The soft grind and bump of wheels rolling through potholes and snow piles draws Erich back. As he always is waking up from overusing his powers, he’s reluctant to open his eyes but the brief moment of willing blindness he experiences opens his senses to the other presence beside him as well as the cuffs binding him to the door. Curious who he’ll see more than anything, he lulls his head to the left and has a peek.

Frost Bitch— Cynthia leans her head against the tinted windows of what has to be some kind of armoured Jeep. She’s still wearing the tactical fit Erich last saw her in and that grants him an inkling of how much time has passed. Not much, Vie truly makes using my powers easier.

In the time passed she’s found gloves that meld in with her attire, cuffed at the end by box-like bracelets gleaming with crimson and black and sloshing with the vehicles slightest movements. Suppressant cuffs. They aren’t anything the crude silver chaining his hand to the door handle, rather they bind her powers without restricting mobility. Erich is sure if he peeked underneath her gloves he’d find them lined with Suppressant strips, fewer than he’d hand and shorter but given the cuffs he’s sure the M.C.U has made the right calculations.

Cynthia catches him looking in the reflection and snorts, breathing hot against the window so it fogs up, she pulls a finger through and draws a crude stick figure. With the little space on the fogged up glass she adds a little gun and frown for the stickman before glancing back at him. Without a word she reaches against the back of the front seat for a bottle, handing it and its grey-green liquid to him.

Erich accepts with his free hand and sets it between his legs for leverage, “What is it?” he asks, his voice unusually hoarse.

Cynthia returns to fogging up the window and drawing short lasting stick figures. “Nothing as special as Vie, typical electrolyte water. Should help with the headache and dehydration.”

His head was indeed pounding— a lot more than it does when he wakes up from these stunts— and his mouth is as dry as he’d imagine a desert would be. Wetting his lips lest they crack open, he twists the cap off and has a refreshing first gulp.

With his throat refreshed he notices the dark glass panel between the front and back seats. Given the cuffs and suppressants he isn’t so surprised but he wonders if the figures behind it can hear them. Likely. He glances around some more and quickly finds they aren’t at the first row of back seats, but the last, with the middle seats ahead of them granting space between them and whoever might be at the front.

He has another gulp and presses his head against the window, finding himself zooming through familiar snowy streets. He spots the local middle school he attended so briefly and then the arcade he thought was strategically positioned to aid and inadvertently distract the schoolers. For a moment he thinks they’re dropping him off at home, down by Ardak Avenue but the rattle of his cuffs and the immediate bypass of red traffic lights reminds him.

Right, I’m a criminal.

His trusty BlastKnuckles and knife are nowhere to be found on his person, least of all the BlastPistol Austin entrusted him with. Though as the memories of what should be the past hours glance by his eyes he questions what was true more and more. Was it entrusted or forced? Like everything else in his life he didn’t have a choice in handling that weapon or killing that man, Lynx goon or not he’ll forever remember his face, his contorted hands of slithering, hissing snakes, the anxiety in his eyes as he stared down Austin’s barrel and then red gap his pistol left in the man’s head.

And then not a second after Austin’s laying near dead at his feet and Cynthia’s yelling for him to come with. Come with to what? Prison? Where is this ride taking them to?

He glances by Cynthia again and studies her. She’s grown bored with the stick figures and instead plays with a little snowman in her hands. Erich’s eyes go wide at the sight before narrowing in understanding. Of course, retaining some sliver of power is understandable for a Delta rank Metahuman like herself, not to mention the number and intensity of suppressants slapped on her wrists wouldn’t be nearly enough to keep her completely powerless. Just harmless and that’s good enough for the M.C.U.

“How long have you been working for them?”

She chuckles and with some effort makes her snow man do the same before it loses its form, “Working for them? I guess that depends on who them is, doesn’t it?”

Erich narrows at her, mouth agape to say something but she beats him to it, “Don’t look at me like that, I’ve only done what I’ve had to and if those cuffs on you are as telling as they are, then so have you. Thanks again for saving my life back then with Lynx but the M.C.U caught me right after and they’re never going to let me go…I suppose it’s better than working for a boss like Steve, he doesn’t give two shits about anyone but himself and I’m fucking pissed it took the maw of a cannibal for me to realize that.”

Calming herself she stares down at her hands, the pile of manifested and now lifeless snow in them, “I’ll make this a good thing somehow or I’ll kill everyone and find another saving grace. My advice to you? Try to do the same and stay out of my business. Got it? Good.”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Erich gulps down whatever words he had to say and instead looks out his window. The vehicle depresses into a tunnel, its lights whizzing by as it zooms and manoeuvres through cars and the frequent occurring hover-bikes, and luxury skaters taunting and taking pictures as they pass by.

Uptown then. The only place where hover-bikes and pedestrians so bold exist. He tracks them as the vehicle climbs up into the fanciful city, the centre of Xoxia, it’s economic heartbeat and where everyone not vying for a way out aspires to. He glimpses the tunnel one last time before no matter how much he twists it’s gone, like the life he’s leaving behind, hastily replaced by fountains, gardens and parks untouched Xoxia’s everwinter.

