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chaotic-orphan · 11 months

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Intoxicating Fear (V)

Know Your Place

Continued from here // Masterpost

*~*~*~*~*

Superhero was standing in front of Kit, chatting, and Kit knew it was a dream. He was doing a mission report. Standard procedure. Kit had done them ever since he started working for Superhero, under the radar and acting as a vigilante in the city.

“And what about Omen?” Superhero asked, and Kit tilted his head slightly.

Omen? Ambrose?

Ambrose was the source of Kit’s nightmares; he couldn’t even escape them in his dreams, and he wanted to tell Superhero everything he was doing to Kit. He wanted so badly to cry into Superhero’s shoulder, even if it was just a projection from Kit’s subconscious.

“Nothing to report I’m afraid,” said Kit, except… Kit didn’t open his mouth to say that. “Ever since the docks he’s been MIA.”

Kit frowned, but his face remained neutral.

No, Kit didn’t know exactly where Ambrose was, but he knew he wasn’t MIA. Kit knew there was definitely some things to report such as Ambrose’s sadistic torture and humiliation in using Kit’s power against them.

Superhero shook his head, tsked and said: “I should have never sent you out there alone.”

“You couldn’t have known, Superhero,” said Kit, “and besides, I’m fine.”

Kit was absolutely not fine.

He couldn’t feel anything in his body, and he felt too far away to be talking like this in his dreams. Not when Kit was so aware of everything.

Aware of how clear he could see Superhero in front of him.

Aware of being in Superhero’s office to give his reports like normal.

Aware of the horrible smell of Superhero’s usual spicy tuna sandwich that he insisted went great with that vinegary BBQ sauce.

Kit frowned and blinked but his eyes didn’t blink. His lips didn’t frown. He just stayed still and waited for Superhero to either reply or dismiss him. He wanted to pinch himself to wake up, this dream was eerily realistic. Too much detail, it was making Kit anxious and yet his heart remained eerily steady.

“Right, well,” Superhero sighed, running a hand through his hair, and shooting Kit a soft happy smile. “Thank you for the update, Kit.”

“I’m just sorry it wasn’t good news,” said Kit a little sadly. Superhero shook his head and put a reassuring hand on Kit’s shoulder, but Kit didn’t feel it.

“Don’t worry, Kit. You and I together, we’re unstoppable. We’ll catch Ambrose before he strikes again. Before he hurt anyone else. I pro—”

The world swirled and shifted and changed and Kit was gasping, as if he had just resurfaced from underwater, all feeling returning to his body as sudden as a tsunami.

“Annnnnndddd you’re back in the room,” Ambrose said, voice far too happy as it reached Kit’s ears. He could feel his body now alright. Feel the electricity buzzing through it and feel the ache in his arms and feel the tiredness of his eyelids.

He gasped in startled breaths as his body spasmed with the aftershock of whatever Ambrose had just done to him. Ambrose had reached up a hand and cupped Kit’s cheek in his palm, then gave it a light slap.

“You in there, little hero? Or do you need another jolt?”

There was an unnatural crackle in the air, electric and fierce and loud. Kit flinched at the buzz of electric blue, nearly the same colour as Kit’s own electricity. Ambrose hummed, his dark eyes capturing Kit’s pained ones and locking them into Ambrose’s carnivorous gaze.

“There you are,” Ambrose purred, digging his fingers into Kit’s cheek. Kit wrenched his head back with an effort, his chest heaving heavy laboured breaths.

Kit only got his bearings then. He wasn’t sitting down anymore, but this time Ambrose let his feet rest flat on the ground with no water. His arms were dragged above Kit’s head, leaving them hang in a Y shape compared to his body. Kit pulled on them, feeling the rubber still sitting snug around his hands, testing the strength and Ambrose’s laugh followed the clack of Kit’s cuffs shifting.

“Yep. You’re there. Do you want another quickie?”

Before Kit could refuse the crackle filled the air and Ambrose pressed it against Kit’s ribs. Kit’s scream was sudden and torn from his throat in a strangled cry of shock. He squirmed away from the pain in a desperate attempt for relief, but Ambrose just followed his movement with a smirk on his horrible red lips. Kit’s muscles spasmed and seized so hard it felt like he was about to burst from the pressure of the electricity coursing through his skin.

