Shades of Silence by Alara

Chapter Two

It had all been a setup, she'd realized when the drugs kicked in. Unusually clever; the Cobra Commander must not have had a hand in planning it. Cobra was devious, though; who'd think a grandmother a Cobra agent? Or perhaps it had been the EMT. She'd been entering a convenience store when a robber had burst through the glass door. She started to react, but he was faster, grabbing a shard of glass and swiping at her face; he clipped her just as she straight armed him and took him down.

"Oh, my…" She'd looked up from making sure the guy was out cold to see a little old lady standing nervously inside the store, eyeing the young woman who'd so handily taken down the robber. Scarlett had smiled wryly. Duke was going to love this incident report. "Army," she said to the woman blandly, and then asked, "Is anyone hurt? Has anyone called the police?"

The old woman had blinked, and nodded. "Yes, the police are on their way, and I think you're the only one who got hurt. Come here, dear, let me give you something for that cheek." The woman had proffered a handkerchief. Scarlett had gotten off of the would-be robber after checking him for weapons and removing a pocket knife and gun. She resisted the urge to kick him.

"Miss?"

The old woman was still holding out that handkerchief. Scarlett smiled and accepted it, wiping the blood from her face and then dabbing at the cut. It stung and made her feel odd; the woman must have sprayed it with perfume. "Thank you." She said politely, and the woman had tremulously smiled.

Then a flurry of activity, as police arrived, and EMTs and onlookers. She refused medical treatment; it was just a cut. They'd eyed her askance when everyone pointed to her as the one who took down the robber, until they'd got a look at her ID. The officer had handed her card back to her and started writing in his notebook. "Army, huh? Guess they keep you in pretty good shape, to take down a big guy like that."

"It helps I'm a martial arts instructor," she said dryly, and enjoyed his startled look, which turned thoughtful.

"Well, thank you, Sergeant O'Hara, for your service and for talking to us today. We might still need to get in touch with you, but I have your contact information here. Now, please, go and get that cheek looked at! I'd feel better knowing you had someone medical look at it, okay?"

Well… she sighed. It would cause less of a flurry at the Pit to have a bandaged cheek rather than an open wound. And the officer had been nice about it—they sometimes weren't. She'd nodded, and headed over to the ambulance. The guy had given her a relieved look as he pulled on medical gloves.

"Thanks for coming over, it's really more than my job is worth to let someone who stopped a robbery go away without us even looking at her…" He pulled the handkerchief away and tutted at the still-bleeding gash. "Hold still, I've got just the thing…" He rummaged in a drawer and brought out a nondescript looking jar. He dipped his fingers in; it was some kind of salve.

He rubbed a good amount of it into her face; she tried not to move her face, but it stung worse than the perfume-soaked handkerchief had, and the scent made her really dizzy. So dizzy, in fact, that when she tried to stand, she found it impossible. "What…"

"Hey! Hold on there, miss, you must've gone lightheaded." The EMT caught her and urged her back onto the gurney. He carefully taped a band-aid over the cut. Warmth emanated from it, and her dizziness increased.

She shook her head. "No… gotta get back t'… Wha'd you do t'me?" She managed to get out, around a suddenly thick tongue; the ambulance started to spin crazily, sickeningly. She closed her eyes, heard the EMT saying "Sorry," —

—Opened her eyes in a bare walled cell, dressed in only her bra, undershirt, and panties. Her hands were shackled together in back of her; her legs were shackled too, each closed into restraints built into the concrete floor.

Oh, this is never a good way to wake up, she clearly remembered thinking. Wonder how long it's been—and what do they want? She tried to move, and her extreme stiffness betrayed that it had probably been several hours, at least. The cold made itself known at that point, and she was grateful they'd at least left her undershirt on; as it was, she could feel her fingertips going numb from combined chill and stillness. Numb hands are gonna make picking these locks much harder. So is the fact that my damn hands are behind my back. And this damn drug, which is making me twitchy and dizzy. Great. Thank God for Snakes' lessons on extreme lockpicking… I'll have to apologize. I never thought the lessons on picking handcuffs while standing in ice-melt would come in handy…

Unfortunately his lessons hadn't extended to what happened next. Boots came crunching down the corridor outside her cell, and halted when they saw her sluggishly moving form. There was a rattle of keys, and the beep of an electronic lock, then the whir of gears shifting. She bit back a half-hysterical laugh: good to know they were treating her as a dangerous prisoner. But it was never a good sign when a guard entered the cell, she knew that.

