As he regained consciousness, Petyr briefly thought that he had died and gone to heaven. Despite his years of atheistic fervor, he had managed to arrive at nirvana. His vision was swirling with images of beautiful women, all beckoning him nearer with sparkling, doe eyes. His own eyes had turned into kaleidoscopes; repeating images of the women spiraled into the distance, as far as he could see. He gathered his strength and tried to skip toward the gorgeous females, but his arms were yanked back before he could finish his first hop.
That harsh jerk forced dreamy visions to fade into a much harsher reality. Cold, metal shackles adorned Petyr’s wrists, securely attaching him to sturdy rings in the stone wall behind him; the rings were located at shoulder height, trapping his arms perpendicular to his body. A sharp pain pierced his senses like an infant on an airplane, its epicenter on his breast. He looked down to see two metal clamps, one attached to each nipple; the clamps were also equipped with wires running up into the ceiling above him.
The infinite fractal of spiraling beauty began to settle down; thousands of sultry faces congealed onto one seductive body. Petyr recognized the figure of his captor immediately; her silhouette informed him that his notion of a heavenly future couldn’t be further from his present situation.
The tall, scathingly clothed woman stepped closer to her captive, shifting her hips like a horse in heat. She was wearing a red leather one-piece that stopped short, halfway down her thighs; the neckline dipped low, almost down to her waistline, exposing ample cleavage. Her bosom might have fallen out, but six small buckles, evenly spaced, attached the sides of the swooping neckline. Black combat boots with four-inch heels gave her an exceedingly overwhelming, but undeserved air of authority.
“Dear god or whoever,” Petyr mumbled, “Why couldn’t you have just let me die?”
“Vell, vell, look who has voken up. Is naptime over, my little raccoon dog? Are you ready to play vith me?”
Petyr sighed and spoke, his voice monotonous like a lonely robot. “No, mistress. I’m not in a playful mood today. I’m glad to see you’re still keeping things business casual.”
The Dom Com, sometimes called the Himalayan Minx, unveiled a wide, sharp grin. She had finally caught her prized quarry after months of failed attempts. Little was known about the voluptuous mercenary, other than her penchant for wearing leather, her Eurasian origin, and her extremely sadistic tendencies. A prominent Anonymous player known as the Bullmoose had hired her as an assassin, but the Dom Com’s objective in Anonymous was not to help him win the game. Instead, her goal was to force others to lose. Nothing ignited her pleasure center like breaking an opponent’s will, cracking them like a raw egg and sucking out the insides. If she were in an especially good mood, there would be beating and whipping of the eggs. The Dom Com used an encyclopedic knowledge of torture techniques to interrogate her captives. After her violent thirst was quenched, she would force her prisoners to reveal their names and disqualify them from the game. Her tactics were quick and dirty, much like the woman herself. She and Petyr had a special relationship; he was certain that she had special treats waiting to surprise him.
“Can we just get this started aleady?” Petyr asked. “I’ve got an appointment with my dentist tomorrow. I’m pretty excited about this root canal we’ve got planned.”
“Oh, silly boy, ve can call him up and reschedule,” the Dom Com said, tying her hair up in a short bun. “I’ve been vaiting so long to catch up vith you! I’m sure you’ve got a lot to tell me.”
The Dom Com had been tracking Petyr for over nine months. They had first met on assignment, their missions at odds with one another. Petyr had been sent by the Minotaur to capture a genetically-engineered, super chimpanzee from a research facility; the Com had been sent to erase it. Petyr managed to sneak the ape away safely by disguising it as a janitor. From that day forth, the sultry assassin had sworn to achieve vengeance. Every month or so, they would find themselves at odds once more and again Petyr would use his superior tactics to outmaneuver her. She never surrendered, and her day for revenge had come at last.
Petyr winced. He must have been unconscious a long while for her to catch him so easily. That meant the briefcase, the mission, and his life, were all forfeit. His embarrassment must have shown all over his face, because the Dom Com walked over and pinched his cheeks into a smile.
“No, no. Ve can’t have you being so unhappy. You have such a pretty face. Look, I vant you to meet somebody. It’s somebody I think you’ll like.” She stepped back and clapped her hands aggressively. “Aleister! Attend!”
A door creaked open behind the Dom Com and a portly caucasian man scuttled into the room. He was wearing nothing more than a black latex speedo and a matching collar, revealing a flabby torso spattered with coarse, graying hair; the shambling man looked like the love-child of a grizzly bear and a manatee. He shuffled over to his mistress holding a heavy bucket, eyes focused on its turbulent contents.
“This playtoy, he is new since ve last met. My little fox, are you familiar vith the Snapdragon? You know his vork?”
“Sure, he’s one of the best henchmen around. He’s supposedly released hundreds of convicted murderers from high security compounds and never even had a photo taken. Quite the impressive record.”
“Yes, he is a player, just like you. That is, he was, until I learned his name. Please, I vant you to meet Aleister Bowfinger, once known as the Snapdragon. Now, after being shamefully diskvalified, he became my slave. Much better than the typical alternative, yes?” She raised an eyebrow, hoping her prey would be duly impressed, or at least a little intimidated.
Petyr was neither. “I don’t know. Probably. Maybe? What did you do with my briefcase? Where are the samples?”
The Dom Com paced over to her prisoner; her torso hovered perfectly still as her waist gyrated in a hypnotic orbit below it. “I don’t know anything about that. I vas assigned a mission to kill some scientists. I come to this site and I find my vork completed! Vat a disappointment! However, I also found you vrapped up like a present from the heavens, so I am not too upset.”
