The Collector

The sleek black limousine pulled up at the tunnel barrier. Lowering the driver’s side window, the man looked out dispassionately as the anonymous smiley-faced BLI employee checked his identification.

“Name?”
“Miles Sorby.”
“Nature of business outside Battery City?” the BLI official asked.
“Museum artefact collection,” the man replied.
“Papers?”

The man handed over his documents to the official who inspected them briefly.

“Business concluded?” he asked.
“No, we have two other scheduled visits to the Zones. The paperwork is all there.”
“We?” the official asked as he flicked through the documentation to the final two pages.
“My employer and I,” he explained.
“It all seems in order, Mr Sorby. Your employer’s name?”
“Evelyn Hart.”

The official handed the papers back to the driver and waved to a colleague to raise the barrier.

“Thank you, Mr Sorby. Have a better day.”

Raising the window once more, Sorby eased the car into gear and moved smoothly away. Behind a blackened glass barrier, Evelyn Hart sat opposite her latest acquisition.

“I expect it’s difficult for you, knowing you were betrayed by people you thought you could trust?”

The young man seated across from her merely stared, unblinking, angry, frustrated and silent.

She smiled as she allowed her eyes to roam slowly over his slender but toned body. If there was one thing she had to admit, The Killjoys were not only a valid cultural and modern iconic addition to her museum, but also delightfully and impressively handsome in looks and body.

“I’m sorry you’ve had to be restrained,” she admitted. “It can’t be very comfortable for you.”
Fun Ghoul swallowed. One of the first things his body had made him aware of when he had woken – even before opening his eyes – was the arrangement of leather straps holding him firmly in place. His wrists, he had expected, but a further set, fastened just below his elbows, ensured his immobility. Two more straps at his ankles backed up by one stretched across his thighs made certain that his legs were held equally securely. Two more straps remained. One pulled tight around his chest the other firmly around his neck, holding him stiffly upright with an almost choking pressure. Neither were necessary and in place purely to heighten his sense of helplessness. The last thing making it even worse was that it was obvious that this particular seat had been purpose built – indicating that perhaps he was not the first person to be held immobile inside her car?

“What do you want?” he whispered hoarsely, the neck strap severely limiting his ability to talk.
“What do I want?” she smiled. “I have what I want. Or at least, I’m half way there.”

Ghoul narrowed his eyes, momentarily confused and still somewhat dazed by the after effects of the chloroform.

“What could…” he paused in horror of the realisation of what she meant, his eyes widening and his lips parting at the thought that had invaded his hazy mind. “You’ve got Kobra?” he growled with distaste.

A satisfied smile – almost a smirk – spread across her lips. Her red lips giving way to a dazzling smile that, in other circumstances, Ghoul might have been mesmerised by.

“Yes, I have Kobra,” she laughed lightly. “And what a beautiful addition he makes to my museum.”
“Museum?” Ghoul replied astonished.
“Oh yes,” she smiled as she explained. “you are to be my first ever living, breathing artefacts.”

It took less than a moment for Ghoul to ponder the idea and react with anger and disgust at the concept.

“You’ve got him on display?” Ghoul’s fists clenched in fury at the news, pulling uselessly at the leather binding him. “You sick bitch!”

Shouting hurt him, but he couldn’t stop himself. His eyes blazed as he clenched his fists, his biceps tensing beneath his shirt as he strained against the straps.
Leaning forward and not moving her eyes from his, the woman – Evelyn Hart – trailed her fingers from Ghoul’s knees up to the strap across his thighs before placing both palms flat and moving her thumbs in small circles on his inner thighs.

“You know,” she smiled. “It doesn’t have to be all bad.”

Ghoul’s breathing quickened causing her to pull her fingertips together and she allowed her hands to slip between his thighs. But she had mistaken anger for arousal and Ghoul, unable to pull away and despite the agony in his throat, raged at her.

“Get your fucking hands off me!” he screamed, not caring if anyone heard him beyond the car.
“You’re in Battery City now, Ghoul,” she snapped pulling back and slapping his cheek hard in fury and humiliation. “No one’s going to help you here.If anything, they’re more likely to kill you.”
“I’d take on a whole pack of Crows unarmed before I’d let you touch me!” Ghoul snapped, incensed and violated by her touch and her assumption that he would welcome it.

Sitting back in her seat, Evelyn regarded him coolly. She had never been rejected. She had wealth, power and beauty and the combination of all those things had ensured that she had everything she had ever wanted. Indeed, one of those things was seated across from her this very moment.

“You’ll regret those words,” she replied icily.

Moving to the seat alongside him, she reached over and placed her right hand on his left cheek, turning it slightly towards her, causing Ghoul to grimace as the additional pull on the strap around his neck caused more pain. She leaned into him, her lips grazing his right jaw and cheek.

