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A small mewling sound escaped Caroline’s lips as Stephen shifted his weight, gently rocking his hips. They’d long since exhausted themselves and now they lay tightly entwined with each other, the mad urgency of their lovemaking finally sated.
Caroline could feel him, in every sense of the word. She felt his breath on her heated skin, and she felt his cock already hardening inside of her and she felt him as a content presence in her mind, radiating joy and love and the occasional stray thought.
Suddenly, something crackled within her ear and she tensed.
“Psy.” The voice was husky, yet feminine. “You’re not here so I figure you teleported again. Do you need a lift?” Her tone was brusque, but there was an undercurrent of concern.
Stephen had tensed beside her, and was subtly shaking his head.
Say ‘No, thank you, Kara’.
His voice rang so loud and clear it took her a moment to realize Stephen’s lips hadn’t moved.
“No, thank you, Kara,” she repeated dutifully, if a little stiffly.
For a moment there was only the subtle crackle of static before the woman replied, “Okay. Call if you need anything; just remember we won’t be at the mansion tonight.” With that, the connection cut off and Stephen reached out to pull out the small earpiece.
“Forgot I had that,” he murmured.
“Who was that?” Caroline asked curiously, and he tensed even more. The emotions she received over their link were dimmed, as if he was pulling up his walls. Which he likely was. She frowned. “Keeping secrets?”
“Only other people’s.” He smiled apologetically. “You can have all of mine, but I’ve learned long ago that sharing other people’s secrets angers them, even when I think it would make things easier to have it all out in the open.”
“Fair enough.” He’d refused to elaborate on his relationship with Ian, too, even though it had been one of the first things she’d asked about. But Caroline was not an idiot, and she could take an educated guess based on what she knew.
There was a secret.
Caroline had powers, and the mutant gene ran in families.
Stephen was a hero, and friends with her brother.
Ergo, Ian was a superhero whom Stephen had met in costume, which was why he felt he could not talk honestly about their relationship without giving that away.
The thought that her baby brother had grown up to be a hero made her smile. It also sent a shiver of unease down her spine, for Caroline was most definitely not a hero. Ian knowing that she was a murderer had been bad enough when she thought he’d become a cold and amoral businessman like their parents, but this was worse, in a bittersweet way.
But surely her brother wouldn’t try to arrest her for her crimes.
…would he?
She didn’t know.
“Your sibling loves you,” Stephen said gently, brushing his fingers along her cheek.
She sighed and buried her face in his neck. He stroked her hair and she wouldn’t have thought that simply having someone to cuddle with could make such a difference.
“There’s a charity event this evening,” he continued. “And Ian will be attending in the hopes of drawing you out.”
“Trap?” Her voice was muffled against his skin, and he laughed silently. She could feel the vibrations in his chest.
“An opportunity to talk. I’m not aware of any trap, but if there was one, they’d be setting it for someone who looks like me. You can just approach directly.”
They lay curled up in comfortable silence as Caroline considered that idea, absently tracing the hard ridges of Stephen’s chest, her own breasts tingling with phantom pleasure.
“Okay,” she said eventually, her voice barely above a whisper.
Stephen’s response was a deep and loving kiss.
***
The sound of gunfire filled the air, doing little to cover the screams of dying men.
There was a sickening crunch as monstrously large claws tore out the mercenary’s jugular. He gasped, and it was little more than a helpless gurgle, before he fell to his knees.
The beast stood hunched over, yet towered over even the tallest man. It smiled, a grotesque grimace which made its large and sharp canines stand out all the more. Then it took a step forward, the ground shaking under its weight, and another. It was stalking its prey, forward through a hail of bullets, all of them ricocheting off its invulnerable skin.
With another slash of its claws, its next victim fell to the ground.
Unlike many of his professional colleagues, Vicious, the Monstrous Beast did not get hired for clean kills. He got unleashed, and woe to anyone who stood between him and his target.
Beethoven’s Fourth Symphony rang out over the slaughter.
Vicious cocked his head, and then raised his arm. He licked the blood off the waterproof display of the communicator strapped to his thick arm, and then accepted the call.
The screen flickered and showed a man behind a desk, wearing a familiar mask and steepling his fingers in front of him.
