Nocturne: Rough Night




A sea of vacant stares combed every corner of the worn down apartment complex.
Abandoned, dilapidated, dark, a fine layer of dust on nearly every surface,
the whole structure looked as if no one had called it home for a long time. In
truth, it was only in the last two months that the dealers and slavers that
called the twelve floor complex home had been removed by a concerned, active
member of the Fortune City Community. The degradation, the damage, a result of
the enthusiastic eviction process.

Groups of four marched through every floor, taciturn, cautious. Twelve floors,
twelve groups. Forty-Eight in total, a frightening amount of muscle for any
one person to draw the ire of. It was an all-female crew, enveloped head to
toe in shimmering, sleek form-fitting light blue bodysuits. They were all of
identical builds-- Average height, thin -- but beyond that, they were
featureless, their faces concealed by seamless porcelain masks. Their suits
seemed to glow, casting a dim light against every wall.

For weeks, these leather-clad drones worked to ensnare a single target. Each
was modified with bleeding edge bio-tech; They ran faster, fought harder, and
got up quicker than any human possibly could. They were laser-focused worker
bees that didn't feel pain, their nerves scorched, and, worst of all, they
never slept. They arrived in Fortune City one at a time, dogging its local
protector with every slow, unnerving breath they took. Just one should've been
enough, they were after a lunatic in a cape. The drones had spent their
existence tearing apart highly trained, lethally equipped security teams,
soldiers, and more to get their designated target. It shouldn't have been a
contest.

Yet somehow, a lone woman not only eluded them, but she took each one apart
with devastating precision and remarkable efficiency. Nearly half their ranks
were in traction, and their boss wasn't pleased. Time and money was being
wasted, more time and money the underworld had paid for their services. The
only way to recoup their losses at this point was capture and auction.

On the fifth floor, a particularly destabilized series of hallways where a
large chunk of wall was missing and the roof was sunken downwards, a group of
drones marched upright and steady, lockstep with one another. The wind howled
in agony as storm clouds rolled in, a light drizzle peppering the streets and
rooftops in the city. No interest or worry was displayed on their part, the
women remained fixed on their task. There was only the job and nothing more.
Each step they took, their feet sinking into the faded muddy brown carpeting,
there was a heavy film of either disinterest or cold-blooded nature projected.

They only seemed to liven up when their eyes hung on a quick blur of shadow
that rounded a corner directly in front of them. The drones processed the
image with tremors in their hearts, their deliberate pace morphing into a
quicker, anxious march. This was weeks of their lives derailed. Weeks of their
lives wasted fighting a single opponent when they should've been in key
positions around the globe. If this didn't end with them, then their boss
would intervene and that would get messy. The potential property damage and
casualties alone were enough to spur theme on.

Either way, Nocturne would fall by dawn.

As the drones made the turn, they caught the tail end of her cape. It danced
and flapped against the cold breeze through the Swiss-Cheesed wall and the
momentum of her continuous sprint. This was it, they gathered. This was what
they had been working towards.

Just as they made a complete turn, Nocturne doubled back at the drop of
thunder rolling across the sky. Nocturne had an attractive athletic figure
that didn't sacrifice any of her alluring feminine aspects. Besides the black
flowing cape that bunched backwards to the kiss of a powerful gust of wind,
she wore what some on the outside would consider an excruciatingly tight black
leotard with a deep V-Cut neckline that offered an entrancing glimpse at her
chest.

The rain picked up outside, funneling itself into the damaged building as the
wind turned and twisted. The carpet below their feet slowly turned into a
dusty swamped mess that sloshed with the hesitant heels of the drones
staggering backwards. Nocturne's fishnet tight clad legs joined together,
delivering a drop kick to the chest of one drone, to the shock of the other
three. Her tightly cinched boots absorbed most of the impact for Nocturne, but
the blow was devastating to the drone. It sent her reeling, gasping for air
into her companions. "Jesus!" One of them shouted, arm at her head. She broke
character, no longer the unfeeling machine she pretended to be. "What are you
lady?!"

Nocturne rolled into a crouching position, her long cape falling over her
shoulders, covering her arms which were themselves covered in black sleeves
with silver beaded bands. Her long brown hair flowed down her back, blown
partially to the side and dampening from the rain slipping into the tight,
decrepit space. None of the drones could see Nocturne's hazel eyes tighten
behind the sharp, dark mask that ran across her face. "I'm The Mistress of The
Night," Her lips spread into a confident, biting smile, and unnerving gleam
that penetrated the paper thin methodology of her pursuers. "And this is my
city. I kindly ask you to leave before I get all sorts of nasty."

