The first thing Suzi registered was the dull, throbbing pain crashing around inside her skull, a near-constant pounding that let her know she wasn’t done with this nightmare. The air around her felt cold and stale, and when she tried to move, she realized her wrists and ankles were bound to a metal chair that didn’t budge an inch, no matter how much she strained against it. Her mind raced, but there was nothing she could do—at least for the moment.
In the distance, a generator sputtered to life. Footsteps scraped against a concrete floor, and a clanging metal gate reverberated. She slumped her head forward, pretending to still be knocked out, desperate to gather any intel she could. The sickening hum of some contraption powering up made her nose twitch—there was a burning smell, followed by the whisper of warm air that brushed against her bare arms.
A faint shuffle behind her preceded the sticky sensation of medical anode pads being attached to her arms and chest. They think I’m still unconscious, she thought. She kept still, hoping Darcy or Bear might storm in any second.
But then a needle of electricity shot through her muscles. No chance of feigning unconsciousness now—her limbs spasmed against the chair. She let out a strangled grunt, body jerking involuntarily.
A man’s voice, warped by a device, cut through the red haze behind her eyelids. “Oh dear, was that too much? Let’s dial it down a notch.”
The shock turned into a gentler, rhythmic pulsing that rolled through her body, annoying as shit but not unbearable. Suzi’s muscles convulsed involuntarily like they were at a rave, and the rest of her body was not invited. The beat of the music quickly became irritating, like uncontrollable hiccups that didn’t give you the satisfaction of actually getting to hiccup.
“What do… you want?” she bit out between pulses.
Something tugged at the blindfold, and the sudden brightness made her eyes water. She blinked blearily, focusing on the figure in front of her. He wore a neat blue shirt, dark slacks, and a Guy Fawkes mask with a black cowl tucked around his head—no chance of identifying his face or hair. Gloves hid his skin, too. Definitely a well-thought-out disguise.
They seemed to be in some half-renovated concrete room, probably old as hell. The faint remains of marble trim lined the walls, and her phone, disassembled, sat on a folding table alongside her other belongings. Power cords trailed out the door, presumably feeding the generator that provided electricity for the lamp, the heater, and the device shocking her.
As if reading her thoughts, he crossed his arms. “What do I want?” The voice modulator made him sound almost robotic. “Complicated. But see, I’m not doing this for myself. Someone else asked me to, promising me… certain rewards.”
She clenched her teeth, waiting out another wave of electrical pulses. “Who the hell… asked you?”
He paced slowly, boots echoing. “Should ask yourself who you pissed off enough to want you out of the way.” He paused, watching her muscles twitch with the current.
In her mind, Suzi scrambled for answers, but the throbbing electricity made thinking nearly impossible. She was aware of the remodeling debris behind him but a mini-fridge and a single mattress caught her eye, throwing her off guard. Enough detail to guess he’d planned to stay here a while.
“Judas… is he a demon?” echoed her voice in her head slurring with the drug still in her system, but she heard only static.
She swallowed. “A demon?” she rasped.
He froze. Then he scoffed, stepping close. “A demon? Really? You don’t believe in that crap, do you? Science has proven God doesn’t exist. Evolution, Darwin, all that. I’m disappointed in you, Suzi.”
Her pulse kicked at the use of her name—her nickname, not her legal name. That meant whoever hired him knew more than they should. She tried to keep her expression neutral. Gotta be a demon behind it, right? Or an enemy. Could the Harvester—?
He tilted his head, eyes hidden behind that mask. “Why was demon your first guess? And if they existed, why would one want you out of the way?”
Shit. She realized she might’ve said too much. She forced a glare, buying time while another wave of pulses surged. Stay calm. Darcy will find me. But the dude continued his monologue:
“My other dilemma is what to do with you overnight. I can’t hang around, but the drugs only keep you out an hour, and I’m hesitant to pump you with more. I’ve already given you eight times the dose for a person your size. Maybe leave you in the chair with electrodes, but the generator might die… oh, decisions, decisions.”
Suzi gritted her teeth through a grueling crescendo of jolts. “Why… either?”
He just shrugged. “Orders, babe. Sedate you or keep you mildly electrified, keep you on lockdown, and keep you on Holy Ground. HA! Maybe there is something to your demon comment, huh?”
Her mind seized on that. Holy ground. No abilities, but no demons. The marble walls—she must be in an old mausoleum.
She forced a scornful laugh. “I… can pay you.”
He fiddled with a dial, and the beating pulse changed tempo—lower, slower, but building intensity with each cycle until it peaked in vicious pain, then dropped again. It made her teeth clack at each crest.
“Pay me? Intriguing.” He cocked his head. “How much?”
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“Double,” she exhaled after holding her breath through the next set of intense hits.
“Double? Would it impress you to know I’m not getting paid for this? My reward is worth more than money. Money I don’t need.”
She spat her words at the top of the next surge, “Name your PRICE—ugh.”
The masked man drew back. “Let me sleep on that.” He turned, pulled out a syringe from the mini-fridge. Before Suzi could muster the energy to fight, the needle pricked her arm, the sedative rushing into her bloodstream.
She slumped, conscious snapping off like a light switch.
Suzi woke some unknown time later with her head throbbing anew. A single industrial lamp dimly lit the space, casting weird, elongated shadows on the walls. Disorientation hit: she was on a single mattress on the floor, legs and right arm secured by restraints. Her left arm was also tied, but with a plank of wood keeping it straight, making bending impossible. An IV line trailed from a butterfly needle in her forearm to a low-hanging IV drip. The sedation was enough to keep her docile, not enough to knock her out completely.
She could see her metal chair, but beyond that, the gloom swallowed everything else. Every time she fought against her bindings, her muscles went slack with weariness, courtesy of the drip.
