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chaotic-orphan · 8 months

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Intoxicating Fear (IV)

Breaking Balls

Continued from // Masterpost

I hope this is coherent, it went under a lot of revisions, but finally it is done! And this part is dedicated to @nameless-beanie because it wouldn’t have been updated as quick without their very kind words :3

Enjoy~

*~*~*~*~*

Kit came to, slumped in a chair. His head hanging forward, almost resting on his chest. Omen was squatting in front of him, curious black eyes trained on Kit as he slowly woke up. His head heavy and groggy from sleep.

“Naughty, Kit. Very naughty. I didn’t say you could wake up yet,” Omen scolded, his voice dreamlike and faraway, as if Kit was hallucinating him.

“Where—”

“Shh, Kit. Go back to sleep.”

Kit didn’t fight the command. He was tired anyways. He closed his eyes and willingly let the darkness take him into a dreamless sleep.

When Kit woke again, he was horribly aware that this was the second time he awoke. The realisation sent every nerve in his body on fire, awareness hitting him like a truck as he forced his Omen induced sleeping body awake.

He was in the same chair as last time, a metal chair, he realised, his hands taped to the armrests at the wrist with thick black tape. Bright red rubber gloves that went halfway up his forearm were tapped in the same black tape as his wrist. Kit pulled at his restraints, testing how tight he was stuck, his heart leaping in his chest when he found a little wiggle room. Kit leaned forward in his chair, yanking at his arms, pulling them back and forward and side to side with all his strength trying to loosen the tape further.

Until light flooded the room and Kit froze in his seat, playing possum, hoping Omen hadn’t realised he was awake yet.

“You just keep surprising me, Kit,” Omen said, a smile in his voice. A hand settled on the nape of Kit’s neck and Kit flinched, moving away but the villain’s hand followed him wherever he moved. Kit couldn’t repress the shiver that ran down his spine as he stayed silent, waiting for Omen to speak again. “I’m still not finished with your new predicament, Kit, so I’m afraid you’re going to—”

“No wait!” Kit cried, panic climbing up his throat and bursting from his mouth without any thought. To his surprise, Omen paused, the pad of his thumb running up and down Kit’s throat, waiting for him to continue. Kit swallowed and said, “please, don’t put me back to sleep. Please. I won’t— I won’t fight I’ll be good I just— don’t put me back to sleep, please.”

Omen let go of Kit and walked around the chair to face him. Kit leaned back in his chair, looking up at Omen’s smiling face as he came around to stare at Kit.

“You promise you won’t fight me?” Omen asked, cocking an eyebrow at Kit. Kit licked his lips, shocked at himself for suggesting to willingly be in Omen’s presence longer than he had to, but he just knew he couldn’t go back to sleep again against his will.

It’s not like he was even getting a good rest from it. Each time Kit woke up his body was more and more sluggish, his brain overrun with fear or panic, and he just wanted to have some idea of what Omen was doing to him while he slept.

“I—” Kit began, swallowed, and looked away from Ambrose nodding. Kit was stupid to think a nod would satisfy Omen in all his sadism, and he barely suppressed the flinch when his hand reached out and took Kit’s chin, steering his head back to look at Omen. Onyx eyes studying him, something Kit didn’t recognise gleaming in their fathomless depths.

“Say it,” Omen commanded, his voice just a bit above an alluring whisper.

Kit swallowed hard, wanting to look away again but knew Omen wouldn’t allow it, so he steeled himself and said: “I won’t fight you, just please, don’t put me to sleep again.”

A triumphant smile spread across Omen’s features as he let go of Kit’s face. “Look at that. So polite, Kit, Superhero must have been teaching you something at least.”

Omen’s smile quipped into a smirk as he stepped around Kit’s chair again out of sight. Kit could hear Omen doing something behind him. With his heart hammering against his chest, Kit couldn’t help the curiosity at wanting to see what torture Omen was creating for Kit to endure.

He turned his head to look over his shoulder, but a firm hand rested on his cheek and turned him back to face forward. “Ah, ah, ah, Kit. No peeking. Can’t have you spoiling my fun now, can we?”