"You can beat us, but we've got you dead to rights, lady," The Drones took a
fighting stance, leaving their battered friend to writhe in pain on the floor.
"You don't escape this building unless you're in a body-bag."

"Really?" Nocturne raised an eyebrow, rising up to stand at eye level. "Funny,
the others, the forty-four bags of crap I just finished thrashing, they said
the same thing. Weird."

"W-what?"

"Oh, I already cleared the other floors," Nocturne's hands moved to her hips,
confident, the wind shifting around them. "You four-- or rather, three-- are
the last women standing. Good job." A pressure grew deep inside the chests of
the drones, the world tightening into a kind of tunnel vision, beaming in the
direction of Nocturne. This is what if felt like-- Having their backs to the
wall. Desperate, packed with rising and falling adrenaline that flickered
their state from jumpy to hollow and everything in between.

They were ready to move, one last desperate charge, only for Nocturne to toss
out several smoke pellets with a sudden wave of her hand. They burst, filling
the exposed hallway with waning clouds of gray fog that slowly descended over
the swamped carpet and poured through the exposed wall.

A silhouette, more of a blur, traveled through the smoke. The drones tried to
brush it away, get a clear sight at Nocturne. An unshakable nausea climbed
inside the three, just as a stocking clad knee rose up underneath one of their
chins. The crunch and snap of teeth and bone was loud, not as loud as the soft
splash and thump of a limp body was. The three were down to two.

They fell back to back, practically pressed together. The smoke began to
dissipate around them, falling away, allowing the remaining drones to scan the
room for their incredibly dangerous target. "Where is she, where is she, where
is she," they panted in panicked, clenched unison. Their guards were raised in
front of their faces, right, and they stepped in circles, hoping to close
whatever openings Nocturne could exploit.

A naive prayer. Nocturne was upon them, both her hands pressed at the side of
their heads. She was fast, her momentum enough to upend their balance and fall
to the floor. With a startling grace, Nocturne rolled over them, to her feet,
the murky water from the floor staining her shoulders. "Alright," Nocturne
moved over one of them, lifting her to her feet and bringing her in close. She
removed her mask, the white plate that covered her face to lock eyes with the
now terrified thug. The drone she seized had light blue eyes, thin lips and
pale, pale skin. Wire moved from the lip of her suit, piped into her forehead
and jawline. "You're going to tell me who you work for. Or we're going to see
how well you handle a five floor drop to the street."

"Puh-puh-please," The Drone begged, stuttering through every syllable that
escaped her trembling tongue and lips. The stink of iodine and morphine rolled
through her breath at an alarming level. These drones were strung together
with tech and chemicals in gluttonous supply. "She'll kill me! She'll kill all
of us!"

"I don't scare easy," Nocturne assured the young woman who was about ready to
fill her drawers. "Give me your boss and I'll ensure you're protected. Don't,
and I assure you you'll find yourself in gen pop wondering if someone, maybe
this big bad boss of yours or one of your drone buddies, is going to slide a
shiv between your ribs."

The Drone looked to the floor, examining every inch of her broken friends.
"She calls us Golems,</>" the frightened woman whispered, a light sob in her
chest. Nocturne relaxed her grip, letting the woman stand on her own. "Her
name is Sara Quinn. She said she could make us stronger, better, beautiful, as
long as we worked for her."

"Lady, I hate to tell you this, but you've been Frankensteined and fed a load
of crap."

"It's a lot worse underneath the suits," The woman ran her hands over her
trim, fit figure, over her hips and down her thighs. "We all look like we've
been autopsied. Stitched up Y-Incisions on all of us. She even cut into our
skulls so that if we ever get out of line she could--" A pain started to build
inside her head, a rush of blood rising up. She bobbed her head up and down,
unable to find her mental footing.

"Tell me where she is," Nocturne pulled her in again, her heart-shaped face
widened into a panic. "Now!" Nocturne couldn't reach her, a thick slurry of
blue and red and black liquids slowly leaking out from her ears, nostrils,
eyes, and mouth. The Golem woman started to seize in a violent, startling way.
Her breathing remained steady but every muscle bunched up and unfurled,
bunched up and unfurled, again and again, a constant spasm that flared in
perpetuity until it stopped.