“I expect you in Paragon City in three hours, Beast.”
A low rumble emanated from Vicious’ throat. Then he spoke, his voice a deep growl.
“I am in the midst of contract. I have neither time nor inclination to heed your call.”
“Make time. Then your debt to me will be paid.”
The screen went black and Vicious turned his sight on the mercenaries around him. He could smell their terror. He snarled in irritation.
He’d so looked forward to playing with his food.
***
A thin, gangly man pushed open the heavy doors to the diner, drawing his hat deeper over his gaunt face. He sat down at the counter, and placed his order in a raspy voice.
His age was hard to tell – his skin was smooth and stretched tightly over the bones beneath, yet his hair was silver and so very brittle. His thin lips curved into a charming smile as the waitress poured him his coffee, his alert eyes sparkling merrily.
“So, Patricia,” he said casually, peering at her name tag. “You look like a woman of taste. What would you recommend?”
Despite his haggard appearance, the woman blushed and responded with a polite smile of her own.
“Our homemade apple pie is a special treat. Y’all shouldn’t visit our town without having tried it.”
“Then I’ll have that, sweetheart.”
His phone vibrated and he picked it up. A new text message popped up on the screen.
Your debt is due. Paragon, 3 hours.
The man hummed thoughtfully and slid it back into his pocket.
His target had a very tight schedule. She would not come here for another hour.
He supposed he would have to accelerate things then. Pity. He’d planned minimal casualties.
The waitress appeared, carrying a slice of pie that looked delectable. When she set it down, he brushed her hand, the touch lingering as he gazed into her eyes. Her blush deepened, and she hurried away.
Pestilence, the Creeping Death, finished his breakfast and then calmly strode out of the diner.
Within the week, everyone who’d been served by Patricia that day would be dead.
***
Phantom, the Silent Kill, was young.
Far younger than all other assassins at his rank.
He was skilled and deadly, and above all things ambitious, having clawed his way to the top by climbing over the bodies of his predecessors.
And today he would finally be welcomed into the true elite of the Order.
That, at least, had been the plan.
Too bad the elite disagreed.
The woman smiled as the assassin screamed and clawed at his eyes while his nightmares devoured him. He writhed on the ground, invisible visions tearing apart his body, his heart beating so fast in fear and terror that it felt like it would explode.
It wouldn’t do any such thing, of course.
But it would stop.
It always did, in the end.
“PsyBlockers,” she cooed. “Did you think they would protect you? Did you think my time was over because of a scrap of metal?”
There was no answer. Only the screams.
Psychic assassins had once been the pinnacle of the Order, able to strike from a distance with just a thought, and with no way to defend against them or to even know they’d been there. If they drove their victims mad enough to hang themselves, who could even tell that it had been murder?
Then PsyBlockers had been invented.
They were slowly trickling through the population, growing more sophisticated and affordable with each passing year. While they could be broken, they made psychic intrusions detectable. Deprived of the advantages they had grown used to, the reign of the psychics had ended, many of them unable to adapt to the changing world around them.
Not her.
She always came out on top.
Phantom’s heartbeat accelerated into a mad frenzy until, at last, it gave out.
Malice, the Nightmare Child, smiled and turned away.
The foolish novice almost made her late to her rendezvous with the Executioner.
Author's Note: I've been sneakily shifting the post time a few hours a day to accomodate my new schedule better. Expect daily new chapters at this time from now on :)
Of Heroes And Villains:
The Ties That Bind By Minikisa An assassin. A fallen hero. An unlikely meeting. The road to redemption is long and hard and filled with explosives. |
 |
A small mewling sound escaped Caroline’s lips as Stephen shifted his weight, gently rocking his hips. They’d long since exhausted themselves and now they lay tightly entwined with each other, the mad urgency of their lovemaking finally sated.
Caroline could feel him, in every sense of the word. She felt his breath on her heated skin, and she felt his cock already hardening inside of her and she felt him as a content presence in her mind, radiating joy and love and the occasional stray thought.
Suddenly, something crackled within her ear and she tensed.
“Psy.” The voice was husky, yet feminine. “You’re not here so I figure you teleported again. Do you need a lift?” Her tone was brusque, but there was an undercurrent of concern.
