Caitlyn Kiramman: Ransomed (Arcane) - Now Complete!
Posted: Sat Jan 01, 2022 8:36 pm
Does this count? idfk. Enjoy, I guess
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The markswoman’s body is her own worst enemy. What you need is to be still; what you need is to be patient. But your body doesn’t want you to do that. You sit too long in one place and it makes you ache. If the weather’s cold, you shiver. If the weather’s hot, you sweat. Out of nowhere you can get an itch. If you overwork yourself, or you’re dehydrated, then your body can decide to really fuck you over and do the worst thing of all: cramp. You can lie in wait for hours and hours and hours and then that creeping, treacherous tightness can rip through your body at exactly the wrong moment and ruin your one shot at your one shot. And even if the weather’s perfect, you’re sitting comfortably, you’re not itching, you’re perfectly hydrated and there’s not a glimmer of a threat of cramp anywhere on the horizon, you still have to contend with your breathing.
Every Enforcer in Piltover knew what Caitlyn knew about how to breathe when readying a shot. Slow, deep breaths that moved your chest and shoulders as little as possible, breathing from your diaphragm like an actor, or singer. Hold your breath after an in-out cycle so you’re as comfortable as possible. Pull the trigger slowly so that when you flinch - and you will flinch - it’ll be too late to spoil your aim. The trick was remembering it all when you were under pressure. The trick was remembering it while you yourself were under fire; or when missing, or hitting the wrong target, could cost lives.
Caitlyn was standing on the edge of a water tower, about three-hundred yards from the building where the exchange was meant to be taking place. It not only gave her a point of vantage, but it shadowed her heavily: if someone looked in her direction, they still wouldn’t see her unless they were knew to look for her. That building, and the tower, were both in a state of fairly profound dilapidation. One could smell the acrid scent of polluted water from the nearby canal, a smell that hung always on the edges of Caitlyn’s conscience. But there was little wind today, and so the water, though it stank, was still. It meant that Caitlyn could hear people talking in the building she was watching. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she could make out two different voices. She could certainly hear when those voices became raised.
Caitlyn had positioned herself to have as much visibility of the exchange as possible, but what she had wasn’t much. Varley - ‘the Wholesaler’ as he liked to call himself - had his grunts on three floors, patrolling, and with glimpses through windows, Caitlyn had managed to identify at least nine different people, though there were certainly more she hadn’t seen. They were armed; most with pistols, at least one with a military-grade rifle even larger than Caitlyn’s, and one with some kind of strange-looking spear with a glowing crystal embedded halfway down the shaft. A HexTech™ weapon. She was standing right by a small, pudgy man with dark skin and sunken eyes, dressed in a coat that had, at some distant point in the past, looked nice. This was Varley.
Varley didn’t own the building, but he used it often. Too often, in fact: that’s how the Enforcers had been able to arrange the sting. He was a new-ish arrival on the scene of Piltover’s criminal element; his main stock-in-trade being weapons. With the opening of the HexGates™, he’d been able to arrange supply-lines entirely disconnected from the Undercity, and entirely disconnected from the Enforcers’ usual information networks. Capturing Varley would go a long way toward putting the Enforcers a step ahead.
Caitlyn looked down the sight of her rifle. She could hit Varley from where she was sitting, but there were too many others between him and the window for her to be sure the shot would put him down. She could see just about enough of him, though, to tell that he wasn’t the one with the raised voice. Someone was shouting at him, someone standing out of Caitlyn’s line of sight. She risked moving a little out of the water tower’s shadow to try to see who was talking to Varley, but she couldn’t get far enough to the left to get them into sight. Presumably Varley’s buyer, or at least one of the buyer’s representatives. Whoever it was was important enough for Varley to put in a personal appearance, but the Enforcers had no idea who it could be. Whoever it was sounded angry enough, shouting so loud that Caitlyn could hear the odd word.
“...load of… from anyone… don’t need…cheaper…!”
“Shit.” It sounded an awful lot like the buyer wasn’t happy with the price being offered. If the sale wasn’t actually made, the sting would be pointless. They might be able to grab Varley for possession of illegal quantities of weapons and ammunition, but that wouldn’t come with a sentence as heavy as he deserved. Caitlyn glanced off to the right, to the building next to the one Varley was in. She was looking for a signal: a green light meant ‘go in’; blue meant ‘abort’. Red was just for Caitlyn: it meant ‘start shooting’. That would only happen if things went very wrong. Given the way things had been in Piltover recently, Caitlyn was expecting to see the red light any second.
But no. Just as Caitlyn glanced back to her targets, she saw a green flash out of the corner of her eye. Apparently her superiors were satisfied with lesser charges. Or, perhaps they knew something she didn’t. Yet Caitlyn felt uneasy. She didn’t like the idea that her superiors might be sacrificing a meaningful arrest for a public victory. She didn’t like the idea that her colleagues’ lives were being put at risk for something unworthy of their lives being endangered. As it turned out, Caitlyn was right to be uneasy - just not for the reason she thought.
Maybe a second-and-a-half after Caitlyn saw the green flash, she saw a blue light going off instead, flashing urgently and insistently in the corner of her eye. Her superiors hadn’t been overeager; they’d got cold feet. The signaller had just flashed the wrong light by mistake. But the signaller had at least noticed their mistake quickly. With any luck nobody had charged in fast enough not to see the second signal. Most Enforcers were trained in at least a modicum of caution. So, when Caitlyn heard shouting, yelling, gunfire and that unmistakable melody of good-old-fashioned roughhousing, she knew exactly who had gone in.
“Vi!”
Flashes of red from her jacket. Flashes of pink from her hair. Flashes of blue from her HexTech gauntlets as she pounded her way through Varley’s goons. From Caitlyn’s perspective, it was like seeing every other frame of a mutoscope projection, as she saw snapshot after snapshot of Vi when she passed each window, each one a study in the brutal harmony of which Vi was such a master. Medium-height, muscular, with a body full of explosive power, Vi was one of the deadliest hand-to-hand fighters that the Undercity had ever produced. She was not one of Piltover’s finest like Caitlyn, but she… helped out from time to time. One of the first and hardest lessons Caitlyn had learned about police work was that sticking with pedantic precision to the rules got you nowhere - a lesson Vi had helped teach her.
Well - too late now. These things happened. Even if they couldn’t get Varley or his buyer for something serious, at least they were getting him off the street. Maybe one of his underlings would panic and turn on him. It was irritating, but it wasn’t the end of the world. As long as they sent the other Enforcers in after her to back her up, the operation was recoverable.
Caitlyn waited thirty seconds. No flash from the signaller. This was excusable - he and his spotter were probably trying to work out what was going on. They might not have been immediately aware that the shooting and fighting were because of Vi. After a minute Caitlyn was anxious, her eyes flitting constantly between Vi and the signaller, not understanding what could be taking her superiors so long to act. After a minute and a half, though, Caitlyn realized what was happening - her superiors had no intention of sending anyone else in. They were abandoning Vi.
Caitlyn immediately abandoned stealth, hauling herself up the water tower’s ladder to get as good a vantage point as possible. She crouched, swinging her rifle into position. After a second or two, she’d found Vi again. She appeared to be tangling with the thug with the HexTech spear, while at the same time trying not to get shot by Varley’s gunmen. Caitlyn couldn’t shoot the one with the spear without hitting Vi - but the gunmen were another matter.
Any of Caitlyn’s colleagues could have made the first shot. Any of the firearm specialists, anyway. The first gunman practically had their back right against a window, and they were broad, and they were wearing a bright, red cardigan. They might as well have had ‘kick me’ taped to their back. No, hitting him - straight through his right shoulder - was not something only Caitlyn could have done. What only Caitlyn could have done was reload, adjust her aim to hit a target that was partly obscured by the person she was trying to protect, fire, reload again, and then put down a third criminal who was trying to sneak up on Vi with a knife - all in the same breath.
After Vi dealt with the woman she’d been fighting - punching her halfway across the room and partly through a brick wall - she was momentarily at a loss. A couple of seconds earlier, she’d been surrounded by enemies. Then she’d punched one of them and all the others had apparently fallen down of their own accord. Then she caught sight of the shattered panes of the nearest window, and - looking through them - she couldn’t help smiling.
Even from the distance between them, Caitlyn cut a dramatic figure. She had long hair that flowed most of the way down her back in a smooth, dark-blue trail. Her features were striking: she had large, clear-blue, almond shaped eyes; clear, bright, and searching. Her cheekbones were high, quite sharp, and she had a dignified jawline that tapered inwards to a small chin. The effect was suggestive of a bright, expertly cut diamond.
Her figure was just as striking as her features. She was very tall, but not in a way that made her look delicate or ungainly. A slender, swanlike neck flowed out into slim, strong shoulders; her arms subtly and elegantly muscled. Her breasts were high, well–shaped, somewhere between modest and ample, her waist trim, her hips sweeping subtly from her waist, but with a subtlety that was decidedly womanly.
Her uniform looked better on her than on most - a sleek, cotton, midnight-blue dress almost the exact same shade as Caitlyn’s hair. Its collar was high, with a sort of cravat held in place with a brooch. There were small, gold-and-blue pauldrons on the shoulders, largely decorative, matching the gold trim that ran throughout the uniform. The sleeves were short, so most of Caitlyn’s upper arms were visible, her forearms covered by a pair of long, fingerless gloves. The dress wasn’t exactly tight, but it held closely to Caitlyn’s curves, getting looser around the hips, its skirt ending in a swishing, pleated, white hem that fluttered a few inches above Caitlyn’s knees. It wasn’t supposed to sit that short - but Caitlyn had very long legs. Most of their shapely length was clad in a pair of leather boots, the frills of her stockings poking out just over the top of them. Between them and her skirt, Caitlyn’s thighs were left bare. Some people might have noticed the creamy smoothness of her skin; the feminine tone of her thigh muscles. Not Vi, of course. But… you know. Some people.
Vi and Caitlyn had dealt with all the serious resistance. At long, long last, once they realized that the operation had been a partial success anyway, the other Enforcers went in. They picked up the groaning bodies of those Caitlyn had shot or that Vi had pulverized, and they took Varley, and the credit for his capture, from Vi’s clenched fist. The only missing piece of the puzzle was the buyer, who appeared to have made their escape in the chaos.
Caitlyn’s lieutenant blamed Vi. Vi blamed the signaller. Caitlyn blamed her lieutenant, and the whole exchange ended with pretty much everyone thinking that they were about to get fired; except Vi, who wasn’t exactly employed. So when she and Caitlyn stormed out - or rather when Caitlyn stormed out and Vi followed her - Vi was, comparatively, a picture of calm.
“This. It’s exactly this!” Caitlyn’s fists were clenched. Her teeth were gritted, her arms were folded, and she couldn’t stop pacing. “This sort of incompetence is why we never really make Piltover any… better. We never get anything done.”
“Besides beating up poor people.”
“I’m not joking, Vi!”
“Neither am I,” Vi replied, half-serious. “Look, don’t get yourself worked up. The thing with the signal - shit like that just happens sometimes. Everybody fucks up once in a while.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about. My lieutenant could have sent Enforcers in after you once they knew what had happened. He should have. But he dithered. Or - or he…” She glanced at Vi, not quite able to keep her eyes on her. “Or he just didn’t bother because you’re not an Enforcer. Because-”
“Because I’m from the Undercity.” Vi shrugged. “Listen, cupcake, I’ve never been under any illusions about how the boys in blue see me. We’re using each other. To your bosses I’m a source of intel, and I’m good at punching people. I need… well, you know what I need.” She was talking about her sister. That the Enforcers had promised her assistance in tracking her down was the only reason she tolerated having anything to do with them.