And then the woman went limp, her breathing rhythm locked and her eyes open
with dilated pupils. Nocturne eased the enemy turned victim down, only to see
the other golems enter similar fits. "Dammit!" Nocturne cursed. Whoever Sara
Quinn was, she had her foot-soldiers, her fodder, wired up so that when they
loosened their lips, when they failed, some fail safe would trigger. They
weren't dead, but the vacancy in their eyes worsened, as if they were nothing
more than shells now. Nocturne rushed out of the hallway, through the empty
space where a wall should be, diving towards the alleyway below where she left
her bike parked.

She was angry, fire in her heart and eyes. Human beings turned into weapons,
only to be cast off when they misfired. Her cape widened to decrease her
momentum, allowing Nocturne to land gently on her feet, tight-eyed and
furious. It was time to work the streets, hunt down leads, find this Sara
Quinn and bring her in. As she stepped towards her vehicle, the rainstorm
settling back into a drizzle, Nocturne spotted them.

Two orange wheel clamps locked on the wheels of her bike hobbling the vehicle
and stripping Nocturne of expedient transportation. She could travel the
rooftops, swing between buildings with a grapple line, sure. That wasn't the
issue. Tires screeched like nails against pavement underneath the heft of a
black, ridge van with sharp edges and tinted windows. "Hnn. A trap. Why am I
not surprised?" Nocturne snarled through gritted teeth, slightly hunched with
her cape draped over her arms again. Through the lining of the car Nocturne
could hear music, Divinyls 'I Touch Myself," if she wasn't mistaken.

A side door slid open, allowing a tall, latex bodysuit clad woman with a lean,
athletic physique stroll out. The suit had a high-collar with a noticeable
zipper that ran from neck to navel. She had tight, wavy green hair that looked
like it was held together behind her back with clips, and knee-high boots
plated with steel from the tip to the top. The sleeves on her suit ran over
her knuckles, leaving her fingers exposed. On her forearms was a pair of
gauntlets, heavy and cylindrical that stopped at the wrists. "You're a tough
one to corner, Nocturne," The woman took a few steps from her van, stopping
with at least twenty feet between them both. The music overpowered the woman's
voice, but Nocturne could make out every word. "Figured my pack of high-tech
lapdogs would do the trick, but no, you had to go all casual badass on them.
Spec-Friggin-tacular."

"I aim to please," Nocturne tracked the woman as she paced back and forth,
sandwiched between two brick walls. "Sara Quinn, I presume." Quinn froze in
place, a bemused smirk forming as she stared at Nocturne out of the corner of
her eyes. She made a sharp turn, standing face first in Nocturne's direction.

"My, oh my, aren't we as sharp as a tack," Quinn held her arms to her sides,
her fingertips flexing and tightening. "You get a name off one of my girls and
assume the first big bad to cross your path is the woman you're looking to
make gargle her teeth? That's fantastic." Quinn could feel Nocturne grind her
perfect teeth together, hear the uptick in her heart rate. It enraged her to
be standing face to face with what she could only assume was a monster.

"Those people," Nocturne released a breath that came off almost like a growl.
Underneath her cape were a pair of clenched fists that shook with mind-boiling
rage. "You lobotomized them."

"I did, I did. I mean, they were gonna start spilling the beans. You put the
fear of God into them. Why shouldn't I press the ol' delete button, give them
all a clean slate." Nocturne was ready to charge at Quinn, she just needed her
wheels greased a little more. "Well, okay, they're vegetables but once I
collect them I can make 'em tight-lipped and obedient like they should be."
Quinn was scraping at the thin wall of composure Nocturne had built up, the
image of a calm, collected tactician torn down to let out an angry, raw woman
fed up with the gangsters, horror, and pain in her city.

Quinn stood at ease, even as Nocturne took off at her. The masked mistress
didn't know what Quinn was, what she could do. She was only guided by the
image of distress burned into her gray matter. Nocturne leapt off the ground,
right fist cocked behind her head. She set foot on the ground, a foot dividing
them and her fist climbing towards Quinn's face. Quinn was enhanced, like her
Golems, her obedient worker drones, but more so. Nocturne's approach played
out in painful slow motion before her eyes, every flap of her cape and stifled
grunt a thunder in her ears. Her punch was slipped with a casual head tilt,
and Quinn's right hand shot up, curled tightly around Nocturne's neck.