"Hey, there, chickie," he cooed, as he swaggered his way toward her. Typical Cobra goon—wait til the prisoner was all trussed up, then gloat. It must be part of their training, because they all did it. Usually they yelled things through the door though; she tried to swallow down the knot of fear that had settled low in her stomach. Don't panic, it's the drugs, you're off-balance, get in control, Scarlett.

"You're a pretty one," he said, grabbing her chin and shoving her hair out of her face. "Even with a damaged face," and he caressed the bandaged cheek. He dropped her face and circled her slowly, looking down at where she perforce knelt on the ground. "Mmm…" he approved. "You are a tight little package, aren't you? Not a bit of fat. That special army program must keep you fit."

She restrained herself from snorting in derision. Maybe this was Cobra's new tactic: try to offend prisoners into talking. Well, this guy hadn't heard how offensive Clutch could get at times; she'd have to remember to thank him, too, for giving her a new low benchmark for innuendo.

Of course, that didn't mean she liked the way the guy was looking at her, either. She sagged oh-so-slightly in relief when another pair of boots came crunching their way down the hall, another guard calling, "Hask? Where'd you—oh." All hope of an inadvertent rescue—or respite—fled, though, when a nasty smile crossed the new guard's face. He shook a finger at Hask. "Bad form, getting started without me."

"C'mon, Williams, I was just looking."

The smile came back. "And there's a bit to look at, isn't there? Yes…" A considering look. "But I think we'll make this really fun. Blindfold her."

"But—"

"They don't care what we do to her, as long as she can still talk and think."

A short laugh. "Good. Good." There was a rustle of cloth and she turned her head just soon enough to see Hask reach for the hem of her undershirt—just before he pulled it up over her head in a makeshift hood.

This is… not good, she acknowledged. "What do you want?" She was glad her voice didn't tremble.

"That would be telling, chickie. It'd ruin our fun."

Really not good.

She started as she heard a flip-knife open, and braced herself for pain. It didn't come. Instead, she felt her bra being cut away. Of course. Then, an odd pressure against her mouth—Williams was cutting through the undershirt, opening a slit in it for her—

"Besides, you're the only woman they've got on that team of yours, right? Should be used to this…"

Oh God, oh God. The warning sound of a zipper going down gave her a half second to clench her teeth together. She could smell the man coming closer, and tensed. He ran a thumb over her lips, then shoved it between them only to jam it against her teeth.

"Huh. Very clever." She heard him make a gesture to Hask and firmed the tightness of her jaw.

Was glad she'd done so a second later as something shoved underneath her underwear and groped at her. She thought it was Hask's hand. She sort of hoped it was his hand, given the alternatives.

Williams grunted. "Damn. That usually works."

The hand was withdrawn from her backside; Williams maintained his grip on her face, trying to force her jaw open. Nonononono. Not going to happen. Not going to ha—

Unfortunately she hadn't anticipated their next tactic, which did not involve punching or kicking her, which she'd expected. She did not expect, however, two icy hands to suddenly grab her breasts and twist them. She gasped involuntarily, Williams shoved her cheeks in so her own flesh kept his fingers shielded from her teeth, damn him and his triumphant "Ha!", and then—

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

"Shana?" The voice startled her awake.

She woke, sweating and shaking and sick. And Duke wondered why she hadn't been sleeping.

"Shana?" It was Frank, who stood in the doorway, looking worried. "Are you all right? You were… muttering, you sounded afraid."

"Just a bad dream. Thanks for waking me."