Kit didn’t reply, just chewed on the inside of his cheek, eyes trailing back down to the semi-loose tape that kept him restrained to the chair. It was heavy and bulky, not ordinary tape, but Kit didn’t really care about the type of things Omen was tying him up with, he only cared about getting free from it.

As quietly as possible Kit started turning his arm as much as he could, yanking it forward and back, side to side, hoping Omen was too preoccupied with what he was doing to notice Kit’s struggles.

Kit’s head was yanked back by his hair, craning his neck at an awkward angle until he was looking up at Omen. His black eyes regarded Kit coolly, as he said, “the terms of our deal were that you didn’t fight, Kit. Are you telling me you want to go back to sleep?”

“No!” Kit protested and then let out a small whine as Ambrose yanked his head back further.

“Then sit still, and don’t fight. That is the only warning I will give you. The next time you struggle, you’ll be asleep in an instant and when you wake, I’ll make sure you regret your decision.”

Kit couldn’t stop the anger bubbling up in him at his helplessness. “You’re a sick bastard,” Kit spat, and Omen’s features melted into a delighted smirk Kit had grown used to.

“Thank you, Kit. Now be a good little hero and sit still while I work.”

Omen let go of Kit’s hair then and Kit’s head bobbed back up to stare at the wall in front of him.

“Please, stop using my name,” Kit said quietly. He froze like a deer in headlights as he realised, he said that, actually said it out loud for Omen to hear. He heard Omen stop working again and he wished he didn’t say anything at all. Footsteps from the left and then Omen was in front of Kit, staring down at him with his stupid smile. “Forget it.”

Omen tsked, drawing Kit’s attention and keeping his eyes locked on Kit’s. “Is there something wrong with your name?”

“I said forget it.”

“What,” Omen pressed, ticking Kit off. “I just assumed it was your name considering it’s the name that ran through that water Hero’s mind once you showed up. Do you want to be called Christopher or something?”

Kit’s nose scrunched up at Omen. “My full name isn’t Christopher.”

“Then what? –”

“Look, I said it didn’t matter okay!” Kit fumed, unable to control the anger that bubbled up for no good reason. Well, no, a good reason, but misplaced at the time.

Omen stared down at Kit. “You’re annoyed that I know your name.”

“I’m not,” Kit said much too quickly. Omen’s smirk returned.

“Are you upset that I didn’t ask your name?”

“I’m just saying it’s a bit creepy to go around and invading people’s minds and using their name like they gave it to you.”

Omen laughed. “You’re really upset about this, aren’t you?”

Kit huffed out a breath and looked away. Omen’s stupid smirk was doing his head in, and he kind of wished he was knocked out right now so he didn’t have to witness it.

“Hey, Kit,” said Omen, and Kit made a point of not looking at him. “Kit, you have to the count of three to look at me. Thr – good. See, you can learn. You’re so obedient today.”

Kit gave the villain a blank stare. Omen smiled, not his stupid smirk, but a smile that if Kit passed him in the street he would think that he was a nice, normal guy.

“My name is Ambrose,” said Omen. Kit couldn’t help the surprise from knitting his features together. “Nice to formally meet you. Are you satisfied? We both know each other’s name now. Equal footing.”

Kit snorted and pulled his elbows up, showing his tied down arms. “Yeah so equal.”

Ambrose shrugged and walked around the chair again. He wouldn’t admit it, but it did make Kit feel a little better to know Ambrose’s name instead of calling him Omen. Now he had someone to curse and pray to every god to smite before he could torture Kit anymore.

Restlessness crawled ugly and brutish under Kit’s skin as he stared ahead, fingers clenching into fists, the rubber of the gloves creaking against itself. Only then did it grab Kit’s attention. The fire truck red of the gloves almost comical as he stared down at them. His eyes flashed to the tape, thick and black and heavy.

Kit couldn’t feel the electric currents in his hands from the air, couldn’t feel his power anywhere the gloves were. The realisation settled like acid in his stomach.

Rubber gloves. The bastard used rubber gloves on him. Rubber’s an insulator of electricity, meaning it’s harder to pass a current through it, and Kit only ever used his hands to start a spark. Ambrose had taken his power from him without putting Kit in power dampeners just to prove that he could. To prove who had the real power, how easy it was to take Kit’s power away; put him in metal, in water, make him use his powers against himself then put him asleep and tie him up in rubber and what Kit could only assume to be electrical tape.

