No One

Heavy eyelids struggled to peel open as the man's pounding head slowly rose from his chest. The light in the storeroom was dim and, much to his appreciation, easy on his eyes as he glanced around, straining to bring the hazy surroundings into focus. A few hard blinks cleared the fog, revealing silhouetted shelves scattered around the room.

An abandoned warehouse. Good for security. Not necessarily good for an escape plan.

The windows were covered by large boards of plywood, making it so the only sources of light in the room were the large hanging lamps dangling from the ceiling. Just outside the dusty circle of light that streamed down from above him, he could make out two men dressed in black combat suits standing with their backs to him, assault rifles strapped over their shoulders at the ready in their hands. They had pistols strapped to the left side of their belts and what appeared to be tasers to their right. Whoever they were, they were dangerous to an unarmed man like himself. It would be a guaranteed fatal mission to attempt escape with them standing guard.

A subtle shifting of his shoulders revealed the presence of zip ties and, upon further investigation, a thin band fitted with a strange device and metal prongs that dug into his wrists. The man recognized the band, and a gentle rub of the metal revealed a small engraving of two letters. The device was his design, which meant he knew its function, and the painful consequences of activating it. The old fashioned way it is. Carefully, he slid his fingers around the legs of the chair to find something he could use to break free.

His eyes bore into the backs of the men as he cautiously searched for a loose object to use in picking the locking mechanism, making sure the guards showed no signs of being alerted to his conscious state. If only looks could kill, maybe then he could increase his chances of successful escape.

If I wasn’t dressed for work I would have the tools I need to get the hell out of this. Damn security never lets me carry my multi-tool.

The sound of a door opening echoed across the open space and sunlight poured over the concrete floor, casting the shadow of a cloaked feminine figure at the guards’ feet. The door slid closed as the shadow grew larger, the sound of what Michael guessed to be high heel shoes clicking on the concrete rang obnoxiously in his ears.

A masked woman stepped around the concrete wall blocking the door and wordlessly waived the two guards to step aside. The men bowed their heads to her before marching in the direction she had entered from.

The stale air suddenly shifted around him. He could feel the power radiating from her as her piercing green eyes observed him from behind the familiar ornate masquerade mask.

Spector. What does she want with little old me?

"Michael the weapon smith," the woman mused. "My, what a catch you are."

"I'm an attorney," Michael grumbled plainly, unamused by her flirtatious introduction. "And a married one at that."

"Of course," Spector mused sarcastically as she grabbed his employee ID reel from his hip and examined the thin plastic card. "Do you remember the beautiful knife set you gifted my husband and I for our housewarming gift?"

"So I gave you a gift for your wedding." Michael grunted. "Sue me."

Long, scarlet fingernails scraped along the plastic as Spector slid the ID badge into her pocket. "Funny thing about those knives. They have the same cute little engraving as that band you’re wearing," she removed a small remote from her pocket. "Strange coincidence, no?"

Michael’s stoic look never faltered, his hard stare locked on the masked face before him. "That’s purely speculation."

"So you deny it's yours, then?" She mused with a taunting tone. "If that’s the case, you won’t mind if I turn it on?"

At the click of the remote, the man’s steel look fell to one of concern. It was brief, and quickly hidden once again behind his mask of steel, but his hesitation told Spector everything she needed to know. "I figured as much."

She set the remote on a nearby shelf before straddling the chair, lowering herself onto his lap. Her legs wrapped loosely around either side of his hips, anchoring her fit figure to his lap. To say the action caused discomfort was an understatement. Michael was sick to his stomach.

Scarlet nails flashed across Michael’s eyes, swiping a loose strand of hair from his face. "Now that introductions are out of the way," she crooned flirtatiously, "How is your wife doing? Has she returned to work yet? Or is she still enjoying the stay-at-home-mom life?"

Michael scowled in disgust as he snapped his face away from her hand. "I’d prefer not discussing my wife while you actively attempt to make me an unfaithful husband."

"Oh, don’t act like that," Spector tutted, "Sweet Jasmine doesn’t have to know. She knows so little about your working life as it is. Maybe you do this often."

"I don’t make it a habit to curse in front of women," The weapon smith’s malice burning in his narrowed gaze bled into every word as he spoke. "but continuing this behavior, I assure you, will result in a change in that philosophy."

"I know you’re a faithful man." Spector leaned into him, pressing her chest closer to his face. "But you’re also human. It’s okay to spare just a look or two. Let loose. Have a little fun, you know?"

