My eyes fly open as I gasp desperately for air, my lungs burning as they fill with oxygen. The world around me is a blur of harsh white light and indistinct shapes. My heart pounds in my chest, each beat a thunderous roar in my ears. Adrenaline courses through my veins, every nerve ending on fire with a mixture of panic and confusion.
‘Where am I?’
As my vision slowly clears, I become acutely aware of my surroundings. I’m lying naked on a cold, metal table, the surface unyielding against my bare skin. The chill seeps into my bones, a stark contrast to the feverish heat coursing through my body. Overhead, bright fluorescent lights buzz softly, their sterile glow casting everything in a harsh, unforgiving light.
My gaze darts wildly around the room, taking in the gleaming medical equipment and pristine white walls of what I now recognize as some sort of medical bay in Star Tower. The air is thick with the sharp scent of antiseptic, mingling with something else, the metallic tang of blood and the salty musk of sweat and tears.
Suddenly, a figure looms over me, and I feel warm droplets splashing onto my face and chest. Through my panicked haze, I focus on the person above me, and my breath catches in my throat. It’s Skye, her face a mask of anguish and terror. Her usually vibrant emerald eyes are red-rimmed and swollen, tears streaming unchecked down her cheeks. Her brown hair is a tangled mess, falling in damp strands around her face. She’s wearing nothing but a towel, clutched haphazardly to her chest, her knuckles white with the force of her grip.
“Luke!” Skye sobs, her voice raw and broken. “Oh God, Luke, I’m so sorry! I’m so, so sorry!”
Her words come out in a rush, punctuated by heaving sobs that shake her entire body. I try to speak, to ask what happened, but my throat feels raw and constricted. All I can manage is a hoarse croak that sends me into a coughing fit.
As I struggle to catch my breath, another figure enters my field of vision. It’s a woman in a crisp white uniform, her face a mask of professional concern tinged with barely concealed anger. The name tag on her chest reads “Heart Monitor,” and I vaguely recall her as one of the healers associated with the superhero community.
Heart Monitor’s eyes dart between Skye and me, her expression growing darker with each passing second. Suddenly, she whirls on Skye, her voice rising to a furious crescendo that echoes off the sterile walls of the medical bay.
“How could you?!” she screams, her face contorted with rage and disbelief. “How could you possibly kill your own boyfriend?!”
The words hang in the air, heavy and accusatory. Skye flinches as if physically struck, her sobs intensifying. She clutches her towel with one hand while the other reaches out towards me, trembling and uncertain.
“I didn’t mean to,” Skye wails, her voice cracking with emotion. “I swear, I didn’t mean to! Luke, please, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry!”
Her apologies blend into an almost incomprehensible stream of words, punctuated by heart-wrenching sobs. The raw anguish in her voice cuts through the fog of confusion in my mind, igniting a fierce need to protect her, to take away her pain.
With tremendous effort, I force my raw throat to cooperate. “Wait,” I croak out, the word barely audible over Skye’s continued apologies and Heart Monitor’s angry muttering.
Both women freeze, their attention snapping to me. I swallow hard, wincing at the pain, and try again. “It was my fault,” I manage to choke out, my voice rough and strained.
Heart Monitor’s eyes widen in disbelief. She leans in closer, her brow furrowed in confusion. “How could it possibly be your fault?” she asks, her tone a mixture of skepticism and concern.
I feel heat rising in my cheeks, a deep blush spreading across my face and down my neck. The fluorescent lights suddenly seem too bright, too exposing. I’m acutely aware of my nakedness on the cold metal table, but the need to defend Skye overrides my embarrassment.
“I...” I start, then pause, gathering my courage. “I kept asking her to choke me harder.”
“So what?” Heart Monitor finally says, her voice flat and unimpressed.
“Every time she squeezed harder, I kept telling her I wanted more,” I explain, my voice hoarse but gaining strength. “I pushed her to go further than she was comfortable with. I... I got carried away in the moment.”
