Chapter 32: Mind over Matter

A sick feeling settled firmly in the pit of my stomach as I watched Thera walk, slightly unsteadily, towards the Playground. My mind spun as I tried to think of something I could do, or say, just so he'd know he wasn't alone, but…what? What could you say to someone who'd just volunteered to be tortured? 'Good luck'? That sounded ridiculous, even in my head. 'Everything will be fine'? Just as stupid, and 'I'm rooting for you!' was nothing less than an insult to his intelligence, as if I'd be sitting here waving a big foam finger labelled 'Thera #1!' while Miller got inventive with his teeth. It was just...there just had to be something, right?

"Well, that depends," said my inner voice, "Specifically, that depends on who you're trying to convince."

"I have to do something!" I retorted, "I can't just sit here!"

"You can and you will. Do you really think you'd last ten seconds in Miller's hands? You're not an Avenger, you're not 'enhanced', you're a nobody! He'll snap you like a dry twig!"

"That's not true!"

"Easy for you to say. You're sitting on the most comfortable seat in Missouri, safe in the knowledge that Thera will kill everyone here before he lets Miller get so much as a glance at your bicuspids."

"Kill them? Thera? C'mon; he was bluffing!"
"Are you sure? Miller bought it, and I bet he's seen more than his fair share of desperate bluffs."

"But they'd torture Poppy to death!"

"Which is why you need to sit still!"the voice said, more firmly this time, "What was the point of getting beaten senseless by Pexley if Poppy dies? You've done everything you can; the rest is up to Thera."

As much as I hated to admit it, my little inner voice was right. All I could do was sit there in silence feeling like the world's biggest, most useless lemon, while I tried to block out Poppy's whimpers floating quietly through the speakers. There was nothing more I could do, I knew there was nothing more I could do, but I couldn't help but wonder if there was any more I could've done. Could I have been faster? Probably. I bet someone like Clint or Vi could've been off that stage in a flash, free to whip up a search party, and by now Poppy would be safe and it'd be martinis and cigars all round. As it stood, I didn't even know if people were looking for her! I knew that Thera was playing for time, but what was that based on? Blind faith? What if he was holding out for a rescue attempt that would never come? How long could he hold out?

My thoughts were interrupted by a loud 'clink', as an elaborately shaped glass was set down on the armrest of my oversized chair. I looked up to see Hughes standing over me with a bottle in his hand, and an intent expression on his face.

"Miller said that you're to be like Mister Keame," he rumbled, and carefully poured out a measure of the amber liquid, "So drink."

"I, um," I smiled weakly, "I'm really more of a beer gal, so-"

"Drink."

"Okay, okay!" I lifted the glass to my lips and took a tentative sip. The drink all but exploded in my mouth, coating my tongue with a warm, peaty flavour, and then burned like fire on its way down my throat. Hughes' eyes narrowed dangerously, and I could hear a warning growl start somewhere deep in his throat.

"It's...very nice!" I wheezed, and gave him a bright, disarming smile, "Very...smokey!"

His expression remained deeply, deeply unimpressed, and so I quickly took another sip to show willing. Now I knew what to expect, I had to admit that it wasn't actually all that bad. Sure, it wasn't exactly my first choice of pre-torture tipple, but compared to something like Clint's Thormite reserve? Positively drinkable.

Apparently satisfied with my response, Hughes sat down impassively on the chair beside me. He seemed relaxed, even calm, as if this whole mad state of affairs was just another day at the office. Even so, his free hand was resting gently and very openly on his pistol, and when he caught me looking I saw his knuckles tighten ever so slightly.

"If I were you, I'd stay still and keep quiet," he said, "This doesn't involve you."

"Of course it involves me! He's my friend!" I snapped back, but then a sly thought occurred to me, "...but it involves you, too."

"Me?"

"Yeah, you. Maybe Miller's okay with dying for his art, but what about you? Because when Ronin and Hawkeye get here and discover what you've done...wow," I grimaced, "I can't imagine what they'll do to you. Probably something irreversible."

Hughes shifted uncomfortably in his seat, but his tone was defiant, "I'll take my chances."

"Really? 'Cause from where I'm sitting, they don't look great. I mean, I bet you didn't know I'm married to Hawkeye, did you?"

He snorted, "Yeah, right."

"What, don't I look the part?" I shook my head, "Well, it's true. You know what else is true? He watched helplessly while I vanished in a puff of smoke, spent five heartbroken years grieving for me, and then barely two months after we were miraculously reunited your idiot commander kidnapped me! He's going tear Missouri apart looking for us, and when he finds us-"

"-if he finds us."

"When he finds us," I repeated firmly, "Because you know Ronin? Yeah, that woman who obliterated twelve of your buddies and left their corpses for the cleaner to find. She's a tracker, y'know, and I've seen what she does to people she doesn't like. It's not pretty."

"What's your point?"

"My point? My point is that Pexley's such an ass he managed to get my husband and his arch-nemesis to team up, and then left you to deal with the fall out. How much is he paying you for this? Actually, don't worry about that-" I said, with a smile, "-'cause whatever it is, you're not going to live long enough to spend it."

"Yeah? Well, we'll see about that," Hughes said challengingly, "'Cause when he's done with that cocky Brit, it's your turn. Let's see if you're still smiling then."

Thera paused at the threshold of the Playground, and my mouth went dry as he put a hand out to steady himself on the doorframe. Through the glass I saw Miller look up curiously, and as he stared at his woozy 'patient' I saw his eyes come alive with burning anticipation.

"Are you prepared, Thera?" he said, with a cruel, knowing smile, "Please, come and take your place on the plinth."

"Just...a second," Thera replied, and took a deep breath, "I'm gonna...gonna-"

He sneezed, loudly, and then straightened with a brisk shake of his head.

"Crikey. Sorry 'bout that!" he said, wiping his nose on his sleeve, "Must've been mildly allergic to something in that concoction of yours. Did you put cocoa in it? Because dark chocolate always makes me sneeze, and I know that's not technically an allergy and it's not like I'm allergic to anything anyway, but…" he trailed off, and appeared to think for a second, "Huh. Must be metabolising that sodium thiopental faster than I thought."

"Indeed," Miller said, "The plinth please, Thera."

"Oh, right!" Thera stepped forward, and the instant his foot hit the cold, concrete floor, something changed. His gait loosened slightly, his shoulders relaxed, and as he crossed the Playground to the chair I was sure I saw the faintest hint of a smile playing on his lips. He was up to something, I was sure of it, and from the slightly uncertain look on Miller's face I was sure he knew it too.

"Remember our agreement, Thera," he said, warily, "If you use any enhancements, then-"

"Hold that thought, mate," Thera brushed Miller aside, and cast a critical eye over the selection of implements laid out next to the chair, "Let's see...clamps, scalpels, needles...what's this? A corkscrew? Seriously?"

