Chapter Text
The speakers throughout the room crackled to life. The voice that came out of them filled the large office, clear as day.
“Boss, he’s coming to.”
“Mm,” came the acknowledgement. They had no reason to believe it wasn’t heard; the person on the other end of the intercom call would be desperately listening. “No others in the chamber,” their voice said clearly. Sharply. “Should this go awry, I don’t want any of your faces being known.”
“Yes, boss. On it.”
They smirked into the large mirror on the wall as they finished tugging on their gloves, taking just a second longer to turn their head from side to side, scrutinizing their appearance. They allowed their visage to shift, to morph into more solid representations of themself as they did; it was important to make sure the hair looked good no matter which of their faces was showing.
The heavy metal door swung shut behind them, the locks automatically rolling into place with that sweet sound of steel on stone. Gloved hands straightened their suit, black with silver-blue accents, as their heart pounded in time with the music of polished shoes tapping in a distinctly unique way down the hall. Several employees scurried past them in matching uniforms, faces obscured by masks. Good. They were taking security seriously.
Despite what they would be branded outside of these walls— henchmen, minions, lackeys, and so on and so on— they were employees. Plain and simple.
They were dedicated, smart, loyal, incredibly skilled…
…And they were all, very cleverly, getting out of the way.
Those gloved hands rose again just outside the chamber’s door, coming to tug at the perfectly pressed collar that created a deep V-shape over the bare chest beneath, the vaguest hint of a bosom rising and falling with deep and steadying breaths. No matter how often they had done this before— coming face to face with those who would deem themselves, or proudly bandy about the public’s foolish label of ‘Hero’— it was never going to compare to right now. Not like this.
They had never, not a single time in the past, had someone of this stature in this position. They may never get the chance again if this did not execute with flawless precision. They had never gotten to a point even remotely close to this before now.
Never had they thought to capture a Hero. Never had they thought it would be possible. But after years of work…
Well, as was said: Their employees were incredibly skilled, and useful .
The door to the chamber opened, and with only a roll of their shoulders and a quick adjustment of posture, Stratagem stepped inside the machine-and-wire filled room. They strode with a cold confidence toward the large, reinforced-steel box that was bolted securely in the center, those shoes still tapping on the floor.
A window waited for them like a framed masterpiece; thick, specially-tempered glass on one side of this mess of a contraption through which they could view the subject within. Outside the box was messy, nearly slap-dash, but the presentation of this room isn’t what mattered. It wasn’t part of the situation; the equation. It was a means to an end.
Ideally, that end would be the End of the Superhero Era .
Here at the beginning, however, it looked more likely that it was just to be the end of this one Superhero in particular.
What a change it was to see him like this. The last they had seen of the man in person, that red-and-black ensemble was wreathed in flames, and they had barely made it to their get-away route in time as he had sent a line of dazzling heat toward them. He had been standing tall, squared up for a fight, his eyes glinting from his own brilliant light.
Now, however…
The Inferno was kneeling on the ground in a sterile white box, seeming to be plain and empty save for his chains. The well-concealed vents, speakers, and other implements around the borders were the work of many dedicated engineers, however, and Stratagem was quite pleased with how well they had pulled off the aesthetic . Especially on such a sudden time-crunch.
The man’s hands were chained behind his back, the heavy metal attached to the floor between his hobbled legs. Within the frame of the glass, the true pièce de résistance— the highlight of the landscape painting before them— was the thick metal collar around his neck, bolted to the floor. It kept The Inferno staring downwards, not that he had yet been given any good reason to look up. It gave Stratagem a very good look at the colour of his red hair; not as vibrant as it had been in previous encounters. It had been something they’d noted time and time again in previous interactions. Previous spars.
Those luscious locks had been dimmed significantly at the time of the man’s capture, but now The Inferno’s flames were rekindling.
It was only a matter of time.