"Now," Quinn sighed, Nocturne's hands locked around her right wrist,
frantically trying to pry her grip loose. "Give us a kiss, will you?" Quinn
pulled Nocturne in as she flailed and fought in her grip, inching her lips
towards Nocturne's luscious and full lips. She fought Quinn off as best she
could, desperate to break her grip, but Quinn was enhanced, possibly with
similar or more potent biotech than her henchwomen packed. Quinn's lips
pressed over hers, firm and unnervingly passionate, drinking in the taste of
Nocturne with every drawn out second. When she broke off, Nocturne choked down
a hard lump of moist air, suddenly aware of a sour copper taste on her tongue.

It took everything she had, but Nocturne was able to swing her legs upwards,
the tips of her boots striking just underneath Quinn's jaw. The blow was
strong enough, shocking enough to loosen her grip enough for Nocturne to slip
away, scattering towards her locked down bike. Held on its side was a
grappling gun, one she felt she'd need sooner rather than later. The chemical
on Sarah Quinn's lips slithered inside her, numbing her throat, even her
chest. Breathing became a ragged, difficult endeavor that produced an
unnerving fiery sting. And a pins-and-needles sensation started to crawl over
her skin. "Aww, you didn't like my kiss," Quinn laughed while wiping a tiny
trail of blood from her face. "I guess my
custom-neuro-toxin-with-a-hint-of-mild-paralytic-lipstick isn't for everyone."

Ambient noise, Quinn's voice, the stupid music booming through the speakers of
her van started to sound like it was coming up through an ocean inside
Nocturne's ears. A blur crept along the edges of her periphery, as Nocturne
fumbled to get a grip on the grappling gun. Once freed, she aimed it towards
the nearest ledge she could see and pulled the trigger, intent on putting some
distance between her and Quinn. Luckily, her aim stayed true, and the line
snagged against a concrete ledge. It started to reel Nocturne up at an
alarming speed. Alarming because Nocturne couldn't feel the rush of wind on
her face, the chemical Quinn dosed her with nearly finished with its work.

The problems couldn't seem to stop piling up. Quinn, amused by Nocturne's vein
attempt at escape, bolted from where she stood at an inhuman speed. It was a
simple matter to close the distance and leap in her prize's direction. "Where
do you think you're going?" Quinn confidently sneered, grabbing Nocturne by
the ankle. As she dropped, she pulled the heroine down with her, Nocturne's
grasp on her grapple line evaporating between the strain it took to fight the
drug and Quinn's strength. "The fun is down here!"

"No," Nocturne gasped, her speech slurred. Instead of letting Nocturne fall,
Sarah held her up, bringing her back against her chest as her face started to
point towards the puddle-ridden asphalt below their feet. "Let me go." With
one arm wrapped along her midsection, along the creases of Nocturne's elbows,
Quinn gently placed her free hand over Nocturne's mouth, only exerting a soft
pressure over the drugged heroine's face.

"Come on, sexy," Quinn cruelly whispered into Nocturne's ear, gently pecking
her cheek, working her way down to her neck. "This drug, it's special. You can
keep your wits about you, but your body won't do a damn thing you want." She
was right. Every muscle Nocturne had started to refuse her, her limbs growing
cold and heavy. She mewled defiantly into Quinn's had as she carried her
towards the van.

"Mmmm..." Swung in Quinn's arms, Nocturne was roughly tossed into the van, her
impact reverberating along the walls and floor. She commanded her body to
move, commanded it to throw itself back into the fight. Every call to action
was denied, unanswered, leaving Nocturne to ponder in a frantic, panicked
state. Quinn stood at the threshold between the van and the streets, an awful,
lustful grin on her face. "Noooo." Nocturne used everything she had to life
her head, which had gained an impossible, incomprehension weight. Every muscle
in her neck was coated in a syrup, pulling her back to the floor. Her brown
hair fell over the lower half of her face, her eyes frantically scanning the
van in a state of terror that the drugs seemed to coax out of her.

Quinn slowly pulled the door across, stripping away Nocturne's window to the
outside world a second at a time, leaving her with only the frightening,
distorted glimmer of Quinn's face and the absolute darkness that seemed to
pervade the van. "No."

The dope inside her seemed to persist and hold, only waning after an hour,
though if you asked Nocturne she'd tell you it felt like an eternity. The
bumps Quinn's van hit, the vibrations, lingered on her skin too long. The rush
of wind that poured into the van as Quinn reopened it, scooping up her
captive, cooled her skin with icy daggers on every nerve. The reflection of
radiant moonlight on the water along the docks played at a quarter of the
speed it should, the scent of ocean air still inside her nose.