After what felt like far too much, and much too long, the crackle in the air died and Kit sucked in startled breaths.

Quick, shallow, useless.

Ambrose put his hand on Kit’s cheek again, steering his head to look at Ambrose, to meet his terrible dark eyes.

“I think that’s enough for now, Kit, don’t you?” Ambrose said sweetly. Kit let out a soft breath of relief. Ambrose tightened his grip on Kit’s face until Kit squirmed before saying: “aren’t you going to thank me, Kit? Did seeing Superhero not teach you any manners?”

Kit blinked, momentarily forgetting the pain of Ambrose’s fingernails biting into his skin.

“Seeing Superhero?” Kit asked, voice far too croaky and rough from the electricity. He flinched when Ambrose lit up the baton again and the air crackled with blue light before ushering out, a sloppy apology: “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Yes, that’s enough Ambrose. Thank you.”

Ambrose smiled, pleased, and let go of Kit’s face before moving away from Kit altogether. Ambrose walked to a small table with a bunch of tools perfectly laid out on it and placed the electric baton down in its perfect place.

“It’s a cattle prod,” said Ambrose conversationally, keeping his back turned to Kit. “In case you wanted to know. Tricky thing to get ahold of, but… I’d do anything to see you in pain Kit. Especially at the mercy of the very power that makes you oh so special.”

Kit licked his lips, mouth dry. “What do you mean seeing Superhero?”

It was a dream. Kit had thought it was a dream. It felt like a dream, he couldn’t move or talk or breathe or speak and everything had felt far too far away. Dreamlike.

It had to be a dream.

Ambrose let out a soft insidious laugh, more of a chuckle than anything, and Kit felt the familiar coil of fear wind deep in his gut.

Ambrose turned to face Kit, resting his hands on the table behind him. He was wearing his usual, dress shirt tucked into slacks and clean shoes shined to perfection. He smiled at Kit with his too red lips contrasting against his pale skin like blood on snow, and his dark eyes captured Kit’s in his snare.

“I mean seeing Superhero, Kit. Last time you begged me so beautifully I decided you deserved a little reward. You wanted to be awake, or well… to not go to sleep again,” Ambrose said easily, words flowing like highly pressurised water, cutting into Kit with every new one that fell so easily from Ambrose’s lips.

“So, I let you stay awake, briefly when you reported back to Superhero for me. Tell me, how did it feel seeing Superhero? Being in your body, conscious, so close to being able to reach out and tell him all the atrocities I’ve committed against you, and not being able to so much as lift a finger?”

A lump formed in Kit’s throat as powerless tears started to well in the back of Kit’s eyes. He didn’t say or do anything, he just remained silent and still, not wanting to give Ambrose what he wanted. Not wanting to give him a reaction.

“Did the electricity seize your vocal chords, little Kit? Would you like it to?”

Kit just stared.

Despite everything in his body begging him to speak, to tell Ambrose not to shock them again, Kit remained silent. Just staring ahead.

“Hmph, silent treatment. Fine I can just put you to sleep again and let you wake up when you sink a knife into Supe—”

“No!” Kit blurted, then silently chastised himself, balling his hands into fists above his head and tugging uselessly on his cuffs. Idiot.

Ambrose crossed the room in two long strides and grabbed Kit by his chin, tilting his head up to stare Ambrose in the eyes. He didn’t realise that Ambrose was taller than him until that moment. His dark eyes had a vile hunger in it, and a sharp anger glowered back at Kit for his disobedience.

“Then tell me how it felt.”

“It felt—” Kit croaked weakly, hating himself for obeying and yielding to every threat Ambrose threw at him, like some scared child. “It felt like a bad dream, like a nightmare. I thought… I thought I was dreaming because I couldn’t do anything, or feel anything, until you shocked me back here.”

“Do you believe me now, little Kit, hmm? That nobody is looking for you? That nobody knows about our secret little meetings,” Ambrose asked, voice deceptively sweet. The weight of Ambrose’s words hit Kit harder than Other Hero’s blast of water. He wasn’t lying. Kit was really and truly alone; nobody knew about Ambrose because Kit…

Kit had seen himself tell Superhero that it was alright. That there was no word of Omen. That Omen had disappeared after the docks, but he hadn’t because he were standing in front of Kit now, smirking at him with his horrible smile and his horrible eyes.

“Yes, you see now, don’t you?”

