Author's Note: This story is a love letter to the Damsel in Distress stories that inspired me to write in the first place built around a retelling of my favorite DID story from nearly 20 years ago. It is a fantasy story governed by 80s action movie logic. If this sounds fun, enjoy.
Prologue: "Shadow of the Noose"
This better be worth it.
Carl Cabot thought as he quietly leaned against the back of the elevator that silently ascended to the top of the Burj Khalifa, the world's tallest building. He had been in his secret compound in Syria, preparing the latest models for sale when he got the summons to come to Dubai as soon as possible.
He knew he would be the last to arrive, unlike the others he had to stay at the margins of civilization, so moving around a city like Dubai was not easy for him. It did not help that his flame red hair and tall muscular form stood out even among the many tourists filling the city.
Still, it would not do to complain, for he knew the places where Cabot and his associates could all gather were few and far between. And being in one of the great wonders of the world was better than spending another interminable week in Marsa or some weird underground sex mansion in Italy.
A stoic Saudi in a finely tailored black suit stood beside him, staring ahead and not making a sound. Cabot paid him no mind; men in his position mastered discretion or ceased living. His sole purpose was to provide the key card that allowed Cabot to ride the secret elevator to what felt like the very roof of the world and then vanish.
The elevator came to a stop without making a sound. Cabot was impressed with how quickly they ascended to over half a mile in the air. He remembered when he had first arrived at the world famous landmark, and despite having seen the wonders of the world many times over, he couldn't help but admire the way the gleaming building thrust itself into the wide blue sky. And now he was at its summit.
As far as the public knew, the Burj Khalifa only had 163 floors, with the 163rd floor off limits to the public. The reason for that was because if anyone got onto the 163rd floor, they would quickly discover that there was in fact a 164th floor. No one was ever to know about this floor save the elite of the elite.
Powerful men like Cabot and the others waiting for him. They did not wield the influence Cabot thought they should, but they could still move in circles ordinary men couldn't even dream of.
Cabot exited the elevator into a silent hallway of shimmering black glass. The man on the elevator remained silent and impassive as the doors closed, leaving Cabot alone save for two massive men clad in black robes at the end of the hall. Both men stood at attention, each holding a large two handed sword thrust upwards towards the ceiling.
Cabot walked past rows of featureless black doors that led to secret rooms before passing by the two men without so much as a nod. They knew who he was and knew not to hinder his progress in any way. He opened the double doors and entered into a windowless conference room, lit by glowing LED torches held by shapely figures that appeared to be statues covered in latex but Cabot knew in fact that they were women personally trained by him. Each latex clad torchbearer was flanked by red banners bearing the image of a noose of black rope.
The massive conference room was dominated by a half moon table made of polished black wood. Seated around the table were an eclectic gathering of men Cabot knew all too well.
On opposite sides at the very end of the table were two hulking men. One looked like he had missed a few rungs on the evolutionary ladder, short and hairy with massive thick arms and a sloping brow. However his dark eyes were filled with intelligence and alertness. He nodded towards Cabot, who nodded back. This was Ape Morello, the man in charge of recruiting and training the footsoldiers used to carry out the decisions of those gathered in this room.
Across from Ape sat a nightmare of a man, over 7 feet tall with a shaved, corpse white head. He turned to Cabot and offered him a smile, showing off razor sharp black teeth. As far as Cabot knew he had no name, everyone called him The Ghoul. He was their sword, their champion. He was more a weapon than a man, and as far as Cabot knew, lusted only for violence.
Beside The Ghoul was a man in skintight white latex. All but his eyes were hidden, intense blue orbs that glowed with a feverish, hungry light. He stared at Cabot but made no move to acknowledge him. Standing behind his chair was a willowy blonde with a cold, expressionless face. Devanex and his paramor Ava Canot. The duo considered themselves the world's only supercriminals, and loved to commit crimes for an audience. Cabot found the pair exhausting, for they did what they wanted when they wanted. They possessed astonishing skills and seemingly limitless resources, something Cabot and the rest of the group sorely needed, but this group was only a hobby to them, one of many.
Across from Devanex sat a nondescript man who Cabot had known for many years yet could not accurately describe if his life depended on it. Everything about him was forgettable, and that is what made him so effective and dangerous. He was called the Iron Moth, and like The Ghoul answered to no other name. He was the Master of Acquisitions, give him a name and that woman would be yours within a week, no matter where she was or who defended her. Cabot had a close working relationship with the man,as he trained the women the Iron Moth acquired, so he knew the Moth's allegiance was first and foremost to himself and so was always wary when dealing with the forgettable man.
On his right side sat a small man in a well made but ill-fitting suit. His skin was dark and his hair was thick and black, It's vitality and volume in stark contrast to his weaselly, chinless face and watery blue eyes. He fidgeted as he looked at Cabot, nervously picking at the arm of the chair he sat in. The great Hassan Bey was always like this, Cabot assumed because he knew deep down that whatever his ancestors had, he lacked, and he no longer belonged in such hallowed company as this. His ancestors had been unholy terrors feared the world over, Hassan was a whiny child who thought he should be running things but all he seemed to manage was to putter around his crumbling palace and wait for others to tell him what to do. If it were up to Cabot, Bey would have been disposed of and his assets taken to be divided by his betters.
But it was not up to Cabot, he thought as he took his seat across from Bey. That decision belonged to the man at the head of the table. His chair was more like a black throne, more than three times the size of the chair Cabot occupied. The size of the chair was not what made it stand out, even as it struggled to hold his massive frame.
The throne was alive, or rather parts of it were. The back of the chair was a woman, her face visible from her eyebrows to just under her nose, with large blue eyes filled with terror. She had been cocooned into the leather that made up the chair back, leaving her an hourglass shaped silhouette raised several feet in the air. Her breasts were bare, tan orbs with golden rings through the nipples and small diamonds at the end of the rings, obviously tugging on her firm young breasts. Her exposed skin glistened with a youthful sheen of sweat.
The man seated in the living chair was in his late fifties, and was just over 6'5 feet tall. His appearance suggested morbid obesity, but Cabot knew from painful experience that underneath his fat was hard, powerful muscle. His strength was almost inhuman. His bald head rested just below the nippled ringed breasts, his hard brown eyes studying each man in turn.
