Page 143 of Villainous Intent

I blinked as my eyes struggled to focus, the dim light pulsing unnaturally. I was in some kind of tunnel or passageway. Concrete walls surrounded me, stained with water damage and streaked with rust from exposed pipes overhead. The only illumination came from sporadic emergency lights that cast shadows across the crumbling infrastructure—shadows that seemed to shift and move even when nothing was there.

The floor beneath me was bare concrete, cracked and uneven. Puddles of stagnant water dotted along the ground, reflecting the sparse light in ways that made my vision swim. The ceiling was low, with exposed wiring and pipes running along it, occasionally doubling and tripling in my drug-addled vision.

This place was old. Abandoned. The kind of infrastructure people forgot existed beneath their feet.

I sat up slowly, wincing as the movement sent the world tilting on its axis. A wave of nausea rolled over me, and I had to breathe through my mouth to keep from vomiting. My cuff was still secure around my wrist, thank god. I touched it reflexively, feeling a wave of relief when I confirmed it was undamaged.

I strained my ears again, trying to catch any sound of my captors. Nothing but that steady drip of water and, very faintly, a distant rumble that might have been machinery or a large crowd. The sounds blended together, sometimes crystal clear, sometimes muffled.

I pushed myself to my feet, immediately regretting it as my legs threatened to fold beneath me. The drug, whatever it was, had left my limbs feeling disconnected, like I was trying to operate a marionette rather than my own body. I leaned against the wall, waiting for the tunnel to stop spinning.

“Get it together, Annie,” I muttered, my voice sounding strange and distant. “Just walk.”

I started moving. The tunnel stretched ahead, concrete walls occasionally marked with faded maintenance signs that blurred and shifted when I tried to read them. I’d been walking for how long? Minutes? Hours? I couldn’t tell.

My fingers trailed along the wall, the rough concrete sometimes feeling like sandpaper, sometimes barely registering against my numbed skin.

I came to a fork and two identical passages branched in different directions with no indication of where each might lead.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Above my head, the ceiling trembled and a dull boom echoed through the structure. Tiny particles of dust and concrete drifted down, settling on the ridiculously tiny dress I’d been made to wear. I brushed it off with an irritated swipe, my coordination off just enough that I nearly scratched my own thigh.

I stood at the junction, trying to decide which way to go. Another boom shook the ceiling, harder this time. More dust rained down, and I stepped back, shielding my eyes. The movement was too quick. The world tilted again, and I stumbled sideways, catching myself against the wall.

“Hello,” I called. The words slurred slightly, my tongue feeling too thick for my mouth. I frowned, trying to focus.

I was about to go to the right when I heard a faint sound coming from the leftmost tunnel. The scrape of a shoe against concrete, perhaps. I moved toward the sound.

The passage curved slightly, the lighting growing dimmer with each step. Another boom from above, another shower of dust. This time, I heard a grunt, followed by labored breathing. The sound came again, clearer now. Definitely breathing, heavy and strained.

I rounded the curve and froze in horror.

A Colosseum security guard lay slumped against the wall, his wrists and ankles bound with electrical wire. Blood matted his hair and ran down the side of his face from a nasty gash above his temple. A strip of duct tape covered his mouth, but his eyes were wide open, pleading as they locked with mine.

“Oh my god,” I gasped, rushing forward.

The guard made muffled sounds behind his gag, his body straining against the restraints. I knelt beside him, my hands hovering uncertainly over his injuries, my movements clumsy and delayed.

“It’s okay,” I said, trying to sound calm. “I’m going to get you help.”

My thoughts came sluggishly. What the hell was going on? Had Cipher done this?

I knelt beside the guard, my fingers fumbling with the electrical wire binding his wrists. The wire was tight, cutting into his skin, and my hands shook as I tried to loosen it.

“I’m going to get this off you,” I whispered, struggling with the thin metal that refused to give. “Just stay calm.”

The guard’s eyes widened, looking past me. His muffled sounds grew more frantic behind the tape.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was, but my body moved anyway, an instinct to face the threat. I stumbled backward as I took in the massive figure looming over me, his form splitting into two before resolving back into one.

Baron Ash stood there, his armored suit gleaming dully in the dim emergency lighting. His mask, that infamous featureless faceplate with only thin slits for eyes and glowing, molten lines, tilted down so he could study me with that one green eye.

“Cipher’s little whore,” he said, his voice somehow conveying amusement despite its flatness.

I scrambled to my feet but the sudden movement sent another wave of dizziness through me, and I had to lock my knees to keep from swaying.