Originally published in the December 2021 Entrapdak Zine hosted by Maireadralph. For best results, read while listening to "Simply Irresistible" by Robert Palmer and have fun!
Fade in.
Eyes open. A guitar riff hangs in the air.
The year is nineteen eighty-something; the place is a state of mind. Stage lights on. The show begins.
"How can this be permissible?" Shadow Weaver hisses in a strained whisper.
"Calm down," Catra replies, coolly.
She's conflicted. On the one hand, she doesn't particularly like the interloper either, all purple pigtails and fast-talking science jargon that the boss always seems to understand. On the other, she likes Shadow Weaver even less.
"She has compromised his principles," the older woman insists, undeterred. "We cannot afford uncertainties. Not when the Moonstone is nearly within my — our grasp."
"You're overreacting."
"And you're not paying attention." Shadow Weaver's scarred face is a mask of disdain. "Might I remind you that it's your fault our little horde of thieves was down a member to begin with."
Tension floods the space between them. Adora is still a sore topic for both women. Burning with shame, Catra is the first to look away.
She can see Hordak sitting at his brutal desk on the far side of the wide warehouse floor, massive, half-hidden, the chiaroscuro shadows clinging to him like a cape. Sure enough, Entrapta is there too, not a shred of self-consciousness about her, perched on top of the desk and gazing down at Hordak like a mythical lover while she expounds at length upon the idiosyncrasies of something or other.
More shockingly, their severely unpersonable employer appears to be returning that look. Catra bites back a growl. Shadow Weaver is right about one thing, at least.
Entrapta is anything but typical.
Shadow Weaver twists her knife. "All I'm saying is, if this little craze you've endorsed causes us any trouble, I will not be the one to pay for your mistakes. Not again."
She oozes away, confident she's left Catra with enough to fester over by herself. And, to the foundling's furious frustration, she has. None of this is going how she expected it to. Nothing in her life ever has.
It's true that Catra is the one who brought Entrapta here in the first place. For most people, a computer worm mailing glitter bombs to every IRS office in the country would be a lighter news novelty at most. But Catra isn't most people, and she saw the potential for a powerful force. And so, desperate to prove herself after Adora's desertion, Catra had been the one who burned multiple favors learning the hacker's name, and she had been the one to go over Shadow Weaver's head and deliver Entrapta's contacts to Hordak, knowing he would be impressed.
The problem is, she hadn't counted on how impressed.
Catra fumes quietly. Whatever Shadow Weaver thinks, she has never been more focused. One way or another, this heist is going to go off without a hitch. It has to. When this is over, she'll finally be able to escape.
One last job, and then she's out.
Entrapta speaks, and her words become rivers with eddies and side streams and whirlpools. Hardly resisting, Hordak allows himself to be swept away.
Nobody could possibly know more about computational science than this woman. Or anything, really. From punch cards to personal hard drives to birds and bats, Entrapta is a living font of information. She even seems to understand this new internet nonsense, talking as if she invented half of it. Hordak smiles, chin in hand. He can't help himself. This is the best conversation he's had in his life.
He's obliged to conform to her wild way of thinking out loud. There is no other course but to join in and ride the rapids. If Hordak wants the gift of this woman's magic, he must submit to her indulgence.
He's not exactly subtle about it, either. Hordak is a man of few words and fewer compliments, but for Entrapta it's a flood of "Impressive indeed!"s, of telling her to stay and asking her for more. He'll listen to her for hours, utterly entranced. She is a true genius.
She is also radiantly beautiful. Hordak tries to convince himself he doesn't care about that sort of thing, but his pulse tells a different tale. Entrapta is wearing a hip-hugging Patrick Nagel dress in two tones of bubblegum and grape, an orange sash cinched at her waist. Plentiful purple hair cascades past her brown shoulders; waterfalls that flow and pool and reach across the desk. Her smile is infinite. Her eyes match his. He stares at all of her.
She used to look good to him. But now?
Hordak's heart beats out a rock-and-roll rhythm.
Now he finds her simply irresistible.