Suddenly, Caitlyn turned on Vi, glaring at her. Her aristocratic bearing could be made plenty fierce when she wanted it to, and Vi was genuinely startled.
“Don’t think I’m not angry with you too,” Caitlyn said. “You could have been killed, charging in on your own like that. It was stupid.”
“Oh, pfft. C’mon, I’m plenty tough. You don’t need to worry about me.”
“You say that,” Caitlyn replied, “but you come out of every fight with at least one stab wound.”
“Well, not… not every fight…” Vi leaned back, clasping her hands behind her neck. “Didn’t get stabbed today, did I?” She gave Caitlyn a sidelong smile, and would have managed to get one in return, had it not been for the shooting pain in her arm forcing her to wince. Looking down, Vi saw that there was a dark patch on the left sleeve of her jacket, next to a small hole that she hadn’t noticed before. She was bleeding.
“No,” Caitlyn said. “You didn’t get stabbed this time. You got shot!”
With two long strides, Caitlyn rushed to Vi’s side, and took her arm. Without so much as a by-your-leave, she pulled Vi’s arm out of the sleeve, twisted it so that she could inspect the wound, a long gash on the inner side of Vi’s upper arm.
“F- ow! Would you be careful?”
“You’re one to talk.” The wound wasn’t deep, but it wasn’t completely superficial either. “Alright - it’s not going to kill you. But I need to dress it. Sit down.”
“Caitlyn, if it’s not that bad I -”
“Don’t argue. Just do it.”
Vi rolled her eyes - but she did as she was told.
Caitlyn had a first aid kit with her, and despite Vi’s grumbling, she attended skilfully to her. She cleaned the wound, wiping away the blood and - much to Vi’s chagrin - applying disinfectant. Then she dressed it, swiftly and neatly bandaging Vi’s arm.
“I don’t really think you’re stupid,” Caitlyn said, quietly. “In fact I think you’re very brave. I just don’t like seeing you hurt.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, I appreciate you… you know, helping me out. With your shooting and, uh, like this.” She saw Caitlyn smile; slightly, but sweetly, and couldn’t help smiling a little herself. “Hey,” Vi said, “you finished?”
“Yes.”
“You’re still holding my arm.”
“...Yes.”
Caitlyn moved her hand a little higher, to Vi’s shoulder. She looked up at Vi’s face, and then said: “Number six.”
“Wh-?” It was so much out of nowhere that Vi couldn’t help snorting with laughter. “What the fuck?”
“Your tattoo. The first time I met you, I didn’t know your name. I thought it was a number six.”
“Why would I feel the need to tattoo ‘six’ on my face?”
“Vi, why did you feel the need to tattoo your own name on your face?”
“Shit,” Vi said. “You got me there.”
Laughing, the two stood up.
“Are you sure you’re not hurt anywhere else?” Caitlyn asked.
Vi looked herself over. “Yeah, I think I’m good. Thanks.”
“Are you, um…?”
“Going back to the Undercity? Yeah. Things have been pretty chaotic since Silco… well, you know.”
“No, indeed.” It was not something either of them liked talking about. Caitlyn touched Vi on the arm again, as much for her own comfort as for Vi’s. “Can I help?” she asked.
“I don’t doubt that you could,” Vi said, “but you’ve got more people to yell at, right?”
“Ah. Yes, probably. And reports to write.” She sighed. “I’m probably not going to get home until midnight…”
“That’s what you get for being a cop, cupcake.” She snorted. “Copcake…”
Caitlyn wrinkled her nose. “You deserved to get shot.”
“Maybe,” Vi said. She winked, stuffed her hands into her pockets, and walked away.
Caitlyn watched her until she was out of view. She was always a little sad to see her go: with the life of violence that she led, it wasn’t all that ridiculous to think any meeting might be their last.
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Caitlyn left the scene of Varley’s arrest after all of her other colleagues were already gone. She was very thorough - sometimes, it had to be said, pointlessly thorough. But this was not one of those times. In the chaos, in the shooting, in all the arguments, nobody except Caitlyn had noticed that Varley hadn’t actually brought any merchandise with him.
“Perhaps he wasn’t selling,” Caitlyn thought. “Perhaps he was buying.” But buying what? Something small enough that the seller had been able to slip away relatively easily even surrounded by Enforcers. Whatever it was, it was valuable enough for Varley to put in a personal appearance, and it wasn’t here anymore. Still, it was troubling. Assuming Varley was keeping to the weapons trade, one was forced to wonder what he was after to which he did not already have access.
The streets were already dark by the time Caitlyn left. There were gas-lamps on most streets, but not these ones. Sometimes when people talked about Piltover and Zaun, noting - quite rightly - that Piltover was wealthy largely at Zaun’s expense, they forgot that even rich cities came with their fair share of poverty. Because it was so dark, and because her mind was on other things, it took Caitlyn a little while to realize that she was being followed.
At first, Caitlyn acted as though she didn’t notice. She hoped that it might be a couple of prospective muggers who would back off once they saw her uniform, and her rifle. But they kept on shadowing her for several minutes, following fairly skilfully. Caitlyn got occasional glimpses of them in windows and puddles: a man and a woman; the man skinny, the woman roughly Vi’s build. The man was carrying a pistol. The woman might have been as well; Caitlyn never quite got a good enough look at her.
Now worried that it was something a fair bit more serious, Caitlyn diverted her path towards the most public walkway she could think of. But there was no way of getting there that wouldn’t pass through narrow, unfamiliar lanes. Any route was risky. She risked glancing over her shoulder. Probably they now knew that she was onto them, but it was likely worth it. Now she knew that they weren’t just random muggers, because they were dressed too well, and now she knew that both of them were carrying guns.
What did they want? Random violence against Enforcers wasn’t unheard of - god knows there were plenty in Zoarn and Piltover who had some very legitimate grievances against them - but this didn’t feel like that. This felt more professional. More targeted. Something personal to Caitlyn, perhaps? Hard to say. Didn’t matter. Caitlyn heard her pursuers’ footsteps become more rapid, and she elected to make a gamble - and sprint.
Caitlyn distinctly heard one of the two swear, and then both of them started chasing her. But Caitlyn was fit, and tall, and her galloping strides kept her well ahead of them. But that wouldn’t be all that helpful if they started shooting, so Caitlyn picked a route basically at random, and hauled herself around the first blind corner she could see. When her pursuers followed her, they found themselves staring down the barrel of a long, powerful rifle, held by one of the finest shots ever to wear Enforcer-blue.
“If I see either of you,” Caitlyn said, “raising your weapons, I will fire. You,” she said, addressing the man, “put your pistol on the ground. Slowly.”
He did as he was told.
“Kick it to me.”
He did that too. But he tried to be clever, kicking it dramatically so that he stepped in front of his partner. Somewhat hidden from sight, she tried to draw her own pistol - but she was far too slow to get the better of Caitlyn. She, Caitlyn, actually missed slightly: she’d meant to shoot the pistol out of the woman’s hand, but instead she carved a gouge in the back of her hand. But she still got the pistol out of the woman’s hand; there was just more bleeding and yelling than she’d intended.
“Enforcer bitch!” the wounded woman howled.
“If you’re not prepared to get shot,” Caitlyn replied, “probably not a good idea to point guns at people yourself, is it? Now, down on your knees, both of you. And hands behind your heads.”
They both did as they were told this time, even if they scowled about it.
“Alright,” Caitlyn said. “Why were you following me? What do you want?”
They looked at each other, but neither answered.
“Fine.” Caitlyn tucked the stock of her rifle under her arm to hold it in place, then tossed a pair of handcuffs at the criminals’ feet. “Cuff yourselves to each other.”
“No,” the man said. His expression was eerily neutral.
“This isn’t a negotiation,” Caitlyn replied. “It’s an ultimatum.”
“No, I get that. I just don’t think you’re in a position to give one.” He glanced upwards.
Caitlyn followed his eyes. She saw what he saw. She felt herself grow cold.
All about her, atop the roofs of the buildings overlooking the narrow street, where the light drew low and the shadow grew deep, figure after figure appeared. All about her, shaded so harshly that it seemed like they were growing from the darkness itself. All about her, eight or nine of them, looming, watching. She couldn’t see any of their faces. She couldn’t see if they were armed or not.
“You cost us,” one of them said. A woman’s voice.
“You cost us,” another trilled; another woman; a deeper voice, but lighter. Mocking.
Caitlyn raised her rifle, pointed at the figure that had spoken first. At least she thought it was her - in the shadow, it was hard to tell.
“Back off.”
Some of them laughed.
“I know I can’t hit all of you before you could shoot me,” Caitlyn shouted, “but I’m a trained markswoman. I -”
“We know who you are, Caitlyn Kiramman.”
The first stepped forward, became a little more visible. They were hiding much of their face with a shawl, but they had small, glaring green eyes, stretched as wide as possible. A row of daggers was at her belt. Of what Caitlyn could see of her clothing, she seemed to be clad in gold and scarlet.
“The aristocrat Enforcer. Mother on the council. Won a slew of prizes in marksmanship.”
Caitlyn swallowed. That she was under threat was damaging enough to the calm her aim needed - that she was being personally targeted by these people was… it was frightening. But she kept her aim steady.
“If you know who I am,” she replied. “Then you know that I could drop you and three of your cronies before even one of you gets a shot off in return. So if you’re here to kill me, ask yourselves if it’s really worth what you’ll have to pay for it!”
“Kill you? Who said anything about killing you?”
One of the others did something. Raised a weapon, or began to leap down - Caitlyn couldn’t tell. As soon as she saw them move, she whipped round and fired, hitting them dead centre in the chest. But they didn’t drop. They barely staggered. When the bullet struck them, there was a bright, blue flash, and then the bullet just bounced off them. In the half-second that it took Caitlyn to process what had happened, she worked out two things: first, these were the people who’d been trying to sell to Varley; second, that what they were selling wasn’t a weapon - it was HexTech armour. She readjusted her aim, and fired at her target’s head. She killed him instantly, but by then it was too late. He’d already fired back.
In the darkness, Caitlyn couldn’t see the object until it had nearly landed. Only when it happened to reflect a distant streetlight did she see the tennis-ball sized lump of metal. She actually managed to reload and shoot it before it hit the ground, but she didn’t spare herself much of its intended purpose. It exploded with concussive force, not quite enough to knock Caitlyn down, but enough to throw her rifle from her hands. It was bright, too, not bright enough to blind or seriously dazzle, but bright enough that Caitlyn did not see quickly enough that two others had descended from the rooftops. Nor did she immediately see what they threw at her - she heard them first.
There was a distinctive ‘ka-chewww’ sound, like a metallic sneeze. It was caused by metal casing unlocking, and then a series of springs firing, discarding the casing, and sending the coiled black cords inside spinning through the air like a three-pronged propeller. Caitlyn had just enough time to hear them whipping through the air, just enough time to realize what was about to happen to her, before the bolo-whips caught her.
One hit her in the front, the other from behind, instantly seizing. Cords slashing through the air, then spiralling around her. Thwip, thwip, thwip around her torso, coiling around her, snapping her arms to her sides and then tight, tight, tight with every circuit, pressing hard, flattening her palms against her pretty hips, pushing her shoulders inwards and upwards against her body, forcing on her a passive winsomeness, viciously hiding all her strength. Spinning, curling, coiling; pulling against the fabric of her dress, cutting across its noble blue with harsh, black ‘x’s; under, over, across and between her breasts, grasping - clutching; flattening her palms against her hips.
Down over her thighs, pinching into her skin, drawn together with an audible ‘slap’; down and down the cords kept twisting, curling like slim snakes around her knees, down her calves, tangling her ankles, binding her legs, long and graceful, forcing them into one column. A zig-zag pattern of cord from her shoulders to her feet, tracing and trussing and trapping; circuit after circuit wound around her, not giving her an inch, ruthlessly and relentlessly grasping at her, clutching at her, coiling her, squeezing her, hemming her in, warring against every muscle in her body at once - and conquering her effortlessly. It had taken less than four seconds.
