Chapter 1: The Velvet Cage of Submission
The penthouse suite smelled of jasmine and something older, something hungry that coiled in the back of Bruce's throat as consciousness clawed its way back to him.
His eyelids were lead weights. The ceiling swam into focus—dark silk draping from a canopy above a bed so vast it could have swallowed a small army. Every muscle in his body screamed in muted, distant protest, like echoes of pain from another lifetime.
He tried to move.
His wrists stopped dead against leather cuffs, soft-lined and inexorable, bound to the ornate bedposts above his head. His ankles, too. Spread-eagled. Vulnerable. A specimen pinned to a board.
The last thing he remembered was the warehouse. The tip about the weapons shipment. The sting of something sharp against his neck as he'd rounded the corner—a needle, perfectly placed by a hand he should have sensed, should have felt, should have—
"You're awake."
The voice was silk and poison, dripping with satisfaction. Talia al Ghul perched on his chest like a cat who'd finally cornered a particularly stubborn bird. Her sheer black gown pooled around her thighs, leaving nothing to the imagination. She smiled down at him with all the warmth of a blade drawn across skin.
"Talia." His voice came out rough, scraped raw. "Untie me. Now."
"Or what, beloved?" She traced the bat symbol on his armored torso with one perfectly manicured nail, the pressure just enough to make a point. "You'll brood at me until I give in? I've seen you brood. It's quite effective, actually. Just not against me."
At the foot of the bed, movement.
Bruce's eyes snapped to the figure standing there, arms crossed, silhouette lean and lethal against the penthouse's floor-to-ceiling windows. Even in shadow, he knew that posture. That stillness.
Lady Shiva.
"Shiva." His jaw tightened. "You're working with the League of Assassins now? I thought you operated alone."
Shiva stepped forward, her bare feet silent against the marble floor. She wore nothing but a black sports bra and loose pants, her body a roadmap of lean muscle and controlled destruction. Her dark eyes swept over him with clinical precision, cataloging every twitch of his tendons, every breath he took.
"You've never faced an opponent who knows every move you'll make," she said, her voice flat, detached. "Because we've studied you in your sleep."
The implications hit him like a brick. They'd been monitoring him. Not just his combat patterns—his entire existence. What he ate, what he drank, where he slept, how he fought. Every instinct he had was screaming at him to fight, to break free, to—
"You're trying to flex your wrists," Shiva observed. "Strength pattern suggests you'll attempt to snap the leather by hyperextending your thumbs. But we've already accounted for that. The cuffs are reinforced with Kevlar weave and a locking mechanism used in Arkham's maximum-security wing."
Bruce went still. Not from the information itself, but from the cold way she delivered it. Like a surgeon describing an incision.
Talia laughed softly, shifting her weight on his chest. The heat of her body seeped through the armored plating, a ghost of intimacy he wanted nothing to do with. "You look confused, beloved. I like that. It's a nice change from your usual brooding confidence." She leaned in close, her lips brushing the edge of his cowl. "You always thought you were untouchable. Even with me. Even when I begged you to stay."
"You don't beg," he gritted out.
"No." Her eyes glittered. "I take."
She slid off his chest and moved to a nearby table, her bare feet making no sound as she picked up something metallic. When she turned back, she was holding one of his own batarangs.
Anger flared hot in his chest. "Where did you get that?"
"From your belt, of course." Talia twirled it between her fingers with dangerous nonchalance. "You were so cooperative during transport. It was almost disappointing how easily you dropped."
Shiva stepped closer to the bed, her gaze never leaving his face. "The sedative was designed to target your enhanced metabolism specifically. We tested it on three different subjects with your approximate physical conditioning before we perfected the dosage."
"You tested it on people."
"Obviously." Shiva's voice carried no remorse. "I needed accurate data."
The cold efficiency of it made his skin crawl. These weren't villains monologuing about world domination. They were professionals—and he was a job.
Talia brought the batarang to his neck, pressing the serrated edge against the junction where his cowl met his throat. She didn't cut. Not yet. Just held it there, letting him feel the memory of all the lives that blade had touched.
"I want you to understand something, Bruce." She used his name like a secret intimacy, a reminder that she knew who he truly was beneath the mask. "I've spent years watching you throw yourself at danger. Training yourself into a weapon. Building your little family of orphans and misfits."
His jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached.
"And I've watched you refuse to take what you truly want. What you need." She pressed the batarang harder, drawing a thin line of blood. "You have all this power, all this control, and you waste it on self-denial. On rules. On some outdated sense of morality."
"Morality isn't outdated," he forced out. "It's what separates me from—"
"From me?" Talia laughed, and it was a beautiful, cold sound. "Oh, beloved. You think you're so different from us. But underneath all that armor, underneath that cape and cowl and all those little gadgets, you're just a man with a need for control. And I'm going to show you what happens when you finally lose it."
She stepped back, and Shiva moved forward.
They worked in tandem with practiced efficiency. Shiva reached under the bed and pulled out a case, black and unassuming. When she opened it, Bruce's eyes widened.
His gadget belt. His grapnel launcher. A dozen of his most effective tools, laid out like instruments in a surgical tray.
"Your grappling hook uses a high-tensile microfilament," Shiva said, picking it up. "Strong enough to support three hundred pounds of moving weight. Excellent for swinging between buildings." She pressed a button, and a short length of filament shot out. "Also excellent for binding."
Before he could react, she'd wrapped the filament around his left wrist, just above the leather cuff, anchoring it to the post. The material was impossibly strong. He couldn't break it. Not with his wrists bound, not with his leverage completely compromised.
Talia moved to the foot of the bed, watching the process with obvious pleasure. "You see what we're doing, don't you, beloved?"
"Using my own weapons against me," he said, straining uselessly against the filament.
"That's part of it." She tilted her head, predatory grace in every line of her body. "But the real part is this—you could have fought back when you first woke. You could have caught me off guard, used your surprise to gain an advantage. But you didn't. You stayed frozen, waiting to assess the situation, because that's what your training tells you to do."
"Strategic patience is—"
"Strategic patience is what happens when you're not sure you can win." Shiva cut him off, her hands working to secure his right wrist as well. "You were never sure with me. You knew I was your equal. Your better, perhaps. And that uncertainty made you hesitate."
She was right. Goddamn it, she was right, and he hated her for it.
Talia circled the bed, her fingers trailing over the silk sheets. "You're so obsessed with being in control, beloved. But true control requires understanding the limits of that control. You've never understood that. You think if you just train harder, fight harder, push yourself further, you can overcome anything."
"Have I been wrong so far?" He gritted it out, still fighting, still trying to find some weakness in their setup.
"You've been lucky." Shiva's voice was ice. "Lucky in your enemies. Lucky in your allies. Lucky that you've never faced someone who was prepared to end you."
"You're not going to kill me."
"No." Talia knelt on the bed beside him, her face dangerously close to his. "We're going to do something much worse. We're going to make you admit that you're human."
Shiva pulled a knife from the case—one of his own throwing knives, honed to a razor edge. She didn't brandish it theatrically. She simply brought it to his cowl and began to cut.
"These armored plates are designed to resist blades fairly well," she said clinically, angling the knife along the seams. "But there's always a vulnerability at the joints. A millimeter of exposed material where the plates meet." The knife slid through the suit's neckline. "I've spent months studying your armor construction. Your habits in how you distribute weight. The exact angle you hold your head when you're assessing threats."
The cowl came away in sections, exposing his face.
Bruce's grey eyes blazed with fury and humiliation as Shiva peeled the mask back, revealing the man beneath. The scarred jaw. The exhausted eyes. The vulnerability he'd spent his entire life guarding.
Talia let out a slow, appreciative breath. "I do love seeing the whole picture, Bruce. So much more compelling than the costume."
Shiva set the knife aside and picked up another tool from the case—a small plasma cutter, one he'd used to break into armored vehicles. "The chest plate is welded at specific stress points. I'll need to use additional measures for that."
"Wait." Bruce's voice was strained. "You've planned this for months? Just to strip me?"
"Just to strip you?" Talia laughed, and the sound was like bells and broken glass. "Oh, beloved. The stripping is only the beginning."
Shiva pressed the plasma cutter against his chest plate and activated it. The heat was immediate, searing through the armor's outer layers. Bruce gritted his teeth against the sensation, his muscles bunching against the restraints.
"You'll burn me," he said through clenched teeth.