Frustrated tears gathered behind Kit’s eyes again at the utter helplessness of his situation, of the complete powerlessness. He felt trapped here with Ambrose.

No one was coming.

No back up.

No heroes to save him.

Kit balled his hands into fists, tugging hard at the restraints keeping him chained to the ceiling.

“Don’t be so certain,” Kit ground out, his voice watery and weak but he didn’t care.

“Superhero’s still looking for you, and when he finds you,” Kit continued, leaning as far forward as his restraints would allow, smile feral as he pushed Ambrose’s hand back, “he’ll find me too, and I’ll make sure you suffer.”

Ambrose’s eyes lit up with that. He laughed, taking his hand off Kit’s face and patting Kit’s chest instead. Kit rolled back, limbs aching as the chains pulled taut around his wrist and gritted his teeth.

“Promises, promises,” Ambrose hummed. “I look forward to seeing this vengeful side of you Kit. That was brave, to threaten me like that when you know there is absolutely nothing you can do to stop me.”

Ambrose shrugged, rolling his shoulders, grinning widely. “Maybe Superhero finds me, and maybe you do what you said you would. But as long as you’re here with me, I’ll make sure that you assure Superhero that all is well and that I’ve disappeared into the sunset. Keep that spark of defiance for as long as you can hold onto it Kit.”

“From what I can see… there is one little snag in your brilliant plan Kit. You forget I own you now. You’re like my own little puppet.”

“I’m not your puppet!” Kit cried, anger leaking into his expression.

Ambrose just smiled. “No?”

“No.”

“Interesting,” Ambrose hummed, turning his back to Kit. He walked across the room back to his little table of horrors and then the world faded to an impenetrable darkness, as if Kit’s eyes were shut in a basement with no light or windows, but… but he was still in the same position. Nothing had changed.

Kit pulled on his restraints just to make sure, and he was certain that he was in the same room, same position, same time but it was hard to know.

“Am—” Kit began then stopped himself. What was he going to do beg? Cry out? Make sure he was still there?

Ambrose was probably the one doing this to him.

“Kit?” It was Superhero who said that, and Kit froze. His heart thundering against his ears.

Did Ambrose make good on his promise?! Was Kit stabbing Superhero. His blood ran cold, a shiver crawling slow and icy up his spine.

There was a hand on Kit’s wrist and Kit jerked back, not trusting any of this. Even if there was a small part of him that wanted to.

“Easy, Kit. I’m getting you down.”

“No…” Kit said softly. “No this is a trick. Don’t touch me, Ambrose!”

“Kit, shh, or he’ll hear us.”

“You can’t fool me, Ambrose,” Kit spat, voice poisonous and broken. “You’re not as good as you think you are.”

Or maybe I’m just going easy on you, Kit, Ambrose purred inside Kit’s head.

Kit shook his head, screwing his eyes shut trying to shake Ambrose out, but he knew it was useless. “Maybe I’m just going easy on you. You’re so brave when I can’t use my powers, Ambrose. You know that? We have a word for that in the hero tower. Cow—”

Kit cut himself off.

It wasn’t a natural thing, more like he ran out of air and couldn’t make it with enough breath to the end of the sentence. Kit choked, swallowing, and trying to start speaking again but he couldn’t.

“What was that, Kit?” Ambrose asked out loud. The darkness bled away from the centre of Kit’s vision, and he could see Ambrose staring at him with a sick sort of interest. “What was the word?”

Kit opened his mouth and tried again but nothing came out but a breathy wheeze, as if Kit’s voice was gone.

“Hmm,” Ambrose said, tilting his head. “Mustn’t have been important. Anyways, since a cat’s got your tongue let’s go back to my little puppet analogy, shall we?”

Ambrose started walking then. He walked around Kit, circling him like a vulture ready to pick the meat from Kit’s bones. Maybe he was. Kit followed Ambrose with his limited vision until Ambrose disappeared from Kit’s sight and the blackness screwed up the small tunnel of vision Kit had.

“Puppets can’t see,” Ambrose said behind Kit now. Kit turned his head to the side hoping Ambrose would let him see again even just a sliver. This was too much. This was too much, and Kit couldn’t even beg for Ambrose to stop. “Puppets can’t speak. Remind me again, Kit, can you speak?”