Tears gathered behind Kit’s eyes, but he wasn’t upset. Frustrated, yes. Angry, definitely. Not sad. More despairing and hopeless.

What had Mentor ever saw in Kit that would make him take interest in him? Make him his protégé, teach him the ropes of the Hero industry? Kit was a joke. The first villain he encountered solo was Omen, the Omen, and he was completely powerless to stop him; to protect Other Hero, to do anything.

Superhero would have beaten Omen.

Any other hero would have beaten Ambrose, but Kit couldn’t.

He didn’t even deserve the title of Hero.

Kit clicked his fingers anyway, trying to get that spark of friction but nothing happened. The air remained the same. Kit stayed in his chair, trapped and powerless.

He didn’t even notice that Ambrose walked around to his front until the villain crouched to meet Kit’s eye. Fear gripped Kit’s throat and settled at the base of his neck as he met Ambrose’s black smiling eyes. His too red lips quipped into a horribly sweet smile.

When he spoke his voice was gentle, “it’s awful, isn’t it? Knowing that your power is there, sizzling under the surface, knowing that you could still use it.”

“Yeah, I could use it, until you wrapped me up in rubber,” Kit spat, leaning forward in his chair. The side of Ambrose’s lips quirked into a smirk at Kit’s anger.

Ambrose reached his hand out, placing it on Kit’s cheek and Kit, thankfully, didn’t flinch this time. He didn’t pull away, or show that it bothered him, even though Ambrose’s hand was so cold.

“It’s just maddening,” Ambrose laughed, though laugh was a generous word. The sound that came from Ambrose’s mouth was unhinged and baffled. “I could turn your brain to mush like I did to Mentor. Leave you in a pool of your own drool, babbling about true horror and plant shadows in your brain to keep you occupied as you slowly waste away to nothing.”

Kit’s lips curled back into an ugly snarl, glaring at Ambrose as he said, “then how about you make good on your threats and get to it, Ambrose, hmm? Because I feel like sitting here listening to you is a worse fate than Mentor’s.”

Ambrose tilted his head to the side, eyes locked on Kit’s. He must have put up a convincing enough front because Ambrose huffed out a soft breath of a laugh, taking his hand off Kit’s face.

“You know Kit I can see why Mentor and Superhero liked you. When you’re not hanging by your wrists there’s a devil-may-care courage about you that borders on stupidity. I suppose you heroes would call it bravery, though, right?”

Ambrose’s eyes narrowed, his smile staying on his face, unnerving Kit but he didn’t react. “Mentor was the bravest of you all and look what I did to him.”

Kit jerked forward in his chair again, his movements limited by his arms being taped down, but he didn’t care. He was so sick of fearing this fucking Ambrose that he was throwing all caution to the wind.

“Yeah. Mentor was the bravest of us, and you know what Ambrose? As long as you’re around, there will always be brave heroes willing to fight you. All you did with Mentor was put a target on your back and every hero in the city is gunning to take you down.”

“I’m honoured, Kit,” Ambrose said, standing up straight again.

“Do what you want with me,” Kit continued, his words and voice far braver than he felt. He didn’t know where this was coming from, but he didn’t try and stop it. “Torture me, take my powers, talk me to death,” it was Kit’s turn to smile now. “Just know, that Superhero is out there looking for me too, and when he finds you—”

Ambrose let out a small laugh, the melodic sound filling the cool silence, interrupting Kit. Ambrose waved his hand at Kit. “No, no, go on. You were on a roll there.”

“What’s so funny?”

“No, no, Kit. I insist, continue. It’s good to see you brave. Good for your spirits. Keep going, sorry for the intrusion.”

Kit’s hands clenched into fists, the rubber creaking loudly around him. “What?” Kit demanded through gritted teeth, suddenly very aware that he was at a loss to what was happening on the outside world and Ambrose was in the know.

Ambrose rolled his eyes dramatically, but Kit could tell there was something brutal about the glee hidden under his expression.

“I mean…” Ambrose began, but paused for effect, then shook his head, holding his hands up. “I was going to wait until you were more properly secured, but if you insist, I can show you now.”