He held the small, twisted object up to the light, and then threw it over his shoulder with a muttered 'Nah'.

"'Nah'?" Miller said, as if he couldn't quite believe his ears, "This is my exhibition, boy-"

"-and do you really want to be spending your last, greatest achievement pissing around with a corkscrew? I don't think so," Thera said, and disdainfully picked up a small hammer, "And what's this? A pin hammer? C'mon, Miller, you're trying to torture me, not put up shelving!"

Miller snatched the hammer out of Thera's hand and placed it carefully, almost reverentially, on the tray, "Are you questioning me? Here? In my domain?"

"I would've thought that would've been obvious. Y'know, what with the questions 'n all."

"In the chair, Thera!"

"You mean the 'plinth', right?"

"Now."

"Sure, fine," Thera shrugged, and as he turned towards the chair his hand casually brushed against the tray and sent it crashing to the floor, spilling Miller's collection across the metal griddle. Some of the smaller and more slender tools slipped between the bars, vanishing in a flash of steel, and the torturer's face went rigid in a rictus of frustrated fury.

"Goddess, I'm so sorry about that!" Thera laughed, and clapped Miller on the shoulder, "I swear, I'm not normally this clumsy, really! Here, let me help-"

"No," Miller's voice was tight, as he bent to gather up the few implements that remained, "You will get on the plinth-"

"-chair-"

Miller's lips pressed tightly together, and then he bent down to gather up the few implements that remained, "-and then the exhibition shall begin."

"Excellent! Can't wait!" Thera said, and reached out to feel one of the restraints, "Hey, is this real leather?"

"Indeed."

"I thought so! Feels so much better than what we've got at home! On a not entirely unrelated note, would this be a good time to discuss safe words-"

"Safe words?" Miller reappeared, cradling his tools almost protectively, "This is not a place of common debauchery, Thera; this is a temple to the arts! I do not tarry with such things as 'mercy' or 'respite'; once I start, I continue until my work is complete!"

"That's a pity," Thera said, as he hopped up on the chair and laid back, "Because here's what I was thinking. How about we start with a bit of light torture - y'know, get the blood flowing, both literally and metaphorically. Depending on how that goes, we could then take a short break, discuss what we've learned, y'know, what worked and what didn't, and then retire to breakout rooms to devise a refined torture programme that can really hit those deliverables before Hawkeye and Ronin- ow! Watch it!"

Miller looked up from the strap he was tightening, "My apologies."

"No, not at all," Thera replied magnanimously, "Actually...could you make it a bit tighter?"

Miller stared at him for a long, dangerous moment, and once again there was that flicker of frustration in the torturer's eyes before he turned his attention back to the restraints. Once the final strap was in place and tightened, he turned back towards the auditorium, collected himself for a moment, and then spoke in a booming, surprisingly sonorous voice.

"Lady and gentlemen!" he said, and spread his arms dramatically, "I invite you to come with me on an exploration deep into the human psyche, as this young man-"

"-you're too kind," Thera said, and waved at me with his fingers, "Hi, Laura! Is that the single malt you're drinking there? Is it any good?"

"Good? It's amazing!" I called back. It was clear what he wanted from me, "You're really missing out!"

"Nah, I'm good down here," he said, "Hey, did you know these restraints are leather? Like, real leather? Talk about being spoiled, right?"

"Silence!" Miller said, and struck him across the face with a ringing slap, "How many times do I have to tell you to be quiet? I am the artist, and you are the clay. Clay does not talk!"

"Then maybe you should have thought about that before injecting the 'clay' with sodium thiopental, eh?" Thera grinned widely, "Also, do that again! I think I liked it."

Miller stared at him, speechless, but then rallied magnificently, "For this exhibition, I have devised a special programme that will truly test the endurance of the human body, tailored specifically to break the supposedly indomitable spirit of this young man before rending his flesh asunder in a grand orgy of hedonistic delight!"

"Ooh, I am using that when I get back home," Thera said admiringly, "'Don't worry, Mrs. Cummings, Mr. Oikonomo is the best hepatologist we have, but there's a small chance that your flesh will be 'rent asunder in a grand orgy of hedonistic delight' Sorry, but that's just how he is.'"

"And our display-" Miller continued, struggling gamely on, "-shall culminate in the separation of his head from his body with this!"

With a rapturous smile, he bent down and retrieved a cordless circular saw from the side of the chair. It was almost identical to one we had at home; simple, powerful, with a blue-chrome body, but this one had a cruelly serrated saw blade, stained with a russet patina of dried blood. My breath caught in my throat.

Thera, however, seemed less impressed, "Really? You're going to cut off my head with that?"

"Well-" Miller hesitated, "Yes! In a majestic display of-"

"It's blunt! You're going to be cutting for ages!" Thera complained, "And there's blood on it! Seriously, if I get a blood-borne infection 'cause you decapitated me with a contaminated saw, I'm going to be really irritated. Possibly even vexed."

"But-"

"Look, mate, I've got a better idea-" he motioned Miller closer, and spoke in a tone barely audible over the speakers, "How about you put down that saw and go get inventive with the three-phase socket over there? If you get a transformer and a couple of cables, I'll just kind of-" he jerked his hips left and right, "-shimmy out of my underwear and then I'm sure you'll be able to find something to clip onto-"

"Listen, Thera," Miller loomed menacingly over the chair, "Commander Pexley has made it clear that I am to make you regret the very day you were born-"

"-which is technically impossible, but it's nice to have dreams, I suppose-"

"-so we shall proceed according to my designs. I will hear no more talk of electrification of...any body part. Understood?"

"Are you sure? I brought my own conductive jelly-"

"My patrons!" Miller stood up, ignoring Thera's comments, "We shall begin with a simple tool, one used by humanity since the dawn of time. As you may or may not know, this young man is a medic, dedicated to the healing of others, and so we shall first rob him of his livelihood with this-"

Miller snatched up the pin hammer and held it dramatically aloft, and its metallic head glinted dangerously in the light.

"Choose a hand, Thera," he said, with a calm smile.

Thera appeared to consider this for a moment, and then looked up, "Can I choose one of yours?"

The smile froze, "Of course not."

"Oh. You really should be more specific, you know."

"Left, or right?"

"Let's do my left, shall we?" Thera sighed, "Go on; ruin my love life!"

With a victorious smile, Miller seized Thera's hand and placed it firmly on the armrest, and then raised the hammer overhead. I looked away as he brought it down with a grunt of exertion, and shuddered as an eye-watering crunch echoed through the speakers. The world seemed to hold its breath for just a moment, and then-

"Ow," Thera said, flatly.

"'Ow'?" Miller said, disbelievingly.

"Yeah, 'ow'. I mean, yes, that...hurt, I guess, but I kind of feel like you oversold it a little."