Stephen had tensed beside her, and was subtly shaking his head.
Say ‘No, thank you, Kara’.
His voice rang so loud and clear it took her a moment to realize Stephen’s lips hadn’t moved.
“No, thank you, Kara,” she repeated dutifully, if a little stiffly.
For a moment there was only the subtle crackle of static before the woman replied, “Okay. Call if you need anything; just remember we won’t be at the mansion tonight.” With that, the connection cut off and Stephen reached out to pull out the small earpiece.
“Forgot I had that,” he murmured.
“Who was that?” Caroline asked curiously, and he tensed even more. The emotions she received over their link were dimmed, as if he was pulling up his walls. Which he likely was. She frowned. “Keeping secrets?”
“Only other people’s.” He smiled apologetically. “You can have all of mine, but I’ve learned long ago that sharing other people’s secrets angers them, even when I think it would make things easier to have it all out in the open.”
“Fair enough.” He’d refused to elaborate on his relationship with Ian, too, even though it had been one of the first things she’d asked about. But Caroline was not an idiot, and she could take an educated guess based on what she knew.
There was a secret.
Caroline had powers, and the mutant gene ran in families.
Stephen was a hero, and friends with her brother.
Ergo, Ian was a superhero whom Stephen had met in costume, which was why he felt he could not talk honestly about their relationship without giving that away.
The thought that her baby brother had grown up to be a hero made her smile. It also sent a shiver of unease down her spine, for Caroline was most definitely not a hero. Ian knowing that she was a murderer had been bad enough when she thought he’d become a cold and amoral businessman like their parents, but this was worse, in a bittersweet way.
But surely her brother wouldn’t try to arrest her for her crimes.
…would he?
She didn’t know.
“Your sibling loves you,” Stephen said gently, brushing his fingers along her cheek.
She sighed and buried her face in his neck. He stroked her hair and she wouldn’t have thought that simply having someone to cuddle with could make such a difference.
“There’s a charity event this evening,” he continued. “And Ian will be attending in the hopes of drawing you out.”
“Trap?” Her voice was muffled against his skin, and he laughed silently. She could feel the vibrations in his chest.
“An opportunity to talk. I’m not aware of any trap, but if there was one, they’d be setting it for someone who looks like me. You can just approach directly.”
They lay curled up in comfortable silence as Caroline considered that idea, absently tracing the hard ridges of Stephen’s chest, her own breasts tingling with phantom pleasure.
“Okay,” she said eventually, her voice barely above a whisper.
Stephen’s response was a deep and loving kiss.
The sound of gunfire filled the air, doing little to cover the screams of dying men.
There was a sickening crunch as monstrously large claws tore out the mercenary’s jugular. He gasped, and it was little more than a helpless gurgle, before he fell to his knees.
The beast stood hunched over, yet towered over even the tallest man. It smiled, a grotesque grimace which made its large and sharp canines stand out all the more. Then it took a step forward, the ground shaking under its weight, and another. It was stalking its prey, forward through a hail of bullets, all of them ricocheting off its invulnerable skin.
With another slash of its claws, its next victim fell to the ground.
Unlike many of his professional colleagues, Vicious, the Monstrous Beast did not get hired for clean kills. He got unleashed, and woe to anyone who stood between him and his target.
Beethoven’s Fourth Symphony rang out over the slaughter.
Vicious cocked his head, and then raised his arm. He licked the blood off the waterproof display of the communicator strapped to his thick arm, and then accepted the call.
The screen flickered and showed a man behind a desk, wearing a familiar mask and steepling his fingers in front of him.
“I expect you in Paragon City in three hours, Beast.”
A low rumble emanated from Vicious’ throat. Then he spoke, his voice a deep growl.
“I am in the midst of contract. I have neither time nor inclination to heed your call.”
“Make time. Then your debt to me will be paid.”
The screen went black and Vicious turned his sight on the mercenaries around him. He could smell their terror. He snarled in irritation.
He’d so looked forward to playing with his food.
A thin, gangly man pushed open the heavy doors to the diner, drawing his hat deeper over his gaunt face. He sat down at the counter, and placed his order in a raspy voice.