With wide, bright, blue eyes she stared. She looked down at her body in pure, disbelieving shock. She was tied up. She was completely tied up. Bound from her ankles to her neck in yards and yards of rope, and she hadn’t even had time to think before she was - captured. In the darkness, it hadn’t even looked like her enemies were using bolos. It was as though a wizard had cast a spell on her, summoned ropes from thin air: commanded that Caitlyn should be bound, and with mere will had made it so. And the sensation of it! The - the ropes around every part of her, pinching into her skin, squeezing so tightly, so cruelly - she - she couldn’t move! Couldn’t get her arms from her sides; couldn’t get her hands from her hips; couldn’t part her legs from each other. Even when she tried to breathe she felt the ropes exact payment, groping her bosom from all sides, pressing into her shoulder-blades.
Unable to resist, unable to struggle in earnest, Caitlyn just stared, frozen in horror at the sight of her own captive body, eyes transfixed by the patterns of cord that wrapped her up so tight, so secure. Only when she heard the heavy thud of boots against stone did she think to look up.
They were standing round her in a nearly perfect circle. They were all masked as their leader was. Three in bright garments like hers; one in cyan; one in ochre; one in silver. The rest were less ornately dressed, but still in the same style. Perhaps they’d have done so in any case, but it accommodated the HexTech armour they all wore.
“You’ve cost us,” the scarlet one said. “Now you’ve cost us a brother too.”
“You’ve cost us,” the cyan one said. “But don’t worry.”
“But don’t worry,” the ochre one said. “You’ll pay us back.”
“You’ll pay us back,” the silver one said. “Every penny.”
Only now did Caitlyn snap out of her shock enough to struggle, but the moment she started she was restrained. Two pairs of hands from the darkness grabbed her, one taking each shoulder, suppressing her squirming before it could even start, leather-gloved hands curling around her upper arms, fingers pressing through her dress almost as tightly as the ropes. It was a new shock - not so much the feeling of hands on her, of being touched without her permission, but that in theory she knew how to fight back. She’d had fairly extensive self-defence training, knew how to respond when grabbed from behind, even if it was by two people. She could imagine herself doing it, could will herself to do it - but the ropes… she - she just couldn’t get free!
“Get off!” she shouted, thrusting forward, not hard enough to get out of her captors’ grasp, but hard enough to tax their strength. She felt their breath against her neck, felt the heat of them close to her, felt a still greater heat in her own breast as she fought - as she failed to fight. “What do you want from me?! What - ah!”
The four in colours had closed on her, moving so quickly that Caitlyn almost hadn’t seen them. Suddenly, scarlet’s face was right up against Caitlyn’s, their noses almost touching.
“We told you you would pay,” she said. “What do you think that means, Caitlyn?”
“It could mean all sorts of things,” the one in silver said. “You are very… pretty.” She brushed the back of her hands against Caitlyn’s cheek, laughing lightly when her captive pulled away.
“Not just that,” the one in ochre said. “You’re beautiful.” She teased a few strands of Caitlyn’s long, blue hair between her fingers, held them to her nose.
“Not just that,” the one in cyan said. “You’re ravishing.” She held herself close to Caitlyn. “Mm… and you smell of… lilies.” Lightly, she pressed two of her fingertips against Caitlyn’s soft, bare thigh. Over Caitlyn’s indignant protests, she just laughed. “Such a temper. I wonder what you’re imagining?”
“I wonder what you think we want.”
“I wonder what kind of payment you think you can give us.”
“Such a pity.”
“Such a shame.”
“Such a riot! The truth is so dull!”
“So literal.”
“So prosaic.”
The one in scarlet took Caitlyn by the chin, forced her to look her captor in the eye. Caitlyn tried at least to stay looking indignant, but she couldn’t keep the fear from her face, couldn’t keep the blush from her cheeks.
“Perhaps we misled you. When we say you’ll pay, we do mean ‘pay’ - but I suppose strictly speaking we don’t mean you’ll pay. What we mean…”
“...is that you’ll be paid for.”
“Wh-what?” Caitlyn stammered. She couldn’t see her captors’ mouths, but she was sure they were all smiling. “You - you’re going to sell me?”
“I suppose.”
“Sort of.”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“But it’s not so bad.” The one in scarlet drew Caitlyn closer. “We’re only going to sell you to people who love you.”
“Work it out, Caitlyn. You’re rich - your family is rich.”
“What price won’t they pay for their sweet, beautiful daughter?”
“You’re going to ransom me?” For a moment, Caitlyn’s dignity returned, and she turned up her nose at them. “Then you’re all fools. My family will never negofhfhynghhhhhHH!”
Her courage had been choked into nonsense by something that the one in ochre had pushed into her mouth: a small wad of thick, yellow sponge.
“Wh…? Fnghghhhfffff!!” Caitlyn tried to spit it out, but her efforts were immediately, and humiliatingly stymied. One of the ones behind her, a no-name in dull robes had whipped a strong, white length of fabric over Caitlyn’s mouth, a strong, band of white covering her face from just above her chin to just below her nose, strong enough to silence her, tight enough that you could see the outline of her soft, closed lips beneath it. It sealed in the sponge, sealed her lips, and sealed away her attempt at defiance. The second she had found her courage, they had taken it away again - or at least rendered it useless.
“MMPHH! MM-MMH! NMMPHHH! NMMMPHHHHH!!” With more vigour than ever, Caitlyn thrashed, writhing and squirming against her bonds, twisting and wriggling her hips, her short skirt swishing about the tops of her thighs, throwing her head this way and that as she tried not to let them knot her gag, knocking her own cap from her head, throwing her long blue hair about her in dark waves as she fought, squeezing her eyes shut in agonized frustration as she was so utterly overpowered by the ropes, by the criminals holding her, and by the peals of mocking laughter.
“No voice for you, Caitlyn,” the one in scarlet said, admiring the Enforcer’s sinuous, captive dance. “Nothing at all for you, Caitlyn. Not until your family buys you back. She seized Caitlyn by the hips, pulling her away from the others, right up against her own body, shocking Caitlyn with her strength.
“Mh! Mhh!” Caitlyn whimpered, looking down with wide, wet eyes. Down, because the woman in scarlet was at least five inches shorter than her.
“Until that happens,” the scarlet woman said, “you belong to the Robes. You’re not an Enforcer. You’re not a markswoman. You’re not anything, except a hostage. And until your family pays for everything else to be given back to you, that’s all you are.”
“Merchandise.”
“A belonging.”
“Property.”
“A treasure.”
“Ours.”
“Ours.”
“Ours.”
“Ours.”
“Mhh…?”
She was almost panting. She couldn’t look at them She gave little glances here and there, but she couldn’t meet any of their eyes. They frightened her, and though she knew that they were trying to demoralize her, her cognizance didn’t stop it working perfectly. Her shoulders dropped. Her eyes dropped. Her chin dropped, almost to her chest.
“Good girl,” the scarlet woman said, running her hand casually over Caitlyn’s hair. She put one arm around Caitlyn’s shoulder, lowered one hand to Caitlyn’s knees - and then hauled all five-foot-ten of her captive up into her arms.
“Mmmhhhh!!” Caitlyn cried, crimsoning as she was lifted, astonished that this woman so much smaller than her could bear her so easily. It made her look even taller, made her defeat all the more anguishing, all the more humiliating, for its apparent lopsidedness: like a strong, swift mare brought down by nothing bigger or more fearsome than a fox. She struggled, wriggling against the scarlet woman’s grip, but was helpless to escape it. Her long, shapely legs kicked out with all the vigour of their careful conditioning, but it was useless. Her captor just held her tighter, fingers digging into Caitlyn’s naked thighs, pressing her - almost crushing her - against her captor’s chest.
“She just - she just… took me…!” Caitlyn thought, feeling all the more bitterly the bite of the ropes ensnaring her, the pressure of the gag muzzling her. In desperation, she just cried out, hoping that someone might hear her, that someone might come to her aid. “HHHHLLLLP! HHHHHLLLP MMHHHHH!!” she screamed, but most of the force of her voice was absorbed by the sponge, the rest wasted into the cloth. “HHHHHHLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLP! PLLLHHHHSSSS!!”
But nobody heard. Nobody, anyway, that did not laugh.
“Isn’t she pretty?”
“Isn’t she beautiful?”
“Isn’t she ravishing?”
“Isn’t she sweet?” the woman in scarlet added, letting herself enjoy the feeling of Caitlyn’s body in her arms. She was elegant, and slim; smooth, but not delicate, exactly. There was a pleasing substantiality about her, in her limbs, her shoulders, and her firm backside, that wiggled pleasingly against the scarlet woman’s midsection. There was strength in her bound arms, as well as grace; a solidity to her warm thighs, as well as softness. She was not some fae, waifish girl. She was a woman: tall, graceful, and stately. And she had been absolutely, humiliatingly defeated. They possessed her. They owned her. And from the rather adorable crinkle of her eyebrows, the desperation in her impassioned cries, it seemed that she knew it.
The scarlet woman carried Caitlyn, squirming and moaning all the way, to the transport they had waiting. Everywhere Caitlyn looked, she saw bright, hard eyes staring at her. At least staring at her. Caitlyn was a beautiful woman, and she saw how their eyes traced her curves, saw that they all noticed when their scarlet leader lifted Caitlyn’s legs higher, and her skirt slid further up her thighs. When they reached the transport, it was almost a relief.
It was a hover-skiff, propelled by a small, relatively-cheap HexTech generator. It had a cab for about four, and a hold in which maybe five could stand. Too many for all of the Robes. But they seemed to have arranged in advance which would go on the transport and which would go their own way, because some of them seemed to vanish into the encroaching night. Scarlet brought Caitlyn round to the back of the skiff, where an underling opened the hold for her. She hopped in, put Caitlyn down on her feet, turned her around so the two were facing each other - and then pushed Caitlyn in the chest.
“Hmm-mmnnfffmm?!” Caitlyn wobbled, and stumbled, even hopped to try to maintain her balance; but it was a doomed effort. Under Scarlet’s piercing eyes, Caitlyn overbalanced, slipped, and then fell, fell the whole length of her tall, trim body. It seemed to take forever; like a deep-rooted, high elm being cut down in a forest, Caitlyn’s moans like the wood’s creaks as it tumbled, her bondage making her scarce more mobile than the trunk would have been, and her fall just as inevitable.
“UMMFF!” she cried, hitting the metal of the skiff’s hold, the floor so hard and her body so trim and toned that she visibly bounced before finally settling on her back. Scarlet still watched, like her eyes had been pushing Caitlyn down, and were now holding her there. A moment ago Caitlyn had practically towered over her - now, she lay far, far beneath her.
Cyan jumped in, and the hold closed. A dull light flickered on, and Caitlyn saw that Cyan was a woman too. Not tall, but taller than Scarlet. Broader-shouldered, but a fair bit thinner, less muscular. To Caitlyn’s surprise, Cyan slipped off her shawl, revealing her face. She had a heavy tan, but one could tell she was light-skinned underneath it. She also appeared to be blind in her left eye, and had scars on her neck and the bottom of the left side of her jaw. Then Scarlet revealed her face as well; very fair, with long features, and a shock of thick, curly, platinum-blonde hair. Both looked about thirty. They looked down at Caitlyn; smiled - and then they kissed each other.
“Poor Thumper,” Cyan said, stroking Scarlet’s face. “It was only his second day, and she shot him right in the head.” With her shawl off, it was easier to tell that her high-pitched, girlish voice was an affectation; poorly disguising a deeper one.