He seemed doubtful but inclined to drop it; she was grateful it was the least intrusive of her brothers who'd been disturbed by her dreams. It wasn't such a problem at the Pit, since the rooms were soundproofed, and besides she could take a heavy enough dose of sleep aids that only her alarm set to its loudest setting would wake her.

She waited til the house settled again, then silently crept downstairs with a book and curled up in the living room: there'd be no more sleeping tonight, that was for sure.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

She keenly regretted the lack of sleep the next day, when her brothers persuaded her to come observe some of their classes in the dojo. Her mind spiraled off into dozens of tangential directions. She was glad she wasn't actually demonstrating anything today—it would end up being object lessons in how not to perform certain moves, not to mention being illustrative of how important focus was in the martial arts.

"These exercises will help you build endurance," Brian said to the class, and the word seemed to echo in her head...

*Endurance under trying circumstances is part of the training of every ninja. It should be part of the training of the GI JOE team,* she remembered Snake Eyes signing to her once, while she was training with him. That had led to an interesting discussion of various mental toughness exercises, but Snake Eyes maintained that sheer endurance would win out.

Scarlett was discovering how true this was. Endure endure endure she thought, concentrating on that and looking for opportunities to hurt her opponents, trying to ignore their handling of her. Brief snippets of conversation with BeachHead about down-and-dirty fighting blinked in and out of her mind; they helped her ignore… what was happening.

Williams, standing in front of her, finally forgot himself, and let the fingers crushing her face fall slack. Instantly, she bit down as hard as she could—and instead of spitting him out, which every instinct shouted at her to do, tried her best to grind her teeth together. She'd teach them that it was not a good idea to assault any member of the Joe team, even if they thought they had the upper hand. And if she emasculated him in the meantime, well, she figured she was doing the world a favor. And at least this particular Cobra minion wouldn't want to touch her again. He wouldn't be able to.

She heard him curse wildly, high pitched, screaming, as he rained heavy blows down on her head. "Get her off! Get her off!"

Hask left off feeling her up, came around, and punched her so hard in the face that even with her eyes blindfolded, her vision blinked out for a moment: she saw red, a good sign he'd bruised something in her eyes. The punch was so literally stunning that she went utterly limp for a second—including her jaw. She hit the ground.

Before she could recover, an enraged Williams started kicking her as hard as he could in the side. She tried to curl up, but her hands were still pinned behind her back, making bending forward nearly impossible. And her ankles were still bolted to the floor; she couldn't move away. She felt bones bend and break, and wondered briefly if she was going to be kicked to death.

Hask realized that the enraged Williams was in a homicidal state; she heard him throw himself against the other man, shoving him out of range of her. Williams was still screaming obscenities at her.

Both men were so preoccupied that they didn't hear the door open again. So their surprise was genuine when a low, accented voice hissed out of nowhere.

"What, exactly, is going on here?"

Cautiously, she raised her head. This one sounded genuinely pissed off.

From the guards' response, he was, and from the fear in their voices, this was Not a Good Thing.

"Uh, sir, we were just—"

"—and the bitch bit me! So I—"

"—security measures state—"

"…friggin' members of that damn GI Joe team…"

Abruptly, they shut up; he must have made some gesture, but somehow had managed to do so silently.

When he spoke, it was in an utterly cold tone. "You have dishonored yourselves, the Cobra Commander, the whole Cobra enterprise with these thoughtless deeds. I don't want to hear it, Williams! I know what was going on; two men, with a female prisoner who is undressed, shackled, bound, and blindfolded, do not make for a good start. Add to that the prisoner's wounds, and the fact that one of the men is obviously aroused and the other has a bloodied groin—this hardly needs a high intellect to figure out what happened." He spat. "This is disgusting behavior. Since you clearly cannot be trusted to do your jobs, I am taking the prisoner. Any objections?" Silence. "I thought not. You are dismissed."

"But—"

"Do I need to repeat myself?"

The boots retreated.

Huh, she thought, amazed. Who'd've thought anyone in Cobra had enough conscience to even get annoyed at something like this? And this guy is enraged! Fortunately for me, I guess…

Hands that moved in eerie, half-familiar patterns, briskly patted her down, checking for obvious injuries. "Can you stand?" She shrugged, then nodded warily. As far as she knew, they hadn't injured her legs.