"Can we get on with this?" Michael deadpanned, locking his gaze on her masked features. "I would like to go home to my wife sooner rather than later."

Spector hung her arms loosely around his neck. "And what evidence do you have that leads you to think I would let you go free?" She was toying with him. Teasing him. But to what avail, Michael wasn’t sure.

The man tried to keep the disgust at her advances hidden, but the faint sneer that crept onto his face couldn't be helped. This is becoming more and more repulsive with every passing second. "You have a tendency to create sleeper agents. I’d be willing to bet you plan on doing the same to me, and I very much intend on seeing my wife and daughter again at the end of the day."

She gave an exaggerated sigh of boredom. "You really are no fun," she pouted, "But I guess that's what marriage does to a man. Domesticates him."

This is disgustingly desperate.

Michael rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the one of the shelves beside them. The last thing he wanted to do was give her any indication she was piquing his interest. Although, her fingernails raking through his hair at that moment were proving to be enough of a distraction to slow his escape attempt. He needed something to distract her. Quick. "You were married once."

"Once," she hissed, "and I’m sure he’s told you all about his side of things."

It was true. Her ex-husband was his closest friend. Had been for years. Although his personal life was kept very close to his chest with most of his employees, when it came to Michael, there was a deeper level of trust. Their private business conversations would sometimes lead into more personal subjects. Philosophy, raising daughters, their struggles with marriage, they discussed it all. They bonded over their shared plights.

The difference was, Michael was fortunate enough to grow through his conflict with his wife. Spector and her husband, however...

The band slipped from his fingers with a soft ‘click’ from behind Michael. Shit. "Oh?" She mused, glancing over his shoulder at the band resting against his skin. "I had heard you were good with your fingers."

"I already told you," Michael scowled, "I have no interest in your advances. Let’s conduct whatever business you have for me and I’ll be on my way."

Spector slid her hands down the weapon smith’s chest and released the first few buttons of his white collared shirt. "Business is so boring." she groaned in feigned disinterest. "But, if you insist."

She sat back, holding her palm outstretched between them. The notion was not something he expected, but a flash of golden light drew his attention to it.

The sight of his gleaming golden wedding band against the black leather of her glove sent a dagger of fear through his chest. It was just a tiny piece of jewelry. Replaceable, of course. But its symbolism of his eternal promise to his wife meant everything to him. He couldn’t lose it.

How did she even manage to take it off my finger?

"Impressive trick, huh?" She mused playfully. Michael could practically hear the smug smirk behind her mask.

"That’s not yours to take." He grunted. "Give it back."

"Relax." Spector took it between her gloved fingers and held it up between them. "It’s just for show."

Michael watched the ring with vested interest as its shining gold surface took on a pink hue.

Suddenly, the dimly lit room was aglow with a variety of different colored rings of light that floated about the empty space. Michael couldn't help but look upon the spectacle in bewilderment as they hung in the air around him. It seemed as if there were as many colored rings as there were stars in the sky, each one silently playing memories from his life in the center of each multi-colored ring.

Michael had heard of Spector’s specialty in relationships, but seeing her power displayed in person paled in comparison to what was described by victims he had encountered.

No wonder people call her Spector. Her power is breathtaking.

"I’m sure you’ve already gathered how my power works." Spector mused, the pink ring of light floating between them. "You’re an intelligent man, after all."

Her words sent a dagger of fear through his chest as Michael watched his bride smile ecstatically under her wedding day veil, tinted pink by the glow of Spector’s display. The happiest day of his life.

No.

Realization fell over him almost as quickly as the memory shifted into the exhausted face of his wife as she held their newborn daughter, her tiny limbs flailing in her arms as she held her for the first time. "I've seen your work. I know what happens to your victims," His voice broke as he gazed into his captor's emerald eyes. "and their families. Please. You don’t have anything to gain from taking my love for them."

With gentle fingers, Spector reached forward and tucked the band into his shirt pocket. "No. But, I’ve made my point." She patted his chest gently, like a child would pet a puppy. Yeah, message received. No relationship I have is out of your reach.

Spector’s hand seemed to hesitate, hanging in the air as her masked gaze locked on the purple hued ring floating just to the right of him. Michael looked upon the memory within the purple band of light and recognized his silver-haired employer, Spector’s former husband, displayed with an outstretched hand. The employment contract Michael had signed that day spread out over the wooden desk between them.