Their gloved hand stretched its fingers in a strange wave as it danced above the panel before them, set into the side of this man’s beautifully unique cell. Several buttons and dials were waiting for them, hastily labeled but clear enough to decipher despite the scrawl of some poor, rushed engineer’s hand. A finger descended, landing gracefully on the button for the intercom.
“Hello, my friend,” they cooed. “I see you’re back to a bit of your… usual glow . Very pleased to know my men didn’t snuff you completely out.”
As soon as the speakers in the box had crackled on, there had been a shift. A flinch. The man in his gaudy costume, already unmasked, jolted against the heavy chains that held him with a rattle that they could hear through the monitor speakers in the panel in front of them. It was a beautiful sound; a musical sound. Something that filled them with a whole new emotion.
His head twisted, jerked, and searched for the source of their voice, but the chain on the collar didn’t permit him to look up far enough to see the window.
“You treat all your friends so nicely?”
The growl of his voice was sensational, even through the speaker. They flashed their soft and slanted grin through the large pane of glass, the smile growing larger with every word the man attempted to banter with.
“Collar feels like a bit much,” he continued, head still turning, that red hair glistening. “I know you love to make a show of it all, Stratagem, but this is much. Even for a hack like you.”
They allowed themselves the peaceful privilege of chuckling with the microphone off, shaking their head slowly before the glove found purchase on the button for the intercom again.
“Tsk tsk, Matchstick. You don’t give yourself nearly enough credit,” they drawled dramatically, head tipping to the side. The silver-blue streak in their black hair shimmered in the lights of the chamber, that perfectly-product-filled coif unmoving. “You make a good show with your hands, we’ve taken care of those, but… you make it rather obvious that your heart has a bigger role to play in your little sparkshow.”
A deep breath entered their nose.
This was… addicting.
This was something you could tell was going to be a problem the instant it hit you, if you didn’t take things carefully. This felt so good that if things were to break down now… if this man were to escape now…
A glove ran through their hair, shifting the shape of their style subtly. “As for how I treat my friends,” they continued, “well… their boxes tend not to need so much reinforcement. I also tend to let them walk. Most of them, anyway.”
“Flattering me with your fanciest cage…” The Inferno huffed, his body obviously wary, tired still, and yet steady. Waiting. “I can appreciate that you think I’m worth the effort, but buying me a nice steak would have worked just as well.”
Eyes danced over that hunched, submissive form in the box before them. The man had never been the best adversary when it came to bantering; that was more the lout StormWind's area of expertise. But StormWind wasn’t the one who was here, were they?
“I’d assumed it would’ve been a waste of a cut,” their voice rang out, but the adrenaline was taking over now, and they felt it happening before they heard it. The more masculine side of their regular voice began to slip out, along with a teasing smirk. “You’ve always seemed to me like a man who wants things… well done. ”
The finger pressed just a little heavier on the intercom button. “While we’re on the topic, however, I was curious about how exactly you came to wander into my path this time.”
The words were dripping, practically oozing with the desire to gloat, to prod, to provoke. Their features were shifting, tingling. “How did The Inferno get snuffed out this time ? I must say, I was shocked to hear it had happened at all while I wasn’t there personally to oversee, but… it certainly has worked out for me, all the same.”
“Cut the shit ,” the man spat back after Stratagem’s finger had lifted from the button. “As if you wouldn’t know already, whether you had planned it or not.”
A pout came to their features as their entire visage softened, and a more feminine voice entered the microphone with the press of the intercom button. “ Aww ,” they moaned in faux disappointment. “You’re taking away half the fun of it, Matchstick. Those mission reports are dry and typically devoid of the hotter details. I was hoping you’d enlighten me , that’s all.”
“God, please, for the love of everything,” he groaned, “you have got to stop with the puns and nicknames.” He had stopped trying to look for the speaker, his body now looking almost… relaxed in comparison to how it had struggled even faintly against the chains just moments before. Those muscular shoulders still carried a waiting tension; a coiled spring of a man bolted to the floor, simply holding out for an opportunity .
