Broker

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t remember what had happened. Not a damn thing. The last memory before waking up in the cell was lying down for some sleep. She had nodded off and then woke up slumped against the wall with a throbbing ache in her neck and collarbone. Panic had sent her surging to her feet. She’d hurried to the transparent wall of her enclosure and checked, tugging down at the collar of her prison jumpsuit. A scar, faint but still clearly visible, cut straight through the golden eye tattoo on her neck.

Panic evolved into a brief flash of terror. She tried to activate the tattoo with a touch. Nothing. No flicker of light that took her away from the ceaseless isolation and deafening quiet of the cell. At that moment, she hadn’t cared about the plan, about Ishtar; she just wanted out. She felt a pang of guilt wash over her as she sank down to her bench, head cradled in her hands. What happened? Who did it? How did they know the tattoo was my way out? Did they know, or was this some kind of cruel joke? The thoughts swirled in her head as she ground her teeth.

There was no click.

She sat bolt upright, grinding her teeth again. She reached into her mouth with shaky fingers and brushed them against her rear molar. No looseness. A solid, fresh molar. They took the mistletoe. An icy lump exploded into life in her stomach, and she hopped to her feet, pacing back and forth. She tried, she really tried, to remember. In the end, though, all she could do was sit back down on her bench with a choked sob that she stubbornly swallowed. Both of her hidden weapons, both of the tools she had prepared for when she met with Chernovna, were gone.

The Major was just another prisoner, another villain contained by the Pandora Committee.

She sat there, knees curled up to her chest as her mind roiled between blind rage and terror. Could Mimir get her out? Her eyes flicked up to the security around her. Did she want him to even try? The amount of risk - she would have advised him to give up if it had been another one of the vigilantes. She squeezed her eyes shut and took a few shaky breaths and rolled over onto her side. There was no point in dwelling at this point, no way to reach out. For now, she could only wait and try to think of a different option.

She didn’t have to wait long, though.

With her sense of time so radically off by the perpetual low light of the cylinder-shaped cell and her lost time from what memories she was missing, she wasn’t sure whether it was a day or two after she’d awakened with her tattoo damaged. Regardless, the call came through the speakers in her cell as she was halfway to dozing off again. The goddamn gachapon machine of a prison started to move again. The rotation started, and she sat up slowly, her eyes narrowing as she drew lower and lower to the ground.

Ground level. The grippers extended. Her cuffs snapped together. The door on one end of her capsule hissed open. ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʟᴀᴛᴇsᴛ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀᴛ novelꜰire.net

<ADDISON KELLY, PLEASE EXIT YOUR CAPSULE SLOWLY. KEEP YOUR HANDS AT YOUR WAIST. DO NOT SPEAK. KEEP YOUR EYES FORWARD.>

She opened her mouth to retort, and deja vu sent her jaw clamping shut. She rolled her shoulders and obeyed, marching to the exit and hopping out onto the floor of the dark containment chamber. She watched the light stretch from her feet off into the darkness before another light flickered on, revealing the door leading out.

<PLEASE PROCEED TO THE DOOR INDICATED>

She narrowed her eyes and walked. She tried to keep her shoulders back, but all her gut wanted was to hunch forward. Something had gotten to her in this goddamn place, and it had cut off her escape. Whatever it was, she didn’t want to draw its attention a second time. Who knew what kind of sick things happened in a despots’ prison? She didn’t want to think about it. So she walked until the door opened, and she stepped, squinting, into an antechamber.

Warden Hensley was standing there, his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed. He was scrutinizing her. “Miss Kelly,” he said with barely restrained contempt. “You are being summoned to the ICC for your appeal.”

Her eyes widened. Appeal? I never requested an appeal.

The warden scoffed at her expression. “Well that answers that. You have powerful friends, Kelly,” he turned away and started walking. “Follow.”

An appeal? Mimir wouldn’t use that route. He was fighting against the system that the Pandora Committee was trying to create. He wouldn’t operate within it. Then who? Someone he pressured? There were several Pandora representatives that they had gotten to over the past two years, but that still didn’t seem quite right. Using their system meant acknowledging it. She clenched her teeth as she walked down the hallway, eyes fixed on Hensley’s back.

An elevator took them up from the containment level, all the way through the structure of the prison, and onto the roof. There, on the highest floor, she could hear the near perpetual storm raging overhead, rain pattering against the walls and low rumbles of thunder setting her teeth on edge. The elevator doors opened, and her eyes went wide.

He was short, tiny even, compared to the average person. He had a pretty face and glimmering red eyes that sparkled with an inner mirth. His obsidian black hair was worn loosely, hanging down his back. There was a black bowler cap on his head, and he wore a jet-black blazer and white blouse, with a red tie disappearing into the carefully fitted top. He shifted his legs, his pencil skirt and leggings ending in a pair of dark heels. In one hand was a collapsed umbrella, and in the other was a suitcase.

“She’s all yours,” Hensley clipped and glanced her way. “Well?”

“...I didn’t request a lawyer,” she muttered, shocked at how small her voice sounded.

Those red lips spread into a mischievous smile across pale skin. “And yet here I am!”

She hesitated. “Why?”

“Miss Kelly,” Hensley growled, gray eyes narrowing behind his thin glasses. “Get off my elevator and go with your attorney. This isn’t a request.”

She took a step, and the elevator doors shut behind her. She set her jaw, her nose wrinkling just a little as she looked back at him. That smug smile widened on his face even more. “Who are you?” she asked. He looked familiar but wrong - he wasn’t a normal lawyer.

He raised an eyebrow, tapping his umbrella against his shoulder. He grabbed the hem of his pencil skirt and tugged it to the side a little in a mock curtsey as he dipped his head. “Mephisto, at your service, Major.”

Her eyes widened. “Mephisto? Ishtar’s…” She looked back over her shoulder at the elevator door. “W-what? How are you even here?”

He barked out a laugh. “There aren’t any warrants out for me, Major. The Committee is upset, but there’s nothing they can do about it. This is part of my job, helping fellow villains get out of prison.”

She bore her teeth at him. “I am not a villain.”

He snorted. “Uh huh, you keep telling yourself that,” he chuckled. “Anyway, there were some problems with your arrest, I’m afraid. Legally, you have every right to an appeal.”

Suspicion screamed up into her throat. Why? Why help me? “Problems?”

He snorted. “Do you care? I can get you out, no strings attached. We can even shake on it if you like,” he said with a wicked sneer. “We have an appointment with the ICC Appeals Court in a few hours,” he checked his watch. “We’re still on schedule, but I do like to arrive early. It’s only polite.” He glanced back up at her and met her eyes. “Up to you, Red.”

She pressed her lips together until she felt the skin turn white. Her hands balled into tight fists. This was Ishtar’s game; she was angling for something. What did she want out of this? No terms had been requested. Nothing. It screamed danger to her.

“You aren’t important enough, Red,” his voice cut into her thoughts. She whipped her head towards him, and he gave her a frank look. “She’d rather use you to undermine the Pandora Committee. It’s not complicated.”

She felt the breath rush out of her as her knees grew weak. Dismissed. Utterly dismissed as nothing more than a pawn in the eyes of the supervillain. She looked down at her feet, her vision swimming as frustration warred with a growing fury that she could barely contain behind her teeth and an even more uncomfortable feeling. Hope.

Mimir, I’ll find you.

She looked back up and met the villainous lawyer’s eyes. He cracked a grin and turned, tapping his umbrella against the button that opened the door to the storm outside and a heavy-looking helicopter in the distance. He held the umbrella out into the open air, and with a snap, it opened.

“Shall we?”