As I speak, Skye climbs fully onto the table with me, her body pressing against mine as she holds me with desperate intensity. Her towel has slipped, barely clinging to her trembling form. I can feel her tears on my skin, her breath coming in shuddering gasps against my neck. My fingers find their way into her hair, gently stroking the tangled brown locks in a soothing rhythm.
Heart Monitor’s gaze flicks between us, her expression morphing from shock to annoyance. The lines around her mouth deepen as she presses her lips into a thin, disapproving line. Her fingers tap an agitated rhythm against her clipboard, the sound echoing in the tense silence.
“You two do not seem compatible,” she says curtly, her words clipped and professional. “Super-powered individuals can easily lose control in... intimate situations.”
I nod, not really taking her words into consideration at all as I continue to comfort Skye. Her sobs have quieted now, replaced by soft, hiccuping breaths. I can feel her heartbeat gradually slowing, syncing with my own.
“Can I be alone with Super Star for a bit?” I ask gently, meeting Heart Monitor’s stern gaze. “Please?”
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The doctor’s eyebrows shoot up, disapproval radiating from every pore. She glances at the various monitors surrounding the table, then back at us, her internal struggle visible on her face. Finally, she lets out a long, exasperated sigh.
“Fine,” she says, the word heavy with reluctance. “Press the call button if you need anything.”
With one last disapproving look, Heart Monitor turns on her heel and strides out of the medical bay. The door slides shut behind her with a soft pneumatic hiss, leaving Skye and me alone in the suddenly quiet room.
Skye hugs me tightly, her body molding against mine on the cold metal table. I can feel every tremor that runs through her, every shuddering breath she takes. Her arms wrap around me with desperate strength, as if she’s afraid I might disappear if she loosens her grip even slightly.
“I almost lost you again,” Skye whispers, her voice cracking with emotion. The words are muffled against my neck, her lips brushing my skin as she speaks.
“It’s going to take a lot more than that to kill me,” I say, trying to inject some lightness into my tone. My fingers continue their soothing motion through her hair, gentle and rhythmic.
Skye’s body stiffens at my words. She pulls back slightly, just enough to meet my gaze. Her emerald eyes are wide and filled with a pain so deep it takes my breath away. Fresh tears spill over, catching the harsh fluorescent light as they roll down her cheeks.
“You don’t understand,” she sobs, her voice rising in pitch. “I actually killed you, Luke. You were dead. Your heart stopped beating. You weren’t breathing.” Each statement comes out in a rush, punctuated by heaving breaths. “You were just lucky... so lucky that you could be revived in time.”
A chill runs through me at her words. For a moment, I’m acutely aware of my own heartbeat, the rush of blood in my veins, the expansion of my lungs as I breathe. The fragility of life suddenly seems so apparent, so terrifyingly real for once.
But I force myself to stay composed, to be the anchor Skye needs right now. I take a deep breath, ignoring the lingering soreness in my throat, and meet her gaze steadily.
“If I die by your hands,” I say softly, my voice filled with sincerity, “I promise I’ll be okay with it.”
Skye’s reaction is immediate and intense. Her eyes widen in horror, new tears spilling over. She shakes her head violently, her hair whipping around her face.
“No! No! No!” she yells, her voice echoing off the sterile walls. Her hands come up to cup my face, her touch gentle despite the force of her emotions. “Don’t you ever say that again, Luke! Don’t you dare!”
*****
[Mind Mistress’s POV]
The hallways of Star Tower’s medical bay blur past me as I sprint toward Luke’s room, my heart pounding in my chest. The sharp click of my heels against the polished floor echoes off the walls.
‘Super Star killed her fiancé.’ The words from the report I received just minutes ago replay in my mind like a broken record, each repetition sending a fresh wave of panic through my body.
I round the final corner, my breath coming in short gasps and skid to a halt. There, just outside Luke’s room, stands Tyrell. His red jacket is a vibrant splash of color against the clinical white of the hallway, his helmet gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights. He’s peering through the small window in the door, his body language tense and alert.