He was, in a word, beautiful… even if he hissed like a viper.
“Perhaps you just need a little more time to warm up to the idea.”
They could never truly resist a good attempt at banter, even with a lackluster opponent.
“I wouldn’t get too god damn cocky if I were you,” their captive retorted. “I’m in literal chains and you still don’t even have the guts to speak directly to my face. I’m starting to think you’re getting pretty lazy if you’ve just got all your henchies doing the heavy lifting for you. Why don’t you come look me in the eyes and tell me what a winner you are?”
It couldn’t be helped. The grin on their face spread even more as they finally saw it, the final faint shimmer of golden-red and orange beginning to shine at the hair right on the crown of his bowed, submissive-looking head. The first glimmer that he was nearly back to a dangerous level of power.
Their free hand moved to hover over a small dial, teeth grazing over their bottom lip as they watched his body, chest rising and falling with his preparatory breaths. “Lazy?” They asked with that slow, sinister laugh they allowed to echo through the speakers this time. “OSHA-compliance is anything but lazy, not that you or your kind would know about it. I imagine the Living Flame probably doesn’t get a clean fire safety card when the inspectors roll through whatever you all are calling a ‘ base ’ these days.”
It was impossible to fully conceal the bitterness in their voice as they invoked that sickening image of The Tower. It was easy enough to push past and discard, however, that gloved finger coming to rest on the point of the dial. “I feel I can help out with that, however,” they practically breathed into the microphone.
“I’ve always wanted to cool you down, just a little.”
The dial turned, and the vents along the edges began to pour in the unmistakable clouds of dry-ice ‘smoke’. The thermometer began to drop, steeply .
This was it.
This was the moment.
It was instant, the change in the man. Introducing the cold into the mix did what they had anticipated it would; it scared him. The chains all rattled, and they saw his hands splay open quickly before clenching back into fists. It was all so delicious to watch, even with his limited movement. Even with him still being less than his peak .
He had no retort. No response ready any more once the mists began to creep along the floor. It was a little disappointing, they so loved to have a marked effect on someone. Especially someone like The Inferno . Clearly, however, the man had not been ready for something like this.
They couldn’t wait for him to return to full power, however. The taunting, the trap… it was now, or never. But, maybe… maybe…
One last little jab.
It was risky, but just a little risky, and Stratagem always liked to give just the smallest extra roll of the dice before finishing a trick play.
“As for looking you in the eyes, perhaps that’s a good idea right now…”
The finger tapped a new button, releasing the clamp that held the neck-chain to the ground and giving The Inferno the freedom to finally turn his gaze to the window.
Stratagem grinned as those dazzling blue eyes shot up, passion and hatred in them as hot as they knew— personally— the man could burn . “You’ll need the practice of looking up to me.”
His back had straightened and he had instantly found the window to stare through, straight into the eyes of them . The one who had caught him. The one who was holding him. “Enjoy the moment while you can, Stratagem,” he said with a darkness that made them swell with the rush of anticipation. The steam was beginning to rise from his body. “When I kill you, I have severe doubts that you’ll be floating upwards with a harp and a robe. By the time I’m finished, I doubt you’ll be able to tell much of a difference between this room and the Hell that I can only hope is waiting for you.”
Their eyes sparkled, their grin unable to be fought. “Oh I have so much enjoyment planned for this moment, and so many more to come, Tinderbox,” they drawled through the speakers as their captive continued to build toward ignition. “You seem to have different ideas about what this box is capable of holding, however.”
A crackle came through a different speaker, deeper in the room they stood in and only loud enough for themselves to hear as one of their employees read out the important status checks from the remote observation station elsewhere in the facility.
“ Leg bindings holding steady, boss. Arm bindings weakening at a current rate of 2% a minute and increasing speed.”
