09

Chapter 8

I tremble in exhaustion.

The blindfold teases me with hints of sight. The only sounds are what I can hear through my own body, the plugs blocking everything else. The numbing magic covers almost my entire naked skin. The areas left uncovered, where I can still feel, are predictable - between my legs, my nipples, and of course the cold metal encircling my neck. Only tension tells me about the restraints on my arms and legs. And none of it would matter if I could simply reach out with my power and know what was happening, but that is also denied me, and it is the worst loss of all.

I've lost all track of time. Her touch, when it comes between my legs, makes me scream and twist from the sheer shock of sensation. Her magic rips the orgasm out of me, making a mockery of pleasure, and I hate the animal I have become. There is no room for humanity, or logic, or decisions. She simply does things to me, and I do my best to survive.

Slowly, oh so slowly, she removes everything. First comes sound, and my cries fill my ears. Then vision, a world blurred by the tears I have no chance of stopping. And finally sensation returns to my skin all at once, and I scream and thrash again as silk sheets rub like knives against my back, after so long feeling nothing.

Her gentleness is the counterpart that highlights her exquisitely pleasurable cruelty, and I loathe it. But I don't resist, even as she cradles me like a lover. I look up at her, and all I can do is ask. I cannot fully form the word, only move my lips in a pantomime of speech, but she understands anyway.

She leans down, and I wish with all my heart I could port away. Her voice is soft, and the lust and arousal in it make me shudder. "Because I can, dear Port. Because I can." And then Mayhem kisses me, her lips branding mine like a hot iron, and all thought flees as I once again become a creature purely of pain and pleasure.

* * *

I jerked awake and almost fell out of the chair. Agent Hughes stared at me disapprovingly from across the table, and I realized this time I'd fallen asleep in the "interview" room. But my heart was pounding, I couldn't stop myself from looking wildly around, there wasn't enough air, and I just couldn't bring himself to give a damn. Only the Boss's solid presence at my back - plus most of my remaining willpower - kept me from scuttling to a corner.

I took deep breaths, and slowly the room settled. Then I gave Hughes the same false smile I'd given every other time, and tried to keep my words from showing my exhaustion. "I'm sorry. Could you repeat the question?"

He gritted his teeth, glaring at me, then started over. I listened long enough to realize he was asking me - for at least the fifth time - about a museum job in Berlin, and then I tuned him out. Fatigue pulled at me like a living, grasping thing, and I had to reach down and pinch myself to keep my eyelids from closing. Two days, and I doubted I'd managed more than fifteen minutes at a time before I would be awake again, usually with some screams, sobs, or falling over involved. Then it was back to being a delusional paranoid in the corner until the next time I literally couldn't keep myself from nodding off.

I realized he'd come to a stop, and I put on my false thoughtful face. "Gee, Agent Hughes. I really wish I could help you. But I think I need a lawyer." And back to my insincere smile. I wondered if I was pouring it on too thick, then decided that was another thing I was going to not care about. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then the door slammed open and a female agent strutted in.

I'm sure she was aiming for a grand entrance. But it was a bit spoiled when I started at the sound of the slam and turned to look. I realized, way too late, that I'd moved too quickly and unbalanced myself, and with my hands cuffed in front of me I had no way to stop what happened next. To his credit Hughes tried to catch me, but he was too far away and had no chance. I cried out as I slammed into the floor, my shoulder wrenching from the impact.

Hughes swore and started around the table, and I heard the Boss start to get up as well, muttering something angry sounding. But the woman made it to me first, turning me over and starting to help me up. For a second, my heart stopped.

But... no. The face was just too thin, eyes slightly a different color, hair shaded slightly more toward brunette. Not Refill. My heart restarted, and something else started to replace it. How dare they. How

dare

they fuck with me like this. I nurtured it, embraced it. Anger was better than this cloying fear, and I let it fill me up. I made it show on my face, and she took a step back, startled. For the first time since I'd arrived in prison, I felt powerful, and I opened my mouth to share my outraged hurt.

The Boss slapped a hand on my shoulder, and I jumped in place. I would have fallen again, but he steadied me. He leaned down, his voice a deep rumbling river. "Do not let it get to you. You must resist the fuzz."

