Korra smirks inwardly as she outsmarts the Mustache Man and his goons, but her heart pounds like a thousand drums, too fast after so much trauma.
The cold air is freedom. What is this place, anyway? Not really an ideal getaway. What does Tarrlok do with a near-empty cabin and a creepy basement with a person-sized box? Does she really want to know? Does she even care?
She can be inventive on a whim. Like when she took Mako's scarf and careened that muscle-y guy out of her path and was able to get the steam as a distraction so they could save Bolin. Korra doesn't remember if it was her earthbending or firebending master who told her that rubber is a poor conductor; she doesn't know when she connected the dots that the bands on her arms are therefore tools to prevent her from getting electrocuted. She was in a panic, so many epiphanies falling upon her at once.
And now she really has to pee.
As Korra runs outside, the cold, harsh air licking her skin, Amon dumps something into the back of a truck. Someone—Tarrlok. Amon. No no no no. And he sees her.
He sees her.
Amon's looking straight at her, eyes sunken far beneath those black hollows of the mask. In a way, she sensed him before she saw the stark attire when she opened her eyes. He's waiting for her. Like he guessed she'd get to this point. They're fated to meet again. What was it he called it—their 'inevitable showdown'?
Somehow, he didn't get hurt by Tarrlok's bloodbending. This man who seeks her destruction, wants to burn every single part of what composes her, what sews her together. The man who isn't a man at all. Some vessel for misguided spirits who boasts that he's more than her, more than human. Amon's a thousand lives, a single ideal, and that can't be trampled upon because it's intangible. She can't firebend away a belief.
Run.
Korra locked eyes with him before at Aang's memorial island. Right where her predecessor is honored. She saw part of the human behind the mask, but there was nothing to comfort her, no hint of a human being willing to compromise.
Go go go!
She smells nothing. Frigid air cocoons her, everything white and blue and black. Instinctually, she takes the environment and seizes it to her advantage; ice daggers barrage Amon. Not to hurt him, but to at least slow him down as she runs, runs. Then there's a heaviness behind her nose, in the bottom of her neck.
Run!
Stepping backwards, Korra's eyes widen when he dodges the ice as if she's just sprinkled a bit of water his way. How? It's as if the the ice drove away from him. He hardly even moved. Turning, she finally runs.
Is she really have that bad of an aim? At the arena, her waterbending just failed her when she propelled herself toward him when he was escaping. Just failed. Sputtered underneath her feet as it left her. It's her base element. Has she taken it for granted by never really going over the forms anymore?
Her legs cramp, aching, hurting so bad for a reason she can't discern. Her head is fuzzy. It's like a headache, except it doesn't hurt. It's just a pressure like being dizziness, all of the blood surging to her head like she's hanging upside-down.
As she reaches the incline of the steep hill, hearing his soft, quick steps behind her, the Avatar blacks out, her body thudding against the snow, the sound of her heart her only sense as the land gives out beneath her.
"I thought I told you not to underestimate her."
And Korra is gone.
Metallic hissing, clanging above and below her. Korra wakes up, an explosive pang throbbing in her head. She isn't chained up, but she's imprisoned. Her room has a heavy door, brown walls, only has a commode, a sink, and this bed with a very thin mattress separating her from the metal frame.
Sitting up, blinking drearily, she—wow. She escaped Tarrlok's metal prison to end up in Amon's metal prison. Man, she really does need to work on this Avatar thing.
She punches the air. Nothing except a weird tingling in her arm. Not even smoke. Great. Stupid chi-blockers, stupid Ponytail Man, stupid masked creep, stupid everything—
The door opens. Adorned in red with her lipstick unsmudged and her hair absolutely perfect, Asami Sato strides in. She keeps the door open, the space beyond her obscured by darkness.
