Laura lay on her back, staring at the painted-tile ceiling above her. She tilted her head to one side, watching as the pattern was warped by the curved glass dome she was staring through. She tilted her head the other way, watching the patterns change, flowers becoming blobs, straight edges becoming curved.
She lay in a bullet-proof glass capsule. The glass was very thick, and it was double paned, a thin pocket of air existing between each pane. The space enclosed was just wide enough for her to lie on her back with her legs stretched out. There was a small trap door she could open, but it just led to a cramped area with a sink and a toilet. She'd tried remaining down there in order to avoid her "owner's" visits, but she'd quickly learned that the room could flood at a push of a button, so she stayed in the upper part of the capsule most of the time. Right now, there was nothing in it besides an empty bowl and spoon from the beef and vegetable stew she'd been served for lunch. It hadn't been bad, just a bit salty.
She pushed herself into a sitting position and sighed, looking out around her. She was in a large room that was filled with rare, valuable items. There were expensive works of art, magical items, and important historical artifacts. At this point, they all looked familiar since it was all she got to see every day, but some were more familiar than others as they'd been items she'd procured personally. Every item in the room, even if it looked as if it were just a simple rock, was rare. She supposed that's why she was there as well, her rarity on display as part of a madman's collection.
With a bored yawn, she settled back into her prior prone position, thinking about her life before she'd been trapped. This certainly wasn't the first time she'd been locked in a room because someone else wanted it that way. Objectively, she was a little surprised it didn't bother her more, to be back in the same position she was in her childhood. She supposed that was how adaptable the mind and body were. Still, she wanted out. In her mind, she retraced the past dozen or so years of her life: her successes as well as her losses.
She had been working for years as a treasure/bounty hunter. At first, she and Gambit had been partners, doing most jobs together. He had taught her every trick he knew about being a thief, and she'd shared some of the tricks she'd learned early in life as an assassin. Her lips quirked into a lop-sided grin. He'd always joked that despite all odds, he'd ended up partnering with an assassin in the end.
It wasn't just the work that allowed them to form such a successful partnership though. They completely trusted each other, and more importantly, they understood and accepted each other's needs. There wasn't anything romantic between them, though God knew they both had enough relationship baggage that they might have been able to find common ground. After Rogue, Remy had sworn off women. Well, that wasn't true. He enjoyed wooing them too much with his Cajun charm for that. It might have been more accurate to say that he'd sworn off relationships with women. Laura…well, she just wasn't interested. Trust had never come easily for her anyway, and she rarely felt that the men she met were worth the effort it would take to build that trust. It was just easier to be on her own. So they'd come to an easy agreement about what they wanted out of their lives, and it had mainly focused on the thrill of the hunt and the satisfaction of being paid well.
They had made quite a name for themselves since each of their unique talents gave them the ability to excel at jobs that others couldn't quite pull off. Eventually, they'd realized that rather than taking any contract that was offered, they could be a bit more selective over the kinds of jobs they took on. It hadn't been long before they had been able to officially "open for business." They were one of the highest paid pairs in the thieving industry, and they were known for being fast, efficient, and confidential.
At least they were until the accident that cost Remy the full use of his leg. It was clear that he needed time to recover, and she didn't have the heart to work without him. She'd tried to stay with him, to help him recover, and to take care of him, but he'd insisted on being alone. It had hurt her, but she knew it wasn't the first time nor would it be the last that someone cut her out of their lives. She'd wandered on her own for a few years until he tracked her down with a proposal to resurrect their partnership. Only this time, he'd handle the business end of things while she did the active work. She'd realized what it was all about immediately, but she'd never spoken of it. He couldn't do most of the jobs that he was offered, but she could. At least if they worked together again, he could work with her to devise the plan of action and live vicariously through her. He didn't have to give up his life's passion, he just had to approach it from the other side of the desk.
They'd gone on like that for a few more years. They had some clients who only worked with them once, while others were regulars. One of the repeat customers had been a man named Christoph Hirsch, who was more commonly known as "The Collector." He'd hired them almost exclusively for two or three years, paying well for priceless items. It wasn't unusual for them to work so much with one person, but it was strange that they'd never met him in person. He conducted all communication via electronic means, and the wire transfers of their fees were always prompt and often included a bonus if they delivered early, so they didn't complain. They often just packaged and shipped the items they "found" for him.
Laura sighed and rolled onto her stomach to bury her face in her arms. If only things had stayed that way. If only she'd trusted Remy's gut when he said he'd had a bad feeling when there had been a request to change protocol. The Collector had requested that Laura personally deliver an item to him that he felt was so valuable that it had to be hand delivered. She lifted her head to rest it on her folded arms, staring at the item that had led her here. It was some sort of dagger: very old and appearing to be carved from human bone.
She'd known from the moment she'd laid hands on it that it was powerful. If she had been anyone else, she would have been unable to grasp it in her hands, pick it up, and walk away from the temple where it had been housed. Every step had felt as though her body was being shot through with thousands of volts of electricity. But she had made it out and had wanted to deliver it as quickly as possible. She had been stupid. She'd checked in with Remy en route and had told him that it had taken a lot of energy out of her, that she'd wanted to take some time to herself to recover. He'd understood and had long ago grown used to her need for alone time. Now she cursed herself. If only she'd waited to call him, then he'd have known something was wrong when she didn't check in after the drop off. When she hadn't checked in again after, well, that wouldn't have been strange at all.