"I…" the torturer paused, and then tried again, "I beg your pardon?"

"Look, mate, I told you that hammer was no good! I mean-" Thera twisted as best he could to indicate the rack of hammers on the wall, "-you've got ball-peen hammers, rock hammers, even a sledge, so why'd you pick the runt of the litter? Why don't we try this again, but with something bigger? Go on, get one with some real wallop to it!"

"I will not be told what to do by clay," Miller said, in a tight voice.

"I'm just trying to help!" Thera protested, "But I suppose you're right. There's no point getting a bigger hammer if your technique isn't any good."

"There is nothing wrong with my technique!"

"Yeah, everyone says that," Thera said, "Listen, you know what your problem is? You're relying too much on your upper body. Vi'd tell you that real power comes from the legs, but hey, if you think you know better, then-" Thera opened his palms agreeably, "-why don't we just wait five minutes and then you can have another go, okay? Don't worry; it doesn't make you any less of a torturer."

While Miller seethed, I glanced carefully to my left, trying to gauge Hughes' mood. While he obviously hadn't been selected for his keen intellect, it was clear that he knew that this wasn't how it was meant to go. To be fair, he wasn't alone; my imagination had spun up image after image of Thera screaming in pain and horror as Miller shattered his hand, one knuckle at a time. The idea that he might be lying there, giving calming, encouraging advice to the torturer wasn't one that I had even considered, but as I watched I found myself smiling regardless.

"You go, Thera!" I murmured, "Get under his skin!"

"What was that?" Hughes said.

"Oh, nothing...but be a dear and top up my drink, would you," I said, and shook my little glass in a rather patronising fashion, "It's running a little low."

The guard's stare bored into mine, but then he silently took out the bottle and poured out another measure of the amber liquid. With a winsome smile, I carefully set it down on the arm-rest and settled back.

"So…I don't think that went quite how Miller thought it would," I asked, not even bothering to conceal the glee in my voice. Hughes scowled.

"Enjoy it while it lasts," he declared, "He's just getting started."

"Well, I hope he picks up the pace, for your sake! Every second he delays is another second for Hawkeye and Ronin to come get us, y'know," I said, and added childishly, "Tick, tock, tick, tock…"

Anger flashed in Hughes' eyes, and his free hand curled up into an enormous fist, "How about you just shut up, yeah?"

"What're you going to do? Knock me out? Kill me? That'd be a pity," I said, and amazed myself with the steadiness of my voice, "Because I was thinking…"

Hughes hesitated, "Thinking what?"

"That if you weren't here when they arrived, maybe you were never here," I said, and his expression turned contemplative, "Miller's toast, one way or another, but that doesn't mean that you have to be, right?"

"You want me to cross Pexley? I ain't like that."

"So you're okay with him throwing you to the wolves?" I retorted, and he shifted uncomfortably, "He doesn't care about you, you know; you're just as much a means to an end as Thera and myself!"

For just a brief moment, I swore I could hear the cogs turning in Hughes' head, "So you saying we should just walk away?"

"I'm saying you need to put that fist away and think about what you really want!" I said, "Are you sure that you want to be remembered as the man who died so Pexley could get rich? I don't think so."

Hughes' looked at me carefully, searching my face for any signs that I might be lying, but turned back to the Playground with a sour grunt. I allowed myself a small, victorious smile, and then settled back and scratched idly at my hand, where a dull, irritating throb was starting to make itself known. Had I sat on it? I didn't think so, but the tell-tale tingling was already spreading from my wrist to my fingertips. I shook my hand out and tried my best to ignore it; if Thera needed my help, I had to be ready to act!

"Yeah, sure," said my little voice, sardonically, "I bet he's just waiting for you to spring into action."

I had to admit, the voice had a point. Thera didn't look like he was desperate for reinforcements; he looked relaxed, upbeat even, and when I caught his eye he smiled happily and waved once again. In contrast, Miller was circling the chair with an air of deep uncertainty about him, and I could see his lips moving and hands wringing in an almost reflexive manner. Thera must've thrown him off his game, but what did that mean? What if he just got so annoyed with the mystic's games that he tried to kill him on the spot? It seemed to me that Thera was playing dangerously, here, but on the other hand it wasn't like he had anything to lose, so-

"So what're we doing now, then?" Thera said, cutting across my thoughts, "You want to keep hammering away? Only I was thinking-"

"Enough with your thinking!" Miller said, and slapped Thera across the face once again.

"Ah, I know that look," Thera grinned, "That's the look Vi has when a commission isn't working out how she wants. Why don't you go ask Warren for a nice back rub and a reassuring cuddle? That normally works for her."

"I-"

"Or maybe it's just that your torture rate is a bit low. Actually, I bet that's it!" Thera went on, apparently immune to Miller's growing rage, "If you just upped the amount of torturing you're doing on a per-minute basis, I bet we'll start seeing some real results! What'd you think?"

Miller took a long, deep breath, and when he finally spoke his voice positively hummed with barely-repressed anger, "So, you wish for me to keep hammering away? Fine."

The torturer stalked across the room and snatched a large ball-peen hammer down from the rack. With uncharacteristic speed and ferocity, he slammed Thera's injured hand against the arm-rest and struck hard as he could. There was a sickening snap of bone, but Thera's expression remained carefully still, and as the torturer brought the hammer down again and again I thought a faint smile crept in at the corner of the mystic's lips.

"Is - this - what - you - desire?" Miller's voice crackled through the speakers, between reverberating blows. He paused for a moment, panting with the effort, and he and Thera inspected the abused appendage.

"Well, it's a start," Thera said, almost encouragingly, "Have you considered retraining as a masseuse?"

"Now I know you are cheating!" Miller snarled, "Do you genuinely expect me to believe that you could withstand such punishment without a single complaint?"

"What? Oh, right! I probably should've said something," Thera said, "Look, have you ever seen one of those monks who can get hoofed in the bollocks and just feel nothing?"

"Well…"

"Well my Order's pretty big on things like that. I don't mean that we go around kicking each other in the nadgers all day, but...y'know, mind over matter? Between that and whatever the hell you've put in that cocktail of yours-"

"You lie!"

"After you dosed me with enough sodium thiopental to kill an elephant? Give me a break," Thera snorted, "Maybe it's you. Maybe you're just not as good at your job as you thought you were. I mean, anyone can torture someone they've snatched off the streets-"

With an almost inhuman growl, the enraged Miller hefted the hammer overhead to deliver a ferocious blow. It slipped in his grasp, just slightly, and as he swung it shot from between his fingers and arced across the room. There was a resounding crash as it slammed into a rack of pliers, dislodging several with the force of the impact, before falling uselessly to the floor.

"So...um, this must be very humiliating for you," Thera said, in the dreadful silence that followed, "But on the bright side, it does kind of prove my point!"