My savior. Korra jumps up. Thankyouthankyouthankyou. Aang, Roku, Kyoshi, the mystical lion-turtle, whoever is in the spirit world and saving her from her constant tumbles. She's never truly appreciated how much Asami's done for everyone, but now? She'll willingly let the other girl carry her out bridal-style if she so chooses.
"Asami! Thank the spirits, where are the others?"
"Yes," Asami says, her voice devoid of mirth, "thank the spirits we've found each other." Korra's mind drifts from thought to thought with a hesitation manifesting from fatigue. She stiffens as two chi-blockers stand behind Asami.
"Asami, look out, there's—"
"Bind her wrists and feet," the Sato girl says coldly.
Korra's hands tense, her ears deadened by shock. "Asami? Asami, what're you—" She lunges as the two Equalists try to apprehend her, but it's hard without her bending. She knocks one in the side of the head with her elbow, but Korra is underpowered and overwhelmed. As she yells and kicks, they grab her limbs and tie them with this thick black thread as hard as wire. They throw her back onto the bed, and she cries out. A cloth is stuffed in her mouth, muffling her exclamations. Her hands and feet are roughly tied to the bed, her body pulled taut.
Yeah, she was jealous of the Asami, but—but she never even thought Asami would sink this low. Korra accepted weeks ago that Mako liked her and that was that.
"No, no, don't gag her," Asami says. Not bored. Not urgent. Just candid, her painted lips set in a straight line. "Leave us."
One of the Equalists is female, and the other is a bulky guy. The woman, about half a foot shorter than Asami, looks at her through her ugly, bug-eyed mask. "I'd rather not. I only take official orders from two people."
Asami tilts her head. "Can this be an unofficial order?" At the lack of amusement in the Equalists' responses, she says, "I bet Amon expects me to double-cross him, doesn't he?" Her tone is light-hearted.
Korra sometimes forgets that there are people behind those masks. She probably bumps into them on the street.
The raucous voice of the man: "You already stabbed your old man in the back, and look where it got him."
Asami's eyes narrow. Without a counterargument, she closes the door. Korra looks at her with large eyes as Asami approaches, sweat on her lips, her forehead, spit sticky in the fallen Avatar's mouth as Asami removes the cloth. The Equalists go to stand by the door.
"We've already checked the Equalist premises for you, your friends and me." The Sato girl places a hand on her own hip. "When they find Tarrlok's empty cabin, perhaps they'll assume he ran off with you."
"Asami, please. Please. You—I know your mom was, uh—but—b-but—"
"Mom was a good woman," Asami interrupts solemnly. "My father was a man of ideals. With him gone, I'll take over Future Industries when I'm able, when there's less of a threat, and I'll forge instruments to assuage the dejected and downcast."
"Gone?" Korra shakes her head. "He escaped?"
A sharp inhale. "He died."
"H-How?"
Asami's eyes darken. Her expression is inscrutable, then she says briskly, "Bolin told me that you and Mako kissed. Is that true?"
Oh no. Oh no. Wow, thanks for that, Bolin. Nice going, Korra. You've really screwed the horse-pooch this time.
"I'm sorry, Asami."
"My father told me that. 'Sorry.' Mako might have said that too, but he doesn't know I'm aware. He must've thought it was better to keep it in the past." A forefinger trails down Korra's top idly. She's wearing one of those chi-blocker gloves.
And Korra—she's wearing something completely different. Black. Oh man, did she wet herself when she fell? In front of Amon? And then someone undressed her? Saw her naked body? Touched it while it was naked?
I hate my life. Lives, whatever.
Asami sighs and continues, "This isn't revenge, Korra. I'm not petty enough to hurt you over a relationship, to join an organization because of something so trivial. I'm not spurned, really. I decided this before I knew about you and Mako. And even then, it wasn't a catalyst." Suddenly, Korra feels a jolt of something as Asami's hand rests on her stomach. Her senses bursting alive in several little sparks. Korra's muscles strain. It doesn't hurt, but it's unusual.
"W-What are you doing?" She's being looked at like, like—Korra doesn't even know.