It made me laugh, his attempt at slang, and his smile let me know that's what he intended. I felt my anger drain out of me, leaving only the leaden tiredness, and I leaned against him for a moment. I would have been lost without him, and I wondered for the thousandth time how I could be worthy of such loyalty. Or what had happened to his daughter, to drive him to such lengths for someone like me simply because of a chance resemblance. I glanced over at the agents, and for a second I saw the calculation on the woman's face before she replaced it again confusion and sympathy. It

had

been intentional. And I'd almost fallen for it.

I pushed off the Boss, wobbling a bit, then moved back over to the chair and thunked down. Then I leaned over and, ignoring the woman, gave Hughes my best apathetic stare. He slowly sat back across from me.

I spoke slowly, softly. "Last thing I'm saying today. Just get me my lawyer, Hughes. Stop wasting your time."

Then I sat back and did my best impression of a (slightly neurotic) statue until they finally gave up and let me go back to not sleeping in my cell.

* * *

I stared down at my bowl of gruel.

Conversations with the Boss had revealed quickly that he was under some sort of gag order. Questions about the Professor or the Flying Five (meaning: Refill) were met with a slightly embarrassed silence. I'd stopped bothering. Same with questions about our ordeal - had it leaked yet? That we were... well, I guess I'd call it dating. Did people know how we'd stayed alive? And if yes, how many blowjob jokes were the late night comics making?

Still, I'd managed to put together a few data points. The Professor had been defeated, although I only knew from the context of an overhead conversation. No real details, but I

think

he escaped and is still alive. And Sandstorm had apparently called in a favor from Healbot to get me fixed up from Buzz's attack. I wasn't sure how I felt about that. I mean yes, it's obviously good that I was out of the hospital and not covered with burn scars, but by a cosplayer who thinks his powers come from video games? It's just a little weird.

And in regards to the bowl in front of me, I'd learned that I was apparently mentally disturbed and couldn't be trusted with anything dangerous. Which is why I have literally just a bowl, with no utensils. I was a bit surprised they'd gone that route - wasn't I supposedly

faking

mental illness? - since it might help me at trial. Assuming I went that direction, I mean.

In the meantime, it left me slurping my food like a child, which I found slightly aggravating. But that wasn't really my problem with the gruel. It just wasn't what I wanted.

You'd probably think I want a steak. A burger, fries, salad, maybe a nice pasta dish... and you'd be right. This gruel is tasteless at best. But to my surprise, that's not actually what I was craving. What I really, really wanted to wrap my lips around was Refill's cock and swallow down her cum.

Not because of the taste. Although that had grown on me a little. Not because of the texture, which even at the end I'd found a little gross. Not because I wanted to be reminded of stretching my jaw for hours at a time.

I wanted to suck her cock again because it would mean that this would be over. It would mean that she hadn't believed Buzz Cut's accusations, that she still trusted and wanted me. It would mean I could feel her. It would mean this damn power suppressor was off my neck.

I realized I was crying, quietly, but there's not exactly a lot of noise in my cell. There was no way the Boss couldn't hear me. It took me a few minutes to regain control, and as silence descended I decided to handle the awkwardness like an adult. I pretended it hadn't happened and hoped that no one else would mention it.

Grimacing, I picked up my bowl and started eating. And decided that, gross or not, the cum would have tasted better too.

* * *

Jean-Pierre McLeod (and isn't that a truly amazing name?) was a shark. Not just in the lawyer sense, but literally.

He was a minor transformative super. Nothing hero league in actual power, but he radiated danger. And he'd managed to turn what lots of people viewed as a disability into an asset. In the cases he took - mostly superhuman discrimination - looking the way he did had actually proved to be beneficial. He could jury select for non-biased or favorable attitudes like you wouldn't believe. Plus, he always managed to win people over with his smooth baritone, incredibly incongruous coming from a mouth with serrated teeth.

As the two black sheep of our extended family (although I was, admittedly, a lot further into the black than he was) and the only supers, we'd kept in touch. Though I don't think we were actually directly related. He'd helped me out a few times with minor legal matters, and I'd helped him get some dirt on a particularly nasty senior partner who was trying to sink his career. So I'd been almost certain he would show up... but it was still a relief to actually see him sitting across from me.

