She had been placed in a vehicle, a van or a truck she thought, somewhere in the back on her side, and off the kidnappers had driven. Someone was in the back with her. Occasionally, when the truck lurched, she felt their foot press against her, possibly keeping her from sliding all over the place. She wasn't sure if it was motion sickness or morning sickness, but she felt like she might hurl any moment. Feeling nauseous with your mouth blocked was never great, and she was honestly anxious she might choke on her own vomit before she even made it to wherever they planned to execute her.
The journey was a good two hours of lefts, rights and roundabouts she couldn't keep track of. It ended in a sudden stop, a slam of the breaks that had her squealing in terror. Hands were on her and she was hoisted up, carried inside a building and made to kneel on what felt like a hard, metal grate. A man stood there beside her, a hand on her shoulder. She shivered in fear.
"Get McCree. Tell him I need to talk to him about something vitally important."
"Yes sir." Footsteps. The sound of a heavy door. Silence.
Another door opened, this time in front of her, and the voice of the underling before sounded out. "Sir, Agent McCree here to see you."
Castor stepped into the large metal room, often nicknamed The Gallows by his colleagues, and respectfully dropped to one knee. If he was surprised to see the superhero, Total Nightmare, bound at the hands of his boss, albeit out of costume and in her nightclothes, he didn't show it in his eyes. The downturn of his lips at the sight was hidden by his mask. The boss himself, a tall man who kept his true face hidden and his true voice disguised, stood to the side on an elevated platform, while a skinhead ranked at a measly 19 in the runnings stood at the captive's side, a shit eating grin on his face. The woman who had come to fetch him was so low in ranks she was little more than a runner or messenger.
"Agent McCree." The boss began, reclining leisurely against the railing around his platform. "I have a small assassination job for you, and it's been a while since I saw your abilities in person. I thought it might be entertaining to have you put on a little show for me." He gestured to the girl and the agent below, an uncaring flick of the hand. "Agent Nevers here has brought this lovely young lady to our base. A miss Melissa Colleen Varnham. I believe you know her."
Castor replied only with a slight incline of his head.
"Excellent. Agent Nevers and I have confirmed you and Miss Varnham...well, let's just say you've found her useful for whetting your sexual appetites, shall we? And that in and of itself is fine, and to be expected. You came to us very young, pledged to throw away friends, family and loved ones, and to be loyal to us, when you were but a child. Since then, you've been through the changes of puberty, and your emotional needs have changed. It was bound to happen eventually that hormones and cravings would drive you to experiment sexually with the body of another. And that does not concern us, my boy, so do not worry. I have no problem with my employees spending some time with a sex worker or on a one night stand."
"But...?"
He could almost feel the boss smirking down at him. "Did this particular young lady ever make you aware that she was carrying your child?"
"Never. Our only contact has been during our...sexual liaisons." It wasn't completely true. While Missie certainly had not yet informed him of her pregnancy, their relationship was certainly more than just casual sex.
"I see. And do you still stand by the pledge you made upon joining us?"
"Of course, sir."
"Of course. I'm sorry, I have to ask. After all, some make this pledge without truly being able to keep it. Agent Soyka, Agent Vrana, Agent Clausius, Agent Hassan...you used to be close to Agent Hassan, did you not?"
"When he defected, he told me he believed if we'd not been part of the agency we could have been friends."
"What a sweet fantasy. Of course, we still haven't obtained Agent Hassan's head...but he defected because he had a child, did he not?"
"Correct."
"Yes. The human heart sure is a tricky thing. Now, obviously, we don't want to run the risk of you getting attached, or of someone finding out you have connections or emotional bonds you really shouldn't have. McCree is our finest killing machine, correct?"
"Correct."
"And anyone could try to use any family or partners you might have to manipulate you, to prevent you being at your best."
"I have no bonds. I'm loyal only to The Agency."
"Of course, of course, of course. So this entire conversation is just a long-winded way of saying I support you, but please be careful. You're like a son to me, Castor. I don't want any more accidental pregnancies."
"Yes, sir."
"Excellent. Now, on with the show. Kill the girl, and her unborn child. Show no mercy. Make it flashy. I want to see how you've improved since last time. I know you prefer your targets to try and escape, but just this time you'll have to make do with a bound captive."
Castor got to his feet. Missie's breath hitched. Perhaps she was crying. He had options, of course. Option one was to do as his boss said, and slice his girlfriend to ribbons in the most theatrical way he could think of. Option two would be to attack Agent Nevers, the shithead currently looking down Missie's top. Option three would be to tactically cut the ribbon around Missie's eyes, allowing her to see any other oncoming blades and thus allowing her to redirect them. Anything but option one would have the rest of the agency coming to kill him. Stalling for time wasn't an option either, though he was sure if word of Missie's disappearance got to the group keeping Hassan under custody, he'd probably tell them exactly where to find her. He liked his job as an assassin, and didn't want his relationship with a superhero to be the end of it.
He took a deep, steadying breath, withdrew his weapons and took aim.
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