"Sorry." Asami removes her hand, laughing softly. "I guess you must be uncomfortable. I'm testing this glove. I've modified it so the wielder can alter how potent their attacks are. It's not supposed to hurt—or even daze—at this level."
What, she's a test animal now? Just meat to these insane knuckleheads and this girl who was (kind of) her friend? "I . . ."
"I've been spoiled my entire life," Asami says wistfully. She's often soft-spoken, yet here's a situation where she's the dominant personality. "When I refused my father's offer, it was the right choice then. I needed to come to my senses on my own accord. Logic, not brash instinct. I needed to see people's rights being revoked, see how they are ignored. It's a shame how privileged people like myself must be badly affected before we care." Her lips tighten as she finishes speaking.
Korra struggles against her restraints. "They tried to hurt Bolin. You're just falling in line, Asami. Amon won't help you."
"They didn't know he wasn't a criminal, though he was associating with them. Nonbending girls who aren't a lucky as me? They don't get to run numbers and act as security. If my father hadn't gotten that loan, hadn't built an empire, where would I be?"
Asami bites her lip. "You're right. I'm always letting people decide things for me. I let issues slide. I follow. That's what I've been doing. But my father is dead, so when this is all done, I will be in control of Future Industries, as I've said. I'll find a way to help those less fortunate to me." She repeats the fact again like a mantra. Her knuckles rub against Korra's arm, and the Avatar shuts her eyes.
"It's not lethal," Asami teases, though she stops moving her hand when she registers Korra's discomfort. The touch of the glove lingers. On her arms, still settling in her belly. Cold, threatening.
"I really admire you, Korra," she says genuinely. "The way you stood up to Tarrlok? I think that you're a good person. When you learn how bad the social stratification between nonbenders and benders is, you'll be able to actually restore balance. I'm not sure how Amon plans to format that 'fair-minded Equalist government' of his, but I'll discuss it. The transition will be rough, and I wish there could be more room for discussions, but sometimes hoping isn't enough . . ." Her voice trails off, tinged with a sadness that emanates within her shining eyes.
"He's going to hurt innocent people," Korra whispers, her heart in her throat. This girl who kissed Mako, who helped in getting sponsorship for their team—she's, she's just going to stand around as Amon kills Korra. Murder or debending, it's all equal. Korra almost laughs at how awful it all is, how all of these new kinks in the scheme of things plod their way through her visit here.
Asami's voice grows impatient, so foreign given the relentless hours of holding back her insecurities in favor of smiling prettily for the cameras. Business Magnate Hiroshi Involved in Equalist Operations. Sato's Daughter Claims to be Uninvolved in His Betrayal. Asami Sato: Oblivious or Secret Conspirator? Asami Sato Loses Everything After Father's Indictment.
"Korra, you're brave, strong-willed. Will any of that really change?" Fingers touch Korra's leg, almost at her thigh. "You won't be weaker. You'll learn how to face problems without always resorting to bending. How else has the Equalist movement gained such momentum while remaining in the shadows for years?" The Avatar groans. Her wrists are starting to smart.
"You won't be bound for the entirety of your stay." Stay. Like this is a luxury hotel or something. "I really wouldn't have done it if I thought you'd hear me out." Asami leans forward and brushes a strand of hair off of Korra's nose with her unclad hand, pushing it back behind her ear. Asami's skin is soft and smells of honey and sharp spices, more pungent than the typical fragrance of flowers. It mingles with Korra's scent; she reeks of perspiration. The Sato girl's smile is desperate, as if she's begging for it to relieve her tumultuous mind.
Is she a tiger-wolf in disguise—or does she really mean it when she says that she wants peace? Should Korra hang onto her as a lifeline or go at this alone?
How? Asami seemed like such a nice person.