He smiled at me, a truly terrifying sight when you don't know him. "Hey, cuz. Long time no see. You look like shit."

I nodded back. "You're looking handsome as always, Toothy."

That bit of socialization out of the way, he went straight to business. "I'll be honest, P. I'm not sure why you called me. This isn't my area of expertise, and I don't think helping with the jury is going to be enough. I can try to find someone else at the firm, but I don't think anyone at Hammill, Hammill and Caveman is going to take you. You'd be better off going to Bernstein and Electroshock, I'm sure they'd love to take your case."

I shook my head slowly. "Not for this." But I hesitated. This was a big step. It was the only plan I had left. But it meant changing everything for the rest of my life. And for what? A gamble, a chance that Refill would eventually forgive me? That I would find acceptance in a community that largely reviled me, that thought I should be collared like an animal? Sure, not all heros were like that. Boss and Sandstorm. A few others. But for every one of those, there were usually several Buzz Cuts. And god forbid there ever be another Mayhem. It would always be an uphill battle. I'd seen what happened to other villains who tried.

I thought about Refill. Not about her body (well, ok. Maybe a little). I thought about her smile, how her eyes sparkled when she talked about training to be a hero. I thought about her snap judgement that first day, her belief in me. I thought about watching a sunset together, about the simple pleasure of holding her hand. Her amazing kisses. And that trust, that had disarmed every defense I'd had against her. And felt my decision crystalize. Time to roll the dice.

"I want to apply for Megastorm status."

He dropped his papers, and I smiled. Surprising the unflappable Jean-Pierre might be a minor victory, but I'd take what I could get.

* * *

Megastorm was the first villain to go hero. Well, not the absolute first. But he pioneered the legal process to make it official and tie up all the pesky red tape. He'd been a major bank robber before he'd been caught. Then in prison he found religion, and stated that as a Equalist he was morally bound to help others with his powers.

It took him almost five years, but he did it. He's still fighting the good fight down near New Orleans. Others had followed in his footsteps, and by now there was a huge case law built around it. I'm no lawyer, but I'd done some reading, and from what I could tell I was actually a model applicant. Practically all my crimes were property and theft, and everything else was minor. Most villains going for Megastorm had much more violent histories.

The only tricky thing would be meeting the sponsor requirement. But I thought I had the inside track on that too. I just had to hope she'd answer her phone.

Chapter 9

My restraints are removed, and for a moment all I see is my tormenter. Then the differences appear. They are minor, but notable. A white outfit, blue lipstick. But the largest difference is the expression on her face. It is etched with horror, a look that I know Mayhem could never feel, only ape.

Her hand reaches out to me, hesitantly. Her voice trembles. "No. It can't be. She wouldn't..." her voice trails off. She is trembling in shock and disbelief.

I concentrate. Memory is elusive, filled with things I want to shy away from. But I know something is important. I throw all my effort into it, ignoring the tears running down my cheeks, the silent sobs. Everything is insignificant next to this. Finally, finally, I know what I have to do.

I lift my head. A small movement, but all I can muster. It catches her eye, and she leans down. I take a shallow breath, all I can manage without coughing, and force it out. One word. I have to hope it will be enough.

"

Trap."

Her eyes widen, but she straightens just before another figure barrels into her. Light versus darkness, good versus evil. I see them fight, twin goddesses, and I hear the start of hateful words exchanged. But I am fading, exhausted. And for the first time since this ordeal began, I welcome the utter lack of sensation as unconsciousness sweeps me away.

* * *

The footsteps of the guard brought me out of my nightmare. And out of balance. Still, I was slowly - very, very slowly - adapting to not having powers, and managed to catch myself with only a minor scrape to show for it.

Petty Little Coward informed me that my lawyer was here to see me, and I walked (ok, so I still shuffled) forward to get cuffed as the Boss levered himself upright.

* * *

I watched, for a second too interested to worry, as Jean-Pierre grimaced. No matter how many times I saw it, I found it fascinating to watch human expressions play across his face. His words, however, brought me back to more immediate concerns. "I'm sorry, P."

