It's a Slow Fire of Sorts: Part I

The plan

Brunnhilde wakes with a yell.

Her heart slams into her chest, neck throbbing with a blistering and excruciating pain. Sal is holding an ice pack to her head. "Whoa now," he says, amid the nausea. "Take it easy. You need to lay back. I don't want you bleeding all over my floor."

"Where is she-"

"Slow down. You've got a nasty burn and I-"

"I have to go back!" Brunnhilde gasps. "Nononono- they took her! I have to go back!"

She lurches into a sitting position, fully prepared to bolt out of the room, but her body screams in protest. The instant she's even somewhat vertical, the entire room goes dizzy: starry and bright in her eyes. She heaves for air. Little by little, her vision re-materializes, and as it does, Brunnhilde is met with a disconcerting sight:

People.

Marks is the first individual she sees. He's plopped on a barstool, arms crossed with half a... a- mushroom? In his mouth- what the heck- and sitting next to him is Scrapper 701, Scrapper Ten-Ten, a few D'Rillian shuttle-shop workers and then a bunch of other random people. Too many people, and they're all looking at Brunnhilde like she's some kind of museum artifact.

"Don't know why Vers likes you so damn much," Marks mutters under his breath. He inhales the rest of his food. "Your whole personality needs work-" and at the mention of V, Brunnhilde snaps back into fight or flight. The adrenaline shoots through her as she stumbles to her feet.

"Where is she? Marks tell me RIGHT NOW!" she orders. "Did they take her back to Hala- is she dead is she- did they... how do I- why are you-" but before she can take a step forward, Sal is yanking her to the ground.

She crumples onto the floor with a pathetic groan.

"Sit down and shut up," he says, confiscating her knife and roughly shoving the ice against her neck. Brunnhilde hisses at the contact. Her head is throbbing. Her chest hurts. Everything is woozy and confusing and loud.

"You've been out for a while. There have been a few... developments, and we're trying to come up with a plan."

"A... a plan?"

"Yeah, dipshual-" SC Ten-Ten pipes up, in that annoying, nasally voice of his. His gills quiver as he speaks. "They took her, and we're trying to figure out how to get her back."

"Who? Who took her? What-" Brunnhilde turns back to Sal, then to Marks, then to Ten-Ten and then to all the gaping mouths and ogling faces staring at her from the aisle. "For the love of Breidablik," she curses. "Can someone in this god-forsaken place tell me what the fuck is going on?"

Sal hands her the ice pack and a cup of water.

"You should probably lay back down."

***

Apparently, Brunnhilde was unconscious for four and a half hours, give or take a couple of minutes (according to a random Synthoid wandering around the bar). Marks found her in a heap by the remains of about a dozen barbequed Kree soldiers. "Someone really squeezed the life out of that one girl. Her face was almost unrecognizable-" but Brunnhilde is too anxious to revel in the knowledge that Minn-Erva is dead.

Vers is in the palace. She's been sold.

"The treaty is long over," Marks explains. "A Kree soldier in this economy? Well- top picks for GM's stock... and a whole horde of them is enough to fund his little games for quite some time."

Sal purses his lips. "How much are the bids? Maybe you could buy her back."

Brunnhilde moans. She buries her head in her hands and motions for SC 701 to take this one.