Chapter Six
April 18th, 9:34 PM
Erin had twenty minutes to get to the next stage.
But what the hell was the "next stage"?
She ran into the parking lot and sprinted toward Margot's car.
"That lousy bastard," she thought. "What kind of game is this? And why now?"
Hammerson had been strangely quiet the last several weeks. She hadn't seen or heard from him since, well, before her arm had been broken. But this scheme, this attempt to use Margot as bait, it was clearly something he'd been planning for a while. Those henchmen didn't just come out of nowhere: they were paid associates of "the boss."
Margot's car was unlocked. Erin jumped into the driver's seat, furiously searching for the keys. She riffled through Margot's backpack. Nothing. She looked in the cup holder, on the ground. Still nothing. Did Margot take them with her?
Erin gulped. "I don't think I can get there... Not fast enough... Not without a car."
She had begun to panic when she spotted a pile of clothing on the floor near the passenger's seat. A red spaghetti-strap top, jean shorts, and sandals. Margot's clothes.
"She must have gotten into her costume," Erin thought. "Which explains why they were calling her the Black Bobcat."
Erin reached over, picked up Margot's shorts, and shook them. There was a small jingle.
"Yes!" Erin said. She removed the key from the jean pockets and jammed it into the ignition.
"Alright," she thought. "Here we go."
She hadn't driven a car in years. It hadn't been required: she was able to walk or run to most of the places she wanted to go, and Margot was more than happy to chauffeur her around when needed. Driving in the city always kind of freaked her out, actually. But she couldn't be afraid now.
She put the car in drive and zoomed away from the paint factory, one hand on the wheel, the other on her phone. She glanced back and forth, from the road to tracker. The red dot representing Margot didn't appear to be too far away: just five miles down the street, in one of the poorest, most run-down neighborhoods of the city.
"She's not moving," Erin thought. "I guess they're in the next stage."
The weekday night traffic was light, and the path to the red dot was straight. Erin drove well over the speed limit, and within five minutes she was just a couple hundred yards from her friend. She was definitely in the ghetto, now: the streets were lined with abandoned houses, unkempt lawns, and boarded-up windows. This was hardly uncommon territory for the Blue Lynx-- the majority of Hammerson's drug houses were surrounded by squalor-- but tonight, alone in Margot's car, driving to an uncertain fate, Erin could feel her nerves acting up.
She parked on the street in front of a wide two-story building, a gray-bricked windowless square that seemed both newer and more ancient than the residences surrounding it. It had a curious depth to it-- from where Erin sat, it looked like it extended back to the horizon. It didn't look like a house. It looked almost like an arena. And the tracker made it clear that Margot was somewhere inside.
Erin checked the time. About twenty minutes had elapsed since Hammerson's phone call.
"I have to get in there, now," Erin thought. She turned off the car and sprang out the door, running down the plain concrete pathway to the building's front door. She checked the handle-- it was unlocked-- and pushed inside.
She found herself in a plain white room, a perfect square, about fifty feet on each side, harshly lit by bright fluorescent ceiling lights.
The room was silent. She was alone. There were no signs of life, period: the room had no furniture, no pictures, no dust. The whole thing seemed untouched, pure. The only piece of it interrupting its plain whiteness was a single black door on the wall opposite its entrance.
"Hammerson!" Erin yelled. "Come out! Face me! I'm here!"
Erin put her hands on her hips and tapped her toe.
"Alright, so much for stage two," she thought.
She stomped across the room toward the black door. Suddenly, she heard a voice.
"Blue Lynx."
It was Hammerson. Via speaker.
"Welcome. You've made it! And with barely a minute to spare. Did you have a little trouble with my boys?"
"Hammerson," Erin said, pivoting around, ignoring the question. "Where's Black Bobcat?"
Hammerson laughed. "I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise, Blue Lynx. But don't worry. If you can get through the next couple stages, you'll find out, soon enough."
Erin scanned the walls of the room, looking for a speaker. She searched up and around until she saw, high in a corner of the ceiling, a small black security camera mounted with a small megaphone.
"I can see you," Hammerson giggled.
"What is this place? Your home?" Erin asked. "Did you failing drug operation force you to sell all your stuff?"
"No Blue Lynx," Hammerson replied, no longer laughing. "This isn't my house. It's yours."
Erin stared up into the camera. "Really? You bought it for me? You shouldn't have."
"Oh, I didn't just buy it, my dear. I built it. A very special stadium, custom-made for our city's slipperiest, sexiest superheroine."
Erin heard the door lock behind her. She didn't flinch. She'd been expecting it to happen.
"Seems like a lot of work," Erin said. "I must really be a thorn in your side."
"Oh yeah," Hammerson said. "You've been quite the fucking nuisance. But tonight, it ends."
"Hmm," Erin said. "We'll see about that."
"You're not leaving this house alive, Blue Lynx. This is your last stand. It's you versus my Fearsome Five, one final time."
"I'm going to win, Hammerson," Erin said. "I'm going to save the Black Bobcat. And then, it will be you who's finished."
Hammerson laughed. "Famous last words, superheroine. But enough talk. I don't want to delay this any longer. From this point on, I'll be watching your progress."
Erin extended a middle finger to the security camera.
"Blue Lynx!" Hammerson yelled. "Welcome to THE GAUNTLET!"
The ceiling lights exploded into color. Erin was suddenly covered in red, blue, and green. She heard a small hissing sound, and the room slowly filled with smoke. It collected around her ankles and thighs. Erin waved it away, taking a small whiff to determine its toxicity. The gas was odorless, and she assumed it was simply for "atmosphere." Just another part of Hammerson's game, this "gauntlet" he'd created.
The black door creaked open, and into the smoky, multicolored room sauntered a small, frail man with round glasses and a tiny mustache. It was Hammerson's doctor, and the Blue Lynx's poisoner: Grigory Todorov.
"Why hello there!" he said, kicking at the smoke plumes, shutting the door behind with a clumsy turn. "Welcome, Blue Lynx. Welcome and hello."
Erin smiled. "Todorov. Are you my first challenger?"
"Indeed I am," he replied, sticking his hands in the pockets on his lab coat. "Aren't you happy?"
"Oh yeah," Erin said, bringing her fists in front of her face. "This shouldn't be too difficult."
"No, no," Todorov said. "It's an easy start, for you." He grinned at Erin. "There's just one problem."
"What's that?" Erin said, shuffling toward the doctor.
Todorov chuckled.
"I cheat."
He pulled a pistol from his coat pocket, leveled it at Erin, and fired.
On to Chapter Seven
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