“Show me what?” Kit all but growled, panic seizing his chest. Ambrose walked behind Kit, and Kit turned his head to follow but Ambrose tsked and said: “eyes forward Kit or you’ll miss it.”

“Miss what?!” Kit demanded, his heart pounding against his chest. The lights switched off and he was plunged into darkness. Kit sat back in his seat, about to ask Ambrose what he was playing at when light flooded the wall in front of Kit and he stared.

Kit felt the blood drain from his face, nausea settling into his stomach and filling the gaping pool of dread and fear that had frozen Kit’s blood in his veins. He was suddenly very cold as he stared at the wall, his hands loosening his fingers from his clenched fist.

It was a picture of Kit and Superhero on the steps of the Hero tower. Superhero had an arm thrown around Kit’s shoulder as he smiled for the cameras. The small podium Superhero did press announcements on in front of them.

The Headline read: SUPERHERO’S SUCCESSOR VOWS CITY IS IN SAFE HANDS. Then a smaller title beside it reads: an insider scoop with the hottest new hero on the block.

The reviews seemed very good, so Kit should be happy that his debut to society was received well, only the article filled Kit with a heart stopping dread.

Kit didn’t debut to society yet.

Kit didn’t do an interview with the City’s Newspaper.

He didn’t hold a press conference with Superhero on the steps of the Hero tower.

That wasn’t Kit.

It was some imposter wearing Kit’s skin and living Kit’s life. Somewhere in the back of Kit’s mind something was screaming, clawing, trying to get free, to warn Kit, to tell him not to forget again.

Forget again?

Kit looked to the date in the corner of the image, and he wanted to scream.

It’s been ten days since Ambrose took Kit.

The image changed and it was another page of the paper. Only this time it was an image of Kit at the docks, wrapping a steadying arm around Other Hero and hauling them away from the docks where… where Ambrose took Kit from.

Kit was going to be sick.

It felt as if every nerve in Kit’s body was clenched, and he couldn’t release the tension from solidifying every part of his body. His breath became laboured, stuttering out incoherent, half formed questions to Ambrose.

“What?”

“How—”

“Who…”

One word is all Kit could manage on the exhale; his ribs felt like he were trying to inflate an accordion with a hole in it. As soon as he got enough air to pump through, to breathe, it was gone, ripped from his lungs by Kit’s quick panicked breaths.

He wanted to look away. He wanted so badly to look away from the wall, the article, the image of them helping Other Hero, but it felt like his eyes had been stapled open and he was forced to take in every detail.

The Headline: SUPERHERO’S PRODIGY: THE HERO FOR HEROES.

Kit’s eyes scanned his face, over and over and over – looking for a flaw, for the catch. For the thing that was wrong so he can catch Ambrose out on a lie because this was just too much.

Still that voice in his head screamed and begged Kit to remember this time.

Kit’s eyes went to the date.

It was published the day after Kit fought Ambrose on the docks, so how? Kit wanted to scream and cry and thrash in his restraints and curse Ambrose, but he just stared, trembling.

“The people love you,” said Ambrose, his smug charm lacing his tone and Kit shuddered. “You’ve made quite an impression, Kit. You should be happy! Celebrating.”

“Yeah, I’ll celebrate as soon as you let me go you fucking psychopath!”

“Hmm,” Ambrose replied, putting a hand on each of Kit’s shoulders. Kit flinched and instantly regretted it, but he didn’t know what was going on. He didn’t know what to do. “Resorting to anger when you’re scared isn’t very healthy, Kit.”

“Shut up!” Kit snarled, yanking at his wrists, and throwing his head back trying to catch Ambrose off guard.

“That’s not very nice Kit.”

“Who is that?!” Kit demanded, turning to look at Ambrose over his shoulder. Furious eyes met the smiling abyss of Ambrose’s and narrowed at the villain’s silence. “WHO IS THAT?!”

The scream that tore from Kit’s throat was desperate and raw. He was crying and he didn’t care, he just needed to know. He needed Ambrose to tell him what he already knew, somewhere, in the furthest, darkest corner of his mind.

“I think you already know,” Ambrose said, smile coy.