The memories faded as their hands slapped together in a handshake, returning to a floating ring of light once more. "Your loyalty to my husband shouldn’t surprise me." Spector’s voice pulled his attention back to her mask. "But I am surprised by how deeply you revere him. Even after everything he’s done."

"He was my friend long before Jasmine was my wife," he muttered. "I don’t agree with his methods, but I support his cause. Not everyone is deserving of their power."

"For such an intelligent man, you are incredibly naive." She reached behind Michael and pulled down a ring that swirled with fiery reds and sickly greens. "In time I hope to show you the error of your ways."

Michael’s eyes glued themselves to the light between them, watching her masked face appear in the middle of the swirling mix of colors. "But, you asked for business." She paused, as if admiring the way his feelings about her shifted and changed in her grasp. "A little foreplay goes a long way in bringing about strong emotions. Even if that feeling happens to be disgust."

Of course. The stronger the feelings about someone, the closer that ring is to me. Making it easier for her to find... God, I’m a fool.

Michael watched in horrified bewilderment as deep purple hues pooled into the ring beneath her fingertips, consuming all other colors in its wake. It took him a moment to get past the shock of its display, but when he finally managed to think clearly, Spector’s plan for him was suddenly crystal clear.

She doesn’t just want my hands. She wants a willing prisoner.

"Wait. Spector, please," he pleaded, eyes glued to her power at work before him. "If it's tools or weapons you need, I can make them for you. I have an entire journal of designs he doesn’t know about. You don't have to do this."

"But I do," Spector snapped. "Your projects are getting more and more dangerous to my cause. I have to protect my daughter."

"What about my daughter?" He cried, desperation pouring into his voice. There was no need to be strong or guarded anymore. He was about to be made into an absent father and unfaithful husband. Everything he despised. As far as he was concerned, all cards needed to be on the table. "You're sentencing her to a life without a father. A-A world where I just left for work one day and never came home. Please. I'll do whatever you ask of me. Just don't make me into that monster."

Blue eyes drowning in oceans desperately searched the cold emerald gaze of Spector’s eyes for any sign she would reconsider. His chest rose and fell quickly with the panic that had settled over him, his heart thumping loudly through the rushing blood in his ears. Michael was beyond desperate. Terrified of the man he would be under this woman's thumb. "Making me loyal to you will only bring along someone worse to replace me. Release me, and we can work together on this. It doesn’t have to be this way."

Her cold, hardened gaze flickered. For a brief moment, the sharp cutting emerald eyes were replaced by a softened sympathetic expression. It happened so fast Michael almost swore he was imagining it. His pleas were heard. She understood his desperation to be a good father. To provide for his family and somehow avoid making an enemy of his employer.

But her features, what little Michael could see, grew hard once more and her gaze darkened beneath the shade of her mask. "He’s left me no choice."

There was no time to react. Not a moment to let the faint shake to her voice settle over him. In one swift motion, she snapped the ring and wrapped it around his neck, clasping it closed like a necklace behind him.

The room began to spin and swirl as the effects of her power took hold of Michael's mind. The rage, fear, and utter disdain for the woman before him faded away.

Helplessly disoriented, Michael's instincts took over. The inner workings of the device on his wrist flashed across his vision as his own powers activated, every little component mixing and swirling with the rest of the world. Michael heard the faint ‘click’ of the band activating before his adept hands could off-set the last mechanism, followed by a current that sent his body into convulsions.

As his eyes rolled deep into his skull, the colorful rings floating around him melted together and the store room faded into a black oblivion.

~

The restrained scream of Michael crackled through the laptop speaker as Malachi turned away from the grainy security video, running a hand through his hair while murmuring "son of a bitch," under his breath. The silver-haired man couldn't watch another second. Even if it had been a year since the events in it took place, his friend's torture at his ex-wife's hand was too much.

"That explains the inhibitor band." The band in question clicked as the locking mechanism released and fell to the table, now useless. Malachi held it up to examine it closely, noting Michael's signature etched into the slim metal. Updated from your previous design. Effective enough to dampen my power, yet still not enough to completely remove access. Good job, old friend. You nearly had me.

"Sir," a young man who appeared to be in his early twenties spoke from the other side of the wooden desk. "We've saved others like him before. If I was able to get the security footage of his capture, there must be a way for us to get in and-"

"No." A stern look from the older gentleman's gray eyes and the younger's voice went quiet. "You would only end up like him."

"I could be in and out before they would ever know." Boldly, the young man stepped forward, brown eyes pleading, yet determined. Malachi knew the young man had built a relationship with the family this man was forced to leave behind. He had him console the young daughter and widow for months, and now that they had a lead on where he went, he was sure the young man was itching to bring him home. To bring the family peace.