"I calculated the temperature precisely." Shiva's voice remained detached. "It will heat the bonding compounds enough to break the seal without causing significant tissue damage. You'll have surface burns, nothing more."
True to her word, the chest plate separated with a low hiss, and Shiva peeled it away like the shell of a crab. The cool air of the penthouse hit his bare skin. He was suddenly aware of how vulnerable he was—wearing only his undersuit, now being stripped layer by layer by two of the most dangerous women on Earth.
Talia ran a nail down his chest, tracing the line of his sternum. "You've built yourself so beautifully, Bruce. So much discipline. So much pain." She bit her lower lip. "I've missed having you like this."
"The last time you had me 'like this,' I woke up in a Lazarus Pit."
"And you were so angry about it." She pouted mockingly. "I saved your life."
"You brought me back wrong. I was—"
"Distracted. Confused. Easier to control." Her eyes glittered in the dim light. "I didn't think it would stick. You're too stubborn for that."
Shiva cut through the undersuit's sleeve, peeling it away from his right arm. He was left half-naked, his chest rising and falling with barely controlled rage.
"You're taking this well," Shiva observed. "Your heart rate is elevated—I can see the pulse in your jugular—but you haven't screamed. Haven't called for help."
"Who would hear me?"
"The staff in this building. There are at least four apartments with occupants within shouting distance." Her head tilted. "You choose not to call out because you're afraid of what they'd see."
"Because they'd see Batman," Talia finished, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "You'd rather suffer in silence than let anyone see that the mighty Dark Knight has a weakness."
Bruce closed his eyes. The anger was still there, burning white-hot behind his ribs, but something else was creeping in. Something he didn't want to name.
Helplessness. True, absolute helplessness.
Shiva finished removing the undersuit, leaving him completely naked. The leather restraints bit into his wrists and ankles as he instinctively tried to pull free. He was on display. A trophy. A conquest.
Talia stood at the foot of the bed, looking at him with open hunger. "I've dreamed about this moment for years, Bruce. Not just having you—I've had you before. But having you like this. Where you can't pretend you're too good for me." She walked back to the head of the bed, crawling up his body with deliberate slowness. "I want you to understand, beloved: I don't need you to love me. I don't need you to want me. I just need you to submit."
Shiva moved to the other side of the bed, her knuckles ghosting along his thigh. "And you will submit. Not because we've broken you—though we have, in our way. But because you'll realize that resistance is futile. That your code, your morality, your precious 'no kill' rule puts you at a disadvantage you can't overcome."
"What they're doing," Bruce rasped, "is torture."
"No." Shiva shook her head. "This isn't torture. Torture requires pain. This is something else entirely."
Talia's mouth found his throat, her teeth grazing his pulse point. "This is ownership."
He pulled against the restraints uselessly. He tried, he truly did. But they'd thought of everything, accounted for every angle, and all he could do was lie there while they took from him what they wanted.
Talia's gown parted as she settled onto his hips, the silk whispering against his skin. Her hands roamed his chest, his sides, his ribs, mapping out every inch of him like she was memorizing a landscape.
"Your heart is racing," she observed softly. "I can feel it through your chest. It's almost as if you're not sure whether to fight or to surrender."
"Fight," he grated. "Always fight."
"Even when fighting is hopeless?" She trailed her fingers lower, over his abdomen, making him flinch involuntarily. "Even when you know, deep down, that you're going to lose?"
Shiva's hand slid up his inner thigh, her touch clinical and impersonal. "His body is primed for combat. Adrenaline is flooding his system, preparing him for a fight he can't win. His muscles are twitching in fight-flight patterns. His brain is cycling through possible escape scenarios, all of which end in failure."
"You're dissecting him like a lab specimen," Talia observed with amusement.
"I am." Shiva's fingers pressed into his skin, finding pressure points and testing them. "That's the most efficient way to understand him."
Bruce's breath hitched as she found a knot of tension and pressed down, sending a jolt of unexpected sensation through his body. "What—"
"Biologically, your body stores stress in your hips and lower back. Years of combat have caused significant tissue adhesions in these areas." Shiva pressed again, deeper this time. "When I release these knots, you'll feel a rush of endorphins. It will be difficult for you to remain tense."
"Don't—"
"Too late."
