist and sharp silver metal epaulets stood out from the tops of her shoulders, ending in a dangerous point. He knew for a fact they held twin blades for just in case she ever came across anyone immune to her electricity-wielding ability.
She gave the grounding bracelets Edgelord had created for her an absentminded twist before she fixed him with a look with her good eye. Her other eye was her new favorite design: black glass with flames. Dark brows rose up her forehead.
“What’s the matter with you?” She demanded.
“I told you I had flying.” He groused.
She let out a long-suffering sigh and pivoted, moving to the small kitchenette. Opening up the small fridge, she pulled out a ginger ale and opened it, then shoved a straw through the open tab.
“Didn’t realize you cared, boss.” He let his words be flippant, but deep down, he knew she actually did.
Her hands came to her hips and she frowned at him. “I’m not letting your delicate stomach mess up what we came here to do. I need you to be in top shape to get some recon while I talk with The Terror.”
Frank swallowed down a long drink, the cool gingery fizzy liquid coating his throat. “I still don’t understand why you came. I thought you wanted him dead.”
Lint’s expression shifted for a millisecond. “I still do. But I want to know what he’s up to before I make a move.”
“He could be playing you. He did before.” Frank reminded her softly.
“I’m not giving him the chance this time.” Her voice was quiet but as sharp as her epaulets, “Ready?”
“Can I bring my soda?”
She sighed again. “As long as you don’t get caught. Edgelord, remember your assignment?” She called through the cabin.
“Stay in the jet. Kill anyone but you.”
“Hey!” Frank objected.
“AndFrank.”
The henchman could hear the eye roll in the younger man’s voice.
“Let’s go.” Lint said.
Frank blinked when they walked up to an old abandoned looking theater. “Is this for real, boss?”
“He likes to put on a show.” She replied, not breaking stride and flinging open the front door with enough strength it let out a thunderous bangwhen it promptly fell of the hinges.
“That bodes well.” Frank muttered, following Lint inside.
The faint smell of mildew and wood reached his nose and he made a mental note to watch where he stepped. Lint paused outside the auditorium and gave him a nod.
“Bring me good information.” She told him, as if he had a choice.
He saluted her with his soda can and headed off, resisting the urge to hum a few bars of Phantom of the Opera.
The search on the first floor yielded nothing. Ditto the second. Then he found a locked door up in attic. With his free hand, he quickly pulled out his lock picking tool from the inside pocket of his jacket and swiftly worked the gears until the latch gave. Pocketing the tool, he opened the door and stepped inside, instantly hit with heat, it was nearly oven-like, dry heat and his lungs panicked for a second as he tried to draw in a breath.
Which was already difficult due to the horror show in the middle of the room.
A nearly naked woman hung from hooks attached to the ceiling into the meat of her shoulders and ankles, her light blond hair curtaining her face.
This wasn’t helping his stomach.
He took a few steps closer, noticing that her lungs were moving in slow, shallow breaths. Stopping just in front of her, he reached out and moved her hair away and found himself looking at a face he would never forget.
“Fuck.” He whispered.
It was the paramedic who helped Stosh. She had saved his life once upon a time, keeping him from bleeding out from a bad gunshot wound that nearly blew him in half. He had been out of it but he wouldn’t forget her face. And her name. Dot.
She stirred and her eyes opened. Her body jolted and startled then she groaned low, like a wounded animal. It was then he noticed the thread that twined her lips shut. Jesus Christ. Frank could ask himself why for days, why her, why do this to her but knew the answer would come back to one thing: her captor was The Terror. He would do whatever he pleased.
He noticed her gaze was riveted on the can in his hand and he lifted it closer. “Want a drink?”
She inclined her head, her eyes tired. Carefully, he pinched the end of the straw and pushed it between her lips the best he could. Dot polished off the remaining half with a soft grateful noise.
“Hey, you saved me once, I owe you.” He murmured, “Though his hardly seems to pay that debt.”
Frank circled her, trying to figure out a way, if any, he could get her down. He didn’t see any and cursed as he rounded her shoulder only to find himself face to face with his boss.
“How’s it hanging, Dottie?” Lint asked.
Dot made a small angry shriek in her throat.
“You know her?” He asked his boss.
“Yeah, she’s Arthur Everest’s sister.”
“Oh.” He knew the man as The Tick’s partner. Everyone in the villain world did.
“And she’s Overkill’s partner.”
“Oh, fuck.” Just what they needed: the wrath of that particular sociopath.
“She saved my life, boss.” Frank told her, “I can’t leave her here.”
“You have to.” Lint’s voice was matter-of-fact but there was a hollow note that had him thinking that she was up to something.
Lint stepped closer and studied Dot for a moment. Impressively, Dot managed to glare in return for a few minutes until her body slumped and her head resumed dangling once more.
“Come on, Frank.” Lint’s said softly, drawing his attention back to her, “We found what we needed.”
Reluctantly, Frank moved, step by step until he was out of the room, shutting the door behind him. He followed his boss silently until they were back at the jet. Once they were up in the air, he sat across from Lint in the cabin.
“Now what boss?”
“Now we make our next move.”