This attraction is not something Hordak is used to. More familiar for him is the safety of solitude, the buzz of artificial lights, the echoes of an empty warehouse. He tells himself he turned to thievery for the glory of conquest, but really it's the only life he's ever known. He has never actually desired anything, until now.
Entrapta pauses in her musical monologue. As if she can read Hordak's mind, she grins and cocks an eyebrow, leaning forward. Her eyes fire lasers directly into his soul.
"But that's enough about silly old quantum physics," Entrapta giggles. "Tell me about you. How does such a talented engineer turn to a life of crime?"
Hordak blushes. His night-dark skin is broken up by pale white patches, and they show his embarrassment plainly.
"Ah, I was born into it, actually," he stammers. "My brother, you see…"
He's never talked about this to anyone. Nobody's ever asked. With Entrapta, it's as easy as breathing. Hordak may have lived a lonely life before this, but he is not an ignorant man. He knows what the stirring feeling in his chest is. He knows what she has been broadcasting with every bit of body language since inviting herself into his sanctum on that first day.
He simply isn't worried about it, no matter what the voices in his head might say. Her loving is so powerful that the end result is simply unavoidable. Hordak can see his future stretching out like a data wave. The trend is irreversible.
He's entrapped.
The crew assembles on a moonlit night to discuss The Plan.
Hordak is of the opinion that the abandoned Halloween supply warehouse is a perfectly respectable hideout, regardless of what his crew might think. Or say. But muttered barbs about the "Fright Zone" notwithstanding, he rather enjoys the atmosphere an occasional shrieking banshee or six-foot poseable werewolf provides.
He towers at the head of the table in a practiced pose and a crisp charcoal suit. His chair is a massive, foreboding throne. It is made of plastic. A motion-activated imp with LED eyes flaps its wings at the top.
Shadow Weaver glowers at the other end of the table. On her left is Scorpia, scooched close to Catra and taking notes (or possibly just drawing cartoons). On her right, Entrapta spins idly in an office chair. They all listen expectantly.
"It's official," Hordak begins, brandishing that morning's newspaper. "The Moonstone is going to be sold at auction in two weeks, at the Crystal Castle. And we will be there as well."
"Yes," Shadow Weaver hisses, clenching her bony fists.
"Wow, and we thought the Brightmoons would never sell it," Scorpia pipes up. "They must have really fallen on hard times."
"Of course they're desperate," Hordak snorts. "They poached our fixer. I think it's time we took something of theirs in return."
"What? No! This is so stupid!" Catra blurts out. She frowns. "Stealing the Moonstone is too risky, even for us. We all know the Black Garnet job only worked because we had Scorpia as our inside woman."
Scorpia nods in agreement.
"Insolent child!" Shadow Weaver starts, but Hordak silences her with a wave of his hand. She sits back down and scowls.
"Of course we won't be able to steal the Moonstone," Hordak snaps. "That's why we're not going to. We won't have to."
"We just have to steal all the money some billionaire rube spends on it!" Entrapta cuts in with a wild grin.
That gets their attention.
Everyone stares. Entrapta flicks a switch and a battalion of computer screens light up like galaxies behind her. She stands silhouetted in their heart, a princess of power. Hordak's chest pounds. The woman is invincible.
Not everyone is charmed, however. "How is this going to work, exactly?" Shadow Weaver inquires, her voice dripping with venom.
Entrapta's eyes shine undeterred. "I'm glad you asked!" A dizzying display of data dances across the flickering screens. Numbers, accounts, exchange rates reel by, everything soundly bound in computerized chains as unbreakable as any natural law.
It's a good thing Hordak's crew are all staring as well, or they'd see just how plainly he is letting his emotions show on his face. She leaves him in awe. He finds it quite miraculous.
"Behold! The Crypto Castle, an incredibly powerful digital engine of my own design," Entrapta exults. "All the big banks are online now. Using my gigantic brain, I've devised a way to turn real money from their transactions into encrypted, untraceable bits of information that can be converted back into coin any time I choose. I call it… TinyBux! Trademark pending."
Scorpia slams her fists on the table. "Brilliant! I foresee no problems with this whatsoever. How do I invest in it?"
