The floor was icy to touch. An unpleasant draft brought with it the smell of rusted metal walls. Fluorescent hums brought only moments of illumination to the surroundings. Amelia slowly opened her eyes, the fog in her mind slowly cleared after what felt like days.
As she braced her hands against the ground to pry her face from the cold pavement, she could hear the clang of metal. Iron shackles adorned her wrists and ankles, bounding her to the center of what seemed like an abandoned mill.
The sound of footsteps approached. Amelia slowly panned her head upwards as a man drew close, taking in his appearance as her sight adjusted to the poor lighting. He wore pristine black shoes topped with vibrant red pants and a blazer, his gloved hands held near his neck as they adjusted an equally colorful tie. His eyes were shielded behind tinted sunglasses whilst his fiery orange hair rippled with each step.
"Finally with us sleeping beauty? It's been awhile Amelia, I missed you!"
The man sported a cheeky grin.
"Pierre!" Amelia shouted.
"I got some orange slices cut up on that table over there if you'd like some."
She attempted to reach out at the man's neck but the heavy chains halted her movement.
"Oh my! What would Mr. Roswell think if he saw this?"
Pierre chuckled.
"Do be careful with those chains. My associates are under strict orders to protect me should things go awry."
Amelia turned as two men approached from behind her. To her right, a short, old man with demonic red skin and steam swirling around him. On the left, a lanky man with black hair, one arm in a sling while the other playfully twirled a bloody knife.
Amelia scoffed.
"Mercenaries? You betrayed the Roswell family for someone who can only afford mercenaries as lackeys? Idiocy like this makes me wonder why my father ever hired you as his lawyer."
"Haha! I'm a great lawyer!"
Pierre leaned down towards Amelia. He lifted his glasses. His eyes were hallowed, with sclerae akin to dark pits and bold red irises.
"But that's not why your father hired me."
Amelia spat at his face, but Pierre dodged with preternatural speed.
"Paralysis-inducing saliva, an unsightly quirk for an equally unsightly woman."
Pierre paced around Amelia.
"I'm sure your father fabricated information about my abilities. After all, I was supposed to be his walking polygraph to use on friends and foe alike. I am telepath you see. My eyes are quite sensitive, so without a cane the only way for me to navigate the world is to use my quirk to borrow the sight of others. Of course, while I poke around in their heads for vision, naturally I gain access to their thoughts."
He turned, facing Amelia with a snide grin.
"From there, prediction is as easy as breathing."
"So?"
Pierre sighed and began to pace around once again.
"SO, Ms. Roswell, if, with little effort, I'm able to read the thoughts of others and predict their future actions, what do you think I could do with a bit more focus?"
Pierre tapped at his temple.
"Memories, my dear. That's what your dear old dad wanted from me. Information he could use to topple his rivals. Granted, the process required me to be in closer proximity to the target."
The circle that Pierre's path drew around Amelia grew smaller.
"And why are you telling me this?" Amelia said mockingly, "Is this some kind of fetish for you?"
"This conversation was just a means to an end. I find it easier to get the information I want if I do a bit of priming first, 'ya know?"
Pierre came to a stop, towering menacingly over Amelia.
"Personal ridicule, exposing the secrets of loved ones, our brains can't help but to latch onto associated memories when faced with these stimuli."
"Bastard!" Amelia swung her forearm at Pierre, attempting to shatter his knee with her iron shackles.
Her strike stopped short of its target. Pierre caught her arm before she was even halfway through the motion. He slowly slid his hand down, pinching her thumb between his fingers.
"Of course, pain also works."
There was a quick snap. Amelia's wails began echoing off the rusted metal walls.
"Though I find it varies from person to person. For most, pain is like a select-all for traumatic memories—amateur tier blackmail at best."
Pierre bit on the tips of his glove and pulled his hand bare. He reached for Amelia's face and slowly caressed it. Amelia's eyes widened, her cheeks streaked with tears.
"I've found that there is one emotion that flags just the right memories. One that intersects with most negative feelings, like a master key to the mind. Fear."
Amelia's eyes rolled back; her shackles slammed repeatedly against the ground playing a tune of pain and horror. In contrast, Pierre was the embodiment of calm as he knelt in front of the convulsing woman.
"Hm, your father sure can pick 'em. Quite the handsy guy, this fiancée of yours."
But Pierre's comments were met with only guttural yelps and pitched whines, yet he continued to casually describe Amelia's most fearful memories as if it were a mundane clip show.
Shukuchi turned away from this horrific scene. He didn't even glance at his partner, for all he knew, that sick old man was smiling ear to ear. He closed his eyes, but the sounds painted gruesome imagery in his head. The passing minutes felt like hours. The knife-play he'd been using to calm his nerves grew sloppy until it finally slipped. His better judgment escaped him like the knife from his grasp.
Pierre felt a hand on shoulder, its grip tightening the longer he ignored it.
"Shukuchi, right? I'm a tad busy here."
Pierre remained stationary, still prying through Amelia's mind.
"Get your rocks off somewhere else, freak. If you have the information we need let's wrap this up already. My blood is getting dry."
"Well, aren't you just the life of the party."
Shukuchi staggered backward, clutching his head in pain as his nose bled slightly. Amelia's body dropped to the floor with a loud thud as Pierre calmly rose to his feet, wiping his bare hand with a handkerchief.