Stratagem raised a hand so casually in signal to the security camera behind them that they were sure there must now be a betting pool among the men and women in the observation room whether this was about to go deathly wrong. Overconfidence, they had lectured their employees on so many times before, always came before the fall.
But this wasn’t overconfidence.
This was self-assurance.
“You know,” they drawled, the glove nudging the dial slowly higher; vents opening more. “It’s a funny thing you should mention hell . You all seem to mention that to me and ‘ my kind ’. Like it’s someplace you can send us. Like it’s some place we deserve to go. ” Liquid Nitrogen was starting to trickle out of other areas hidden in the walls around their tethered flame. The temperature, though it had almost begun to level out in balance with The Inferno’s heat, returned to dropping on the thermometer.
“Do you know, my personal Saint Ignatius , how this world feels to those who have no power with which to stand against you? To those who simply live their lives in the shadows of your towers and your political immunities and… influence ?”
The dial turned ever higher, painfully yet deliciously slowly to its well-dressed manipulator.
Their voice dropped darkly, slipping from them almost like a growl.
“It feels like Hell on Earth .”
They released the speaker button, clearing their throat before correcting course. That was not the impression they wanted to give to their employees. The message, yes; the tone… no. That would not be helpful. There were eyes on them. There were eyes on this .
And there would be so many more eyes to come.
“Who needs to stand against protectors, except for those looking to do harm?” Their prisoner growled back through his teeth, eyes boring into theirs. “We only have to do the things we do because wretches like you are looking to destroy it all. You think I want to spend my Tuesday nights blasting the ever-loving shit out of you people? You don’t think I’d rather live in a world that doesn’t need people like me? Don’t lecture me on how hard it is for you, when you’re the root cause of suffering to begin with.”
This wasn’t the time for this conversation. This wasn’t the place for it. Not yet.
“ Arm binding strength at 70% and falling still, boss,” the speakers behind them crackled again. They waved another casual signal as the show continued before them.
The mist of icy cold along the floor of the box was building higher and higher, coming up to nearly the level of The Inferno’s elbows though it swirled in constant conflict with the heat coming off of the man’s body. There were still no flames, though. Still no… pillar of fire. They needed fire . They needed his flame.
Perhaps there was one more way to get it, before they were forced to turn this dial all the way up and initiate Phase Two.
They pressed the button again. “Your friend… what was her moniker again? The Streak ? The… Blur ? You’ll forgive me, I wasn’t the one who handled her often.”
The steam billowed from near his wrists and there had been a steady rattling of the chains and cuffs as he had almost rhythmically shook and tugged at them. As they had mentioned the other one, though… The Inferno suddenly seemed completely frozen.
“The Rush?” he asked quietly, a distinct air of not speaking to them but to himself, almost under his breath.
Ooh… that hit a bit closer to home than they had expected. The “ Missing Hero ”. The speedy girl who had been such a logistical nightmare when it came to planning open-air operations. They had expected to have to coax the man along with the information they had. They had planned to take this conversation in a much more winding direction.
“ Yes, ” Stratagem drawled, that wicked and slanted smile spreading yet again. They could skip right to the most succulent part, with The Inferno like this. “ The Rush . I’m told she also mentioned Hell quite a bit…”
He was so still. So focused on them. The words were like honey in their mouth, causing them nearly to salivate as they said them; as they watched the fuse they had just lit disappear into the cask of his heart.
“…before her end.”
“ Leave her name out of your filthy mouth you piece of shit! ”
The man was roaring. He was standing. But more importantly:
He was engulfed in flames.
“ Boss! ” the speaker crackled as the man had come up to height with them in the middle of the reinforced box, telling them what they instantly knew. “ Arm restraints have been destroyed! Leg restraints at 50— no, 40— no—“
Smoke and flame were flying off the man so brilliantly that they squinted in the face of the initial blast; that stunning explosion. They would be lying if they said they didn’t think they could feel even just a slight wave of heat coming through the glass-and-steel shield in front of them.