She screamed her frustrations.
She screamed for help.
She screamed until she felt her vocal cords were going to snap.
She heard no response but the echoing of her own screams.
She tried reaching Guillermo, tried summoning the Dagger of Roanove, tried focusing on Judas. Each time, she drifted out and then back again, forced under by exhaustion and sedatives. Eventually, she just gave in, letting a bitter sleep claim her.
She half-floated to consciousness when she felt someone moving her. They unfastened the restraints, hefted her up over a shoulder, and plopped her onto the metal chair again. She tried to open her eyes, but effort wouldn’t solidify into action. The smell of coffee wafted through, teasing her starving senses. Warmth brushed across her face, and for a moment, she thought sunlight! but no—she was still stuck in this concrete crypt, under the thrall of a generator’s hum.
When she finally forced her eyes open, she realized she was unbound. No more IV line either, just the leftover sting in her arm. The masked man stood with his back to her, rifling through her belongings on the plastic table.
Her heart pounded. This was her shot. She rose, arms shaky, legs protesting. She had to lean on the wall for balance, but she made herself stand upright. For a split second, all her rage and desperation crystallized. Slowly, she clasped her hands high above her head, fingers interlocking to form a makeshift hammer. Malleus Libertas. A final fuck-you to captivity.
Her heart thundered as she prepared to swing—her only chance to break free.
Her muscles quivered with the effort, but she threw every last shred of strength into bringing that double fist down onto the back of her captor’s head.
As soon as the blow connected, she tore away, stumbling toward the hallway. Her heart slammed in her chest—she’d hoped the hit would knock him out cold. Instead, he staggered but stayed on his feet. And then there was her problem: her legs turned into jelly after just a couple steps, and she half-collapsed against the corner.
A single glance down the dim corridor confirmed it was night. Or at least, there was no daylight shining in.
“That was not very nice,” came the man’s mechanized voice behind her. She felt his hands clench around her waist, hauling her up. “You don’t realize it yet, but I’m trying to help you.”
She twisted and kicked, but he easily subdued her; his strength outmatched her sluggishness. Everything felt so damn heavy—her limbs, her breathing, even her thoughts.
“I brought you breakfast. Thought you might need something,” he continued calmly, fastening her back onto the metal chair with thick Velcro straps.
Suzi shuddered at the sound of tearing Velcro, then let out a sob that bubbled up, half despair, half rage. She felt drugged still—her thoughts came thick and slow as tar.
“I’ve got to head to work in a bit,” the man said, voice tight and modulated, “but I’m willing to let you bathe and use the bathroom first. No reason this has to be undignified.”
She sniffed, blinking back tears. Part of her wanted to lash out again, but her head was swimming. Maybe a shower, a bathroom break—even a potential chance to do something in there. She gave a small nod.
He set a folded change of clothes on a cheap plastic table: her own clothes, she realized in quiet horror. Next to it, a plastic basin, a thermos of hot water, and a washcloth. Then a five-gallon bucket rigged with a toilet seat.
Her stomach dropped. “You call this dignified?”
“This is what we have,” he said. “I’ll step out. You have two minutes.”
He unstrapped her left arm, turned, and left the room, disappearing down the hall.
Two minutes.
She yanked the Velcro from her other arm and legs. Her mind raced—maybe she could toss hot water in his face. Except it was barely lukewarm. Maybe short the generator with it, but then she’d just be trapped here in darkness.
Play along, she told herself. He’ll screw up eventually.
Her face burned in humiliation as she used the makeshift toilet, then did a hasty sponge-bath. The water trickled down her skin, loosening some of the grime, but the effort made her arms tremble. Suddenly, a voice drifted in from the hallway:
“Sixty seconds,” he called.
“Fuck,” she whispered under her breath, splashing the last of the water over her to rinse off the soap. She slipped into the shirt and jeans—her shirt and jeans she realized with a pang. He’s been in my apartment. The realization felt like a punch to the gut.
She barely got the zipper of her jeans up when he re-entered. “Looks like I missed all the fun,” he remarked.
Suzi shot him a glare, toweling her hair with the small rag. “You were in my apartment,” she said coldly, ignoring his smarmy tone.
“Yes. I fed your dog, got your clothes.” He frowned. “I told you, I’m not here to hurt you. Please, sit.”
She did, though every muscle in her body tensed, waiting for the chance to strike. He reattached the Velcro, then hooked wires onto the anodes stuck to her arms and chest. The memory of that electric thrumming made her breathing shallow, but she made herself keep calm.
He moved with eerie gentleness, feeding her a breakfast burrito bite by bite, then letting her sip a caramel macchiato—her order from the coffee shop near Eternal Springs Funeral Home, not the standard vanilla latte or black coffee you’d expect. Suzi swallowed each bite, half-panicked it might be laced, but she was so starved she couldn’t resist.
As the caffeine sank in, she felt a hint of clarity returning. That must’ve shown on her face because the man quickly flicked on the machine controlling the pulses. This time, it was a low, rhythmic throb that made her arms twitch in little spasms, alternating pause and convulsion. Not outright painful—yet.
“I thought about your offer,” he said, clearing the remains of breakfast. “But I’m gonna pass. If I handle this just right, I can double my reward. That’s worth more to me than money.”
“What are you getting, then?” she asked, voice trembling.
He stuffed her dirty clothes into a trash bag. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Fuck’s sake. Try me—”
But he wouldn’t engage, just gathering up the bucket and the bag. “I have to get to work now, but we can continue this conversation later.”
Then he was gone, leaving her alone with that slow, maddening zap pumping into her arms and chest—an off-balance washing machine spin cycle, perfectly in tune with how sideways her life had become.