Carefully, the unknown undid the bolts holding her to the floor and stood her upright, leaving the makeshift hood in place. She heard a rustle of cloth and then a soft touch on her leg. "Lift your foot." She did so, and felt something constricting sliding over her foot and ankle. She realized he was putting her uniform back on her. Curious consideration for her modesty, but she certainly wasn't going to argue. Awkwardly, he managed the pants, then cinched them snugly.

Pain, then numbness, abruptly spread through one shoulder, then the other. Before she could panic, that smooth voice intoned, "It is merely to ensure you do not attempt to attack me or escape," and the handcuffs dropped away from one wrist. He peeled the undershirt back down, then briskly pulled her jacket's sleeve over one arm, then threaded the other, handcuffs dangling, through the other. He clicked the handcuffs tightly—in front of her, thankfully—and then did up the fasteners on the jacket front.

The entire business was conducted asexually, and from behind her; it was odd, but preferable to the alternative. She concentrated on trying to blink her eyes back into working properly again.

More jabs, and feeling started to painfully prick its way down her arms.

She'd been right about the punch to the head; her vision was spotty. She tried to get a look at her sort-of rescuer, but all she got was an impression of white clothing, Asian eyes, and extreme swiftness.

She couldn't help but be a bit amused that, after all that consideration—he'd even waited 'til she could move her fingers again—he abruptly threw her over a shoulder and carried her… someplace. It looked like a cross between a subway tunnel and an airplane hangar. He barely placed her feet on the ground when unseen handlers swathed her in a heavy burlap sack, which was then tied tightly around her shoulders, waist (not incidentally, pinning her chained hands to her waist as well), upper thighs, knees, and ankles. They'd rolled her up quite exactly as though she were a rug.

Well. They weren't taking chances, either, apparently.

A few moments, the sound of a motor whining as it warmed up, then a strong arm was wrapping around her waist, gripping the rope around her waist firmly. Then: vertigo, more frightening because of her enforced passivity, unable even to see which direction was up.

She had absolutely no sense of time during the trip to the castle—it could have been twenty minutes or two hours. It didn't help that she kept coming in and out of consciousness, she was sure. Nor did the damned upside-down flying.

When they arrived, he left the sack around her, and steered her…another someplace…with nudges. He jerked her to a halt. She heard a blade unsheathing—really? After all this, he was going to kill her now?—and tried to remain relaxed enough to move.

There was a breath of metal across her face and body, and the sacking dropped away. To her shock, she was staring into Cobra Commander's mask! He seemed equally surprised to see her. Curtly, he ordered the man to "put her someplace appropriate." The man bowed in response, and with a shock she realized why he seemed sort-of familiar: he was a ninja!

The white-clad ninja (and who met one, let alone two, ninja in her lifetime, anyway? How'd she get so lucky?) gave her over to an anonymous Cobra flunky to steer. Somewhat to her relief, the ninja followed behind them. She would rather that ninja be Snake Eyes, of course, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

They arrived about five levels down from where they'd started. It seemed to be underground; at least, it was quite damp on this level and smelled of earth. At the bottom of the last staircase, two more Cobra guards stood with weapons at the ready. When he caught sight of the white ninja pacing silently behind them, one of the guards hopped to and heaved a heavy round piece of the floor away.

Yawning blackness beckoned from the hole. She really did not want to go in there, but sensed she didn't have much of a—

The ninja grabbed her around the waist and leapt into that darkness. They landed on a dais of some sort, one with another heavy metal staple set in to the top of it. He clipped chains to her wrists, then expertly threaded the chain through the staple, and removed the handcuffs, allowing her a little freedom of movement. He gave her an odd, assessing, considering look and reached out to touch her undamaged cheek ever-so-gently.

Rage boiled up. Oh, great. He was just waiting until he had me alone and even more helpless! Damn if I'm going to let him have any easier a time of it than those other guys—

Her sharp teeth snapped at his hand. He jerked back in surprise.