"This is your doing, isn't it? It has to be!" Miller pointed a quivering finger, "You and your...enhancements!"

"Believe me, if it was me, you'd sodding know about it!" Thera retorted, "It's not my fault you lost control!"

"I did not lose control!"

"Oh, really? I think we should go to the judges on this one," Thera looked up at me, "Hey, Laura! Do you think Miller lost control?"

"Definitely!" I nodded fervently, "No doubt about it!"

"Enough!" Miller snapped, and gave Thera a scornful look, "Keep talking and I will gag you!"

"I doubt it. How would you hear me scream?" Thera said, quite agreeably, "Look, why don't we just forget about the hammer and move onto something else? Like, say, some nice high voltage treatments? The offer still stands, y'know."

Miller took a long, deep breath, "One word. One more word, and I'll cut your throat and let you bleed out on the chair. Maybe I'll leave you alive long enough to watch me eviscerate your friend!"

Thera laughed, shortly, "You're not going to do that."

"And why not?"

"Because that's not what you want, is it? That wouldn't be satisfying!" Thera said, "Look, mate, let's just be honest, shall we? You're a thug. Oh, sure, you think you're a cut above people like your colleagues, and I know you swan around saying things like-"

"I am no thug! I am an artist!"

"-precisely, but in the end you're just the same. I mean, you don't really care about all this 'art' bollocks, do you? What you really crave is power over people. You want the thrill of holding your patient's future in the palm of your hand, while you saw and hammer away and remember the old days, where you basked in the limelight and admiration of some very, very sick people. How're you going to get those jollies if you just cut my throat?"

Miller stared silently at Thera, his jaw working furiously.

"And that's the thing, isn't it?" Thera went on, quite calmly, "Like I told you, you could cut me, burn me, grind my bones to dust, but you're never going to break me - and if I don't break there's no point, is there? It's no fun for you, and if I die without screaming then you've lost. You know that, and you can't handle it, because it'd force you to face the fact that you're nothing more than a tired, weak bully who can't even get recognition from his victims."

"You will regret saying that, Thera!" Miller spat. He turned on his heel and began walking towards the door, "Your screams will drown out those of your precious Poppy. That, I promise!"

"Oh, so you're admitting you've lost?" Thera said, and Miller froze, "You remember the terms of our agreement, don't you? Calling up your mates is as good as conceding defeat, and that'd mean you've lost to your 'clay'. When has an artist ever lost to their clay?"

"I have not lost!"

"Oh, no? You are never going to beat me. Never," Thera said calmly, "Better men and women have tried, Miller, believe me, but your pride won't let you back down now. You're trapped, mate, and you know it."

"I-" Miller's eyes widened as Thera's words hit home, and then narrowed to near slits, "You know, Thera, there is a very... special treatment that I used to reserve for the most intransigent of my patients. The young master banned it, because of the...smell, but as he is no longer with us I believe we should take this opportunity to explore this avenue further."

"Ooh, now you've got my interest," Thera said, "Let's just skip all this rubbish and skip to a routine with some real chest hair, eh?"

"Quite so," Miller said, and depressed another button on the chair's armrest, "Warren? Could you kindly bring in...the oil?"

"Hold on a sec," Thera said, "'Oil'? Like...boiling oil?"

"Indeed. It is a very versatile tool; one can drizzle it, pour it, or even anoint other implements to enhance their function. Before the prohibition, I often used it to bring exhibitions to a particularly...exciting conclusion."

"I bet you did," Thera shook his head, "I mean, why put someone out of their misery when you can just really draw it out, right? Goddess!"

"You may keep invoking her if you wish," Miller said, "Let us see how she responds."

The loud, tortured squeak of unoiled hinges echoed through the room, and then a moment later Warren appeared in the Playground. He was pushing a trolley on which sat a deep, silvered bowl, filled almost to the top with a clear oil that spat and hissed furiously. Suddenly, the sick, churning feeling in my stomach was back, and it was all I could do not to gag as I watched him wheel it carefully across the steel griddle.

"Excellent," Miller said, surveying the oil with clear approval, "Thank you, Warren."

Warren nodded once in recognition, and then vanished back the way he'd come with another squeak of hinges. Miller watched him go, and then turned his attention back to Thera.

"So here we are, boy," he said, "By the time I am finished here, you will wish for the tender mercies of my hammers."

"Maybe," Thera replied, "So, um...how hot is that oil, exactly?"

"The perfect temperature," Miller said, with a chilling smile, "As I am sure you are aware, the worst burns are not necessarily the most painful. Through careful study, I believe I have achieved the optimal balance between pain and patient longevity."

"Must've been a real kick in the teeth when Simon banned it, then."

"All artists must work within the constraints of their patrons."

"Which is why you just happened to have it heated up and ready to go, right?" Thera said, "Convenient, really."

"I believe in being prepared, Thera," Miller said, "There was always the possibility that the young master would wish to reinstate it in the future. Indeed, I think he was coming back around to the concept, but then your beloved-"

"-turned him into sausage, sure," Thera said, "You know what? The more I hear, the more I'm thinking that she deserves something special for taking Simon down. It's just too bad she couldn't get to him before...all this."

"'All this'?" Miller's lips pressed tightly together, "You forget yourself. This is nothing less than a-"

"-palace of the 'Forbidden Arts'. Yes, I know; we all know," Thera rolled his eyes, "So what's the plan with the oil, then? Are we drizzling, pouring, or anointing?"

"I was thinking...immersion," Miller said, "Starting with your hands."

"Deep fat frying? That seems a bit crude. Risky, too," Thera said, "You realise that burns like that might just send me into shock, right? Not sure you're really equipped to handle that."
"I believe you will endure. For the sake of your Poppy, if nothing else."

It was now or never. While Miller leant over Thera and fiddled with the uncooperative restraints, I steeled myself and turned to Hughes.

"You remember what I said?" I whispered urgently, "About you never being here?"

"...yeah?" he said, after a moment's pause, "What about it?"

"Well, it's time to choose. Do you want to go down with Miller's ship, or not?"

"Why? What's the matter?" his lip curled, "You gettin' scared for your friend? Or are you scared that it's gonna be your turn next?"

"Neither," I said, quite plainly, "I just can't sit here and let this happen anymore. I'm going to put a stop to it."

"Oh yeah? And how're you going to do that?"

"It's simple; in a couple of seconds I'm going to get up, go down there, and tip that bowl of oil all over Miller's head."

Hughes' eyebrows jumped, "C'mon, you won't get two steps before he-"

"-tells you to shoot me? Yeah, I know," I grinned humourlessly, "But that kinda puts you in an awkward spot, because if you take that shot, you're a dead man. Even if you somehow escaped Thera's wrath, there's nowhere you could hide where Hawkeye couldn't find you. Even if it takes him years."

"Yeah? Well, you'll still be dead."

"I've been dead before. It wasn't so bad."