Here the streets are licked clean of snow, they treat it like the plague and fashion themselves in beautiful summer clothes insulated through every inch of fabric. Through the tint of the window Erich isn’t sure the sun is out, the glittering street lamps say otherwise but knowing well the excesses of Uptowners Erich wouldn’t put it beyond them to waste the precious lights. Downtown things went dark quick and all that took to the night were prowling predators, dealers like himself and killers like TV.

The bustling city centre recedes behind them as for the first time since Erich woke the vehicle brings itself to slow down as it turns and sinks into the parking garage of a tall, knife-shaped skyscraper. Erich expected to find the M.C.U plastered against its top signifying one of their many branches but instead the building’s entire body lay bare of any branding.

The vehicle comes to a shuttering stop and just outside are several enforcers in full tactical fit, rifles, pistols and blasters complete. All narrow the distance between them and the vehicle, hands pressed to their weapons, fear and anxiety hidden behind emotionless full mask helmets and visors. One seemingly volunteers to open Cynthia’s door— fresh air assaults Erich’s nostrils, fresher than he’s tasted before— and they snatch Cynthia’s wrists, joining her cuffs together. Another opens Erich’s door, pulling him out with it before unlocking one side of his cuffs only to snap them over his wrists, completely binding him.

Clumped between a dozen of them plus an extra to personally straddle their arms as they march, Erich and Cynthia are escorted into the building, blinded to their surroundings by their many guards, the doors slide open and warmth slaps Erich face in greeting. It’s refreshing to have some heat.

Their guards split, taking one of them each as they march to parallel elevators. Erich glances back and through the shifting gap of his guards he catches Cynthia stuffed into her elevator with a familiar sharp jawed, suited man holding the door open. Officer Rick!

As he’s stuffed into the elevator with his own set of guards Erich watches the doors to Cynthia’s elevator close, the numbers receding just as his doors shut. A guard clicks a button and it jerks them upwards. Definitely keeping us separate.

Through the climb Erich deigns to study the six men that have squashed themselves in with him. Hands lying eagerly or fearfully on their weapons as the numbers count up. Most of them make a dwarf of him with in their boots and they all stink of gunpowder and burning metal. Probably the survivors from the encounter if it’s this fresh. Which means they’ve all borne witness to his powers to some extent, even if they don’t understand it Erich’s sure whoever they’re hauling him to has them on high alert around him. Then again, it doesn’t make sense that they’d suppress Cynthia and not him if that’s the case.

Erich lets the speculative thoughts die as the elevator doors ding open and a single guard drags him out onto flourishing red carpets flooding a hall of four brown doors. He’s brought to one and the guard knocks twice, delays, then twice again.

The door beeps and clicks, the guard snatches his wrists and uncuffs Erich before marching back down and into the elevator with his peers. Left alone to stand in front of some brown door, Erich massages his worn out cuffed wrists and deliberates trying to escape. It’s not prison but hearing Cynthia talk about how they’re never letting her go added some perspective. Then again, where will I run to? Vertigo’s probably gone if the M.C.U was successful, doubtful though. And now Tareh and pair of powerful metas know my face. My accounts are likely frozen after this too and Austin’s...there’s nowhere left.

Without a handle to hold onto Erich simply walks up to the door and it slides open, letting him into the warm atmosphere of what shapes up to be some kind of penthouse. Strolling down the entryway he notes a pair of short heel shoes parked atop a ‘Welcome Home’ mat. The wall breaks away to his right first, allowing a glimpse at the spacious living room, three lounging chairs, several colourful pillows and what looks like a retractable television station playing clips of Sandy the Bounty Hunter’s Adventures.

Just then a familiar scent assaults his nostrils and even his taste buds, resurrecting memories he didn’t know he forget as he pieces together the scent. Low cooked Tikka Masala chicken sauce…coffee, the cheap sachet kind…fried yam coated lightly with eggs and a side of stir fried rice?

The sound of humming calls him through, bringing him to the other side of the wall where a broad window provides a glimpse to night time Xoxia, Uptown looks beautiful through what has to be one-sided glasses but what draws his attention most is the source of the humming.

Softly singing along with Sandy the Bounty Hunter’s outro is a woman, short, dark-haired and curve cut above her neckline. Tied around her waist is an apron as she tosses the yams from the pan to the strainer, busting a move as she spins around and catches Erich staring, mouth agape.

“Erich!” Bethany yells, pressing her hand to her chest as she startles, “Glad you’re here but don’t scare me like that!”

“W-what are you doing?” Erich stutters, reeling at the nostalgic scent.

“Oh, knew you were coming so I thought I’d make your favourite. Aren’t you hungry?” Her grin is wide and oblivious but Erich knows better.

“How…do you know what my favourite is?” It’s something he’s never told anyone; the entire meal together doesn’t even have a compound name so he would never—

“Oh, Erich, are you tired yet?” Bethany says, her chipper voice descending into something low, meaningful as she brushes her hair back and summons yet another peppy smile, “Come help me finish up here and then we can judge how I compare.”

“Compare to what?”

She turns about, busying herself with the next batch, “Don’t you mean, who?”