Before anyone else can speak, Hordak chuckles and claps loudly. Everyone turns their attention back to his throne, and his iron facade nearly melts when Entrapta catches his eye and smirks. She deserves the applause.
"We are going to attend the auction as respectable guests," Hordak declares. "We will not attempt to steal the Moonstone. We will not even bid on it. But when the money changes hands, we will be there to intercept it."
"How?" Shadow Weaver repeats, infuriated.
Entrapta jumps back in with ease. "Everything has to happen that night. If I can gain access to the computer system in Angelia's temporary office, I'll make it look like a bank transaction is taking place, when really everything is getting funneled directly to us. Angella won't even know her money's gone until it's too late!"
"I will need everyone to follow Entrapta's strategy exactly," Hordak adds. "Her calculations are quite precise."
Shadow Weaver tries to protest further, but Hordak stares her down. She mutters something about holding the Moonstone in her own hands, and then clams up, slouched and sulking.
Catra doesn't look happy either, but at least she's listening.
"Now then," Hordak booms. "If there are no further objections. The plan goes like this…"
Sometime after midnight, everyone heads home. They have each been given a job and a role to play. All that remains is the performance.
Hordak stays behind, surrounded by shadows and cheap scares. Alone. Or so he thinks.
There's a light on at his desk. Entrapta is there, tapping away at yet another computer, utterly engrossed in her work. As Hordak approaches she seems to smile, softly.
"Hello there. I didn't realize you were still here."
When Entrapta looks up, the light from the screen makes her eyes shine. "I thought I'd stay late and do a little money laundering for you," she explains, yawning and stretching as Hordak silently circles closer. "Strictly pro bono, of course. You've got some very hot assets."
Hordak doesn't catch the pass, but it grazes him.
"You make it look so effortless," he purrs, pausing at Entrapta's shoulder, watching her work with unbridled fascination.
She laughs. "Really? It's not. This is all skill, partner."
"It's impressive."
"I'm not sure the others think so." Entrapta's voice gains a rare note of timidity. "And they might be right to worry. Are you sure you want someone like me around? I do come with a lot of risks, after all."
"Forget everyone else," Hordak growls. "I respect you."
Entrapta laughs again, and her bright demeanor returns as quickly as it had faltered. "That's very sweet of you. In that case, would you be so kind as to open up for me?"
She proffers the keyboard.
Hordak surrenders instantly, typing in his password without hesitation as Entrapta favors him with another guileless smile. She's swapped her purple dress from earlier for a black, orange-sashed number that makes her look right at home in the haunted sanctum. The sheer fabric creeps up her thigh as she lounges in Hordak's chair. She regards him hungrily.
She used to look good to him, but now…
Entrapta presses a key and Hordak's old ghosts vanish in a flash of data. She's so fine, there's no telling where the money went.
It's no secret, however, where her eyes are going. Or her hands. Hordak coughs and takes a step back; Entrapta rises up to meet him. Despite their height difference, she wields an enormous amount of strength and leverage as she pushes up against him. Her smile is unyielding.
"Entrapta?"
"Hordak. You're quite unique, you know. Positively fascinating, even. Speaking as a fellow scientist, of course."
"Of course. Um."
She's unavoidable. Hordak tries to take another step and finds himself backed against the wall. It's almost comical, the way this tiny woman has him cornered. He could escape. He does not. She runs her fingers lightly along his arms, and looks up.
"If you wanted… we could learn a little more about each other," Entrapta propositions. Her face is so close that it feels as though there is electricity passing between them. The air is hot.
Hordak blushes furiously. She is giving him feelings he's never felt before.
"Are you suggesting…?"
Her leg teases his. "That we experiment. Together. Yes." She winks. "If you want."
Hordak gulps. "I promised myself I would never become… involved during a job," he attempts, with absolutely none of the confidence or charm he'd been hoping to convey.
"Breaking promises, hm?" Entrapta presses even closer. She stands on tiptoe and her lips brush his ear. "I'm breaking every law just by being here. Or an awful lot of them, at any rate. Who do you suppose is the more daring of us?"