"Only 'cause being Snapped was quick," he pointed out, "Let's just say that Miller ain't the only crazy on Pexley's payroll, and he hates traitors."

"Pexley doesn't have a payroll! Blacknest is finished!" I retorted, "All he wants to do is skip town ahead of Ronin. Do you really think he's got time to worry about people like you?"

Hughes hesitated at that, and I seized the moment to press the advantage.

"Like I said, it's time to choose. If you leave now, there's a good chance Pexley'll never find out what happened here or he'll be too dead to care. If you don't, then you can be sure that Hawkeye and Ronin will track you down. Which-"

Without warning, a loud metallic 'bang!' resounded through the speakers, and it was all I could do to avoid jumping clean out of my skin. Hughes' hand went immediately to his revolver, and I caught more than a hint of fear in his expression as he twisted to look towards the back of the auditorium. Another 'bang!' followed, and through the glass I could see Miller looking nervously towards the ceiling.

"Warren?" He said, and there was a faint tremor in his voice, "What is happening? What are you doing in there?"

The unseen door squeaked again on its hinges, and Warren shouted, "It's not me, sir! It's over the radio! It must be-"

His voice was drowned out by the shriek of tortured metal, and the air was suddenly filled with shouting and swearing. My heart lurched as Poppy's muted whimpers rose to a shriek of terror, and then-

"Delta blue! Delta blue! Freeze, scumbags!" someone shouted. Their voice sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn't quite place it, "I've got eyes on the target! Repeat, I've got-"

"Oh, shut up, Paul," that voice, with those acidic tones, could only have belonged to Val, "Now, you boys are in a lot of trouble."

"A lot of trouble, shitstains!" Paul repeated, almost eagerly.

"Paul! Language!" Val snapped, "But I'm sure you fine gentlemen have plenty of questions. Questions like 'Are we absolutely screwed?', 'Is Paul really holding an elephant rifle?' and 'Should I let go of the girl and lie down very slowly on the ground?'. The answer to all of those is 'yes', because if you so much as blink at me funny my twitchy-eyed associate will blow a hole clean through you and every container directly behind you."

The radio hissed and popped, and then someone snarled, "How'd you find us, bitch?"

"Ronin sent us."

"You take orders from Ronin?"

"When someone phones me and says that a group of thugs kidnapped a child, I listen, regardless of who they are," Val said icily, "She had a message for you too, in case we found you."

"Yeah? What?"

"She told me to tell you that if you hurt Poppy in any way she would, and I quote, 'burn you alive from the inside out'. Maybe you believe that, maybe you don't, but I heard on the radio she killed almost three hundred people in some pretty brutal ways. Do you really want to mess with someone like that?"

The man swore again, but a moment later there were some loud thuds and bumps on the wooden container floor.

"Wise decision," Val said approvingly, "Paul? I bet you've got some cable ties or something about your person. Make sure they can't get away."

"Right!" Paul said, and I heard boots clomping on the floor, "Hands behind your back, you assholes! There's a new sheriff in town, and he-"

"Oh, goodness…just get it done, Paul! And take off those night-vision goggles; you look ridiculous!" Val sighed, and then she softened her tone, "Do you remember me, Poppy? We met yesterday. It's okay now, you're safe…"

Val's voice faded under a sudden sheet of static, and in the Playground I saw Thera look up at Miller with a broad, chilling smile.

"My goodness, was that the sound of a sudden reversal of fortune?" he said, in a tone of deep satisfaction, "I think it was!"

"No! No!" The torturer's face went pale with horror as he backed away from the chair, "They said I would have time!"

"Well, that's why you should always get a second opinion," Thera said, conversationally, "And honestly, mate, at the rate you were going I was in more danger of being squashed flat by a glacier than being tortured to death. Still, we are where we are, and that just leaves one question: what am I going to do with you, Miller?"

With a flurry of snaps, the chair restraints all popped open at once, and the mystic vaulted lightly to his feet. Miller backed away further.

"Yeah, sure. Run away, like that's going to help," Thera snorted, with a wave of his hand a golden orb flared into existence, "Quick question for you, Blinky; what do you think we should do with Miller?"

There was a pause, and then Thera's eyes went wide.

"What? Wow. Wow. No, we can't do that!" Thera said, and Blinky's glow rippled ever so slightly, "Why? Because it's grotesque, that's why!"

There was another ripple.

"That's easy for you to say! You won't have to clear up the mess!" Thera shook his head, "Look, you know the rules; think of something else!"

The Wisp emitted an irritated-looking pulse of light, and then without warning streaked into the bowl of oil, leaving a brilliant golden trail in its wake. The clear fluid bubbled and boiled, and then rose slowly into the air as a perfect sphere of searing liquid. The Wisp hovered in the centre, its powerful glow bathing the room in a warm, soothing light.

"I swear, anything that's not nailed down…" Thera sighed, and ran his fingers across his hat, "So, Miller, I believe you were saying something about 'immersion'?"

Miller's eyes went wide as he stared at the hissing, spitting ball of oil, and then he started to laugh. It was not a pleasant laugh, and I felt a chill run down my spine as it echoed through the Playground and across the auditorium.

"You think you can intimidate me with this…wizardry?" he spat, "You forget, Thera; I have another contingency!"

"You do?" Thera frowned.

"Of course!" Miller smiled triumphantly, "Hughes! If Thera tries anything further, you are to kill Laura Barton!"

"Seriously?" Thera pinned Hughes with a look, "Tell me, mate, how would you like to keep your brains on the inside of your skull?"

"You are bluffing!" Miller said, "If you truly wanted us dead, you would have killed us the instant you realised Poppy was free! Instead, you continue with this-" he pointed contemptuously at the levitating globe of oil, "-charade!"

"I suppose you have a point," Thera said, "But I could change my mind."

"You lie-"

Miller fell silent as Hughes got to his feet, and I felt a sudden thrill of fear as he looked in my direction. With a strangely matter-of-fact expression on his face, he unholstered his pistol, taking care to direct it into the corner of the room, and then carefully unloaded it before setting it down.

"I don't care if he's lying or not," he rumbled, "Warren? Grab your gear. We're out."

"What?" Miller gasped, and looked frantically towards Thera, "Traitors! Backstabbers! When the Commander hears about this-"

"He won't," Hughes smiled nastily, "'Least, not from us."

"But you owe him everything! He made you who you are!"

"Yeah? Well, he didn't tell us anything about Avengers or goddamn wizards!" Hughes looked briefly at me, "Laura's right; Pexley hung us out to dry, and I ain't sticking around to find out what that looks like."

"Hold on a sec," Thera looked at me suspiciously, "Is this what you two've been muttering about? You cut a deal?"

"I just figured it'd be better if these two were out of the way!" I said, a little defensively, "And it's not like we really care what happens to them, right?"

