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[color=b80000][i]The whole world is one big pain-in-the-ass pile of shit. The city, its people, the people’s kids, their damn cats and dogs, the sidewalks, the drugs, the birds. Shit.[/i][/color]

Taylor awoke with a little less flair than she would’ve liked. There wasn’t any drama to it—not really. No violent waking jolt, no sudden alertness and lust for the murder of her captors. She felt consciousness in her toes before her brain, her muscles uncoiling and twitching to attention until her body recognized that it was horizontal. Her head lolled to the side, and she straightened it out and struggled to open her eyes. The lights were blinding, all lined up in a bigass circle pointed at her face.

Wait, did she get shot? Where was she? Where was May or Nan? Was she [i]dead?[/i] The thought drew her from her daze and into a panic. She made to sit up, but was retrained by thick fiber straps, and somehow her body told her she couldn’t use her powers. For the first time in months, she felt trapped, truly helpless. She wheezed in confusion, like a wounded animal, and made a ruckus out of slamming her extremities against the surface she lay on.

[color=b80000]”Hhh…hey, what the fuck…?”[/color] She was afraid, and it was evident in her tone. She would’ve chided herself for showing weakness if her underwear wasn’t dangerously close to needing a change. Sweat beaded at her hairline and dripped down her temples.

“Geez, [i]now[/i] you decide to wake up.”

Taylor writhed to spot the source of the voice, craning her neck and arching her back only to conquer about an inch of wiggle room. She could see the top of a head and the puff of her captor’s blond hair, as well as a portion of the wall beside her. The room was stark, but not in a particularly sterile way: the walls were a bare concrete, dotted with eerie vents, and on the gray ceiling above Taylor hung an operating lamp, the kind surgeons would use. Her heart gave another leap of icy horror.

[color=b80000]”Ohhhh fuck, oh fuck, dude, don’t cut me up. I step on your toes? Your boss’ toes? I can fix it, I’ll give you all kindsa sweet deals, just lemme go!”[/color]

She could hardly even discern the gender of the voice: an alto pitch with a wavering, almost sing-song tone. “Hey, relax! I’m not some crazy doctor, this is just so I can see you. You stole something and all I want is for you to give it back. Got any guesses?”

She gave up her stretched position and slammed back down against the table, moaning anxiously. [color=b80000]”Mm…my powers?”[/color]

“Not far off. Two more tries.”

[color=b80000]”Uhh, the drugs? I-I didn’t steal them, another dude did! Bryce Manella, he was fuckin’ crazy, he made me take ‘em.”[/color]

“Seriously? I’m gonna believe that the same guy who pulled off a heist against [i]me[/i] and made off with not only batches worth millions but years of our research up in flames blew it all on some Chinatown punk? What gang you from? Black Turtles? Boxers?” 

[color=b80000]”I’m not from Chinatown, I-I just work for some people! Bryce was sharp before, but your drugs fucked him up real bad. I dunno why he wasted ‘em on me, I swear!”[/color] This was humiliating. Seeing as she wasn’t dead yet, her heart rate was steadying, but the gravity of the situation wasn’t boding well for her tough façade.

“Hmm. Well, you seem too stupid to pull off a convincing lie right now.”

[color=b80000]”So stupid, dude, so fuckin’ stupid—“[/color]

“—Quiet. I’ll let you off the hook if you pay off the damages. See, all those neat little powers you’ve got going for you are unusually strong, so killing you and starting fresh with what we can salvage from your bloodstream and a few spared notes wouldn’t make much sense.” Taylor lifted her head, eyes wide.

[color=b80000]”Wh—seriously?”[/color]

“Say goodbye to the days of answering to the next dead crimeboss for his monetary leavings. Things are stirring up, have been for a long while, and if you want in on the action you’ve got to get in with the right people.” Taylor heard the clicking of shoes against the linoleum flooring, and a door behind Taylor’s head opened. “Now, we’re no supervillain organization. But we’re getting closer everyday.”

Taylor struggled to shoot a glance over her shoulder, writhing uncomfortably as she heard extra sets of shoes hustle in. SWAT-looking guys surrounded the table she had been strapped to, undoing her restraints and cradling their rifles as she sat up and attempted to look past them at her mystery captor.

That sprig of blond hair remained the only part of the speaker she could see, and any attempts to stand was quelled with several hands slamming down on her shoulders. “Hey, relax.” The blond hair bounced a little. “We’ve nullified your powers, but it’s temporary. We’re dropping you off at 33rd and San Juan with a communicator.”

Taylor glanced down at herself, realizing her street clothes had been replaced with a very plain pair of shorts and a sports bra. Her abdomen twitched as she fought for breath, and she ran a hand along the area above her belly button—no marks, entry wounds or bandages. [color=b80000]”Wait, I got shot—bullets, I thought…”[/color]

“Tranq rounds, stupid. I don’t know where you got bullets from!”

[color=b80000]”Wait a minute.”[/color] She tried to take a step forward, fury suddenly overcoming her features, but two pairs of beefed-out guard arms held her back. The way they simultaneously kept her from moving and lifted her up onto her toes made her feel like they expected her to collapse rather than attack. [color=b80000]”Where’s May? The little girl?!”[/color]

“Oh, relax. She’s fine and being taken care of. The older woman is currently knocked out in her living room, you’ll be able to catch up when we cut you loose.”

[color=b80000]”What the fuck are you gonna do with May? [i]¡Cabron![/i]”[/color]

“What, you’re speaking Spanish now? Choose an ethnicity, damn. Listen, she’s safer than when she was with you. She’ll be turned over when you finish our list of errands. Sound fair?”

[color=b80000]”How do I know you aren’t lying?”[/color]

“You don’t. But you’ll do all this anyway.”

A sharp prick of pain drew Taylor’s attention to a needle in her shoulder. Any protests died in her throat as unconsciousness bloomed from the syringe, creeping and final. When she managed to open her eyes, it was as if she had only blinked, not even changing position; yet the bustling Lost Haven streets surrounding her promised otherwise. Feeling like she was submerged in gelatin, she dazedly dragged her eyes across the street signs: 33rd and San Juan. A slim little device had been pressed into her palm, and she was back to wearing her hoodie and jeans.

[i][color=b80000]Nan. Nan is in the apartment, alone. May’s gone.

Get going, idiot.[/color][/i]