"I didn't think it was a contest," Hordak stammers.
"Oh? And what do you think?"
Even now, he could escape. There are so many ways he could escape. But he doesn't want to. He finds her simply irresistible.
"I think… you're all mine."
They come together. There's no other way to go.
It is the night of the heist.
The Crystal Castle certainly lives up to its name. As auction houses go, it is needlessly big and obnoxiously ostentatious. Shining chandeliers hang from every available fixture, casting dazzling rainbows across the modern, metallic interior. Every color is a shade of pastel. The gathered guests are all adorned like space opera royalty.
Hordak hates it.
Nevertheless, here he is. Everyone is dressed for the occasion: Hordak with a smart cobalt suit, Scorpia and Shadow Weaver in graceful black gowns, Catra and Entrapta rakishly tuxedoed. They stride purposefully across the main floor. An indulgent little part of Hordak's mind imagines it in slow motion.
He has plenty of reasons to indulge. His gaze keeps sliding to Entrapta, and just as often she is looking back at him. When their eyes meet the air sparks with the energy of their connection. It thrills him. Already the job feels like a distant novelty; this may as well be a date for the two of them.
Unfortunately, it is not.
At Hordak's signal the group splits. Entrapta gives him one last wink and vanishes into the crowd with Catra and Scorpia. Hordak and Shadow Weaver remain together, looking in different directions, monitoring the crowd.
Gradually, Hordak becomes aware of a droning noise penetrating his inner thoughts.
Shadow Weaver is talking at him. "So there I was, trying to listen to the new Robert Palmer tape, but Norwyn, my supposed fiancé, keeps buzzing in my ear..."
"That seems… very relevant," Hordak mutters. "Why don't we reconvene in half an hour? We'll be able to cover more ground if we split up."
"But…!"
He abandons Shadow Weaver among the guests before she can reply. He's not in the mood for her right now; ever since his night with Entrapta he can think of nothing but the future.
Everything is going so right.
Everything is going completely wrong.
Entrapta, frazzled, types frantically at her hideout computer keyboard. The Halloween decorations loom large in the darkness. She is the first of the scattered crew to make it back here after they all narrowly escaped the auction house with their lives.
This turn of events is, to put it mildly, unexpected. Recalculation is required. Emergency measures must be activated. She might even have to…
A door slams open. Catra and Scorpia are the next to return, the former with a wild and ferocious rage in her eyes. Her suit is torn; a glancing bullet wound grazes her shoulder. Scorpia holds her steady, concern creasing her brow.
"Are you all right?" Entrapta inquires. "What happened? Is Hordak with you?" She looks up at them, eyes wide with worry, but her hands don't stop moving.
"Hordak's right behind us — " Scorpia starts, before being cut off by an animal howl of anger.
"Shadow Weaver betrayed us to the Brightmoons!" Catra shrieks. "I should have known this would happen! I mean, that's where Adora is, isn't it? I can't think of any other reason she would do this."
"It was an awfully inconvenient time for a double-cross, that's for sure," Scorpia muses.
"I knew the Moonstone job was a terrible idea! I told you all! Now we've got nothing!"
"Well, we don't have the Moonstone, but we don't have nothing, either," Entrapta pipes up. She is still typing.
Catra pauses. "…What?"
Entrapta smiles slyly. "Shadow Weaver may have stopped us from hacking the Moonstone's moolah transfer, but that wasn't the only fancy item on the auction block tonight! And so I thought, hey, why not just steal all the money?"
She gestures to her computer screen. Numbers scroll across it. The numbers are big.
"It took three of us just to break into Angella's office!" Catra splutters. "How did you…?"
Entrapta shrugs. "Vents."
Her methods are inscrutable, but the proof is irrefutable. The money's all there, every penny of it. It fills the screen as data and code.
"Well? Whaddaya think? Not bad for my first big job, huh?"
Something changes in Catra's expression. Her eyes are hooded and hollow. She speaks as if from somewhere distant.
"I think… you're going to have to tell me how to get that money out of the computer, right now." With a trembling hand, she draws a pistol and levels it at Entrapta's ingenuous face.