“Don’t feel bad, my sweet,” Scarlet replied, kissing Cyan’s forehead. “He was just some Zoarn gutter-rat.”
“Oh, I don’t feel bad, darling. But… he was still a Robe. Still a brother.”
“Yes… yes, we’ll add it to the fee. An extra… thirty-thousand?”
“Hmm… no, I don’t think Thumper deserves that. Ten-thousand.”
“You’ve convinced me. Ten-thousand.”
“Wonderful!”
They kissed again. It was intimate enough - they rubbed their hands all over each other - but strangely passionless. It looked like bad play-acting, and Caitlyn almost felt that they intended for it to seem so - for they still looked down at her even when their mouths were locked together.
They broke the kiss, took two steps towards their captive.
“What do you think?” Cyan asked.
“How do you mean?”
“Was it worth it?”
“Losing the contract with Varley?”
“Mm.”
“To get her?”
“Mm.”
“We’ll see. If the family pays up with no argument.”
“Of course. And a day or two in her company won’t be so bad…”
Cyan knelt by Caitlyn’s legs. She reached out to touch them, but Caitlyn drew her legs back, and kicked at Cyan’s hands. She didn’t kick very vigorously - she couldn’t: it was hard enough bending her legs - but Cyan hissed like she’d been stung by a scorpion.
“Caitlyn,” Cyan said, slowly. Her eyes went wide, and round; her face expressionless, but expressionless in the way that a lizard was expressionless; animally blank.
“Caitlyn,” Scarlet repeated, in exactly the same tone, with exactly the same expression, the two matching each other so perfectly that Caitlyn felt like she was dreaming. “You’re a hostage. Something we caught. Something we’re going to trade for money. Hostages don’t kick.”
“Hostages don’t fight.”
“Hostages don’t do anything except wait meekly to be sold.”
“Hostages don’t give their kidnappers trouble.”
“In fact-”
“In fact-”
“Now hostages,” they said, in perfect unison, “don’t get to think.”
Like whipcords they snapped at her. Cyan behind; Scarlet in front. Cyan took Caitlyn by the shoulders, pushed her up into a sitting position. Scarlet lifted her legs, with vicious strength folding Caitlyn’s calves underneath her, forcing her to kneel. Then she sat in front of her, kneeling astride Caitlyn’s thighs, sitting more or less on Caitlyn’s knees.
“Mph! Mm-mhhhh!!” Caitlyn fought against them, but she was completely pinned. Cyan wasn’t as strong as Scarlet, but she was strong enough to restrain a woman who was as securely bound as Caitlyn was. At no point did their blank expressions change. It was surreal. “Who are these people?” Caitlyn thought. “Are they… are they just putting on an act to frighten me, or are they really as insane as they seem? God knows what they’re going to do to me… I can’t let them take me away! I have to - I have to escape, but - but…!” But she couldn’t. For all her training, for all her skill, Caitlyn was powerless. She was completely at their mercy.
Her face still blank, Scarlet looked Caitlyn up and down. Saw the battle between rage and dismay playing out on her features. Saw the rapid, scarcely controlled breaths, the sweat running down her neck. She saw how, forced to kneel, Caitlyn’s thighs bulged slightly; the ropes, and even her stockings made subtle, but visible, impressions into the substantive softness of her legs.
“Caitlyn,” she said. “Beautiful Caitlyn. I’d laugh at you if I weren’t so angry with you. It was so funny when we caught you with the whips. Seeing you just standing there, letting us tie you up. Seeing you staring at yourself with such pretty eyes.”
“Mh… mmhphh!” Caitlyn didn’t even know what she was trying to say. She just couldn't let this mocking pass without protest. Behind her, she felt Cyan shifting about, but she couldn’t turn her head enough to see what she was doing. She heard a sloshing sound, but didn’t know what it was. Anyway, Scarlet held the majority of her attention.
“I hate this city,” Scarlet said. “I’m only here because there are so many opportunities. I’ll leave the second I think it would be more profitable. I hate your Council. I hate the architecture. I hate that you haven’t just sent in your Enforcers to wipe out the Undercity when they’re obviously a disaster waiting to happen - a disaster that has happened, actually. More than once. But,” she said, “there is one thing I like.” She leaned closer, to the point where Caitlyn thought Scarlet was about to kiss her. She didn’t - but she did put her hand on Caitlyn’s hip. Then she traced the curves of Caitlyn’s body all the way up to her neck. “And that,” she said, turning her palm upwards so that Cyan could put something in it, where Caitlyn couldn’t see, “is the police uniforms.” She moved back a little. She gave Caitlyn a cute little smile. “Do you smell that?” she asked.
“Wh - MMMMMHHHHHHHHHHHMMMMPHHHHHHHH!!!”
The thing Cyan had passed was a thick, white rag. The smell, the sweet smell, the acrid smell, was from the drug that Cyan had soaked it in. The rag covered Caitlyn’s mouth; her nose, her chin and most of her jaw. And for all that she fought, for all her panicked, wide-eyed thrashing, Caitlyn could not get away from it.
“MMM-MHHPHHHH!! NNNHHHHHHMMPHHHH!!” Caitlyn knew exactly what was happening. As a girl she’d read plenty of stories about dashing spies and plucky detectives: so when the fumes invaded her nostrils and her mouth, as the first rush of dizziness and euphoric tingling swept over her, she knew that she was being chloroformed.
In reality, she didn’t know how long she’d have until she was too weak to fight. Seconds? Minutes? All she knew was that that cloying smell kept pumping itself into her, and that tingling kept spreading.
“MPHHH! NN-HMMMPHHHHH!!” Caitlyn cried, fighting harder than she had at any point since she’d been caught, knowing that if she let them do this to her, she might never again have even the slightest opportunity to escape. She twisted herself in every direction her muscles could pull her; she tossed her head back, throwing her hair upward like a midnight-blue mane, making Cyan laugh as the silky, blue strands tickled her face. She tried to force herself off her knees, but Cyan just pulled her back down, and then Scarlet’s thighs just gripped her even more tightly. She kept trying though, bucking against their reins, writhing against them with such sensuous vigour that more than once she did escape their grasp. But it was always in vain. Even outside of their grip there were still the ropes.
Such resistance could not last long. With every second the drug slipped deeper into the fibre of her. Caitlyn’s limbs were getting heavy. Sluggish. When she tried to twist her hips, she seemed hardly to move, and what movement there was was slow. Caitlyn felt her body starting to give in. Her vision was darkening. Every time her head drooped her eyes drooped along with it, and each time it became harder and harder to lift them.
“No…” Caitlyn thought, trying to psych herself up. “No, I can’t… can’t let them do this to me… I have to keep fighting… have to keep trying… keep… keep going… but… oh… oh, I’m so… tired…”
There was another element too. For the entire time that Caitlyn fought, no matter what she did, how she struggled, Scarlet was still there. Still just… staring at her. Her eyes seemed to grow brighter as Caitlyn’s vision became darker, and each time Caitlyn looked straight at them it became more difficult to look away. Not for an instant did the grip of her hand relax either, her fingers and the heel of her palm completely trapping Caitlyn’s jaw, smothering her with chloroform, burying her under wave after wave of weakness.
“Mmhh… mhh-mhh…” Caitlyn mewed. Her body was growing still. Her breaths deeper. Her eyes were only half-open now, their searching sharpness dulled; softened. Her vision was swimming: even looking straight forward she could no longer see Scarlet’s eyes - the one mercy of her growing helplessness. But Scarlet seemed to know that Caitlyn couldn’t see her anymore, because she chose only that moment to lean forward, putting her mouth by Caitlyn’s right ear. In perfect sync, Cyan put hers by Caitlyn’s right ear.
“There,” Scarlet said, her voice hushed. “That’s better isn’t it. That’s how a hostage should behave. That’s much better, beautiful Caitlyn…” Her voice was comfortingly raspy. Slow. It was pleasant. It tickled Caitlyn’s ears.
“No fighting,” Cyan whispered. “No resisting. It’s impossible, isn’t it?” The affectation in her voice was no longer bothersome. It felt smooth, like slightly chilled honey being poured into Caitlyn’s mind. “Beautiful Caitlyn… oh… oh, you’re so sleepy…”
Both of them started stroking her hair, softly caressing the top of her head, then letting the strands flow like water through their fingers.
“Mhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…” Caitlyn sighed, feeling herself swaying with the rhythm of their strokes, caught up in it like a leaf on water. “No… no I can’t… this is… so stupid that I’d… I’d find th-is… relaxing… something as simple as this…” She looked, slowly, from one to the other, feeling how close they were to her; feeling how much control they had over her. She wanted to be angry - she was angry - but she didn’t have the strength for it to matter.
“This should be mortifying, shouldn’t it?” Scarlet said.
“Humiliating, even,” Cyan added. She flicked Caitlyn’s earlobe with her tongue, and was rewarded with a soft, somnolent little trill.
“We’re petting you like a cat. Isn’t it ridiculous?”
“Isn’t it silly?”
“We’re disrespecting you so badly.”
“But you don’t mind.”
“You can’t mind.”
“You’re all foggy… all soft and hazy… so all your body knows is that it’s nice to be touched…”
“So nice…”
“So keep breathing…”
“Keep breathing in the chloroform…”
“And then you can keep enjoying it…”
“Nhmm… nhmhhbhhm…” Caitlyn protested, even now, but she didn’t fight. She did as they said, and breathed slowly, and deeply. She drew in lungful after lungful of sweet, drugged air, obediently sending herself deeper and deeper into sleep. “Why… why can’t I… stop doing… what they say…? Why can’t I… th…think?”
They kept stroking. Kept whispering. Their supple prize floated between them, her head drifting languidly from side to side, her body growing heavy; growing limp.
“There we are,” one of them said, and it no longer mattered which.
“That’s how you should behave.”
“No fighting.”
“No thinking.”
“Just a hostage.”
“A captive.”
“We’ve kidnapped you.”
“You're ours now.”
“You’re all tied up.”
“You’re all sleepy.”
“So perfect.”
“So perfect.”
“Mh… mhhh…?”
Caitlyn just stared forward now, not looking at anything. Not seeing anything. Just kneeling, and breathing, and going deeper and deeper under the spell.
“Sink, Caitlyn. Just sink down. So deep down. So far down… oh, you’re being drugged and it’s so beautiful… seeing your body understand what you are when your mind’s too stubborn… but we’ve got rid of all that. Now sleep…”
“Sleep…”
“Sleep…”
“Sleep…”
The voices lapped at her like water, like warm ocean waves. She couldn’t escape them. She couldn’t get away from them. She knew she would sleep. She knew it was already too late. Everything felt so heavy… so dark…
“I can’t… get away… s…sinking…I’m sinking… but it… but it can’t be… true, I… uh… I can’t…be…th…eir…s…”
It was Caitlyn’s last conscious thought before succumbing completely. With the very last atoms of her resistance, her eyelids flickered, before setting finally closed. Her mind went completely dark, and she fell into a warm, inescapable abyss. Once her captors were sure of it, they laid her down, flat on her back - always being careful with their property. She lay still. The bonds kept her body hemmed in, and a little stiff, but she was otherwise absolutely limp. She was all length, and slimness; tall, neat, and utterly passive, lying obediently where they had laid her; motionless, except for her breathing. Even when the transport started, its judders and bumps did not disturb the stillness of Caitlyn’s sleep.
Cyan watched Caitlyn for a while, leaning her head on Scarlet’s shoulder.
“My love,” she asked.
“Yes?”
“Are you sure you don’t want to keep her?”
Scarlet smiled.
“You always say that. But you’re always happier when the money comes in. But don’t worry,” she added, when Cyan pouted. “I’m sure it’ll take a little while to arrange. Until her family pay…” She leaned in, pressed her lips against Cyan’s. “She’ll be our… present. To each other.”