“You really don’t know who you’re messing with. The Minotaur will come after me and do terrible, embarrassing things to you and your boss,” Petyr bluffed. He had no illusions about his employer; The Minotaur was much more likely to look for the briefcase and its contents than a dispensable agent, no matter how skilled that agent might be. “He will stop at nothing to get that briefcase and its secrets. Come on, what have you done with it?”
The Dom Com clicked her tongue discerningly. “I already told you, I don’t know vhat you are talking about. Also, I don’t think you quite understand the little role-play ve have going on. I am the one vith the pover right now.” She reached into her boot and pulled out a small black cylinder with a big red button, a trigger for some unseen device. “I have some qvestions for you, my naughty pup. I hope you vill answer correctly, for your sake. Do you remember how ve first met?”
The clamps were siphoning too much blood to Petyr’s nipples. He was certain they would fall off his chest. They were all too sure of the purpose behind the Dom’s trigger. “Yes. It was in Jakarta. Nine moths ago, I think. I was there to escort a chimpanzee that somehow managed to discover a solution to some equation or other. Something about the energy shortage. You were there to kill the very same ape, to stop the chimp’s brainpower from being used for good or something. I don’t know. It was a mission; it’s long done. I like to keep things simple.”
The Dom Com politely clicked her button; a small shock coursed through the clamps, turning Petyr’s veins to molten sludge. He knew the Dom meant it as little more than a warning; his situation would become much more excruciating over the next several hours.
“Not qvuite, you scamp. That vas the first time we met as cloak and dagger, but not the first time ve met as man and voman. Do you remember, two years ago, vhen you vere on leave in Moscow?”
This question took Petyr by surprise. To him, the trip to Moscow had just been another vacation, another opportunity for him to waste his money on pleasure and debauchery. He remembered the city and its offerings well, but nothing struck him as significant about his time there.
“I remember. I was on leave for almost a week. What about it?”
“You took my viginity from me!” the Dom Com screamed, pressing the button with vigor. “You stole it vith your mouth! In the bathroom at the Kremlin’s Korner! How can you not remember this?”
As terrible jolts of electricity caused him to dissociate from his body, Petyr had a vision of his past. He remembered going to the Kremlin’s Korner while he was in Moscow. The trouble was, he didn’t remember leaving. It was the most popular bar in his hotel’s district, known for serving a drink dubbed the Molotov Cocktail. The drink was simple; it consisted of a shot of vodka with high enough proof that it could be lit on fire. Petyr had lost count after swallowing around seven. His Russian blood had granted him immunity from cold weather, but had neglected an ability to tolerate alcohol. His liquor processing system was so weak that he didn’t remember much of the next two days after that night of debauchery. He certainly couldn’t recall a fun romp with anyone like the Dom Com. Deranged as she might be, Petyr would have treasured memories of a night with her.
“I’m sorry,” Petyr said, panting, “I don’t recall. Maybe you’re confusing me with someone else. I was-”
Before he could finish, more intense shocks wracked his body. His spine arched, his wrists burned where they were attached to the metal rings. The Dom Com was through maintaining onto any pretense of playing nice.
“Don’t mess vith me. Hah! As if I could forget your face. I stared into your eyes for a good…no, an amazing hour.” She shivered, a wave of pleasure flooding her through the memory. Aleister straightened up his posture, hopeful that his skills might be required after all. “I recognized you immediately in Jakarta. Do you know, I have been vith no man since then? I had been vith no man before then. You are the only man for me, my little fox. I vill have you as my pet, forever.”
Petyr was shocked, electrified, and silent; he was disgusted to think that he might have been responsible for creating such a sadistic monster.
“Now tell me, vat is your darkest secret?” As she yelled, the Dom Com pulled the torture trigger once more. All of Petyr’s senses flared intensely as electricity overclocked his system; he experienced sensations unknown by most creatures limited to only five senses. Self-immolation couldn’t hurt half as badly as what Petyr was experiencing, a transubstantiation into an electrical entity. He tasted metal, as if an unwashed sword were cutting out his tongue. Colors flashed before his eyes, constructing a tempered mosaic of his life’s memories. A sweet siren’s song twittered in his ear, tempting him to obey his new master, to give in to inertia’s flow. As the shock died down, a hint of cinnamon lingered in his nostrils.
Petyr hung motionless and out of breath, a stressful euphoria replacing the unbearable torture; his body was entirely limp and useless. The only things keeping him upright were the chains on his wrists. He could see the excitement in his captor’s eyes; she licked her lips and fondled the shock trigger like a lover.
Peter knew exactly how this farce would play out; his years of training had prepared him for situations just like this one. He could avoid telling the mistress anything, just as long as she could keep torturing him; his mind was locked in a steel vise and pain was not its key. And yet, from a distance, his body was telling him that those shocks hurt like hell. His future held endless days of pain with no respite in sight. The Dom Com would work him hard a couple of days, before seeing his resilient nature shine through. She would inevitably grow bored, and set up an automated torture regiment while she was otherwise occupied; this robotic painfest would continue until Petyr was dead or rescued.
Unfortunately, Petyr also knew what the Minotaur was planning. Failure of his mission left Petyr as good as dead in the Minotaur’s eyes; his employer wouldn’t be sending any rescue missions, limiting Petyr’s futures to various forms of gruesome expiration. If Petyr managed to escape, he would no longer be welcome in the Minotaur’s circle. He would be blacklisted to prevent him joining any other Anonymous syndicates and would probably run into more than a few hungry assassins. Most futures appeared pretty bleak for the shocked agent.
There was only one viable option available to Petyr; only one choice would allow him to stop the cycle before it could even begin. It might place him in an even more dangerous situation, but at least he would see a glimmer of hope that he might survive. As long as he survived, he could find another source of money. He could find another reason for living. He looked directly at the Dom Com, his blue eyes colder than the Russian steppes.
“Mistress Com, my name is Petyr Dmitriev.”