She only began to regain a semblance of composure when Quinn marched up a
wooden deck leading to the upper floor of an abandoned storage facility. The
wood dipped underneath Quinn's heel, warped from moisture and decay. "Nnnn,"
Nocturne felt a headache inch from one end of her skull to another, holding as
the chemicals slowly faded.

"Quiet down, sweetie," Feeling particularly content with herself, Quinn
playfully patted Nocturne's rear twice. She couldn't see it, but the masked
woman's face flared an awful, angry shade of red. "You'll be nice and cozy
before that drugs wears off entirely. Maybe we'll even get to curl up in
snuggies and watch Fifty Shades on cable before I execute you." Nocturne was
just about useless still, the drug only worn off enough that some control over
most of her fingers had returned, and she could breathe without a strain on
her lungs.

Sarah froze in place, eyes locked on a chipped and faded red door that stood
between her and her hideaway. Nothing prompted her rage, or what she did next.
She just wanted to show off-- Nocturne couldn't see it, slung over Quinn's
shoulder like she was, eyes locked to the floor or her back, but she heard a
boot, a metallic, heavy boot, crash against wood. Quinn expected to knock it
in, only for her boot to go clean through the door. Next came the grind and
snap of Quinn tearing the rest of the door apart, moving her leg through the
length of the door frame, all while maintaining a perfect balance despite
holding a helpless woman.

Once cleared, Quinn passed the threshold, into her dingy two-floor storage
area which she had converted into a kind of make-shift facility. There was a
clean, sterile area on the bottom floor, surrounded by a run down level of
wood and broken glass that looked like it could come down at any moment. Quinn
pointed herself towards another set of stairs, breaking into a casual slip.
Nocturne could feel herself rise and fall with every playful step Quinn took,
the woman's annoying hum penetrating her ears.

"You...won't get away...with this..." Nocturne was able to work up the energy
to speak as they paced down the stairs. "I'll make sure....the only life
you'll have is one involving prison orange, communal showers, and steel bars."
Her body continued to ignore the majority of commands save for curling fingers
and toes and a few involuntary twitches, speech was a triumph at this point.

"The Mistress of The Night speaks!" Nocturne felt Quinn jolt at the sound of
her voice. "What a seductive, intimidating voice. But alas, nobody asked her
to open her mouth. I'll have to fix that." As they rolled into the bottom
floor, the pep in Quinn's step vanishing to make way for a serious,
no-nonsense demeanor, Nocturne was able to eye the area.

A table was squared up dead center, steel-forged, bolted to the slick linoleum
floor. On it were a series of strange weapons, a rifle with a
cylindrical-blue-lit-barrel, a batch of what she could only assume were
grenades in the shape of large, dark gray spheres, what looked like a raygun
from a cheesy fifties sci-fi movie, and a set of gauntlets, larger and more
complex than the pair Quinn had strapped to herself. What really caught
Nocturne's eye was the unmarked bottle of chemicals and the rolls of thick
silver duct tape that laid on top of each other.

Ahead of the table was a series of monitors, dark in their resting state, to
the right was a stack of steel military-grade cases that nearly reached to the
second floor, to the left a room divided from the rest of the room by a
partition pane fed with security wire filled with the suits and masks and tech
that made up Golems. The room wouldn't have been a terrible place to stash
Nocturne, but she wanted her captive to share the same space as her. She was
carried towards the back where an executive style computer chair laid pressed
to a plated wall, a dark red leather serving as the lining.

Roughly, Quinn dropped Nocturne into the chair, a moan escaping her lips.
"Stay put for a sec, Mm'Kay?" Quinn playfully poked her captive's nose,
skipping away as her lighthearted demeanor returned. Any psych-major could peg
Quinn as manic, unhinged. Nocturne tried to rise from the seat, her legs
reminding her that they were about as sturdy as spaghetti at the moment. She
sunk into the seat, drained and a flutter of fear in her heart. Quinn
re-entered Nocturne's hobbled line of sight, a rag, the unmarked bottle, and a
roll of tape in hand.

"What do you think you're doing?" More and more, with every passing second,
Nocturne's strength returned to her. It just wasn't fast enough. Quinn flicked
a white plastic cap off the translucent brown bottle, the familiar sweet,
coppery aroma of chloroform rising between them. "Don't!"

