October 23rd. 11:34 PM.
First, there was nothing.
And then, there were small sounds. Crickets chirping. The wind rustling through the trees.
Her eyelids began to open. She could feel cool air on her face and legs. She could feel pain. In her body. In her head. And especially in her wrists.
She could feel, too, a profound sense of weightlessness.
Her vision was blurry, but she could begin to make out shapes. The dark corners of a medium sized room. A small white table with a few scattered objects. In front of her, two large doors. Barn doors. All illuminated by a single small light source coming from somewhere around her head. She saw light, moonlight, coming in through a small window on her left.
She tried to breathe in, but her airflow was interrupted. Something had been placed over her lips. Something sticky. She could feel it on her mouth and on her cheeks.
Through her nose, she could smell... The night. And manure. And dirt and sweat.
She shook her head groggily as her eyes made what they could out of the low light. She could feel tension in her arms, which she could feel on either side of her head. Above her head, she felt something digging into her wrists. She tried to move her arms, and found she couldn't.
Thoughts slowly returned to her. "What? Where?"
She lowered her head. She could see her shadow on the hay-strewn, dirty concrete floor; the shadow of her feet dangling a foot above the ground.
She tried to move her feet, and found she couldn't do that either.
"What's happened to me?"
Tape on her mouth. Her wrists and ankles tied. And pain.
Tape on her mouth. Her wrists and ankles tied. And pain.
She shook her body. Nothing. Whoever had tied her had known their way with rope. She watched helplessly as her shadow swung a small arc along the ground. She could feel smaller sensations now... The tug of her spandex outfit on her arms, her body, her buttocks. A belt, laden with small objects, hanging somewhat loosely around her hips. A delicate feeling on her nose and around her eyes; her mask. Her fingers encased in rubbery gloves, her toes and ankles in tight boots.
She closed her eyes. "Oh no."
She heard a creak, and looked up at the door. Two men crept in through the entrance, one after the other. Both tall, skinny white men, shirtless with overalls. One of them wore a wide brimmed hat. He closed the door behind them. They stopped and stared at her. And they both grinned.
"Damn. She is quite the looker, ain't she, Clayton?" said the guy with the hat.
"Oh yeah. Didn't notice it so much when she was back there fighting us and stuff. But now. Damn," said the other.
She lowered her head, glaring at them. She tried to say something, but the words came out as a muffled mess. The men burst out laughing.
"Boss said he'd be here in a little bit. I guess that means we'll have some time to ourselves now," said the hatted man.
"That's right," grinned the other. "Lots of time for a proper introduction."
"With no funny stuff, this time," said hat. He stepped over to her and moved his hands behind her back. She tried to shake off his fingers as they slowly walked their way up her butt and came to a rest near her belt. She could feel him working at the clasp; she made small, muffled sounds as she watched the man's grin widen. Then, second later, she heard a small click and felt the fabric fall from her waist. The hatted man lifted the belt, white with a series of buttoned pockets along it, and held it near her face.
"Don't think you'll be needin' this thing anymore," he said. "Too many damn gadgets for comfort."
He shook the belt at her face, laughed, and then turned around, setting the belt on the table.
"The Boss told us we got lucky. And you know, he's probably right," said the hatless man.
"He told us you're the new talk of the town. The city's own little... Superheroine," said the hatted man, drawing out the last word with an evil grin.
"He said you've been really been fuckin up those criminals in the city."
The hatted man wandered back to her. She squirmed, tried to find a loose part of the ropes. But her ankles and wrists were wrapped with care. She could feel her body begin to break out in sweat; could feel a prickliness through her long-sleeved, bikini-cut spandex costume. The man licked his lips as her placed a bony hand on her cheek, forcing her to look at him.
"But guess what, Blue Lynx?"
He stroked her exposed cheek calmly, sliding his fingers and thumb around the contours of her blue mask, reaching back to touch her black hair, and sliding back to rest his hand on her cheek.
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