Cyan grinned.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The markswoman’s body is her own worst enemy. What you need is to be still; what you need is to be patient. But your body doesn’t want you to do that. You sit too long in one place and it makes you ache. If the weather’s cold, you shiver. If the weather’s hot, you sweat. Out of nowhere you can get an itch. If you overwork yourself, or you’re dehydrated, then your body can decide to really fuck you over and do the worst thing of all: cramp. You can lie in wait for hours and hours and hours and then that creeping, treacherous tightness can rip through your body at exactly the wrong moment and ruin your one shot at your one shot. And even if the weather’s perfect, you’re sitting comfortably, you’re not itching, you’re perfectly hydrated and there’s not a glimmer of a threat of cramp anywhere on the horizon, you still have to contend with your breathing.
Every Enforcer in Piltover knew what Caitlyn knew about how to breathe when readying a shot. Slow, deep breaths that moved your chest and shoulders as little as possible, breathing from your diaphragm like an actor, or singer. Hold your breath after an in-out cycle so you’re as comfortable as possible. Pull the trigger slowly so that when you flinch - and you will flinch - it’ll be too late to spoil your aim. The trick was remembering it all when you were under pressure. The trick was remembering it while you yourself were under fire; or when missing, or hitting the wrong target, could cost lives.
Caitlyn was standing on the edge of a water tower, about three-hundred yards from the building where the exchange was meant to be taking place. It not only gave her a point of vantage, but it shadowed her heavily: if someone looked in her direction, they still wouldn’t see her unless they were knew to look for her. That building, and the tower, were both in a state of fairly profound dilapidation. One could smell the acrid scent of polluted water from the nearby canal, a smell that hung always on the edges of Caitlyn’s conscience. But there was little wind today, and so the water, though it stank, was still. It meant that Caitlyn could hear people talking in the building she was watching. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she could make out two different voices. She could certainly hear when those voices became raised.
Caitlyn had positioned herself to have as much visibility of the exchange as possible, but what she had wasn’t much. Varley - ‘the Wholesaler’ as he liked to call himself - had his grunts on three floors, patrolling, and with glimpses through windows, Caitlyn had managed to identify at least nine different people, though there were certainly more she hadn’t seen. They were armed; most with pistols, at least one with a military-grade rifle even larger than Caitlyn’s, and one with some kind of strange-looking spear with a glowing crystal embedded halfway down the shaft. A HexTech™ weapon. She was standing right by a small, pudgy man with dark skin and sunken eyes, dressed in a coat that had, at some distant point in the past, looked nice. This was Varley.
Varley didn’t own the building, but he used it often. Too often, in fact: that’s how the Enforcers had been able to arrange the sting. He was a new-ish arrival on the scene of Piltover’s criminal element; his main stock-in-trade being weapons. With the opening of the HexGates™, he’d been able to arrange supply-lines entirely disconnected from the Undercity, and entirely disconnected from the Enforcers’ usual information networks. Capturing Varley would go a long way toward putting the Enforcers a step ahead.
Caitlyn looked down the sight of her rifle. She could hit Varley from where she was sitting, but there were too many others between him and the window for her to be sure the shot would put him down. She could see just about enough of him, though, to tell that he wasn’t the one with the raised voice. Someone was shouting at him, someone standing out of Caitlyn’s line of sight. She risked moving a little out of the water tower’s shadow to try to see who was talking to Varley, but she couldn’t get far enough to the left to get them into sight. Presumably Varley’s buyer, or at least one of the buyer’s representatives. Whoever it was was important enough for Varley to put in a personal appearance, but the Enforcers had no idea who it could be. Whoever it was sounded angry enough, shouting so loud that Caitlyn could hear the odd word.
“...load of… from anyone… don’t need…cheaper…!”
“Shit.” It sounded an awful lot like the buyer wasn’t happy with the price being offered. If the sale wasn’t actually made, the sting would be pointless. They might be able to grab Varley for possession of illegal quantities of weapons and ammunition, but that wouldn’t come with a sentence as heavy as he deserved. Caitlyn glanced off to the right, to the building next to the one Varley was in. She was looking for a signal: a green light meant ‘go in’; blue meant ‘abort’. Red was just for Caitlyn: it meant ‘start shooting’. That would only happen if things went very wrong. Given the way things had been in Piltover recently, Caitlyn was expecting to see the red light any second.
But no. Just as Caitlyn glanced back to her targets, she saw a green flash out of the corner of her eye. Apparently her superiors were satisfied with lesser charges. Or, perhaps they knew something she didn’t. Yet Caitlyn felt uneasy. She didn’t like the idea that her superiors might be sacrificing a meaningful arrest for a public victory. She didn’t like the idea that her colleagues’ lives were being put at risk for something unworthy of their lives being endangered. As it turned out, Caitlyn was right to be uneasy - just not for the reason she thought.
Maybe a second-and-a-half after Caitlyn saw the green flash, she saw a blue light going off instead, flashing urgently and insistently in the corner of her eye. Her superiors hadn’t been overeager; they’d got cold feet. The signaller had just flashed the wrong light by mistake. But the signaller had at least noticed their mistake quickly. With any luck nobody had charged in fast enough not to see the second signal. Most Enforcers were trained in at least a modicum of caution. So, when Caitlyn heard shouting, yelling, gunfire and that unmistakable melody of good-old-fashioned roughhousing, she knew exactly who had gone in.
“Vi!”
Flashes of red from her jacket. Flashes of pink from her hair. Flashes of blue from her HexTech gauntlets as she pounded her way through Varley’s goons. From Caitlyn’s perspective, it was like seeing every other frame of a mutoscope projection, as she saw snapshot after snapshot of Vi when she passed each window, each one a study in the brutal harmony of which Vi was such a master. Medium-height, muscular, with a body full of explosive power, Vi was one of the deadliest hand-to-hand fighters that the Undercity had ever produced. She was not one of Piltover’s finest like Caitlyn, but she… helped out from time to time. One of the first and hardest lessons Caitlyn had learned about police work was that sticking with pedantic precision to the rules got you nowhere - a lesson Vi had helped teach her.
Well - too late now. These things happened. Even if they couldn’t get Varley or his buyer for something serious, at least they were getting him off the street. Maybe one of his underlings would panic and turn on him. It was irritating, but it wasn’t the end of the world. As long as they sent the other Enforcers in after her to back her up, the operation was recoverable.
Caitlyn waited thirty seconds. No flash from the signaller. This was excusable - he and his spotter were probably trying to work out what was going on. They might not have been immediately aware that the shooting and fighting were because of Vi. After a minute Caitlyn was anxious, her eyes flitting constantly between Vi and the signaller, not understanding what could be taking her superiors so long to act. After a minute and a half, though, Caitlyn realized what was happening - her superiors had no intention of sending anyone else in. They were abandoning Vi.
Caitlyn immediately abandoned stealth, hauling herself up the water tower’s ladder to get as good a vantage point as possible. She crouched, swinging her rifle into position. After a second or two, she’d found Vi again. She appeared to be tangling with the thug with the HexTech spear, while at the same time trying not to get shot by Varley’s gunmen. Caitlyn couldn’t shoot the one with the spear without hitting Vi - but the gunmen were another matter.
Any of Caitlyn’s colleagues could have made the first shot. Any of the firearm specialists, anyway. The first gunman practically had their back right against a window, and they were broad, and they were wearing a bright, red cardigan. They might as well have had ‘kick me’ taped to their back. No, hitting him - straight through his right shoulder - was not something only Caitlyn could have done. What only Caitlyn could have done was reload, adjust her aim to hit a target that was partly obscured by the person she was trying to protect, fire, reload again, and then put down a third criminal who was trying to sneak up on Vi with a knife - all in the same breath.
After Vi dealt with the woman she’d been fighting - punching her halfway across the room and partly through a brick wall - she was momentarily at a loss. A couple of seconds earlier, she’d been surrounded by enemies. Then she’d punched one of them and all the others had apparently fallen down of their own accord. Then she caught sight of the shattered panes of the nearest window, and - looking through them - she couldn’t help smiling.
Even from the distance between them, Caitlyn cut a dramatic figure. She had long hair that flowed most of the way down her back in a smooth, dark-blue trail. Her features were striking: she had large, clear-blue, almond shaped eyes; clear, bright, and searching. Her cheekbones were high, quite sharp, and she had a dignified jawline that tapered inwards to a small chin. The effect was suggestive of a bright, expertly cut diamond.
Her figure was just as striking as her features. She was very tall, but not in a way that made her look delicate or ungainly. A slender, swanlike neck flowed out into slim, strong shoulders; her arms subtly and elegantly muscled. Her breasts were high, well–shaped, somewhere between modest and ample, her waist trim, her hips sweeping subtly from her waist, but with a subtlety that was decidedly womanly.
Her uniform looked better on her than on most - a sleek, cotton, midnight-blue dress almost the exact same shade as Caitlyn’s hair. Its collar was high, with a sort of cravat held in place with a brooch. There were small, gold-and-blue pauldrons on the shoulders, largely decorative, matching the gold trim that ran throughout the uniform. The sleeves were short, so most of Caitlyn’s upper arms were visible, her forearms covered by a pair of long, fingerless gloves. The dress wasn’t exactly tight, but it held closely to Caitlyn’s curves, getting looser around the hips, its skirt ending in a swishing, pleated, white hem that fluttered a few inches above Caitlyn’s knees. It wasn’t supposed to sit that short - but Caitlyn had very long legs. Most of their shapely length was clad in a pair of leather boots, the frills of her stockings poking out just over the top of them. Between them and her skirt, Caitlyn’s thighs were left bare. Some people might have noticed the creamy smoothness of her skin; the feminine tone of her thigh muscles. Not Vi, of course. But… you know. Some people.
Vi and Caitlyn had dealt with all the serious resistance. At long, long last, once they realized that the operation had been a partial success anyway, the other Enforcers went in. They picked up the groaning bodies of those Caitlyn had shot or that Vi had pulverized, and they took Varley, and the credit for his capture, from Vi’s clenched fist. The only missing piece of the puzzle was the buyer, who appeared to have made their escape in the chaos.
Caitlyn’s lieutenant blamed Vi. Vi blamed the signaller. Caitlyn blamed her lieutenant, and the whole exchange ended with pretty much everyone thinking that they were about to get fired; except Vi, who wasn’t exactly employed. So when she and Caitlyn stormed out - or rather when Caitlyn stormed out and Vi followed her - Vi was, comparatively, a picture of calm.
“This. It’s exactly this!” Caitlyn’s fists were clenched. Her teeth were gritted, her arms were folded, and she couldn’t stop pacing. “This sort of incompetence is why we never really make Piltover any… better. We never get anything done.”
“Besides beating up poor people.”
“I’m not joking, Vi!”
“Neither am I,” Vi replied, half-serious. “Look, don’t get yourself worked up. The thing with the signal - shit like that just happens sometimes. Everybody fucks up once in a while.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about. My lieutenant could have sent Enforcers in after you once they knew what had happened. He should have. But he dithered. Or - or he…” She glanced at Vi, not quite able to keep her eyes on her. “Or he just didn’t bother because you’re not an Enforcer. Because-”
“Because I’m from the Undercity.” Vi shrugged. “Listen, cupcake, I’ve never been under any illusions about how the boys in blue see me. We’re using each other. To your bosses I’m a source of intel, and I’m good at punching people. I need… well, you know what I need.” She was talking about her sister. That the Enforcers had promised her assistance in tracking her down was the only reason she tolerated having anything to do with them.
Suddenly, Caitlyn turned on Vi, glaring at her. Her aristocratic bearing could be made plenty fierce when she wanted it to, and Vi was genuinely startled.