"That's true," Thera gave Hughes a faintly apologetic look, "No offence, but I probably had a greater emotional investment in my last bowel movement."

"So what else're we going to do? Tie 'em up? Kill them?"

"Yeah, I get it," Thera said, and then he laughed, "Goddess, you're devious. I love it! Nice work, Laura!"

"Um, thanks," I said, "So…are we going to let them go?"

"Provided I never see their sorry arses again, sure," Thera said, "Which, coincidentally, was exactly what I said to my last-"

"Christ, Thera! The sooner we get you out of here and detoxed, the better! However-" I turned to Hughes, "-he's right. You're going to leave Missouri. Tonight."

"Tonight?" Hughes said, "But-"

"But nothing! Just because we're letting you go doesn't mean that I'm going to forgive or forget your part in all of this!" I said, in a withering tone, "If I ever see you again, I'll be sure to let Hawkeye know exactly who you are and where you are. If you value your life, you'll make yourself scarce - understood?"

Hughes swallowed hard, and nodded once.

"Good," I said, "Now hand over your phones."

"What?"

"I need to make some calls, and honestly? I'd rather you guys couldn't," I said, "Stop complaining, Hughes; this is the best deal you're ever going to make. If I were you, I wouldn't waste my time whining about the small fry."

The big man grumbled, but after a quick look at Thera he grudgingly pulled out his phone and tapped away on it for a few moments before handing it over.

"There you go," he said, and folded his arms angrily, "You want anything else? Like the clothes off my back?"

"Don't tempt me," I said, "Now get going, before we change our minds."

Hughes scowled deeply, clearly angered by this turn of events. He was beaten, however, and he knew it, and after a moment he turned away with a contemptuous curl of his lip.

"Alright, Warren. Let's go," he said shortly, "I want to be long gone by the time our boys come looking for us."

With that, he strode briskly across the auditorium to the far corner. Part of the wall swung outwards at his touch, moving silently on well-oiled hinges, and without so much as a backward glance he stepped across the threshold and vanished. In his wake, a deep, oppressive quiet fell across the auditorium, and I stood motionless as the door slowly swung shut behind him. Was that it? Had we survived? This was everything I could have hoped for, and yet it'd happened so fast it almost didn't feel real. Barely five minutes ago, Miller had been smashing Thera's hand into a fine paste, and now…what? What was I meant to do now?

"Laura?" Thera's voice crackled through the speaker, "Hey, Laura? Are you okay?"

With an effort, I dragged myself out of my reverie, "I'm okay, Thera, I…um…"

"It's okay. Take your time," he said gently, "Warren's gone too, by the way. Just thee, me, and Miller."

"Good," I nodded. It didn't feel good, though, as much as I wanted it to. It felt empty.

"Look, at some point we're going to need to talk about… all this," Thera said, clearly catching on to my emotional state, "But right now, I could really use your help here. If you're feeling ready, that is."

"I'm coming," I spun on my heel and walked briskly across the Playground. If I was being honest I didn't feel ready, not at all, but helping Thera with whatever it was he needed help with seemed better than standing here and brooding. At least it would give me something to do.

As I walked through the door to the Playground itself I was hit in the face with a sudden wave of hot, dusty air, carrying with it a faint tang of blood and sweat. Clearly, whoever had designed the Playground hadn't been overly concerned about amenities for Simon's victims.

"Balmy, isn't it?" Thera said, and then he caught my expression, "Laura, are you sure you're-"

"I'm fine," I said, abruptly, "What're we doing?"

"Well, first things first-" he jerked his head at the trembling torturer, who was standing very still a short distance from the chair, "-we should deal with this bugger. Between you and me, I think he's a bit of a flight risk, so-"

"You can do whatever you want with me!" Miller said defiantly, and I had to admit that part of me was impressed.

"Whatever I want, eh?" Thera gave him a faintly amused look, "If you say so!"

"Wait-"

"Blinky? Ditch that oil somewhere safe and put Miller in the chair-plinth, would you? Make sure he's not getting out unless someone cuts him out," Thera said, there was an almighty hiss of boiling oil as the shimmering globe simply sloughed away from the Wisp and vanished through the steel lattice work. In the next instant, Blinky was hovering over Miller, and his shriek of surprise filled the room as he was snatched up and thrown roughly onto the chair. As he struggled to rise the restraints snapped shut as one, and then there was a shower of sparks as Blinky got to work, welding them each in turn with a tightly focused beam of heat.

"Chlinth? Plair? Nah. Doesn't work," Thera murmured to himself, "Anyway, Miller! I've decided what I'm going to do with you!"

The torturer went pale, "What?"

"Nothing!"

"What?"

"You heard me; absolutely nothing! Promise."

"But…but…" Miller struggled at his restraints, "You should kill me! You have to kill me!"

"Nah. More fun this way. What do you think, Laura?"

I stared at the torturer, and felt a sudden pulse of raw, red anger, "You know what? I'm actually with him."

"Really?" Thera blinked in surprise, "You want to kill him? Why?"

"Why? He tortured you!"

Thera laughed derisively, "C'mon, Laura; that wasn't torture. It was barely even foreplay."

"He mangled your hand!"

"This hand?" Thera held up the appropriate appendage, and flexed his fingers for emphasis, "It's fine. I heal quickly."

"So what about all his other victims? He snatched people off the street and tortured them to death for Simon's amusement! He deserves to die!"

"But that's why he can't!" Thera gave Miller a cold look, "Let's hear it, mate; how many people did you take? How many people've died on that chair?"

Miller met his gaze, "I will not say."

"So a lot, then," Thera said, "Look, Laura, how hard do you think these psychopaths really vetted their targets? Do you really think everyone they took was someone who wouldn't be missed? There'll be people out there, all across Missouri, who're still desperately looking for their missing loved ones. If we kill him now we'll be denying them a chance for closure, however horrible it may be."

"You want to hand him over to the police?" I asked, and Thera shook his head.

"Not the locals. I was thinking more along the lines of Clint's old boss."
"Fury?"

"That's the one. He can still reach him, right?" Thera said, "I'm just thinking that if Simon really was as well connected as Miller here thinks, then we don't want it to end up being swept under the carpet."

"Send whoever you want!" Miller declared, "I will not talk!"

"Oh, you'll talk to Fury," I said, angrily, "He'll make you."

"If I'm being honest, he probably doesn't need to," Thera said, "People like this guy often take trophies. I'll bet that somewhere in his house is a carefully arranged collection of his victims' hair, or personal artefacts or something like that. Isn't that right, Miller?"

Miller was silent, but his eyes narrowed to slits of incandescent rage.

"Thought so!" Thera said triumphantly, "Even if he doesn't talk, they might be able to get an idea of how many people ended up here, and who they were. Isn't that better than…letting people wonder?"