"I was afraid you'd try to take out my guards and get yourself hurt. Every few hours, they'll come to chi-block you, but they aren't meant to harass you. I imagine you're hungry. I don't want you to suffer, Korra. I wish this wasn't something anyone had to resort to. If I could, if I thought they'd listen, I'd negotiate with those in power. But I don't have access to my father's money, and that's what persuades them. Even if I did, I'm his daughter. I'm guilty through association."
Fear seeps in. "You're betraying everyone who cared about you."
"Korra," Asami says fondly. Korra bristles. She doesn't want kindness, these mixed signals. She needs something, someone to punch. Her eyes burn. One of the Equalists shuffles in discomfort.
The piercing tingling wracks the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, and oh spirits what the oh man what is she doing—
"Ms. Sato—!"
Her awareness drifting in and out, Korra doesn't hear the cell door close.
"Well, you wanted to watch. You can leave anytime." Asami snaps away from Korra and looks at the source of the exclamation, her eyebrows raising primly. "The heat is a bit stifling in here, isn't—oh, it's you."
Amon's lieutenant glowers at her.
Exhausted, confused, and other things she refuses to acknowledge, Korra says, "What are you going to do with me?"
Pity glows in Asami's eyes. She reaches above Korra, and the ties around her wrists loosen. "You're going to undergo special, informative instructions. Education. It's for the best, Korra."
Korra snorts weakly.
"Amon requests your presence, Ms. Sato," the Lieutenant says. His voice is stiff.
"Oh, and Korra?" Asami gives a respectful nod. "Our joyride a few weeks ago was delightful. I appreciated it." Before Hiroshi turned out to be evil—spirits, that seems so long ago.
They all depart, and Korra is left alone again. Part of her wants to cry, but she only closes her eyes and steadies her breathing, asking for a vision, a meaningful dream, anything as she drifts off, overcome by the slew of events that have plagued her.
Amon's office and dimly lit. It smells of copper. A dull whirring is the only noise; blueprints and schematics line the walls.
Asami sits with her legs crossed. Amon stands before her.
"What are you going to do to Korra?" Asami asks boldly, not a single aspect of her appearance out of place.
"When the time comes, she will be purified, as will the rest of her companions." He's mechanical, listing off everything with ease. Unperturbed. Asami wonders if he ever gets flustered.
"You're not going to hurt them, are you?" Her doubtful gaze lowers into her lap, but she steels it. She won't appear feeble in front of this man. He's brilliant, but removed. He promises great things, things she'd like to be a part of, but does he understand the emotional ramifications? Does he truly sympathize with his people? He must if the story about his past is true. Or has Amon closed the pain off?
Amon chuckles. It doesn't suit him. "Do you truly think so little of me, Ms. Sato? Have you not seen my handiwork, how I've crippled the bending triads, disarmed a tyrant?"
Asami replies curtly, a faint snarl on her lips, "You broke my father." She hopes she can convince him to relinquish his heavy-handed methods. If he's just a hurt man with a good cause, perhaps she can reason with him on the same side of the sand.
He leans barely forward. Without hesitation, she places her hands in her lap, straightens out, and meets his eyes. They are a blank gray, so clear that they imitate whatever light skates upon them. Now, they appear to be a dull gold. They change as he does in battle Water is the element of change, yet he embodies mercurial precision far better than any waterbender she's ever met.
"No, I believe your betrayal prompted his collapse. The only people more intolerable than those who flaunt their bending are those who allowed them to do so, the complicit. Whether they are benders or not."
Fighting back stubborn tears, Asami says, "I suppose it's for the best that I've 'come to my senses' then. Apathy is worse than wrongful passion."
"Exactly," he rumbles.
"How exactly is this new government of yours going to work?"
She imagines the triumphant smirk behind that mask, one that mirrors the cruel expression etched onto the porcelain. "I suppose there is no proper time to inquire as to why you were seen molesting our top priority prisoner."
A mischievous twinkle ignites in her eyes. "We were friends. A bit strained, but there's something kindling there."