“Don’t think I’m not angry with you too,” Caitlyn said. “You could have been killed, charging in on your own like that. It was stupid.”
“Oh, pfft. C’mon, I’m plenty tough. You don’t need to worry about me.”
“You say that,” Caitlyn replied, “but you come out of every fight with at least one stab wound.”
“Well, not… not every fight…” Vi leaned back, clasping her hands behind her neck. “Didn’t get stabbed today, did I?” She gave Caitlyn a sidelong smile, and would have managed to get one in return, had it not been for the shooting pain in her arm forcing her to wince. Looking down, Vi saw that there was a dark patch on the left sleeve of her jacket, next to a small hole that she hadn’t noticed before. She was bleeding.
“No,” Caitlyn said. “You didn’t get stabbed this time. You got shot!”
With two long strides, Caitlyn rushed to Vi’s side, and took her arm. Without so much as a by-your-leave, she pulled Vi’s arm out of the sleeve, twisted it so that she could inspect the wound, a long gash on the inner side of Vi’s upper arm.
“F- ow! Would you be careful?”
“You’re one to talk.” The wound wasn’t deep, but it wasn’t completely superficial either. “Alright - it’s not going to kill you. But I need to dress it. Sit down.”
“Caitlyn, if it’s not that bad I -”
“Don’t argue. Just do it.”
Vi rolled her eyes - but she did as she was told.
Caitlyn had a first aid kit with her, and despite Vi’s grumbling, she attended skilfully to her. She cleaned the wound, wiping away the blood and - much to Vi’s chagrin - applying disinfectant. Then she dressed it, swiftly and neatly bandaging Vi’s arm.
“I don’t really think you’re stupid,” Caitlyn said, quietly. “In fact I think you’re very brave. I just don’t like seeing you hurt.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, I appreciate you… you know, helping me out. With your shooting and, uh, like this.” She saw Caitlyn smile; slightly, but sweetly, and couldn’t help smiling a little herself. “Hey,” Vi said, “you finished?”
“Yes.”
“You’re still holding my arm.”
“...Yes.”
Caitlyn moved her hand a little higher, to Vi’s shoulder. She looked up at Vi’s face, and then said: “Number six.”
“Wh-?” It was so much out of nowhere that Vi couldn’t help snorting with laughter. “What the fuck?”
“Your tattoo. The first time I met you, I didn’t know your name. I thought it was a number six.”
“Why would I feel the need to tattoo ‘six’ on my face?”
“Vi, why did you feel the need to tattoo your own name on your face?”
“Shit,” Vi said. “You got me there.”
Laughing, the two stood up.
“Are you sure you’re not hurt anywhere else?” Caitlyn asked.
Vi looked herself over. “Yeah, I think I’m good. Thanks.”
“Are you, um…?”
“Going back to the Undercity? Yeah. Things have been pretty chaotic since Silco… well, you know.”
“No, indeed.” It was not something either of them liked talking about. Caitlyn touched Vi on the arm again, as much for her own comfort as for Vi’s. “Can I help?” she asked.
“I don’t doubt that you could,” Vi said, “but you’ve got more people to yell at, right?”
“Ah. Yes, probably. And reports to write.” She sighed. “I’m probably not going to get home until midnight…”
“That’s what you get for being a cop, cupcake.” She snorted. “Copcake…”
Caitlyn wrinkled her nose. “You deserved to get shot.”
“Maybe,” Vi said. She winked, stuffed her hands into her pockets, and walked away.
Caitlyn watched her until she was out of view. She was always a little sad to see her go: with the life of violence that she led, it wasn’t all that ridiculous to think any meeting might be their last.
____________________________________________________________________________
Caitlyn left the scene of Varley’s arrest after all of her other colleagues were already gone. She was very thorough - sometimes, it had to be said, pointlessly thorough. But this was not one of those times. In the chaos, in the shooting, in all the arguments, nobody except Caitlyn had noticed that Varley hadn’t actually brought any merchandise with him.
“Perhaps he wasn’t selling,” Caitlyn thought. “Perhaps he was buying.” But buying what? Something small enough that the seller had been able to slip away relatively easily even surrounded by Enforcers. Whatever it was, it was valuable enough for Varley to put in a personal appearance, and it wasn’t here anymore. Still, it was troubling. Assuming Varley was keeping to the weapons trade, one was forced to wonder what he was after to which he did not already have access.
The streets were already dark by the time Caitlyn left. There were gas-lamps on most streets, but not these ones. Sometimes when people talked about Piltover and Zaun, noting - quite rightly - that Piltover was wealthy largely at Zaun’s expense, they forgot that even rich cities came with their fair share of poverty. Because it was so dark, and because her mind was on other things, it took Caitlyn a little while to realize that she was being followed.
At first, Caitlyn acted as though she didn’t notice. She hoped that it might be a couple of prospective muggers who would back off once they saw her uniform, and her rifle. But they kept on shadowing her for several minutes, following fairly skilfully. Caitlyn got occasional glimpses of them in windows and puddles: a man and a woman; the man skinny, the woman roughly Vi’s build. The man was carrying a pistol. The woman might have been as well; Caitlyn never quite got a good enough look at her.
Now worried that it was something a fair bit more serious, Caitlyn diverted her path towards the most public walkway she could think of. But there was no way of getting there that wouldn’t pass through narrow, unfamiliar lanes. Any route was risky. She risked glancing over her shoulder. Probably they now knew that she was onto them, but it was likely worth it. Now she knew that they weren’t just random muggers, because they were dressed too well, and now she knew that both of them were carrying guns.
What did they want? Random violence against Enforcers wasn’t unheard of - god knows there were plenty in Zoarn and Piltover who had some very legitimate grievances against them - but this didn’t feel like that. This felt more professional. More targeted. Something personal to Caitlyn, perhaps? Hard to say. Didn’t matter. Caitlyn heard her pursuers’ footsteps become more rapid, and she elected to make a gamble - and sprint.
Caitlyn distinctly heard one of the two swear, and then both of them started chasing her. But Caitlyn was fit, and tall, and her galloping strides kept her well ahead of them. But that wouldn’t be all that helpful if they started shooting, so Caitlyn picked a route basically at random, and hauled herself around the first blind corner she could see. When her pursuers followed her, they found themselves staring down the barrel of a long, powerful rifle, held by one of the finest shots ever to wear Enforcer-blue.
“If I see either of you,” Caitlyn said, “raising your weapons, I will fire. You,” she said, addressing the man, “put your pistol on the ground. Slowly.”
He did as he was told.
“Kick it to me.”
He did that too. But he tried to be clever, kicking it dramatically so that he stepped in front of his partner. Somewhat hidden from sight, she tried to draw her own pistol - but she was far too slow to get the better of Caitlyn. She, Caitlyn, actually missed slightly: she’d meant to shoot the pistol out of the woman’s hand, but instead she carved a gouge in the back of her hand. But she still got the pistol out of the woman’s hand; there was just more bleeding and yelling than she’d intended.
“Enforcer bitch!” the wounded woman howled.
“If you’re not prepared to get shot,” Caitlyn replied, “probably not a good idea to point guns at people yourself, is it? Now, down on your knees, both of you. And hands behind your heads.”
They both did as they were told this time, even if they scowled about it.
“Alright,” Caitlyn said. “Why were you following me? What do you want?”
They looked at each other, but neither answered.
“Fine.” Caitlyn tucked the stock of her rifle under her arm to hold it in place, then tossed a pair of handcuffs at the criminals’ feet. “Cuff yourselves to each other.”
“No,” the man said. His expression was eerily neutral.
“This isn’t a negotiation,” Caitlyn replied. “It’s an ultimatum.”
“No, I get that. I just don’t think you’re in a position to give one.” He glanced upwards.
Caitlyn followed his eyes. She saw what he saw. She felt herself grow cold.
All about her, atop the roofs of the buildings overlooking the narrow street, where the light drew low and the shadow grew deep, figure after figure appeared. All about her, shaded so harshly that it seemed like they were growing from the darkness itself. All about her, eight or nine of them, looming, watching. She couldn’t see any of their faces. She couldn’t see if they were armed or not.
“You cost us,” one of them said. A woman’s voice.
“You cost us,” another trilled; another woman; a deeper voice, but lighter. Mocking.
Caitlyn raised her rifle, pointed at the figure that had spoken first. At least she thought it was her - in the shadow, it was hard to tell.
“Back off.”
Some of them laughed.
“I know I can’t hit all of you before you could shoot me,” Caitlyn shouted, “but I’m a trained markswoman. I -”
“We know who you are, Caitlyn Kiramman.”
The first stepped forward, became a little more visible. They were hiding much of their face with a shawl, but they had small, glaring green eyes, stretched as wide as possible. A row of daggers was at her belt. Of what Caitlyn could see of her clothing, she seemed to be clad in gold and scarlet.
“The aristocrat Enforcer. Mother on the council. Won a slew of prizes in marksmanship.”
Caitlyn swallowed. That she was under threat was damaging enough to the calm her aim needed - that she was being personally targeted by these people was… it was frightening. But she kept her aim steady.
“If you know who I am,” she replied. “Then you know that I could drop you and three of your cronies before even one of you gets a shot off in return. So if you’re here to kill me, ask yourselves if it’s really worth what you’ll have to pay for it!”
“Kill you? Who said anything about killing you?”
One of the others did something. Raised a weapon, or began to leap down - Caitlyn couldn’t tell. As soon as she saw them move, she whipped round and fired, hitting them dead centre in the chest. But they didn’t drop. They barely staggered. When the bullet struck them, there was a bright, blue flash, and then the bullet just bounced off them. In the half-second that it took Caitlyn to process what had happened, she worked out two things: first, these were the people who’d been trying to sell to Varley; second, that what they were selling wasn’t a weapon - it was HexTech armour. She readjusted her aim, and fired at her target’s head. She killed him instantly, but by then it was too late. He’d already fired back.
In the darkness, Caitlyn couldn’t see the object until it had nearly landed. Only when it happened to reflect a distant streetlight did she see the tennis-ball sized lump of metal. She actually managed to reload and shoot it before it hit the ground, but she didn’t spare herself much of its intended purpose. It exploded with concussive force, not quite enough to knock Caitlyn down, but enough to throw her rifle from her hands. It was bright, too, not bright enough to blind or seriously dazzle, but bright enough that Caitlyn did not see quickly enough that two others had descended from the rooftops. Nor did she immediately see what they threw at her - she heard them first.
There was a distinctive ‘ka-chewww’ sound, like a metallic sneeze. It was caused by metal casing unlocking, and then a series of springs firing, discarding the casing, and sending the coiled black cords inside spinning through the air like a three-pronged propeller. Caitlyn had just enough time to hear them whipping through the air, just enough time to realize what was about to happen to her, before the bolo-whips caught her.
One hit her in the front, the other from behind, instantly seizing. Cords slashing through the air, then spiralling around her. Thwip, thwip, thwip around her torso, coiling around her, snapping her arms to her sides and then tight, tight, tight with every circuit, pressing hard, flattening her palms against her pretty hips, pushing her shoulders inwards and upwards against her body, forcing on her a passive winsomeness, viciously hiding all her strength. Spinning, curling, coiling; pulling against the fabric of her dress, cutting across its noble blue with harsh, black ‘x’s; under, over, across and between her breasts, grasping - clutching; flattening her palms against her hips.
Down over her thighs, pinching into her skin, drawn together with an audible ‘slap’; down and down the cords kept twisting, curling like slim snakes around her knees, down her calves, tangling her ankles, binding her legs, long and graceful, forcing them into one column. A zig-zag pattern of cord from her shoulders to her feet, tracing and trussing and trapping; circuit after circuit wound around her, not giving her an inch, ruthlessly and relentlessly grasping at her, clutching at her, coiling her, squeezing her, hemming her in, warring against every muscle in her body at once - and conquering her effortlessly. It had taken less than four seconds.