Before Kit could do anything, he heard the clack of the cattle prod. It was pressed against his leg suddenly and Kit screamed but no sound came out. Kit’s muscles spasmed, his calf slipping out from under him, and he cried as his shoulder took the brunt force of the pain but he couldn’t scream.

“If you’re not a puppet, Kit, tell me when it hurts, and I’ll stop.”

Kit vaguely heard the words through his nerves lighting on fire and trying to scream as loud as he could, to get any air from his lungs and force his vocal chords to produce sound. To do something!

Fuck!

Stop! Stop! STOP! AMBROSE PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE!

The electricity stopped cackling through the air and Kit sagged in his restraints, his legs going out from under him. He hung limply by his wrists, nerves still on fire on every point of his body. He swallowed weakly, snot and tears flowing freely in rivers down Kit’s face.

“See, Kit?” A hand was on his cheek, gently wiping away his silent tears as he sucked in heavy breaths and heaved out shuddering sighs. Kit couldn’t even pull away, he didn’t have the strength, so his cheek rested heavily in Ambrose’s palm. Putty in Ambrose’s hands. His muscles still spasming from the aftershock. “A puppet can’t feel pain. I could give you that power you know. Turn off the nerve receptors in your brain, then you wouldn’t feel a thing for real.”

Kit shook his head, sniffing and sobbing silently.

“No? Then maybe you could actually rebel against me, hmm,” Ambrose cooed, running a hand through Kit’s hair. Kit flinched as Ambrose’s fingers pushed the stray hairs off of Kit’s forehead soaked in sweat, back out of his blind eyes that Kit couldn’t see out of.

Kit swallowed hard at Ambrose’s words, trying to steel himself and make himself impenetrable but he couldn’t help the dread dripping down from the lump in his throat and pooling into his gut. He was completely and utterly at Ambrose’s mercy. So powerless.

He couldn’t see if Ambrose didn’t want him to.

He couldn’t speak if Ambrose didn’t want him to.

He couldn’t breathe, if Ambrose didn’t want him to.

He was choking on his helplessness and the realisation made a fresh wave of tears to pour down Kit’s cheeks.

Slowly, achingly slow, Kit’s vision returned to him, and he recoiled slightly, squinting against the dim light of the room that was too bright after his bout of pure darkness.

“There. See, Kit? I can be merciful too,” said Ambrose, voice imperceptibly soft. Ambrose reached up his other hand, the cattle prod hanging from his wrist, and cupped Kit’s cheeks in two hands, wiping away the tears, forcing Kit to look into his dark eyes. “I just wanted you to understand exactly how powerless you are to stop me, so maybe I don’t have to punish you as much. Would you like that?”

Kit couldn’t do anything in reply, but he wasn’t sure he even wanted to. What do you say to something like that? A promise to not hurt Kit was worth as much as a flammable fire extinguisher. Worth as much as a Kit with electric powers wrapped in rubber.

“You can talk, Kit,” Ambrose told him, with an encouraging smile.

Kit sucked in a breath and sure enough he could hear the pathetic gasp of air. His eyes shone with the hopelessness and pain of Ambrose’s latest attack, he didn’t even want to see how pathetic he looked… but he knew one thing for certain.

He wasn’t broken yet.

“D…” Kit rasped and then descended into a small coughing fit before composing himself, swallowing and clearing his throat. He looked into Ambrose’s hideous dark eyes that were too bright at Kit’s misery. “Do… your worst, Ambrose. I’ll get out of here eventually, and you’ll… pay.”

Ambrose smiled, his red lips curling up at the edges into a smile sharper than a Stanley blade. “Oh, I look forward to it, Kit. You are just so determined. So full of surprises, I knew it was a good idea to take you, and you just keep giving me more and more reasons to keep you.”

Ambrose dug his nails in Kit’s cheeks with a grin before letting go of Kit’s face and stepping back and raising the cattle prod like a sword and holding it up towards Kit.

“You have your little vengeance plot going on, and while it’s cute and absolutely adorable and delusional. I can and will” Ambrose said, touching the cattle prod to each of Kit’s shoulders. Ambrose’s face brightened when Kit flinched back both times, terrified, “do whatever I like with you in the meantime. How’s that sound?”

Ambrose held up the cattle prod and pressed the button down, watching as Kit flinched at the mere sight and sound of the electricity.

“Ready for round two?”

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

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