But it was too great of a risk. Michael had made advances in his projects since his last day of freedom. His technology had never been an issue before, but now that his loyalties were twisted, it seemed Spector had him creating devices with the sole purpose of limiting or completely removing access to special abilities. If anyone else he held close found themselves in Spector’s grasp, there would be little hope of recovering them. The war would end, and Spector’s vision would claim the world.

I can’t afford to lose.

"Brand," Malachi's tone was lower, a warning to avoid pushing him further on the issue, "I said no," he insisted as he sat down in his black leather chair, turning his attention to the window. "I can’t afford to lose another to her."

Brand bit his lip, his brow furrowed in thought. "This... still leaves a vacancy. What are you going to do to replace him? His daughter is fairly young. Would you bring in his wife?"

Malachi shook his head with a sigh. "Part of his contract was ensuring I never brought her into this life. His daughter isn't mentioned, as she was born after the fact, and I don't allow renegotiations. We could use her, but I'm not fond of recruiting mourning children."

A faint blue glow emitted from Brand's soft brown eyes as his expression turned to one of thought. "I found a private collection of files he created. It looks like Smith was planning on training her in ranged combat and self defense when she got older," Brand droned, "There are instructional videos created by him uploaded to a cloud storage. Each video is named for each year after she turns twelve and is scheduled to automatically be emailed out each year on her birthday."

The glow faded and the young man refocused his attention on his boss, who seemed to be contemplating the information. "I knew him to be prepared. I can't say I'm surprised he even prepared for the event of his own abduction."

The older gentleman offered the laptop back to his young follower. "We will go to her when the videos run out. His training will make recruiting her easier."

Brand took the laptop and tucked it under his arm, a little unsettled by the lack of concern from his boss. He knew the risks of rescue were too great, but if that had been him, he would hope that his boss would at least try to bring him home. "Just to make sure I understand... You have no plan to recover Smith?"

"His skills and knowledge are more than enough to find an escape within a year's time," his boss stood, a brief look of sadness breaking through the stoic expression he normally wore. "He was a family man. His wife and daughter were always first priority. The fact he hasn't returned home means she's changed more than just his loyalties to me."

Laying a hand on his back, he gently ushered the young man out of the office. "He's a man who doesn't want to be saved. You saw how he prepared for his potential capture. Now imagine how he's prepared for a rescue he'll subconsciously know to expect."

The young man nodded in understanding. "It's a dangerous rescue..."

Malachi could see the turmoil behind the young boy's eyes and sighed, gently tapping his finger three times between Brand's eyes. "There are more pressing matters, Brand. Leave this to me."

His concerned brown eyes flickered with the same soft glow from before, and a faint grin appeared on his face. All concern from before seemingly forgotten. "Yeah, it's about time for our meeting with Mr. Scaggs. I'll go get things ready for our guests' arrival."

Receiving a nod from his boss, the young man bowed his head slightly before departing. The Master retreated into his office, closing the door behind him while sliding the lock in place.

His gray eyes landed on the inhibitor band lying uselessly across his desk as his thoughts began to drift. Smith’s expertise with weapons and technology proves a dangerous addition to Spector’s cause. If he could successfully build a device that could steal my power, all of this would be for nothing.

Malachi sank into his chair, his head falling into his hands. The search for his lost friend had been grueling and exhausting. Too many hours and miles to cover. Michael’s wife and daughter’s grief weight heavy on his shoulders. Now that he had an answer, the weight only grew.

Jasmin knew very little of the world her husband lived in, but she knew how special he was. His power over technology was a secret he kept from everyone. Except for her. They were a match made in heaven.

If heaven were real, that is.

Malachi wouldn’t tell her the truth. How could he? Her husband was in the hands of his ex-wife. Hidden somewhere outside of his reach. Even if she knew the truth, she was powerless. Mortal. Human.

What help could she be in righting the wrongdoings of Spector?

Malachi removed a key from the center drawer of his desk, placing it in the keyhole to the right of him to open a large drawer. Gloved fingers gingerly rifled through folder after folder until landing on one labeled M. Smith.

The thick file fell open across his desk as the drawer slid closed beside him. He ignored its contents, flipping them over so he was looking at the back flap of the folder. He placed the dampening device on the vanilla paper and stretched a piece of tape over its edges.

I’m sorry, friend. We began this mission together, but my goal must be realized.

With or without you.