“Just tell me,” Kit cried, struggles weakening the longer it took for Ambrose to just answer a simple question. Kit was exhausted, and he wished he’d never stayed awake. He wished Ambrose would have put him to sleep forever and never have him wake up.

There was a reason there was no sign of the imposter in the pictures. Kit knew that as sure as he knew his own face, because… because…

“It’s you, Kit,” Ambrose said, voice soft and deadly. The knowledge went through Kit’s ears like a sweet whisper and plunged into Kit’s heart faster than snake venom.

Kit looked back at the image on the wall, his body heavy, sunken, tired on the chair. Kit stared into the image of him helping Other Hero through bleary eyes, mouth parted slightly because he couldn’t close it. He was crying silently now, the tears flowing freely down the curves of his face that was looking at them on the wall.

Ambrose came around to stand in front of Kit, blocking his view of the paper. Kit didn’t even fight it when Ambrose took his chin in his cold hand and tilted his head. He probably looked horrible, tears and snot flowing freely down his face and chin, eyes hollow and hopeless.

“Nobody is looking for you, Kit,” Ambrose told him softly in his voice that was like sweet honey. Everything he said sounded so lovely, and everything he meant was so horrific. “Superhero’s not looking for you because you’re not missing. At least, in his eyes anyways.”

The sound of the rubber creaking filled the room as Kit clenched his hands into fists because he couldn’t do anything else.

Ambrose tilted his head to the side, as if trying to measure a new angle on Kit’s suffering.

“If I took you and didn’t cover my tracks, well, then, yes. Superhero would be knocking down my door right about now, probably scorching the Earth trying to find you, but as it happens,” Ambrose’s grip tightened on Kit’s chin, his eyes lighting up at Kit’s grimace of pain. “I do cover my tracks, and I cover yours so beautifully that no one knows you’re not you. The world thinks you’re just Superhero’s new hero and why would he need to look any closer?”

“You—”

“Go on,” Ambrose cooed, releasing Kit’s chin, and instead putting his hands on Kit’s forearms, leaning his weight on Kit and relishing in how Kit squirmed in discomfort, but Ambrose didn’t care and kept leaning down until his faces were nearly touching. Kit could feel Ambrose’s warm breath on his cheek as he spoke. “Call me a name again and see where that gets you.”

“He’ll find out,” Kit tried, though the excuse sounded desperate even to Kit’s ears. “He’ll know it’s not me, Superhero—”

“Superhero, Superhero, Superhero.” Ambrose echoed, rolling his eyes before a deadly, charming smile broke across his pale face, stretching his too red lips into a beautifully gruesome smirk. Ambrose reached his hands up to cup Kit’s cheeks, fingers digging into the flesh. “How about you be selfish for once and worry about you, Kit, hmm? There’ll be plenty of time to mourn Superhero once we’re through with the heroes.”

Fear gripped Kit’s heart in its cold, unyielding grip, as if it was pierced with ice, or Ambrose’s vile freezing fingers.

“You can’t—”

“Oh, I know I can’t. But you and me, together, oh, Kit. There isn’t a thing that will stop us, and the best part is, your heroes will never see you coming,” Ambrose said, then booped Kit’s nose and stood up straight again.

“I’ve got some arrangements to make, some evil plans to pour over, and since you beg so beautifully, I am giving you your wish, Kit. I won’t put you asleep again. You can just wait here and stew on things, it was a lot of information to throw at you all at once I realise,” Ambrose said, already walking out of Kit’s sight.

“Wait! Ambrose!” Kit screamed, thrashing like a wild animal in his restraints. “Ambrose! Don’t! Ambrose—”

“It’s okay, Kit. I can be reasoned with. You don’t want to sleep so don’t sleep, relax here. We’ll have plenty of time to chat later.”

“Ambrose!” Kit screamed, his voice cracking. He heard the door open and shut and a lock click into place, but Kit didn’t stop screaming for hours. He pulled and pushed and tore and bit and gnawed and tried to get the tape off his arms so he could stop Ambrose’s heart the next time he saw him.

The tape didn’t relent.

The rubber still insulated Kit’s powers.

The tears still fell.

And eventually, mercifully, Kit fell asleep, slumped in the chair, staring at the wall with his face watching over him.

*~*~*~*~*

continued here

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