Profession

Shocking

So wrong.

The guards worked me over pretty thoroughly, laying the shock sticks firmly against me, focusing mostly but not exclusively on my torso and arms. The sticks particularly hurt when applied to my neck, head, and other sensitive areas. My nerves were all lit up with pain, and I had more flashbacks. I was crying hard, snot dripping from my nose, drooling a bit, hyperventilating, when Auntie Jenny came in looking puzzled. The guards stopped applying the shocks. "What's wrong with her?" one of them asked. "Shock sticks shouldn't be provoking this level of response. It should definitely hurt, but the setting is only on four to start."

"I don't know," Jenny said curtly. "Stop for now. This may be enough." The guards turned off their sticks and stepped back and behind me, out of my vision. She came over and mopped off my face. This time the wait for what came next was longer, and I used that time to urgently remind myself that the situation wasn't the same, that I still had my fingernails, nobody was cutting me, and the Joker was still locked up and paralyzed. I was shaking, though, which I couldn't control, and my eyes were still leaking tears.

The next time they came back in the room, one of the men frowned at me, then looked at Auntie Jenny, who shrugged. "Have you thought about our offer?" the woman asked. "The need is urgent, the British superhero team are tracking down Mys-tek, and you look perfect for the work. You're known to be friendly with the queen, which will be an attractive lure to others who could see the advantage to that connection, but you can't be tied in with our government. The public knows you as a famous photographer, spare to the Wayne empire, philanthropist, always flitting here and there."

"Well, your goons were working me over with shock sticks under the supervision of Auntie Jenny there," I said. I didn't like either woman much. "There wasn't much time to think. I was having flashbacks."

"Flashbacks?" the two men said, not reacting to my allegation of mistreatment. I expected him to know, for them to have approved it as part of the plan, and this seemed like confirmation.

"Yes," I said, shuddering. I had to keep looking down to make sure I was still intact, that I hadn't peed myself, puked on myself, that my trackers hadn't been carved out of my body, that nobody was cutting me or using me to get somebody else to bend. Trying to keep the distinction of my current reality separate from the past nightmares. "But I don't have to think about it to give my opinion. I'm not going to work for anybody who thinks working somebody over with shock sticks is a way to secure compliance. You're not the good guys, you're no better than the people you want me to spy on. You can take me back to the prison. I'd rather be left in the dark alone than work for you." I couldn't stop the shuddering or the tears, and all I could do for my nose was sniff. Any thoughts of cooperating or appearing to cooperate had vanished from my mind the first time that a shock stick had been placed on me, and even the mental trauma that would occur as a result of complete isolation would be better than their plans.

But I was distracted from my decision very quickly by the shattering of the long mirror that shielded the observers. It sprayed shards into the room, cutting me, the guard on my right-hand side, and the beige guy at the end of the table. I stared in amazement as Uncle Steve tossed the chair into the room and vaulted over the window frame.

He came over to the table and broke the handcuffs over my wrists, which had bruised and cut the skin as I'd pulled against them while the shock sticks were applied. "Nat, go," he said. Apparently he had coms that the Brits hadn't found. He patted my head before punching out the guards, and I stood shakily, one hand covering the wrist of the other and looking into the observation room to see a couple of people I recognized from the initial offer, including Prince Crispin, who looked shocked. Then as Uncle Steve took great pleasure in ripping the restraint points out of the table, pretty much ruining it, I picked up a big shard of glass and shoved it against Auntie Jenny's neck, ready to carve a big old hole in her jugular for what she did if I found it necessary. The door burst open right after an alarm went off and red lights began to flash.