The pressure spread, radiating through his pelvis and up his spine. Bruce's vision blurred as involuntary pleasure detonated behind his eyes. Every muscle in his body went slack as the accumulative tension of years of battle dissolved under her expert hands.
Talia's laugh was breathless. "Oh, Bruce. Look at you. Completely undone by a single touch. What does that say about all your precious control now?"
His breath came in ragged gasps. He was hard—he could feel himself stirring against his will, betraying him in the most elemental way. He tried to suppress it, force himself to focus on anything else, but Shiva's skilled hands were working him over methodically, erasing every scrap of resistance he had left.
"His moral code prevents him from hurting women," Shiva said clinically. "He could kick me in the head. I'm in range. But he won't because his internal rules prohibit it. That's why we chose this method. We're weaponizing his own ethics against him."
"Beautiful," Talia whispered. "Absolutely beautiful."
She positioned herself over him, her gown pooling around his hips. "Now, beloved. Let's begin."
Talia's smile widened as she settled her weight fully onto his hips. The heat of her through the sheer silk was maddening, and Bruce could feel every inch of her pressing against him, the fabric of her gown doing nothing to hide the wet heat beneath. She rolled her hips slowly, deliberately, and his traitorous body responded, his cock twitching against her.
"Look at you," she breathed, her hands braced on his chest. "So hard already. And you pretend you don't want this."
"I don't—"
"Liar." She cut him off with a sharp laugh. "Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind is too stubborn to admit it. Isn't that right, Shiva?"
Shiva had moved to stand beside the bed, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable. "His physiological responses indicate arousal. Increased blood flow to the pelvic region. Elevated heart rate. Pupil dilation." She paused. "He's fighting it, but his body is responding to you."
"See?" Talia reached down and gripped the hem of her gown, pulling it over her head in one fluid motion. She was naked beneath, her body glowing in the dim light. "No more barriers, beloved. Just you and me."
She reached between them and took him in her hand, stroking slowly, deliberately. Bruce's breath caught in his throat as her fingers worked him, skilled and knowing. She knew exactly how he liked to be touched, knew all his weak points, all his secret places.
"You remember this," she murmured, leaning down to press her lips against his chest. "You remember how I used to touch you. How I used to make you feel."
"That was a long time ago." His voice was hoarse, strained.
"Time is irrelevant." She stroked him faster, her thumb circling the head of his cock. "What matters is here and now. What matters is that you're mine."
Bruce gritted his teeth, fighting the sensation building in his gut. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of moaning, wouldn't let her see how much she was affecting him. But his body was betraying him in ways he couldn't control, his hips bucking involuntarily into her grip.
"Shiva," Talia called without looking away from him. "Come here. I want you to see this."
Shiva moved to the foot of the bed, her eyes fixed on where Talia's hand was working him. Her expression was clinical, but there was a glint of something else in her gaze—curiosity, perhaps. Or anticipation.
"He's close," Shiva observed. "His testicles are retracting. His breathing is becoming shallow. He's trying to hold back, but his body is reaching its limit."
"I know." Talia's voice was honey and venom. "That's what makes this so delicious."
She climbed over him, positioning herself above his face, her thighs straddling his head. Bruce could smell her, faintly musky and sweet, and his mouth went dry.
"I want you to taste me, beloved," she said, lowering herself onto his mouth. "I want you to remember what it's like to worship at my altar."
Bruce tried to turn his head, to refuse, but Shiva's hands were suddenly on his jaw, holding him in place.
"Submit," Shiva commanded. "It will be easier if you submit."
The word ignited something in him—defiance, fury, a desperate need to resist. But Talia's weight was pressing down on his face, and her scent filled his nostrils, and his body was screaming at him to give in.
He opened his mouth.
Talia gasped as his tongue made contact, her hips grinding against his face. "Yes," she breathed. "Yes, Bruce. Just like that. Remember how much you love this."
She tasted like honey and dark wine, and despite everything—despite his rage, his humiliation, his desperate need to escape—his tongue moved against her of its own accord. He lapped at her folds, finding her clit with practiced familiarity, and she shuddered above him.
"That's it," she moaned. "Use that mouth. That clever, stubborn mouth."
Shiva watched them with cold interest, her hand moving to her own body, her fingers tracing the waistband of her pants. She didn't join them, didn't touch herself, but her gaze was a physical presence, scrutinizing every movement.