She sighed and closed her eyes, not wanting to look at the knife any longer. She'd arrived at the rendezvous point and had still been exhausted, her very bones aching. After the long business relationship with The Collector, she'd not expected there to be any threat, and that had been where she'd gone wrong. As soon as the man stepped out of the shadows, she'd felt a stinging at the back of her neck and hadn't remembered anything after it.
When she'd woken, she'd been in the capsule. Her captor had been happy to explain what had happened:
"It's good to see you awake my dear, and it's even nicer to finally get to meet you. As you know, I've been an admirer for some time."
She had groggily blinked her eyes and sat up slowly. When she lifted her hand to her neck, the blood from where the dart had struck her was still fresh even though the wound was gone. The fact that the blood hadn't dried meant it hadn't taken him long to place her where she was. She stared at the man sitting in front of her.
The Collector sat in a brocade draped chair that was well padded. His feet were spaced wide apart on the floor in front of him, his beringed hands folded over the top of the cane that stood between his legs. An oversized hat sat on his head, shading most of his face, but she could see the light reflect off of a pair of circular glasses that perched on the tip of his long, pointed nose. Everything about him was overdone and extravagant. If she'd awoken in any other scenario, she might have found him comical.
As she studied him, he continued to speak. "I'm so pleased you've woken up so quickly, my dear. I thought that with your healing abilities that an elephant tranquilizer would do the trick, though I'll say it didn't keep you down for as long as I expected. Your body seemed to be able to work off the poison rather quickly."
Laura clenched her fists, refusing to reach up and touch her neck again. Instead, she rose to her feet, staring down at the man with a steely gaze.
He tilted his head back, and the shade of the hat rose to reveal an equally pointed chin that was covered with prickly blonde hair that only grew in patches. The exposed skin where the hair refused to grow was covered with large, purplish discolorations. When he smiled, she noted that most of his teeth were made of gold, and the few originals that remained were broken or chipped. "You are a fascinating specimen, you know. I've had the joy of watching you work all of these years. Photographs, the occasional video recording, a time or two in person when I've been able to watch from the shadows." He shuddered in pleasure, his lips curving into a wider grin. "You are exquisite, my dear. Poetry in motion, some would say."
Laura said nothing, simply pressed her hands against the glass in front of her, still staring down at him, but using the rest of her senses to learn as much as she could about her surroundings and not liking what she found. The location was sound proofed professionally, so she couldn't hear anything, and the room appeared to have no windows. The place smelled like antiques and disinfectant, and from her peripheral vision, she could see she was in a show room of some sort.
He gestured, the jeweled rings flashing on his fingers, to the bone knife that rested on a pedestal next to him. He continued to speak, apparently not bothered by her silence, "As you well know, I collect rare things, and you, my dear, are very rare. I've done my homework, and found out all about you, X-23. From what I understand, you'll live forever if you're kept out of harm. You see, this last job was about finishing my collection. I realize it was naughty of me to only list half of what you'd be recovering for me in the contract. The knife is perfect; just as I'd imagined it. However, the other item, you, my lovely," he stopped to release a high pitched giggle, "You are far beyond my expectations. You will be the crowning achievement of all of my years of hard work and searching! Yes, exquisite is the perfect word to describe you!" He giggled again and sat back in the chair once more to admire her.
She had stood there, refusing to speak or move for close to an hour as he'd looked at her. Eventually, he'd grown bored, wished her good night, and walked out of the room, his squat body draped in a heavy mantle. Eventually, a few men dressed in tuxedos came to remove his chair, though they returned it there ever so often when The Collector decided to pay her a visit. Each time he came, she would stand and stare down at him, not speaking. Each time, she devised a new way that she would torture and kill him.
His visits were sporadic, and when he did come, he'd be sure to admire her and gush over how magnificent she was. She hadn't bothered to count the number of visits, nor did she think they were made with any sort of regularity. Since the lights were kept on round the clock, she wasn't even sure of what time it was. She slept when she was tired, exercised in the small space when she was bored, and only had a break in the monotony when the Collector came to peruse his treasures, occasionally bringing a friend to show off for.
She wasn't even sure how long she'd been there. She had no way of marking the time besides the length of her midnight black hair. From the growth, she knew she had to have been there for several months. When she'd first arrived, her hair had been cut at a blunt edge near her chin. Now it brushed her shoulders.
The best she could do was hope that someone would come looking for her. Surely Remy would miss her at some point - - likely more quickly than anyone else. He would look for her. Perhaps Logan would wonder why she hadn't checked in. Then again, maybe not. He hadn't exactly been himself for years. Perhaps he'd instead enjoy the break from her monthly phone calls and visits that did little more than verify that he was still alive. There were others, X-Men, X-Force, who might pause to think of her. How long would it take them to realize she wasn't just out of touch because she was on another hunt?
Surely, someone would miss her and come looking for her. Wouldn't they?