"Do you promise you'll be good?" Quinn raised an eyebrow and a smile,
disturbing Nocturne even more than she already was. "I mean, I'm still tying
you up. That's just a given. But we can avoid a non-consensual drugging--
Well, another one-- if you just sit still. Okay?" Quinn adored the look of
confusion on Nocturne's face, the way she receded into the chair as she
contemplated Quinn's offer, not noticing that the rag she held, a white, ratty
thing, was already damp. When Nocturne opened her mouth to respond, Quinn
moved on her, slipping the rag over her face with her left hand while the
whole of her right arm pressed across her chest. Quinn watched as Nocturne
involuntary inhaled, stunned, drinking in a massive dose of the chloroform
drenched rag. "Gotcha!"

Nocturne's chest heaved with every strained, panicked breath, drawing Quinn's
eyes towards it. "Hllmmpf!" Her voice silenced by the pressure of the rag and
Quinn's palm, Nocturne twisted and fought underneath her weight, a familiar
darkness filling her increasingly clouded eyes. The chloroform intermingled
with the remnants of Quinn's paralytic, numbing her skin and softening her
breath.

"There we go."

"Nmm...Nmmmm..."

Quinn relaxed her grip when Nocturne's struggles started to settle, weaken.
She was a powerful, commanding woman, no doubt. These street-level types were
always more dangerous. They had to be. They weren't given the power to move
mountains, shoot beams of light, to soar among the stars. They trained
non-stop. From dusk until dawn, molding themselves into machines, the kind
with sharp, devastating edges. Sarah Quinn would be a fool to underestimate
Nocturne, especially after she tore through her crew like they were tissue
paper. She held her chloroform drenched cloth over Nocturne's face, watching
for the light and fury in her eyes to wane, for the tension in her muscles to
unfurl, for the powerful, rapid thumping in her chest to slow.

Satisfied with Nocturne's current stupor, Quinn let the rag fall onto her
captive's lap, setting herself to the task of binding Nocturne, affixing her
to the chair. Quinn pulled a long band of her thick roll of tape out,
crouching down and pulling it around the ankles. Wound tight, Quinn wasn't
satisfied until she wrapped the tape around ten times, smoothing it over with
every pass to ensure there were no flaws in the binding. She performed a
similar task on Nocturne's knees, snapping it clean after spending over a
quarter of the roll just on Nocturne's legs.

Solid, weak moans escaped Nocturne's lips, her head slumped against the
comfortable back of the chair. "Don't worry, we'll get to those pretty lips of
yours in a second." Quinn pulled each of Nocturne's limp arms across the soft
leather armrests on the chair, pulling out more tape. "You know, I've done
this before," Quinn said as she spun the tape around Nocturne's wrists and the
underside of the armrests, pressing them securely to the chair. "Kidnapped a
superhero once or twice. Tough ones, too. But you, you're special. A real sexy
badass I can sink my teeth into. It's a shame I have to send you off to your
death, enslavement, whatever it is you'll be fated to after I auction you off.
Lost a lot of money tracking you down, more than the mobs are paying me, but
if I hadn't, if I caught you before..." Sarah, having finished practically
fusing Nocturne's wrists to the chair, inch up and towards The Mistress of The
Night's vacant face. Slowly, she tilted her head, her lips trembling as they
gently met Nocturne's. "Yeah, I can see myself having a real good time with
you. What a shame."

Ripping several strips from the roll, Quinn pressed and smoothed tape over
Nocturne's full lips until their shape was hidden underneath a heavy film of
adhesive strips. Pressing her palms back over Nocturne's face, she felt her
moan into her hand nearly muted entirely. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Madame,"
Quinn mockingly curtsied before her barely conscious captive, her smile
shifting into a cruel sneer. "I have to go out. Meet some very dangerous
people. See who wants you the most. There's food in the fridge, I've got all
the channels on Television, so be good and don't burn the house down." Quinn
exited the way they entered, a long blur that didn't register in Nocturne's
mind.

A good hour passed before she regained complete consciousness. Her skin felt
flushed, soaked in sweat while simultaneously frozen. She chalked it up to
aftereffects of multiple druggings in a short span of time. Complete awareness
came with a trade off, Nocturne became cognizant of how well she had been
bound to her seat, how tightly packed her face felt under the curtain of tape
silencing her. For whatever reason, the first thing she did was scream into
the gag Quinn so cruelly layered over her lips, her mind a slurry of emotions
that had not yet fully coalesced into her normally calm, analytical demeanor.
"Hymnm!" Nocturne cried out, head craned back and aimed at the stained ceiling
above her head. "Hymmmn!"