"Yeah," I nodded, "Yeah, you're right. I'm sorry; I just…I want this whole place burned to the ground. I can't believe it even exists."

"Well, that's bastards for you. They're bastards," he said wryly, "It's okay to be angry, Laura. Really, it is."

"Good! Because I am!" I felt hot, angry tears welling up in my eyes, "He tortured you, and I couldn't do a damn thing about it! I couldn't stop him, I couldn't do anything! All I could do was sit there like a goddamn queen sipping single malt whiskey!"

"And working your magic on Hughes," Thera pointed out, "You talked him into walking away. I couldn't have done that, and I'm pretty sure neither Vi or Clint could've done it either."

"But they could've…y'know…"

"Killed them?" Thera said bluntly, "Possibly, but there's always a risk that things don't go how you'd expect. You did something amazing in really difficult circumstances, Laura, so don't talk yourself down."

"Um, thanks," I smiled weakly, and wiped at my eyes, "That helps, I think."

"Great," he said, and blew out his cheeks, "In any case, I think it's well past time we got out of here. You okay with that, Miller? I'm sure Fury or someone'll be by to pick you up soon enough."

"Curse you!" Miller spat.

"Fantastic," Thera said, and then he held up a finger, "Actually…before we go, would you like to hear something funny?"

Miller stared at him, silently.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," Thera said, and leaned in close, "I cheated. Outrageously."

The torturer gasped, "You… you what?"

"You were right the whole time!" Thera laughed, "I mean, c'mon, don't tell me you actually brought that rubbish about 'mind over matter', did you? You smashed my hand to pieces!"

"And the flying hammer?" Miller said, "Was that also you?"

"Of course it was! Do you have any idea how hard I had to pull on that thing? You've got a grip like a bloody steel press!"

"But…but…"

"But what? All I had to do was get you just angry enough that you'd stop thinking, and so you'd rather continue hurting me than call it quits!" Thera said, "And let's be honest, I could've done magic right under your nose and you'd have kept going, because it meant you could keep on torturing me."

"But…" this time, the torturer found his voice, "But what about that child?"
"Poppy? She's safe, isn't she?" Thera pointed out, "I knew you thought I'd never cheat, because that would put her in danger, which is obviously something I'd never do…which meant that I could cheat my bloody heart out!" he paused for a moment, and his lips moved soundlessly, "I think that was a triple bluff, actually."

Miller stared at Thera, shock and horror etched across his face, and then he took a long, deep breath and let loose a raw, animalistic scream. I winced and looked away; even the twisted, brutal implements on the wall were more pleasant than Miller's contorted, rage-filled expression.

"I knew you'd appreciate it," Thera said, with a self-satisfied grin, "You seemed like the kind of guy who likes a good joke."

"You…you have defiled this place!" Miller ranted, "I swear, Thera, when I am free I shall find you, and-"

"Oh, save it," Thera rolled his eyes, "The instant this place goes public, you're a liability. If Simon's connections really are as powerful as you say, I'm pretty sure your future is going to involve being found hanged in your cell the night before your trial. You know what the best bit is?"

"What?"

"I don't even have to lift a finger. Everyone wins!" Thera said, and clapped him on the shoulder, "You wanted me to kill you, Laura wanted you dead, and I promised I wouldn't do anything to you. Seems to me like we all got what we wanted - or we will."

"No!" Miller said, and his expression turned pleading as he struggled with his restraints, "Laura! You cannot let him do this! Help me!"
I gave him a disgusted look, and then turned to Thera, "C'mon. I'll phone Clint and tell him to come pick us up. He'll probably be somewhere nearby."
"I'm kind of counting on it," Thera said, "Let's grab the radio and get the hell out of here."

Miller's desperate screams faded into the background as we headed into the little side room where Warren had been stationed. It turned out to be a small workshop, presumably used to maintain and repair Miller's tools of the trade. Most of it was covered in a thin layer of dust, suggesting that it hadn't seen use in recent history, but on one desk sat a sleek, black laptop and the radio, ensconced in a small charging cradle.

"Hello you!" Thera said, and he quickly snatched it up. The instant he did so the sounds of static sleeting through the speakers vanished, plunging the room into an unearthly silence, "Funny how things turn out, eh? Miller put this on to intimidate us into doing what he wanted, but if he hadn't then we'd never have known they'd found Poppy. Talk about being hoist on your own petard…"

"That's true, I guess," I said, and stepped up to examine the laptop. A large, thick wire was plugged into the USB port, and I followed it back across the room to a tall glass cabinet, filled with blinking green lights. I was no IT expert by any means, but I'd seen enough heist movies to know what one of those was.

"Hey, Thera! Look!" I pointed, "It's a server rack!"

"It's a what?" he frowned.

"A server rack! You know, a computer that can store loads of stuff! I wonder why it's here?"

He shrugged, "Your guess is probably better than mine. What would you put on that?"

"Data!"

"Mmm-hmm."

"Yeah, like…" I thought about what I used my computer for, "Spreadsheets? Music? Videos? Hold on; what if there's videos on there? Do you think Simon could've been recording everything?"
"I dunno," he said, "That sounds kind of incriminating."

"Maybe it is!" I said, "We know how much Pexley likes blackmailing people. What if he and Simon were recording their guests? It'd stop any of them from going public about this place!"

"I suppose…" he said, "Can we see more?"

"Probably not, but hold on," I said, and tapped briskly on the laptop keyboard. The screen flickered to life, and I was unsurprised to see a password prompt, "Yeah, didn't think so. We're locked out."

"Can we get in?"

"Only if we know the password," I said, and then drew on more of my heist movie experience, "Trouble is that if we get it wrong enough times, it might just end up wiping all the data."

"Well, let's leave it well enough alone, then," Thera said, "I'm not sure we'd have time to look at it even if we could get in, so…"

"Yeah," I nodded, "Let's go."

We left the workshop and headed back across the Playground to the auditorium. I did my best to ignore Miller's wild-eyed pleas for attention, but he still sat heavily on my mind. We'd made the right choice by leaving him to face justice, I was sure of it, but there was still something in his expression that tugged at my heartstrings. With an effort, I forced my misgivings down deep inside; why should I feel pity for someone who'd tortured and murdered countless innocents? It didn't make any sense!

"It's hard, isn't it?" Thera said, obviously reading my expression, "I know he's a torturer and a murderer, but right now he's also a scared, helpless man strapped to a chair. Walking away from that feels…unnatural."

"Yeah, but if we let him go he'd go right back to torturing and murdering, right?" I said, and spat, "All in the name of 'art'."
"It's not revenge. We're not taking revenge," Thera said, although I wasn't sure if he was reassuring me or himself, "We're trying to make sure that…justice is done. This is the best way to do it."

"Right."

"Right."