"W-what? This wasn't the plan!" Scorpia stutters.
Entrapta blinks and tilts her head. "I'm confused. Why are you pointing the gun at me? I thought we were working together." She taps her chin thoughtfully. "Oh, wait, I get it! This is another double-cross, isn't it?"
"I'm sick of losing to Adora," Catra growls. "I'm going to get her back for this. And I'm doing it alone! So give. Me. The money. Now!"
Entrapta considers it. "Hm. No, thank you."
"What? You can't — !"
Entrapta is steadfast. She pushes another button at her computer, and the lights black out instantly. Someone screams. A gunshot flashes in the dark.
A moment later the light returns, but it is already too late. Entrapta is gone, vanished without a trace. A bullet hole punctuates the wall. Catra stands with a smoking gun in her hand and a faraway look in her eyes.
"Oh. Oh gosh. Oh, this is bad," Scorpia says softly. Tentatively, she peeks at the abandoned computer screen. There is nothing there. The data is gone. The system is unresponsive. The only thing that remains is a tiny pixelated Entrapta, dancing to a merry chiptune and making a rude gesture with both hands.
She's so fine, there's no telling where the money went.
Scorpia scratches her head. The plastic imp on Hordak's throne flaps its wings and giggles. Catra sinks to her knees and pulls at her hair, panicking.
"No, no, no! This is a disaster! What are we going to do now? What are we going to tell Hordak?"
"Well. Um. Maybe," Scorpia begins, speaking slowly. "I know this might sound silly, but hear me out here, what if, hypothetically speaking, we don't actually tell him anything, because, in theory, we're not exactly here when he gets back?"
Catra looks up at Scorpia, her expression unreadable.
Scorpia persists. "Like, just head out west and see where it takes us. Find something new. Maybe we could make a fresh start together?"
There is a long rest. Then Catra speaks again.
"You know, I have always wanted to see the stars from the desert..."
When Hordak returns to the warehouse it is quiet, empty, and cold. He can tell immediately that nobody is there to meet him. His suit is rumpled, his hair a mess. He breathes raggedly and moves cautiously, still not certain he has eluded his pursuers.
Entrapta's image dances before him on the dim computer screen. Hordak tries typing in a few commands, to no avail. There is blood on the floor. The betrayal seems obvious.
Seems is the important word.
Hordak loves the beach this time of year. He loves this tiny nation's lack of extradition laws even more. He strolls along the sand, wearing little besides a swimsuit with a flowing sarong and a warm, serene smile.
Entrapta is not difficult to find. He spies her among the other beachgoers, a frisbee's throw away. Dressed in a bright fuschia one-piece and black goggles, she shimmies to pop music blaring from a chunky radio, dancing with chaotic abandon.
She is also waving and calling out to him. "Hey! Over here! You did it! Ha, I knew you could!"
Hordak smiles wider as he approaches her, ducking under the spreading umbrella perched above two folding beach chairs. She'd anticipated this. He takes her offered hand.
"My goodness. If I didn't know any better, I would say you wanted me to decode the map coordinates left behind in your amusing little video. Are you trying to tease me or trap me?"
Entrapta smirks. "Yes."
She sweeps her arms out across the sunny scene before them. "Anyway, welcome to Beast Island! That's what the locals call it, at least. Now get ready to enjoy paradise! Everything's taken care of. We're kind of totally loaded now. And just to be safe, I even made us some shiny new identities!"
Entrapta thrusts a stack of forged documents into Hordak's hands. He reads them over and raises a skeptical eyebrow.
"'Jackie Daytona'? 'Jim the Vampire'?"
Entrapta cackles. "It's foolproof! They'll never find us!"
Hordak can't help himself. It's ridiculous and nonsensical, but he doesn't care. She's so completely kissable. He reaches out and she catches him up in her own ecstatic embrace. Their lips meet. Their lives are indivisible, now.
Everything seems like a fantasy. The world is a heavy metal bossa nova song. They laugh, they dance. The chorus repeats. Electric guitars thrum. Eyes close. Fade out.
She's simply irresistible.