Nocturne twisted and pulled at her restraints, only able to slide a few inches
up the back of the chair. She repeated the process, chest heaving and bouncing
from exertions, hoping to create some kind of give in the tape. "Gddd dmnnt!"
She growled, stomping her feet as loudly as she could against the floor, still
thinking that someone would hear her. She sunk into the chair, angry, fuming,
eyes locked on the table directly ahead of her. A cache of gadgets and weapons
only fifty feet ahead of her.

Her mind cooled, Nocturne came to realize Quinn made a fatal mistake: She left
the damn wheels on the computer chair. Nocturne wasn't sure what Sarah
expected, did she think The Mistress of The Night would sit idly while the
clock counted down towards her death? Nocturne pressed her heels against the
floor, dragging herself forward towards the table in quick spurts. Nocturne
broke her momentum with every other strike of her feet, maintaining a
semblance of control over her momentum.

The table had sharp gleaming corners that looked like it could slice slabs of
beef. Tape should be no problem. Calmly and with a sense of purpose, Nocturne
lifted her legs high, placing her tightly joined and bound ankles at the edge.
Slowly, carefully, she began to saw at the tape, back and forth, the
restraints groaning and tearing with every push and pull. Quinn laid it on
thick, secured Nocturne as well as she thought she needed to. A
miscalculation, one Nocturne would make sure the madwoman would pay for in
spades.

If the tape allowed for it, Nocturne's lips would've spread into a wide smile.
The bonds around her ankles snapped clean, allowing her to progress to her
knees, continuing the process until her smooth, toned legs were free. Quinn
jokingly told her not to burn the house down, but once free, that's exactly
what she would do.

A lot of bad people made Sarah Quinn a lot of good offers. Every criminal
wanted Nocturne some way or another. A Dominatrix wanted to keep the
self-proclaimed Mistress of The Night in a dungeon to play with and shame for
however long she could exact pleasure from her. A thief with a kernel of
concern seemed to want Nocturne solely for selfish, altruistic reasons.
Several gangs mostly wanted Nocturne's head on a plate.

But it was a group of slavers that offered the better deal. They were
contracted to gather Nocturne, transport overseas to where a sheikh would
enslave her. The mobs and villains didn't care if Nocturne was dead, they paid
Quinn to take her off the board. This was the best solution for all parties
involved in the mess. Quinn would recoup her losses, collect her Golems who
were all probably in the care of The Fortune City Police Department and then
hand Nocturne off, maybe even give her a goodbye kiss.

A hazy gloom settled across the sky, the rainstorm picking back up after a few
hours of clear skies. The road underneath her van turned slick and flooded, a
churning rumble following the vehicle as Quinn steered it back towards her
makeshift home. Fortune City was just a rest-stop on a long road laid ahead of
her. If she built up enough resources, gathered a loyal crew, she could become
a force on this planet unlike any other.

It was about time reality reminded her that these things she wanted, this
power and reach, wasn't earned without paying a toll. As Quinn rolled up to
her warehouse hideout, radiant flames illuminating the area and dancing
towards the sky in wisps through a heavy cloud of black smoke. "What The
Hell?!" Quinn slammed on the brakes, stopping just a few feet in front of the
burning building. As she exited the car in a rush, the heat from the flames
blanketed her body and the smell of chemicals and burnt wood filled her senses
along with the sharp crackle of the fire. "What The Hell?"

For a moment, Sarah Quinn's thoughts were filled with concern over Nocturne.
The green haired lunatic who pumped her own body with God-Knows how many
different types of enhancements could only see the money in the wreckage of
the building. A loud thump hit the roof of her van, prompting the scientist to
turn slightly, dilated eyes focused on the a shadowy figure crouched above
her.

"I think it's time we settle up, Sarah," Nocturne was surprisingly confident
for someone who had spent the evening drugged and tied up. Underneath the cape
that closed around her arms, Quinn spied the familiar barrel of an
experimental rifle poking past the hem. "Those grenades you left lying
around-- Incendiary, potent too -- worked pretty damn well in burning this
shack down. Figured I'd try this number on for size too, because why not."