"He's skilled at this," Shiva observed. "Unless he's acting."
"He's not acting." Talia was panting now, her hips moving faster against his face. "He's too disciplined to be good at pretending. When he does something, he does it completely."
Bruce's jaw ached, but he kept going. He told himself it was strategy, a way to lull them into complacency. He told himself he wasn't enjoying this. But the wet heat on his face and the sounds Talia was making, those broken little whimpers and gasps, were affecting him in ways he couldn't deny.
Talia's thighs clenched around his head as her orgasm approached. She was close, her body trembling, her fingers digging into the headboard for support.
"Don't stop," she gasped. "Please, don't stop."
Shiva moved then, her hands sliding under Talia's hips, her thumbs pressing into the junction of Talia's thighs. "Let go," she said calmly. "I'll catch you."
Talia screamed as she came, her body arching, her hips bucking against Bruce's face. Her release flooded his mouth, and he swallowed instinctively, tasting her climax on his tongue. For a long moment, they were frozen—Talia shivering above him, Shiva steadying her, Bruce gasping for breath.
Then Talia rolled off him, collapsing onto the bed beside him. Her chest was heaving, her eyes glassy, a satisfied smile curving her lips.
"See?" she whispered, reaching over to stroke his cheek. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"
Bruce didn't answer. He was too busy fighting for air, his body still shaking from the exertion. He could taste her on his lips, feel the slick evidence of her orgasm on his chin. Part of him wanted to spit, to wipe his mouth, to purge the taste of her from his tongue.
But another part of him, the part he was desperate to ignore, had liked it.
Shiva stepped forward, her hand coming up to wipe the moisture from Bruce's face. Her touch was clinical, impersonal, like a doctor examining a patient. "Interesting," she said. "He's harder than he was before. The humiliation is affecting him."
"Of course it is." Talia sat up, her hand sliding down Bruce's chest, over his stomach, down to his cock. She wrapped her fingers around it, stroking slowly. "He's a man of control. Taking away that control doesn't just defeat him—it excites him."
"DON'T," Bruce gritted out, his hands straining against the leather cuffs. "Don't touch me."
But Talia ignored him, her fingers working his length with expert precision. "You know what I think, beloved? I think you've wanted this for a long time. I think some part of you has been aching to give up control, to let someone else make the decisions." She leaned in close, her lips brushing his ear. "And I think that part of you is loving this."
He wanted to deny it. He opened his mouth to deny it—but then Talia's hand tightened around him, stroking faster, and the words died in his throat. His head fell back against the pillow, a groan escaping his lips despite his best efforts.
"Let go, beloved," Talia murmured, stroking him harder. "Let go and let me take care of you."
His body betrayed him. His hips bucked up into her grip, seeking more friction, more pleasure, more of her touch. His mind screamed at him to stop, to fight, to remember who he was—but the pleasure was too overwhelming, the sensation too intense.
"Shiva," Talia said, her voice calm as she guided him to the edge. "Would you like to watch me make him lose himself? Or would you like to help?"
Shiva's eyes were dark as she moved closer, her hand replacing Talia's on his soaked cock. "I want to feel what he feels. I want to understand his breaking point."
She stroked him slowly, experimentally, her fingers exploring his shaft with scientific curiosity. Every touch was a question, every movement a probe, and Bruce was being torn apart by the precision of her attention.
"PLEASE," he gasped, his voice cracking. "Please, stop."
But Shiva didn't stop. She kept stroking him, her rhythm increasing, her grip tightening, driving him closer and closer to the edge without ever letting him fall over.
"You have a beautiful body," she said clinically, her eyes roving over his form. "Peculiar proportions. All the muscle cultivation of a veteran fighter. But there's a particular weakness at the hip flexors."
She pressed her thumb against the juncture of his hip and thigh, and Bruce's whole body bucked. Pleasure exploded through him, lightning through his veins, and he arched off the bed, his mouth open in a silent scream.
"Fascinating," Shiva murmured. "His body responds even to clinical stimulation."
Talia laughed, a dark, delighted sound. "He's a treasure, isn't he?"