For a moment, all my carefully laid plans, my schemes, and machinations flash through my mind. Here he is, the man who’s been causing me so much trouble to account for, the unpredictable variable in my equations. He’s right there, unaware and vulnerable. A hundred possibilities race through my mind, ways to neutralize him, to remove him from the board entirely.
But then, unbidden, an image of Luke flashes in my mind’s eye. Luke lying still and pale on a hospital bed. Luke, whose warm smile and kind eyes have been haunting my dreams.
‘My poor pookie.’
I shake my head, trying to clear these confusing thoughts. Why am I so worried about Luke’s health? He’s just a pawn in my grand design, isn’t he? A means to an end, a way to manipulate Super Star. So why does the thought of him being hurt make my chest tighten with an unfamiliar ache?
Pushing aside these troubling emotions, I force myself to focus on the situation at hand. I smooth down my suit jacket, taking a deep breath to compose myself before approaching Tyrell.
I hold out my hand and say, “Tyrell, right? I’m Veronica Vale, the CFO here.”
He looks over at me, his white helmet gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights.
“Tyrell,” he confirms simply as he shakes my hand.
Without further acknowledgment, he turns back to the window, resuming his vigil over the couple inside. I step closer, peering through the glass pane alongside him. The scene beyond is heart-wrenching and intimate, Luke and Skye entwined on the hospital bed, their bodies pressed close as if trying to meld into one being. Even from here, I can see the shaking tearing through Skye’s body, the desperate way she clings to Luke.
‘You hurt him.’ I try even harder to push my thoughts down.
“How bad was it?” I ask though part of me dreads the answer.
Tyrell’s shoulders slump slightly, his posture radiating tension and worry. “It was really bad,” he says, his voice low and strained.
I feel my own heart clench at his words, a chill running down my spine. I swallow hard, trying to keep my voice steady as I ask, “Why are they naked?”
Tyrell turns his head slowly, his blank helmet somehow conveying a mix of disbelief and exasperation.
“You can’t guess?” he finally says, his tone flat.
A surge of jealousy rushes through me at the implication, hot and unexpected. The thought of Luke and Skye together, their bodies entwined in passion, sends a pang of something I refuse to acknowledge through my chest. I take a deep breath, forcing these unwelcome emotions down, burying them beneath layers of calculated indifference.
“Who do you work for, by the way?” I ask, trying to steer the conversation onto something more productive and get my mind off this disgusting scene in front of me.
Tyrell doesn’t look away from the window as he responds, his voice low and measured. “You don’t know them.”
I feel frustration bubbling up inside me, threatening to spill over. My fists clench at my sides, nails digging into my palms as I struggle to maintain my composure.
I open my mouth to press further, but Tyrell cuts me off before I can speak. He turns to face me fully.
“I don’t know what your game is, Mistress,” he says, his voice carrying a dangerous edge. “And frankly, it’s none of my business what you do. But you better not fuck with Luke.”
The blood drains from my face, leaving me feeling cold and exposed. My heart pounds in my chest, each beat echoing in my ears like a thunderclap. The implications of his words hit me like a physical blow, leaving me reeling.
‘He knows. Somehow, impossibly, he knows who I really am.’
The world seems to tilt on its axis as the full weight of this realization crashes over me. My carefully constructed facade, my meticulous life style, all of it suddenly feels as fragile as a house of cards in a hurricane.
In this moment, I understand with crystal clarity that Tyrell is not just an obstacle to be removed. He is a force to be reckoned with, a wild card capable of upending the entire game board.
‘He needs to die. As soon as possible.’
The thought crystallizes in my mind with startling clarity, cutting through the fog of panic and shock. It’s not just about protecting my plans anymore. It’s about survival.
I force my face into a mask of neutrality, willing my racing heart to slow. “Understood,”
Tyrell nods once, a sharp, decisive movement, before turning back to the window. The dismissal is clear, but I linger for a moment longer, committing every detail of him to memory.