"You bitch!" Quinn's arms shot up, her strange gauntlets humming at an
alarming sharp tone. Nocturne moved on instinct, diving towards the windshield
and sliding across the hood as a pulse ripped out from them. The roof of the
van disappeared, thrown several hundred feet towards the water. The moment she
feet met the ground, Nocturne drew the rifle up, a bead on Quinn's chest.

There was no hesitation, Nocturne simply pulled the trigger, aware of a
strange static in the air that crawled over her. A bolt of electricity flew
out of the barrel, arcing and dipping before striking several inches away from
the desired target. Quinn absorbed the brunt of it, sliding back across the
ground on the balls of her feet. Laughing, like some kind of monster. "Oh, I'm
so glad the Bolt-Rifle works! Thanks for testing it, Nocturne!" Nocturne
pulled the trigger again, ready to bring Quinn down and bring the awful,
horrid, teeth-grinding night to a close. She braced for the shot, only for the
gun to click and beep. It's charge was spent.

"Shit!" Nocturne quickly tossed the useless weapon to the ground, fists
immediately raised to guard. Quinn practically flew across the ground, closing
in on Nocturne with a terrifying speed. She dipped and rolled, letting Quinn
brush over her and grind her feet across gravel. Nocturne tried to seize and
advantage, diving towards Sarah and delivering a solid cross to her jaw. It
felt like she just hit a block of iron, pain shooting from her knuckles to her
shoulder.

Momentarily stunned by the pain, Nocturne was taken off balance enough that
she couldn't catch Quinn's retaliatory strike in time. A hard palm was
delivered smack dab in the center of Nocturne's midsection, ripping all the
air from her lungs. If it weren't for Sarah seizing her by the arms, Nocturne
would've collapsed from the absolutely overwhelming force of the blow. "You
know, for a good five minutes there, I was actually worried about you! Maybe I
even started to like you! But you are just a real pain in the ass, aren't
you?!"

"You're damn right I am," Nocturne's voice was raspy, shaky. Her whole body
felt weak as a pain climbed up and down her body. "But that fancy gun of yours
wasn't the only gadget of yours I lifted." Quinn cocked an eyebrow and titled
her head. It wasn't the gauntlets, Nocturne didn't have the requisite strength
level to wield them. Based off the fire she had to have used all of her
grenades. And there wasn't a bottle of chloroform in sight.

No, Nocturne found something better. She moved on Quinn, pressing her lips
over the green haired nutjob's, confused expression shifting into terror right
before Nocturne's eyes. It didn't take Nocturne long to find it, Quinn's
paralytic-rich lipstick. Nocturne coated her lips in enough to drop a herd of
cattle.

The rush of a copper and acrid taste moved over Sarah's tongue faster than she
could brace for. She tossed Nocturne to the side, frantically trying to wipe
her lips clean of the drug. "What's the matter, Sarah?" Nocturne was already
on her feet, enjoying the sight of Quinn spiralling. "Am I not a good kisser?"

Muscles locked up, growing cold and unresponsive. Sarah's vision spun into a
slurry of muted colors. "Can't...Can't do this to me..." Quinn fell to her
knees, only held up by palms that couldn't feel the damp gravel they clenched.
"I beat you! I sold you!"

"Funny. Didn't know I was on the market," Nocturne slipped her foot against
Quinn's right wrist, sending her face first into the ground with a casual
swipe of her leg. "Please enjoy your new life of Prison Orange and Communal
showers."

Nocturne took solace in knowing that the federal authorities were shipping
Sarah Quinn out of Fortune City. She was the kind of dangerous that didn't
have a place in her world. The kind that needed to be contained, and she fully
believed the Fortune City authorities were under-equipped.

She slipped back into her home unnoticed, the morning sun rising in the
distance. The Night was long, unforgiving, but somehow, she came out on top.
Peeling off layers of her sweat-lined, rain-drenched outfit, Nocturne made her
way to her bathroom to examine all the bumps and bruises and worse she accrued
from Quinn and her flunkies. The last article to go was her mask, as she
stared face to face with the reflection her bathroom mirror cast. "Looking
real good, Bethany," Bethany Hunter examined the bags under her eyes, a
constant ache in her joints. "Real good. I'm gonna sleep for a year."

Bethany slipped out of her leotard, shuffling towards her bedroom. This was
her life. Fighting to protect her city, sometimes herself from the dangerous
circus it seemed to become every time the wind shifted. And she would go out
the next night just to do it all over again.

End.