His age was hard to tell – his skin was smooth and stretched tightly over the bones beneath, yet his hair was silver and so very brittle. His thin lips curved into a charming smile as the waitress poured him his coffee, his alert eyes sparkling merrily.
“So, Patricia,” he said casually, peering at her name tag. “You look like a woman of taste. What would you recommend?”
Despite his haggard appearance, the woman blushed and responded with a polite smile of her own.
“Our homemade apple pie is a special treat. Y’all shouldn’t visit our town without having tried it.”
“Then I’ll have that, sweetheart.”
His phone vibrated and he picked it up. A new text message popped up on the screen.
Your debt is due. Paragon, 3 hours.
The man hummed thoughtfully and slid it back into his pocket.
His target had a very tight schedule. She would not come here for another hour.
He supposed he would have to accelerate things then. Pity. He’d planned minimal casualties.
The waitress appeared, carrying a slice of pie that looked delectable. When she set it down, he brushed her hand, the touch lingering as he gazed into her eyes. Her blush deepened, and she hurried away.
Pestilence, the Creeping Death, finished his breakfast and then calmly strode out of the diner.
Within the week, everyone who’d been served by Patricia that day would be dead.
Phantom, the Silent Kill, was young.
Far younger than all other assassins at his rank.
He was skilled and deadly, and above all things ambitious, having clawed his way to the top by climbing over the bodies of his predecessors.
And today he would finally be welcomed into the true elite of the Order.
That, at least, had been the plan.
Too bad the elite disagreed.
The woman smiled as the assassin screamed and clawed at his eyes while his nightmares devoured him. He writhed on the ground, invisible visions tearing apart his body, his heart beating so fast in fear and terror that it felt like it would explode.
It wouldn’t do any such thing, of course.
But it would stop.
It always did, in the end.
“PsyBlockers,” she cooed. “Did you think they would protect you? Did you think my time was over because of a scrap of metal?”
There was no answer. Only the screams.
Psychic assassins had once been the pinnacle of the Order, able to strike from a distance with just a thought, and with no way to defend against them or to even know they’d been there. If they drove their victims mad enough to hang themselves, who could even tell that it had been murder?
Then PsyBlockers had been invented.
They were slowly trickling through the population, growing more sophisticated and affordable with each passing year. While they could be broken, they made psychic intrusions detectable. Deprived of the advantages they had grown used to, the reign of the psychics had ended, many of them unable to adapt to the changing world around them.
Not her.
She always came out on top.
Phantom’s heartbeat accelerated into a mad frenzy until, at last, it gave out.
Malice, the Nightmare Child, smiled and turned away.
The foolish novice almost made her late to her rendezvous with the Executioner.
Author's Note: I've been sneakily shifting the post time a few hours a day to accomodate my new schedule better. Expect daily new chapters at this time from now on :)
Comments
Assassin's Assemble!
The Order's coming and I can't wait!
"The pen is mightier than the sword ... if the sword is very short, and the pen is very sharp"
Yeah... but that's a bad
Yeah... but that's a bad combination for Kara, Caroline and the rest of the crew. A psychic assassin to distract PsyKick. A plague-master to kill them all. And the rest are brutes.
I wonder if the scientific bitch of scientific bitchdom makes an appearance again. Because by numbers alone the four of our protagonists should be screwed with that opposition. Especially if they get the drop on them.
Minikisa, thank you for writing this captivating story,
Beyogi
Looking forward
To the next chapter of thus great story!!
here comes the villains
business is gonna pick up, as they used to say on the wrestling shows ...
Beinging of the end
Got to wonder what happens when it is made clear that an assassination attempt has been conducted on a protected person by another one of the Order. Will this end up being a way out for Caroline with the Order tearing itself apart as others start targeting other protected or Order assassins seeing that the Order does not truly protect those they claim to to hold their claws on the unwilling members. Diane will have her hands full countering the plague bringer. And they better hope that more than a few other heroes/heroines are attending the event in secret, hell even a few villains that get upset about someone trying to kill them would help. Wouldn't it?
I foresee...
openings in the rank of the order.
good chapter, thanks
Party
I sense a climactic battle at this charity ball, heavily involving all heroes so far mentioned. Oh I can't wait :)
-Tas