With wide, bright, blue eyes she stared. She looked down at her body in pure, disbelieving shock. She was tied up. She was completely tied up. Bound from her ankles to her neck in yards and yards of rope, and she hadn’t even had time to think before she was - captured. In the darkness, it hadn’t even looked like her enemies were using bolos. It was as though a wizard had cast a spell on her, summoned ropes from thin air: commanded that Caitlyn should be bound, and with mere will had made it so. And the sensation of it! The - the ropes around every part of her, pinching into her skin, squeezing so tightly, so cruelly - she - she couldn’t move! Couldn’t get her arms from her sides; couldn’t get her hands from her hips; couldn’t part her legs from each other. Even when she tried to breathe she felt the ropes exact payment, groping her bosom from all sides, pressing into her shoulder-blades.
Unable to resist, unable to struggle in earnest, Caitlyn just stared, frozen in horror at the sight of her own captive body, eyes transfixed by the patterns of cord that wrapped her up so tight, so secure. Only when she heard the heavy thud of boots against stone did she think to look up.
They were standing round her in a nearly perfect circle. They were all masked as their leader was. Three in bright garments like hers; one in cyan; one in ochre; one in silver. The rest were less ornately dressed, but still in the same style. Perhaps they’d have done so in any case, but it accommodated the HexTech armour they all wore.
“You’ve cost us,” the scarlet one said. “Now you’ve cost us a brother too.”
“You’ve cost us,” the cyan one said. “But don’t worry.”
“But don’t worry,” the ochre one said. “You’ll pay us back.”
“You’ll pay us back,” the silver one said. “Every penny.”
Only now did Caitlyn snap out of her shock enough to struggle, but the moment she started she was restrained. Two pairs of hands from the darkness grabbed her, one taking each shoulder, suppressing her squirming before it could even start, leather-gloved hands curling around her upper arms, fingers pressing through her dress almost as tightly as the ropes. It was a new shock - not so much the feeling of hands on her, of being touched without her permission, but that in theory she knew how to fight back. She’d had fairly extensive self-defence training, knew how to respond when grabbed from behind, even if it was by two people. She could imagine herself doing it, could will herself to do it - but the ropes… she - she just couldn’t get free!
“Get off!” she shouted, thrusting forward, not hard enough to get out of her captors’ grasp, but hard enough to tax their strength. She felt their breath against her neck, felt the heat of them close to her, felt a still greater heat in her own breast as she fought - as she failed to fight. “What do you want from me?! What - ah!”
The four in colours had closed on her, moving so quickly that Caitlyn almost hadn’t seen them. Suddenly, scarlet’s face was right up against Caitlyn’s, their noses almost touching.
“We told you you would pay,” she said. “What do you think that means, Caitlyn?”
“It could mean all sorts of things,” the one in silver said. “You are very… pretty.” She brushed the back of her hands against Caitlyn’s cheek, laughing lightly when her captive pulled away.
“Not just that,” the one in ochre said. “You’re beautiful.” She teased a few strands of Caitlyn’s long, blue hair between her fingers, held them to her nose.
“Not just that,” the one in cyan said. “You’re ravishing.” She held herself close to Caitlyn. “Mm… and you smell of… lilies.” Lightly, she pressed two of her fingertips against Caitlyn’s soft, bare thigh. Over Caitlyn’s indignant protests, she just laughed. “Such a temper. I wonder what you’re imagining?”
“I wonder what you think we want.”
“I wonder what kind of payment you think you can give us.”
“Such a pity.”
“Such a shame.”
“Such a riot! The truth is so dull!”
“So literal.”
“So prosaic.”
The one in scarlet took Caitlyn by the chin, forced her to look her captor in the eye. Caitlyn tried at least to stay looking indignant, but she couldn’t keep the fear from her face, couldn’t keep the blush from her cheeks.
“Perhaps we misled you. When we say you’ll pay, we do mean ‘pay’ - but I suppose strictly speaking we don’t mean you’ll pay. What we mean…”
“...is that you’ll be paid for.”
“Wh-what?” Caitlyn stammered. She couldn’t see her captors’ mouths, but she was sure they were all smiling. “You - you’re going to sell me?”
“I suppose.”
“Sort of.”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“But it’s not so bad.” The one in scarlet drew Caitlyn closer. “We’re only going to sell you to people who love you.”
“Work it out, Caitlyn. You’re rich - your family is rich.”
“What price won’t they pay for their sweet, beautiful daughter?”
“You’re going to ransom me?” For a moment, Caitlyn’s dignity returned, and she turned up her nose at them. “Then you’re all fools. My family will never negofhfhynghhhhhHH!”
Her courage had been choked into nonsense by something that the one in ochre had pushed into her mouth: a small wad of thick, yellow sponge.
“Wh…? Fnghghhhfffff!!” Caitlyn tried to spit it out, but her efforts were immediately, and humiliatingly stymied. One of the ones behind her, a no-name in dull robes had whipped a strong, white length of fabric over Caitlyn’s mouth, a strong, band of white covering her face from just above her chin to just below her nose, strong enough to silence her, tight enough that you could see the outline of her soft, closed lips beneath it. It sealed in the sponge, sealed her lips, and sealed away her attempt at defiance. The second she had found her courage, they had taken it away again - or at least rendered it useless.
“MMPHH! MM-MMH! NMMPHHH! NMMMPHHHHH!!” With more vigour than ever, Caitlyn thrashed, writhing and squirming against her bonds, twisting and wriggling her hips, her short skirt swishing about the tops of her thighs, throwing her head this way and that as she tried not to let them knot her gag, knocking her own cap from her head, throwing her long blue hair about her in dark waves as she fought, squeezing her eyes shut in agonized frustration as she was so utterly overpowered by the ropes, by the criminals holding her, and by the peals of mocking laughter.
“No voice for you, Caitlyn,” the one in scarlet said, admiring the Enforcer’s sinuous, captive dance. “Nothing at all for you, Caitlyn. Not until your family buys you back. She seized Caitlyn by the hips, pulling her away from the others, right up against her own body, shocking Caitlyn with her strength.
“Mh! Mhh!” Caitlyn whimpered, looking down with wide, wet eyes. Down, because the woman in scarlet was at least five inches shorter than her.
“Until that happens,” the scarlet woman said, “you belong to the Robes. You’re not an Enforcer. You’re not a markswoman. You’re not anything, except a hostage. And until your family pays for everything else to be given back to you, that’s all you are.”
“Merchandise.”
“A belonging.”
“Property.”
“A treasure.”
“Ours.”
“Ours.”
“Ours.”
“Ours.”
“Mhh…?”
She was almost panting. She couldn’t look at them She gave little glances here and there, but she couldn’t meet any of their eyes. They frightened her, and though she knew that they were trying to demoralize her, her cognizance didn’t stop it working perfectly. Her shoulders dropped. Her eyes dropped. Her chin dropped, almost to her chest.
“Good girl,” the scarlet woman said, running her hand casually over Caitlyn’s hair. She put one arm around Caitlyn’s shoulder, lowered one hand to Caitlyn’s knees - and then hauled all five-foot-ten of her captive up into her arms.
“Mmmhhhh!!” Caitlyn cried, crimsoning as she was lifted, astonished that this woman so much smaller than her could bear her so easily. It made her look even taller, made her defeat all the more anguishing, all the more humiliating, for its apparent lopsidedness: like a strong, swift mare brought down by nothing bigger or more fearsome than a fox. She struggled, wriggling against the scarlet woman’s grip, but was helpless to escape it. Her long, shapely legs kicked out with all the vigour of their careful conditioning, but it was useless. Her captor just held her tighter, fingers digging into Caitlyn’s naked thighs, pressing her - almost crushing her - against her captor’s chest.
“She just - she just… took me…!” Caitlyn thought, feeling all the more bitterly the bite of the ropes ensnaring her, the pressure of the gag muzzling her. In desperation, she just cried out, hoping that someone might hear her, that someone might come to her aid. “HHHHLLLLP! HHHHHLLLP MMHHHHH!!” she screamed, but most of the force of her voice was absorbed by the sponge, the rest wasted into the cloth. “HHHHHHLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLP! PLLLHHHHSSSS!!”
But nobody heard. Nobody, anyway, that did not laugh.
“Isn’t she pretty?”
“Isn’t she beautiful?”
“Isn’t she ravishing?”
“Isn’t she sweet?” the woman in scarlet added, letting herself enjoy the feeling of Caitlyn’s body in her arms. She was elegant, and slim; smooth, but not delicate, exactly. There was a pleasing substantiality about her, in her limbs, her shoulders, and her firm backside, that wiggled pleasingly against the scarlet woman’s midsection. There was strength in her bound arms, as well as grace; a solidity to her warm thighs, as well as softness. She was not some fae, waifish girl. She was a woman: tall, graceful, and stately. And she had been absolutely, humiliatingly defeated. They possessed her. They owned her. And from the rather adorable crinkle of her eyebrows, the desperation in her impassioned cries, it seemed that she knew it.
The scarlet woman carried Caitlyn, squirming and moaning all the way, to the transport they had waiting. Everywhere Caitlyn looked, she saw bright, hard eyes staring at her. At least staring at her. Caitlyn was a beautiful woman, and she saw how their eyes traced her curves, saw that they all noticed when their scarlet leader lifted Caitlyn’s legs higher, and her skirt slid further up her thighs. When they reached the transport, it was almost a relief.
It was a hover-skiff, propelled by a small, relatively-cheap HexTech generator. It had a cab for about four, and a hold in which maybe five could stand. Too many for all of the Robes. But they seemed to have arranged in advance which would go on the transport and which would go their own way, because some of them seemed to vanish into the encroaching night. Scarlet brought Caitlyn round to the back of the skiff, where an underling opened the hold for her. She hopped in, put Caitlyn down on her feet, turned her around so the two were facing each other - and then pushed Caitlyn in the chest.
“Hmm-mmnnfffmm?!” Caitlyn wobbled, and stumbled, even hopped to try to maintain her balance; but it was a doomed effort. Under Scarlet’s piercing eyes, Caitlyn overbalanced, slipped, and then fell, fell the whole length of her tall, trim body. It seemed to take forever; like a deep-rooted, high elm being cut down in a forest, Caitlyn’s moans like the wood’s creaks as it tumbled, her bondage making her scarce more mobile than the trunk would have been, and her fall just as inevitable.
“UMMFF!” she cried, hitting the metal of the skiff’s hold, the floor so hard and her body so trim and toned that she visibly bounced before finally settling on her back. Scarlet still watched, like her eyes had been pushing Caitlyn down, and were now holding her there. A moment ago Caitlyn had practically towered over her - now, she lay far, far beneath her.
Cyan jumped in, and the hold closed. A dull light flickered on, and Caitlyn saw that Cyan was a woman too. Not tall, but taller than Scarlet. Broader-shouldered, but a fair bit thinner, less muscular. To Caitlyn’s surprise, Cyan slipped off her shawl, revealing her face. She had a heavy tan, but one could tell she was light-skinned underneath it. She also appeared to be blind in her left eye, and had scars on her neck and the bottom of the left side of her jaw. Then Scarlet revealed her face as well; very fair, with long features, and a shock of thick, curly, platinum-blonde hair. Both looked about thirty. They looked down at Caitlyn; smiled - and then they kissed each other.
“Poor Thumper,” Cyan said, stroking Scarlet’s face. “It was only his second day, and she shot him right in the head.” With her shawl off, it was easier to tell that her high-pitched, girlish voice was an affectation; poorly disguising a deeper one.
“Don’t feel bad, my sweet,” Scarlet replied, kissing Cyan’s forehead. “He was just some Zoarn gutter-rat.”
