Chapter 1: A Tangled Web
The whine of straining metal filled the cavernous space as the cog, snagged on his cape’s hem, dragged him backwards inch by inch across the slick floor. “Fuck!” Kael snarled, scrambling for purchase, his gloves sliding uselessly through oily condensation as the massive hydraulic press loomed closer, its cold, stamped-steel plate promising annihilation. High above on the rusted catwalk, Isadora leaned on the railing, the pulsing neon etching a smile onto her sharp features. “Every time,” she called down, her voice a blend of genuine wonder and mock pity, “that ridiculous fucking curtain proves me right.” With a final, vicious grind of gears, the cog tore through the leather, the sudden release sending him sprawling forward just as the press slammed down with a thunderous, definitive crash.
He scrambled up to his feet, the cape still attached at his shoulders but now ending in a ragged tear high on his thighs; it didn’t even cover his ass. “Enjoying the view, darling?” Isadora purred from above, her amber eyes tracing the tight leather stretched over his exposed backside. “All that drama, and for what? A costume malfunction that finally shows off your best feature.” Kael felt a hot flush creep up his neck, a mix of fury and something else entirely. He turned, the ruined cape fluttering pathetically, and glared up at her smirk.
“I’m going to shut that pretty mouth for good,” he growled, muscles coiling.
Isadora’s smile only widened as she raised a custom grapnel gun, firing a tungsten-carbine cable that snapped around his waist with brutal force before he could move. The winch engaged with a shrieking whir, yanking him off his feet and slinging him through the air in a dizzying arc; he smashed into a support beam with a sickening crack, the air exploding from his lungs in a pained wheeze. She swung him like a wrecking ball into a stack of rusted drums, his body crumpling against the metal with each impact, his agonized yelps and choked screeches echoing off the high ceiling. From her perch, Isadora watched his flight with rapt, amber-eyed delight, biting her lower lip as she savored every raw, pained sound he made.
From her perch, Isadora watched his flight with rapt, amber-eyed delight, biting her lower lip as she savored every raw, pained sound he made. With a flick of her thumb on the release, the cable snapped free, and he collapsed into a heap of bruised leather and stifled groans. “You look like a cheap stripper who lost a fight with a lawnmower,” she sighed, the neon casting her disappointed shake of the head in garish pink and green. “Now get the fuck out of my factory before I decide the aesthetic isn’t worth the hassle.” She turned her back, a clear dismissal, and he dragged himself up, stumbling through a skeletal service door into the forgiving, anonymous rain.