Ghoul closed his eyes, willing her to leave him alone but instead her response was to place a series of butterfly kisses down his neck. Pulling at his shirt, she kissed his right collar bone. It was more than he could stand.

“Get off me!” he screamed. Every muscle in his body tensed, wrenching at the straps but to no avail.

Her response was swift. Pulling back angrily at being scorned, she pulled at a ratchet lever behind Ghoul’s head and the neck strap tightened, forcing him to press his head back even further merely to allow himself to breathe.

“You only get one more chance to please me, Ghoul,” she snarled, pulling his hair backward, forcing him to look up at her.
“Don’t hold your breath,” he whispered in response, his raspy voice struggling to emerge.
“Don’t.”

She pushed the ratchet one more notch.

“Assume.”

Once more.

“You’ll.”

One more press and Ghoul’s head was swimming with pain and lack of oxygen. She completed her sentence pressing the ratchet after each word.

“Breathe.”

By now all Ghoul could hear was his own blood rushing in his ears. Passing out just as she spoke the final word, it seemed unlikely that he heard it.

“Again.”

*

“So,” the lead man of the three intruders to the diner moved in the direction of the corner booth. “What’s for breakfast, old man?”

At the question, his two companions perked up, one of them ushering Pony toward the counter.

“I assume your maid cooks,” he added slyly.

Pony offered a disparaging glance, but happy to try lead them further away from the booth in which Party Poison lay.

“What was that?” The other man asked, hearing a noise by the side door.

Turning, the lead man frowned as he saw a petite blonde woman carrying a large box entering through the door he himself had when he had surprised the others.

“Who the hell are you?” he growled noticing the lack of even a brief flash of recognition from either of their hostages.
“Zone Mail Services,” she replied brightly, waggling the box meaningfully.

Raising his gun into view, the man scowled at the ridiculous answer – there was no such service.

“What do you want, little girl?”

Red pursed her lips. Not that again!

“I’m looking for a Mister…” she dragged out the last word as she inspected the label on the box. “A Mister Jerkwad,” she looked up smiling sweetly.“I guess that’s you?”

Extending his arm with an angry sneer, he never saw the flash of Jet’s weapon. Dropping the box, Red levelled her gun at the man closest to Jet, standing near the main entrance, and dispatched him with just as much ease.

The third man, leapt toward the counter and wrapped his arm around the unsuspecting Pony’s neck, placing his gun under his jaw.

“Everyone, just put the guns down,” he ordered with a sly grin, “or your maid never cooks again!”

Jet froze, cursing the man for his reaction time. Sparing a quick glance at Red, he realised that neither of them would be able to stop the man from killing Pony if he so chose.
“I said drop your weapons!” he yelled again. “How many…”

Jet’s eyes widened as the man first dropped to his knees then crumpled to the floor. Pony staggered backwards, uncertain what had happened. The eyes of three men and a woman exchanged quick glances in shared confusion. It was only when another voice piped up and a head of messy red hair emerged above the table of the far booth that anyone understood what had just happened.

“Can’t a guy get any sleep around here?” he smiled weakly, kicking off the remaining part of the tablecloth as he sat up.
“Party!” Jet grinned, overjoyed to see his friend finally awake and, hopefully, feeling better.

Doctor Death Defying wheeled over to his patient, noting the unusual paleness of his skin. It could never truly be said that he was blessed with a healthy glow at the best of times but, right now there was still very much a strong sense that he was not fully recovered.

“How are you feeling, Party?” the doctor asked.
“Better than I was, Doc,” he shrugged. “Weak as a damn kitten though.”
“Breathing still laboured?” he asked raising a stethoscope.

Party unzipped his jacket and allowed Death Defying to listen to his lungs under his shirt. Removing the instrument from his ears, the doctor frowned.

“You’ll live,” he announced.
“Seriously, Doc,” Party shoved his shirt back into his jeans. “There’s no need to look quite so happy about it!”
Death Defying smirked. “You’ll be okay once Ghoul gets back with the other meds for you.”
“Ghoul?” Party smiled before trying to supress a hacking cough without success. “He took the supplies to Dust Bowl?”
Immediately, Party felt a chill seem to descend on the room. He glanced around at the worried expressions.
“What’s going on? Where’s Kobra?” he asked, finally his eyes landed on Red. “And who’s this?”

Jet moved forward; Party had missed a lot and there was a lot to explain but there was time; Ghoul would probably be another hour.

“Party,” Jet began. “This is Little Red, we found her near Dust Bowl…”
“Where’s Kobra?” he repeated ignoring Jet’s opening explanation.
“I’ll make some breakfast,” Pony announced ducking behind the counter.
“Jet,” Party began again; there was a feeling in the room he couldn’t quite put his finger on, but he knew it wasn’t good. “Where is Kobra?”
“We don’t know,” he finally replied. “He’s been taken.”

Notes