Mimic

Hostage

        I sat patiently waiting in my chair, my hands bound and my mouth covered. Noise echoed through the sad, gray, and empty warehouse. I was quietly humming 'Pop goes the weasel" through the duct tape covering my mouth. The annoying tune was stuck in my head since Father had been singing it all day. He hummed it during breakfast, and he hummed it as he tied me to this chair as bait. The air around me was hot and sticky, despite the cool night air outside.

I wished that Father had decided on some other plan, instead of just tying me up and waiting for the Team to come 'rescue' me. Each second felt like an hour, and I thought, agonizingly, what if they didn't come? Father would be furious with me, even though it wasn't my fault. He had to blame someone, right? It didn't matter that his daughter, Julia, was innocent. He would punish me anyway. You see, despite being my so-called Father, he hated me. I honestly don't know why, but if Mom wasn't around, his anger went out on me. Whether it was through harsh words or a sharp smack, I would be punished for his own misfortune. 

To pass the time I looked around the warehouse I was "trapped" in. It was a two-story building with numerous catwalks above me. The rickety walkways went over my head like a grid and looked like they could snap like a twig at any moment. While I was studying the catwalks, my 'rescuers' burst into the warehouse.

And I mean they literally kicked down the metal door, which skidded a few yards with a loud screeching sound. My eyes widened in surprise. They must have some serious muscle power. I studied the team of teenage superheroes that stood before me. But it wasn't long until faceless androids came out of the shadows and began to attack them. The androids were easily six feet tall, with a thick build. They looked humanoid, despite the smooth metal on their face instead of eyes, a nose, and a mouth. The shiny metal glimmered in the poor lighting only slightly.

One of the older looking members shouted out directions to the rest of the team, who then split up and tried to take out androids. The teen I expected was their leader was tall and black with silver eyes and hair. In his hands were what resembled sword hilts, however, instead of a blade protruding from it water shot out at given times and sometimes morphed into hammers or swords. 

The next member of the team I noticed was a boy who looked around my age, that is to say, fourteen. He had dark hair and was wearing black and red. A mask covered some of his face, but I wouldn't have even gotten a good look at his face without a mask anyway since he was moving so quickly with such gymnastic ability. The boy was a swirl of red and black as he somersaulted through the air. He threw miniature bombs at his attackers, which was actually working quite well. Robin, of course. Anyone born and raised in Gotham, like me, would know the Boy Wonder anywhere. 

Shooting arrows from the catwalk, I noticed a girl clad in green. She had her blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, and the semi-darkness made her already tan skin look even darker. She was shooting an arrow a second, and when an arrow hit an android, it stuck on. I heard a faint beeping sound, and then an explosion. Robot pieces flew everywhere. Explosive arrows, I thought, nice.

The next thing I knew, a blur of yellow and red coming towards me, and involuntarily I flinched. I chastised myself in my head. If I had to pick one lesson in particular that was drilled into my mind constantly, it was the lesson about showing no weaknesses. Anyway, the blur was as fast as a cheetah, no. Faster. The blur skidded itself to a stop right next to me and revealed itself to be a teenage boy. He had fiery red hair that seemed as if it would burn me at the touch. The boy took off his yellow goggles, and I was amazed by his emerald eyes that sparkled with a sort of joy, even in serious situations. He started quickly untying my hands, and once he was done with that he unbound my feet. I tore the duct tape off of my mouth and stood up, happy to be free once more. The whole thing might have been staged, but it still felt good to stand after being stuck in that chair for a while.