“ You’re lying!!!” The Inferno bellowed, drowning out the voice that was rattling off rapidly decreasing numbers. “ Admit that you’re lying!! None of you are good enough to have ever laid a finger on her!! ”
Their hand raised sharply this time in the dismissive signal, the well-dressed Villain taking a moment to straighten their coat before calling to the room behind them at large, not pressing the microphone button to keep their boxed blaze in as much darkness as they could. “Prepare to initiate Phase Two as soon as the dial reaches 10.”
“ You got it, Boss! ”
Their eyes moved from the burning man in front of them to the thermometer, watching the needle start swinging in a smooth arc to the higher numbers on its right. The room was filling with steam.
It was all perfect .
“Ooooooh,” they cooed, that voice slithering out of them, their features turning devilishly feminine as they pressed the button again. It was a struggle to keep their voice up over the sound of the flames inside the box. “I’ll admit my fingers never touched her, much to my dismay… but that’s another story entirely. She is gone, however, and regardless of how you may feel about him, it seems like our mutual acquaintance BladeStrike was good enough to lay a finger on her.”
It was nearly impossible to see him through the light he gave off, that heat growing more and more. His dazzling blue eyes flashed through the flames that snaked around his body, waving and stretching into the chilled air as the elements themselves fought within that chamber. His hair… that gorgeous shimmering red may as well have been yet more flames, the way it rose from him in the currents he created.
Their breath caught in their throat. The power was immense, and yet… it could be more .
They leaned closer to that thick glass, their own shifting irises flexing and contracting against that brilliant blaze as they tried to lock with those blue gems hidden in the flames. The words nearly fell from their mouth as they lured him closer to his peak.
“I’d be happy to tell you more about the horrendous mistakes she made that led to her rather… upsetting demise, but I’d prefer to have you… chill out first, Sparkler.”
In direct match with the increase of his glow, of his heat, the dial turned; cranking past 7, 7.5, 8, 8.5, 9…
The room was flooded with chilled air. Frosty mist. Bitingly cold liquid that evaporated into steam that fought to become snow, then steam, then snow then steam over and over and over again as it was caught in the hot torrent of an updraft around him.
“ 10% boss! ” was all the crackling speakers behind them could let out before the moment came, and passed.
They could tell the instant it happened.
The Inferno was free of his restraints.
The Inferno thought he was free.
That freckle-stained face, marred by an eclipsing rage, lunged toward the glass before the window was completely obscured by steam, the dial clicking into its final position at 10. In the next instant, before they could so much as blink, a blinding flash erupted within the elaborate prison cell. Stratagem had flinched fully away from the frame before them, and suddenly…
Suddenly, it was much quieter. It took them a moment to gather themself back up to their collected form, to wonder if the flash had been a result of them and their team, or if it had been a result of… him .
Slowly, the Villain straightened themself up and took a careful step back toward the window. The room was filled so much with steam that for several long seconds it was simply a frame around a blank, solid canvas. The mist within began to thin near the top, trying to dissipate in the enclosed space. The inner walls of the chamber were showing their scars: scorch marks, warped waves and divots in the ceiling where heat had concentrated for too long. The temperature was settling, lowering back down like the room was finally able to catch a breath.
The speakers behind them crackled to life again. Stratagem looked down into the swirling fog through the glass.
“ Phase two… is a success. ”
The employee’s tone was that of near-disbelief, mingling with open relief.
A success. An impossible, beautiful, success.
There were so few instances where Stratagem allowed themself to really, truly laugh. To laugh with all three of their voices. To laugh with the delight and relief and anger and utter sense of victory that they laughed with right now .
Steam continued to be created, rising and falling from near the floor of the box. He was so full of rage; he had so much power. Oh, it would only be minutes, delicious, sweet minutes of waiting before that burning, flaming rage began to stammer and die. Even now, the thermometer was sweeping back to the left and toward the negative numbers. While the heat of his personal-bubble of sorts still surrounded him he’d likely not even realize, but when he ran out… it would hit him like an ice-bath.