The door at the back of the auditorium blended so seamlessly with the wall that it took me a few moments to find it, despite having seen Hughes walk through it barely five minutes earlier. Beyond it lay a lavishly appointed ante-chamber, complete with shag-pile carpeting and a long row of plush looking chairs. Looming over the room was a bust that looked suspiciously like Simon Keame, topped off with a ridiculous crown of laurel leaves.

"Christ," I muttered, and shook my head wearily, "Talk about delusions of grandeur."

"Yeah, that sounds like Simon," said Thera, "A complete twit, right to the end. C'mon."

We crossed the room quickly to the door on the other side, and as he put his hand on the bar Thera stopped and appeared to listen.

"Yeah, this leads out," he said, after a moment, "I'll go first, yeah? That Hughes guy looked like a sore loser; I wouldn't put it past him to try and get the jump on us out here."

"Really?" I said, "After all that stuff with Blinky and the boiling oil, you think he'd really take a crack at you?"

"You'd be amazed what people can talk themselves into. I'd rather be safe than sorry."

With that Thera pushed down hard on the bar, and with a shriek and shudder of metal the door slowly swung open. There was a rush of sweet-smelling, fresh air, carrying with it the sounds of distant birdsong, and as the door swung open wider the warmth of the afternoon sun flooded in. I closed my eyes, took a long, shuddering breath, and smiled.

"Thank the Goddess that's over," Thera muttered, and stepped down onto the ground with a crunch of gravel, "I'll admit, I never really got to go to Playgrounds when I was a kid, but I'm pretty sure that one could do with some swings. Maybe I'll suggest it to Pexley."

"Gotta catch him first," I said, and followed him out, "So…where are we?"

"Container park," Thera said, and gestured at the shipping containers all around us. They were stacked two high, in long, multicoloured rows, and had I not just sprung from inside one of them I could've sworn they were entirely nondescript, "Obviously, Simon understood the concept of 'hiding in plain sight'. You could walk past this place a dozen times and never see it."

"They're all owned by Keame Refineries," I said, and pointed out the name and logo spray-painted onto each and every container, "Convenient, right?"

"Very," Thera snorted, "What do you think the chances are that anything actually gets stored here?"

"Not great," I said, and stepped over to the container directly opposite, "I mean, look; this one isn't locked!"

"Well spotted," Thera said, and looked up and down the row, "Actually, none of them are."

"So…Keame's rich, right?" I said, "You think Simon used his fortune to buy up some land, fill it with containers, and then…built the Playground behind them?"

"Or inside them," Thera said, "It'd be easy enough to knock through, I reckon, and who's going to inspect a container yard in the arse end of nowhere? You have to give them some credit; they thought this one through."

"Yeah, well…that's all over now," I declared, and pulled out Hughes' phone. Happily, it seemed to have an excellent signal, "We're going to bring the hammer down on this place, right? Let me just call Clint, and-"

"Wait, Laura," Thera said suddenly, "Before you call Clint, there's something we need to talk about."

"You mean…what happened in there?" I frowned, "Can't that wait? We should-"

"No! No, I mean…" he hesitated for a moment, visibly steeling himself, "I need to talk to you… about you. About what happened to you."

"What do you mean?" I said, and felt a thrill of anxiety, "I feel fine!"

"Right now you do," he said, "But…that could change. Can you sit down?"

I hesitated, and then took a calming breath and went to sit down on the lip of the container. My heart was suddenly going a mile a minute, and my hands felt cold and clammy. After everything that had happened…what was he going to spring on me now?

"Well, I'm sat down, like you asked," I said, in a clipped tone that did very little to hide my fear, "What did you want to say? What happened to me?"

"Okay," Thera smiled weakly, and I felt the anxiety peak, "Laura, when Pexley hit you he...he did a lot of damage-"

"I know!" I said, and prodded at my face, "I-"

"No, Laura," he said, patiently, "I mean neurological damage. Brain damage."

"Oh," I said, and sat back numbly, "How bad?"

There was another pause.

"It's serious," he said eventually, "You suffered two concussions almost simultaneously. In some...rare cases, that can lead to the brain swelling catastrophically. It's almost invariably fatal."

"But you treated me, didn't you? Isn't that why you knocked me out?"

"Yes, it is…" he said, "I needed time to...calm your brain and get the swelling under control. Trouble was that once I did that, I discovered a bunch of other problems waiting in the wings; bruising, bleeding...clots. It's like there's a million tiny fires, all raging at once."

"But I feel fine now! Better than fine, actually! I-" I stopped, and looked at him suspiciously, "Wait a second. Thera, what did you do?"

"Um…" he hesitated, "Something…theoretical. Actually, it's more 'hypothetical' than 'theoretical', but I was kind of out of options."

"You're not really selling this, you know!"

"Look, I wanted to keep you under! It was the safest way to keep everything ticking over," he said, "But I knew what they had planned for me - for us - and I needed to be sure that me being tortured wasn't going to interfere with your treatment."

"So you woke me up?"

"...sort of," he said, "Right now, you're experiencing what I'd call 'Assisted Consciousness'. You're awake, obviously, but you're technically still in a coma."

"That makes no sense!"

"Your brain is asleep," he said, "Or as asleep as I can make it. I had Inky install this thing called an 'Eeebie', which lets her stand in for the bits of your brain that're still scrambled. The intention was that I let them rest, recover, and then Inky would slowly withdraw control. Honestly, you'd have never noticed the difference - or at least, that was the plan."

"'That was the plan'?" I said, and looked at him fearfully, "Something's gone wrong, hasn't it?"

"Something? Make that two things," he said, with a grimace, "One, the Eeebie's starting to degrade. It took a glancing blow while we were waking you up, and…that damage is slowly spreading."

"Can't you repair it?" I said, "Or rebuild it?"

"Only by removing it and starting over," Thera said, "And in the time that took you'd probably have the mother of all seizures. The neurological damage would be…extreme."

"So I guess the race is on then, right?" I said, with a hopeful smile, "Right?"

"Well, that's problem number two," he said, "Some bits of your brain are…beyond repair. Inky's emulating them as best as she can, but…honestly, I have only an inkling of an idea as to how they're meant to go back together. We have some emergency, last ditch options, but I'd really rather not go with those."

"Why not? What could happen?"

"Death, for one," Thera said, quite honestly, "Otherwise…seizures, changes in personality, synaesthesia…there's a whole smorgasbord of potential consequences. My objective is to keep you 'you', not Inky's best projected guess of 'you'."

"Wow," I said, and slumped hard against the container door, "I mean...wow."

"I know it's a lot to take in," he said sympathetically, "But it's important that we focus on the positives. The Eeebie won't fail for a good while yet, and Inky is working her way through potential solutions as fast as she can. She could easily come up with something viable."

"And if she doesn't?" I bit out, "What then?"

"Then we need to find an alternative solution," he said, "And quite frankly? I'm open to suggestions."