She felt smug for about point-two seconds, which is when he reached for his sword.

Uh-oh… But to her confusion, he huffed in annoyance, and made an astonishing leap out of the top of the oubliette, sealing it behind him.

Ha! This was the opportunity she'd been waiting for. Casually, because certainly they had cameras on her, she fished a hairpin from the nape of her neck. She pretended to be stretching her wrists and arms as she swiftly worked on the lock of the shackles. With pleasing swiftness, they fell open; she pulled the chains out, hefted them once or twice, then climbed the curving ladder to the top hatch… and waited.

She didn't have to wait for long, of course; they realized pretty quickly that she was gone. The hatch grated as it shifted. She waited—waited—waited—there! The person conveniently silhouetted himself against the light from the top; to his eyes, however, the pit would be completely dark.

She swung the heavy chain expertly, snapping it around his neck and hauling on it. She managed to take him completely by surprise, and threw him into the oubliette. To her surprise, it was the ninja—she hadn't thought they'd send so valuable an asset to check on a prisoner! He recovered quickly, and grabbed her ankle as she was climbing out; she grabbed the first handy thing—the lid—and clanged it against his head. He dropped. She mildly regretted having to hurt him, but whether he was nice or not, she was still a prisoner, and was looking to change that status as soon as possible.

Now, to find a way out…

Of course, while all this was going on, she had no idea Snakes was looking for her…

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

How does Shana get herself into these situations? Snake Eyes had time to wonder, as he low-jumped from the C-140 to the roof of the castle. He deployed his chute and angled in to a perfect landing on top of the absurd dragon gargoyle Cobra Commander had seen fit to decorate his castle with. God knows, I love her, but she has the strangest knack for falling into odd situations. Getting trapped in an exploding helicopter; attacked while on the Hudson River ferry; now, she just ran in to town to pick up a prescription, and she managed to get kidnapped. And moved to a new location besides!

He was a little grateful that he ran into a bunch of guards on the roof; it allowed him to take out some of his frustration at the situation on them. And keeping some of them alive kept him thinking; Shana hated it when he killed people for no good reason. You never know who could be a future ally, she said, and she was right… to a point. Right now, these goons were between him and Shana, and Heaven help those who got in his way. No, scratch that: Heaven help him get to her—quickly.

Apparently he wasn't quite quick enough, though; he dropped into their dungeon only to find it empty; looked like Shana was working on getting herself out of here. No problem; he'd just find her and they'd make an escape together. It would be a different sort of date than the usual, but wasn't variety supposed to keep relationships healthy?

He grinned to himself behind his mask as he heard three red ninja drop behind him. They were quiet, but he was the Silent Master, after all. They'd learn… or not.

As he swiftly dispatched them, he considered that he must be heading in the right direction; no need to guard an unimportant doorway, right? He took it as a sign, and charged on.

One of the more interesting moments of the night came when he was suddenly looking at his near-mirror image: a ninja in white, who fought as well as he did. The other ninja thought he had him cornered, or whatever you called it when you had your opponent facing skewering or falling to death. The other took a second to gloat, then another to aim as he dramatically threw his sword at Snake Eyes—

—only to be startled as a hurtling form dropped down from the sky to land solidly between the flying sword and Snake Eyes. She may get into strange situations, but she always has good timing. He'd heard Scarlett's approach a half a second earlier. That, combined with the other's second of surprise, gave Snake Eyes enough time to calculate and reach neatly over Scarlett's shoulders to grab the blade by the flat and throw it off into the darkness; the next second his arms were around her waist and shoulder; the third, they were zooming away toward Wild Bill and safety.

Not for the first time he wished he had a speaking voice; he sensed something… off… about Scarlett during that cold and windy trip, but frustratingly lacked the ability to ask her what it was. He tried tapping Morse against her shoulder but she winced and shouted over the wind, "Please don't! Hurts."

He nodded against the back of her neck, sighed, and settled for tucking his head close to hers until they met with the C-140.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-