I frowned and looked closer. His body language was defeated, his shoulders slumped. I'd never seen him this way. I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry. The only thing I could imagine was they'd rejected my application... I just didn't understand how they could have. I licked my lips. "What happened?"

He sighed. "I think someone is looking to make some political points off your trial. The DA is going after your Megastorm application hard since that will wrap everything up in sealed court documents and prevent a public trial. And so..." he hesitated, then pushed on. "So they got the judge to agree that the Flying Five are all ineligible to sponsor you." He looked miserable. "I argued against it, but they convinced him that they're unduly biased because you saved Refill's life." He shook his head. "We can appeal, but it's not looking good, and without a sponsor-"

He cut off, astonished, as I started laughing. Full-throated and deep. And it felt good to laugh without feeling like it might edge into the insane range, to just let myself go for a bit. Finally I leveled off, my amusement tempered by the fact that Jean-Pierre was looking at me like maybe I was a little bit mad. I forced my voice more toward normal. "Sorry. You just had me really worried there for a second."

He was angry now. "Dammit, this is important. A Megastorm app is a brilliant move, but it's a no go without a hero to vouch for you, understand?"

I nodded, carefully. "I know. But my sponsor isn't one of the Flying Five." I let my mouth grow into a wide grin as I watched him process that, and I heard the Boss shift behind me, the first time he'd shown any interest (Jean-Pierre had

not

been happy to have someone else in these meetings, but I'd overruled him).

Jean-Pierre was grinning back at me now. And this was pure, 100% shark. "But that's perfect. They've been focusing all of their efforts on this one angle, if we make an end run around that they'll have nothing." Now curious. "You will be telling me who your sponsor is, right?"

I hesitated. I'd been putting this off... but I needed Jean-Pierre's help for this anyway. I looked him in the eye. "Yeah. I need you to call her, actually. Just one condition." I leaned forward. "You're going to think I'm crazy. Promise me you'll call anyway, alright? Give it at least one shot. And don't let anyone else know, or they'll use it to try and get me committed." I twisted in my chair. "Same for you, Boss. I know you're not a snitch, but I need this one behind that oath of yours in case you get ordered to report. This leaks out and I'm in trouble." He nodded at me solemnly, fist to heart, and I gave him back a smile.

I turned back to Jean-Pierre, who was looking at me expectantly. I closed my eyes, then opened them wildly as panic tried to rear. Ok, bad idea. I focused on my memory while keeping an eye out for surprises out of thin air, and finally I had it. I rattled off the phone number, and saw Jean-Pierre raise one eyebrow at the area code (well. He made a motion that was kind of eyebrow-raising-ish like. Humanoid sharks are a bit weird for stuff like that).

Then I told him who he was calling, and watched with satisfaction as he dropped his pen. And grinned when I heard the Boss swear.

* * *

"You're sure she said yes?"

Jean-Pierre looked at me. He was annoyed, but it was still tinged with that tiniest bit of awe since my name drop the other day. "Yes. It was a long, scintillating conversation. I told her your name, why you wanted her, the time of the hearing, then she said she'd be here and hung up." He likes to get sarcastic when he's unsure of things.

I sighed and tried to relax. But it was impossible. The courtroom was pure hell - there were just too many people, too much happening that I couldn't see, couldn't predict. Every sound behind me, every time someone picked up a phone in the corner of my eye, every time the door opened and air gusted, I would jump, or twitch, or try to look. And from the way Judge Schwartz was watching me, I wasn't exactly giving him my best first impression ever. We'd tried to get this moved into the judge's private chambers, but that had been denied. Every few seconds I would glance at the clock. 12:59. No show. I flinched as it struck one.

Judge Schwartz's voice was hard and uncompromising. He was older, with a severe look, and wasn't exactly inspiring my confidence in a fair judgement. "Mr. McLeod, I allowed your client a mystery sponsor because you assured me she would show up and would more than meet the requirements. Since that was apparently a lie," he leaned forward, "I have no choice but to..."

I felt the despair rise up as he spoke. Damn it all. I'd been so sure she'd make it. I felt the tears start. The judge's voice droned on and on. There was a weird noise in the background too, almost like... wait. Wait.