“Oh, I don’t feel bad, darling. But… he was still a Robe. Still a brother.”
“Yes… yes, we’ll add it to the fee. An extra… thirty-thousand?”
“Hmm… no, I don’t think Thumper deserves that. Ten-thousand.”
“You’ve convinced me. Ten-thousand.”
“Wonderful!”
They kissed again. It was intimate enough - they rubbed their hands all over each other - but strangely passionless. It looked like bad play-acting, and Caitlyn almost felt that they intended for it to seem so - for they still looked down at her even when their mouths were locked together.
They broke the kiss, took two steps towards their captive.
“What do you think?” Cyan asked.
“How do you mean?”
“Was it worth it?”
“Losing the contract with Varley?”
“Mm.”
“To get her?”
“Mm.”
“We’ll see. If the family pays up with no argument.”
“Of course. And a day or two in her company won’t be so bad…”
Cyan knelt by Caitlyn’s legs. She reached out to touch them, but Caitlyn drew her legs back, and kicked at Cyan’s hands. She didn’t kick very vigorously - she couldn’t: it was hard enough bending her legs - but Cyan hissed like she’d been stung by a scorpion.
“Caitlyn,” Cyan said, slowly. Her eyes went wide, and round; her face expressionless, but expressionless in the way that a lizard was expressionless; animally blank.
“Caitlyn,” Scarlet repeated, in exactly the same tone, with exactly the same expression, the two matching each other so perfectly that Caitlyn felt like she was dreaming. “You’re a hostage. Something we caught. Something we’re going to trade for money. Hostages don’t kick.”
“Hostages don’t fight.”
“Hostages don’t do anything except wait meekly to be sold.”
“Hostages don’t give their kidnappers trouble.”
“In fact-”
“In fact-”
“Now hostages,” they said, in perfect unison, “don’t get to think.”
Like whipcords they snapped at her. Cyan behind; Scarlet in front. Cyan took Caitlyn by the shoulders, pushed her up into a sitting position. Scarlet lifted her legs, with vicious strength folding Caitlyn’s calves underneath her, forcing her to kneel. Then she sat in front of her, kneeling astride Caitlyn’s thighs, sitting more or less on Caitlyn’s knees.
“Mph! Mm-mhhhh!!” Caitlyn fought against them, but she was completely pinned. Cyan wasn’t as strong as Scarlet, but she was strong enough to restrain a woman who was as securely bound as Caitlyn was. At no point did their blank expressions change. It was surreal. “Who are these people?” Caitlyn thought. “Are they… are they just putting on an act to frighten me, or are they really as insane as they seem? God knows what they’re going to do to me… I can’t let them take me away! I have to - I have to escape, but - but…!” But she couldn’t. For all her training, for all her skill, Caitlyn was powerless. She was completely at their mercy.
Her face still blank, Scarlet looked Caitlyn up and down. Saw the battle between rage and dismay playing out on her features. Saw the rapid, scarcely controlled breaths, the sweat running down her neck. She saw how, forced to kneel, Caitlyn’s thighs bulged slightly; the ropes, and even her stockings made subtle, but visible, impressions into the substantive softness of her legs.
“Caitlyn,” she said. “Beautiful Caitlyn. I’d laugh at you if I weren’t so angry with you. It was so funny when we caught you with the whips. Seeing you just standing there, letting us tie you up. Seeing you staring at yourself with such pretty eyes.”
“Mh… mmhphh!” Caitlyn didn’t even know what she was trying to say. She just couldn't let this mocking pass without protest. Behind her, she felt Cyan shifting about, but she couldn’t turn her head enough to see what she was doing. She heard a sloshing sound, but didn’t know what it was. Anyway, Scarlet held the majority of her attention.
“I hate this city,” Scarlet said. “I’m only here because there are so many opportunities. I’ll leave the second I think it would be more profitable. I hate your Council. I hate the architecture. I hate that you haven’t just sent in your Enforcers to wipe out the Undercity when they’re obviously a disaster waiting to happen - a disaster that has happened, actually. More than once. But,” she said, “there is one thing I like.” She leaned closer, to the point where Caitlyn thought Scarlet was about to kiss her. She didn’t - but she did put her hand on Caitlyn’s hip. Then she traced the curves of Caitlyn’s body all the way up to her neck. “And that,” she said, turning her palm upwards so that Cyan could put something in it, where Caitlyn couldn’t see, “is the police uniforms.” She moved back a little. She gave Caitlyn a cute little smile. “Do you smell that?” she asked.
“Wh - MMMMMHHHHHHHHHHHMMMMPHHHHHHHH!!!”
The thing Cyan had passed was a thick, white rag. The smell, the sweet smell, the acrid smell, was from the drug that Cyan had soaked it in. The rag covered Caitlyn’s mouth; her nose, her chin and most of her jaw. And for all that she fought, for all her panicked, wide-eyed thrashing, Caitlyn could not get away from it.
“MMM-MHHPHHHH!! NNNHHHHHHMMPHHHH!!” Caitlyn knew exactly what was happening. As a girl she’d read plenty of stories about dashing spies and plucky detectives: so when the fumes invaded her nostrils and her mouth, as the first rush of dizziness and euphoric tingling swept over her, she knew that she was being chloroformed.
In reality, she didn’t know how long she’d have until she was too weak to fight. Seconds? Minutes? All she knew was that that cloying smell kept pumping itself into her, and that tingling kept spreading.
“MPHHH! NN-HMMMPHHHHH!!” Caitlyn cried, fighting harder than she had at any point since she’d been caught, knowing that if she let them do this to her, she might never again have even the slightest opportunity to escape. She twisted herself in every direction her muscles could pull her; she tossed her head back, throwing her hair upward like a midnight-blue mane, making Cyan laugh as the silky, blue strands tickled her face. She tried to force herself off her knees, but Cyan just pulled her back down, and then Scarlet’s thighs just gripped her even more tightly. She kept trying though, bucking against their reins, writhing against them with such sensuous vigour that more than once she did escape their grasp. But it was always in vain. Even outside of their grip there were still the ropes.
Such resistance could not last long. With every second the drug slipped deeper into the fibre of her. Caitlyn’s limbs were getting heavy. Sluggish. When she tried to twist her hips, she seemed hardly to move, and what movement there was was slow. Caitlyn felt her body starting to give in. Her vision was darkening. Every time her head drooped her eyes drooped along with it, and each time it became harder and harder to lift them.
“No…” Caitlyn thought, trying to psych herself up. “No, I can’t… can’t let them do this to me… I have to keep fighting… have to keep trying… keep… keep going… but… oh… oh, I’m so… tired…”
There was another element too. For the entire time that Caitlyn fought, no matter what she did, how she struggled, Scarlet was still there. Still just… staring at her. Her eyes seemed to grow brighter as Caitlyn’s vision became darker, and each time Caitlyn looked straight at them it became more difficult to look away. Not for an instant did the grip of her hand relax either, her fingers and the heel of her palm completely trapping Caitlyn’s jaw, smothering her with chloroform, burying her under wave after wave of weakness.
“Mmhh… mhh-mhh…” Caitlyn mewed. Her body was growing still. Her breaths deeper. Her eyes were only half-open now, their searching sharpness dulled; softened. Her vision was swimming: even looking straight forward she could no longer see Scarlet’s eyes - the one mercy of her growing helplessness. But Scarlet seemed to know that Caitlyn couldn’t see her anymore, because she chose only that moment to lean forward, putting her mouth by Caitlyn’s right ear. In perfect sync, Cyan put hers by Caitlyn’s right ear.
“There,” Scarlet said, her voice hushed. “That’s better isn’t it. That’s how a hostage should behave. That’s much better, beautiful Caitlyn…” Her voice was comfortingly raspy. Slow. It was pleasant. It tickled Caitlyn’s ears.
“No fighting,” Cyan whispered. “No resisting. It’s impossible, isn’t it?” The affectation in her voice was no longer bothersome. It felt smooth, like slightly chilled honey being poured into Caitlyn’s mind. “Beautiful Caitlyn… oh… oh, you’re so sleepy…”
Both of them started stroking her hair, softly caressing the top of her head, then letting the strands flow like water through their fingers.
“Mhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…” Caitlyn sighed, feeling herself swaying with the rhythm of their strokes, caught up in it like a leaf on water. “No… no I can’t… this is… so stupid that I’d… I’d find th-is… relaxing… something as simple as this…” She looked, slowly, from one to the other, feeling how close they were to her; feeling how much control they had over her. She wanted to be angry - she was angry - but she didn’t have the strength for it to matter.
“This should be mortifying, shouldn’t it?” Scarlet said.
“Humiliating, even,” Cyan added. She flicked Caitlyn’s earlobe with her tongue, and was rewarded with a soft, somnolent little trill.
“We’re petting you like a cat. Isn’t it ridiculous?”
“Isn’t it silly?”
“We’re disrespecting you so badly.”
“But you don’t mind.”
“You can’t mind.”
“You’re all foggy… all soft and hazy… so all your body knows is that it’s nice to be touched…”
“So nice…”
“So keep breathing…”
“Keep breathing in the chloroform…”
“And then you can keep enjoying it…”
“Nhmm… nhmhhbhhm…” Caitlyn protested, even now, but she didn’t fight. She did as they said, and breathed slowly, and deeply. She drew in lungful after lungful of sweet, drugged air, obediently sending herself deeper and deeper into sleep. “Why… why can’t I… stop doing… what they say…? Why can’t I… th…think?”
They kept stroking. Kept whispering. Their supple prize floated between them, her head drifting languidly from side to side, her body growing heavy; growing limp.
“There we are,” one of them said, and it no longer mattered which.
“That’s how you should behave.”
“No fighting.”
“No thinking.”
“Just a hostage.”
“A captive.”
“We’ve kidnapped you.”
“You're ours now.”
“You’re all tied up.”
“You’re all sleepy.”
“So perfect.”
“So perfect.”
“Mh… mhhh…?”
Caitlyn just stared forward now, not looking at anything. Not seeing anything. Just kneeling, and breathing, and going deeper and deeper under the spell.
“Sink, Caitlyn. Just sink down. So deep down. So far down… oh, you’re being drugged and it’s so beautiful… seeing your body understand what you are when your mind’s too stubborn… but we’ve got rid of all that. Now sleep…”
“Sleep…”
“Sleep…”
“Sleep…”
The voices lapped at her like water, like warm ocean waves. She couldn’t escape them. She couldn’t get away from them. She knew she would sleep. She knew it was already too late. Everything felt so heavy… so dark…
“I can’t… get away… s…sinking…I’m sinking… but it… but it can’t be… true, I… uh… I can’t…be…th…eir…s…”
It was Caitlyn’s last conscious thought before succumbing completely. With the very last atoms of her resistance, her eyelids flickered, before setting finally closed. Her mind went completely dark, and she fell into a warm, inescapable abyss. Once her captors were sure of it, they laid her down, flat on her back - always being careful with their property. She lay still. The bonds kept her body hemmed in, and a little stiff, but she was otherwise absolutely limp. She was all length, and slimness; tall, neat, and utterly passive, lying obediently where they had laid her; motionless, except for her breathing. Even when the transport started, its judders and bumps did not disturb the stillness of Caitlyn’s sleep.
Cyan watched Caitlyn for a while, leaning her head on Scarlet’s shoulder.
“My love,” she asked.
“Yes?”
“Are you sure you don’t want to keep her?”
Scarlet smiled.
“You always say that. But you’re always happier when the money comes in. But don’t worry,” she added, when Cyan pouted. “I’m sure it’ll take a little while to arrange. Until her family pay…” She leaned in, pressed her lips against Cyan’s. “She’ll be our… present. To each other.”
Cyan grinned.