"PLEASE," Bruce choked out, his eyes wild, his chest heaving. "Please, J-JUST—"
Shiva stroked him once more, and he came. He came like he'd never come before, his vision whiting out, his body convulsing, his mind dissolving into a sea of pure sensation. He felt hot spurts of his own release across his abdomen, felt Shiva's fingers stroke him through it, felt Talia's laugh like a knife in his ear.
And then, darkness.
When he woke, the room was silent, and the first thing he felt was the smooth, wet glide of Talia's hips as she rode his softening cock. She was on top of him, her hair cascading around her face, her eyes half-lidded with pleasure. She was taking him, slowly, thoroughly, without any regard for his state of consciousness.
"Welcome back," she purred, her hips rolling against him. "You'd been out for a while. I thought I'd help myself while you rested."
He tried to pull away, tried to push her off, but his wrists were still bound, and his body was still buzzing with the aftermath of his forced orgasm. He couldn't move. He could barely think.
"Don't fight it," Talia whispered, leaning down to kiss him. "Don't fight me. Just let it happen."
Her tongue slid into his mouth, and he tasted himself on her lips, mixed with the taste of her own arousal. She pulled back with a wet, filthy sound, then sat up, riding him with renewed purpose.
"Fuck," he gasped, the word torn from him against his will.
"Yes," she breathed. "Yes, beloved. Fuck me. Fuck me like you used to. Fuck me like you're a man and not a puppet."
She rose up on her knees, then sank down, taking his half-hard cock deep inside her. He felt her walls tighten around him, felt her warmth surround him, felt himself stir despite everything. His body was responding again, blood flowing where it shouldn't, pleasure building where it had no right to.
"Shiva was right," Talia gasped, riding him harder. "You've never faced an opponent who knows every move you'll make. But I know more than your moves, beloved. I know your heart. I know your soul. I know your little weaknesses."
She leaned forward, her mouth finding his throat, her teeth grazing his stubble. "And your biggest weakness, Bruce, is that you care too much. You care about Gotham. You care about your little orphans. You care about justice, and truth, and all those noble ideals that make you so predictable."
"I don't... care... about you," he forced out.
"No." Talia laughed, her body still moving with his. "But you will. Before this night is over, you'll care about me more than you've ever cared about anything."
She drove him deeper, and Bruce's inner world broke open. What was happening to him? This wasn't him. This wasn't who he was. But the pleasure didn't care—it didn't care about his identity, or his principles, or his pain. It just kept building, brighter and more intense, until he felt himself cresting a wave he couldn't stop.
"Yes," Talia hissed as he spilled inside her for the second time. "Yes, that's it. Let go. Give in. Become mine."
The room filled with the noise of their breathing, the creak of the bed, the slick sound of their bodies moving together. Talia rose, paused, then sank down one last time, her body drawing every last drop from him before she collapsed onto his chest, breathless and satisfied.
"See?" She pressed a kiss to his sternum. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"
Bruce couldn't answer. He could barely breathe. He felt drained, hollowed out, violated in ways that had nothing to do with the physical act. He felt like he'd lost something he'd never be able to reclaim.
Shiva appeared at the side of the bed, her hand resting on Talia's shoulder. "We're not finished," she said. "We still have to initiate him fully. Make sure he understands his place."
Talia nodded, sliding off him, her hand trailing along his thigh as she moved. "You're right. We should get him cleaned up first, though. He's a mess."
"I'm not cleaning him up," Shiva said flatly. "That's your job. You made the mess."
Talia sighed, but there was a smile on her face as she disappeared into the bathroom. She came back with a cloth and water, and she cleaned him with surprising gentleness, her hands soft against his skin.
"Why are you doing this?" Bruce asked, his voice hoarse. "Why go to all this trouble?"
Talia paused, looking up at him. "Because you were never going to be mine willingly, Bruce. I had to take you the only way I could." She shrugged, resuming her cleaning. "Maybe that's sad. Maybe it's not. But it's the truth."
She finished cleaning him and set the cloth aside, then climbed off the bed and stretched, her body beautiful and lethal in equal measure. "Shiva. Bring the razor."
Bruce's blood ran cold. "A razor?"
Shiva pulled a straight razor from her pocket, its blade gleaming in the dim light. "We're going to mark you, Batman. We're going to leave a reminder of this night on your body forever." She walked toward the bed, her expression unreadable. "Every time you see it, you'll remember that you belong to someone now."