"Right. Now if you gentlemen could be so kind as to take Ms. Roswell back to containment."
Hajiro moved quietly. The old man hoisted the unconscious Amelia over his shoulder and turned to face Shukuchi. To the young mercenary, this had been the first time in their partnership where the old man had been this quiet, and now he saw why, he was terrified.
The red face of a demon filled with abject fear. The paradoxical sight left Shukuchi speechless.
"You're new here, so I'll let this one slide, but next time take a hint from your partner. He's survived this long."
Pierre removed his glasses, a violent grimace adorned his face.
"Do that again and I'll turn your brain to mush."
Without another word Hajiro, Shukuchi and Amelia vanished into the night.
...
"I'm home!"
Bernard closed the front door and set his suitcase down. A young boy came running towards him as he hung his overcoat. Stubby antlers protruded from underneath the child's dark brown hair.
"Daddy!" The boy giddily hugged Bernard's leg.
Bernard bent down and hoisted his son up in his arms.
"Hey Kiddo!"
The boy laughed and began to strike dramatic poses as his father held him.
"When I become a hero Imma fly around just like Stars 'n Stripes!"
A brunette woman in a floral apron approached Bernard. Like her son, she sported distinctly reindeer-like features and had an impressive assortment of jewelry dangling from her antlers.
"Just make sure he does it outside, please. I'm not sweeping up another broken chandelier."
She planted a kiss on Bernard's cheek.
"Welcome home, dear."
"Ewww!" the boy groaned.
The woman chuckled and began to walk away.
"I got a late start thanks to that troublemaker you're holdin' so dinner is a bit late but it's alfredo."
"Things are finally going my way today." Bernard replied.
"Oo! Dad! We should finish that Elecplant movie!"
"On a school night? After you jeopardized my chicken alfredo?"
"Please, Dad! Please! Pleeease!!"
The boy held his breath, his nose began to glow a deep red and in moments he floated out of his father's grasp.
"Henry! What did your mother just say!"
The boy crossed his arms in defiance.
"Fine! We'll watch it but once it's done you're going straight to bed, got it?"
"You spoil him too much." Mrs. Bernard uttered, the sounds of her knife and cutting board echoing across the kitchen island.
"Yess! Wait Whoa-"
In his childly excitement, Henry deactivated his quirk and fell face first onto the couch, his descent as graceful as a rock landing in mud.
"You okay kiddo?" Bernard asked as he jaunted towards the couch.
Henry slowly rose to his feet without saying a word. The once cheery boy now stared at his father with indifference. His pupils, unnaturally dilated, glared at his father with a palpable disgust.
"Report." The boy asked.
A familiar rage began to build inside Bernard.
"THE DEAL WAS THREE WEEKS DAMMIT! I WAS SUPPOSED TO HAVE THEM FOR THREE WEEKS!"
Bernard reached out to grab the boy by the collar but quickly composed himself, balling his hand into a fist.
Mrs. Bernard emerged from the kitchen but rather than her usual homely tone she sounded cold and distant.
"The deal was for you to safely return Amelia and provide information to us, Bernard."
Bernard fell at his wife's feet.
"I-it wasn't my fault! It was some damn Japanese hero, the Skycrawler! He's the one that messed it up."
"A shame."
"I-it's fine! I already took care of him! The FHC will keep him out of our hair!"
"I loathe having to repeat myself."
Bernard felt a warm liquid touch his hand. He was horrified as he saw his wife holding a kitchen knife to her own throat, her skin already slightly pierced.
"Report." She commanded.
"The FHC has seven agents undercover in your ranks and five infiltrating the liberationists."
"No matter. Those agents will be converted into vessels soon enough, just like your wife and child. What else?"
"The chairman also plans to increase raven surveillance, he's already contacted the Corvus crime family."
Henry approached his mother, quietly stepping on his father's hand as he walked by.
"What. Else." Mrs. Bernard slowly moved the knife towards Henry's neck.
"A dossier containing the identities of the undercover agents and scheduled raven coverage zones will be delivered tomorrow; dead drop at Mullens Square Park."
The boy spoke once again, with the same cold demeanor as his mother.
"Thank you for your continued devotion to the cause. We'll meet again soon, Howard Bernard."
Mrs. Bernard slowly walked back to the kitchen. She turned on the faucet, cleaning the small drops of her own blood off the knife. She then approached the cutting board, holding the knife inches above it with an eerie anticipation.
Henry walked back to the couch, positioning himself just as he landed prior. Once both returned to their original location the tangible malice that engulfed the house quickly faded.
Henry sprung to his feet, a kiddish smile once again adorned his face.
"Hehehe! Have no fear, citizens! The great hero Rudy is completely fine!"
Mrs. Bernard resumed mincing garlic on her cutting board. She promptly stopped as she noticed small drops of blood on her collar.
"Tch! Looks like I got nicked by Henry's antlers again when I was carrying him earlier."
She calmly placed the knife down and turned around, leaning over the kitchen island looking for her husband.
"Howard? Howard where-"
Soon enough, she found him. Unmoving, still groveling on the floor.
"Did you drop something, honey?"
"Y-yeah but I got it Sabrina, don't worry."
His voice was robbed of all the glee he had when he closed the front door. Bernard slowly rose to his feet.
"Well uh, can you grab the first aid kit from the cupboard in the hall?" his wife asked worriedly.
Bernard nodded silently and walked off.