“ Boss, ice stores are depleting. Currently at 15% remaining.”
“Oh I have fantastic news for all of you,” they called in a light singsong, gloved hands clasping together while their eyes refused to be torn from the inside of the box, so much still obscured by mist and steam near the floor, but the walls and their signs of the rage they had managed to contain coming more and more into focus through the haze. “We may be exiting this experiment… under budget.”
They waited to hear a reply; any additional data, any note of concern… and when there wasn’t one, the hands unclasped and their finger moved to hover over the intercom button, watching for the moment they could tell their captive was starting to truly chill out . When they saw it, the masculine features of a cock-sure grin graced his face, and the button was pushed yet again.
They could only hope the speakers hadn’t been destroyed.
“You’ve damaged so much of my equipment…” they said with a taunting slowness, feigning hurt. “After all I’ve done for you, too. It’s such a shame, Matchstick. I really tried to give you such a warm welcome and all…”
The sound of his scream was distorted, the microphones within the gorgeously-engineered cell seeming to struggle to pick up the voice now in the aftermath of what had all just happened. But they managed.
“ It won’t be the last thing I damage. ” Panting accompanied the words, the man had run himself truly ragged. “ Face me, you god damn coward! I’ll be happy to show you what a warm welcome looks like!!”
The smell of smoke was finally starting to eke its way out of the vents in the box, and Stratagem took in a deep, satisfying sniff of it as he listened to the screaming man within. They felt lighter than air, this was going so well . The only thing they had any concern about at this moment was that the steam and mist and smoke in the box would lower enough to give away the trick . To spoil the surprise .
There was a chance… just a chance… that The Inferno wasn’t nearly as dumb as his rapid capture would’ve made Stratagem believe. Perhaps he had started to understand what had happened, what was going on inside that cell. Maybe he was pulling his punches, trying to conserve energy. That was the only thing that could get in their way now.
And there was one way, one guaranteed way they knew that could make him use the last of that energy; of that power. One thing that would cause any hero— every last one of them— to give it their all even without knowing what the situation really, truly, was.
Overconfidence.
“Oh, you’ve given me all the warm welcome I believe you can manage,” Stratagem said into the microphone with a dark chuckle. They could play this part. They could play this part very well. “You see, myself and my men, we’ve… done the numbers. We built this box specifically to handle you at your strongest. The damage you’ve done already? All part of the equation. ”
Their eyes remained trained through the glass, looking for any sign that the flames were rekindling, that The Inferno was igniting again.
“We know you. We know your limits . We know, exactly, how to cool you down. We have the exact right amount of ice to do it. So… why fight? Why not just lay down for a moment… enjoy the cool breeze . You’ve needed to temper yourself for a while now, haven’t you?”
It was the one thing known for sure to get a hero to expend themselves fully.
Tell them you knew how strong they were, tell them you knew you had them beaten, and they would rally every time. They would expend their powers every. Single. Time.
If Phase Two had not been a success, and this worked the way they knew it was about to, there was not a single doubt in their mind that they would be dead. Extremely dead. Burnt to a crisp, nothing but a scorched silhouette of their wasp-waisted body against the thick concrete foundation of the secret base.
But Phase Two had been a success.
So there was no reason not to push… just a little more.
“What would The Rush think? Wouldn’t she want you to just… lay down? Save yourself?”
Light blossomed in the box again, with the faintly-distorted screams of rage to match. So brilliant. So beautiful. So… brief. He was fierce, and he was fast. An excellent display, but like every other fireworks show, the end seemed so sudden .
The laughing returned, and Stratagem felt a momentary grace of mercy cross them as they decided to let it all out, again, without involving the intercom. Ohhhh, it was so delicious.
Phase Two was complete.