With a Bullet
Part 2
"Unhh..."
Conscious thoughts drifted into her dream and the Weapons Mistress realized she was awakening. Her body ached. The sensation of liquid on her lips suggested blood. Odd, she didn't remember taking a beating.
"Uhh..."
She forced her eyes open for the briefest of moments before the first glare of light slammed them shut again. Trying again, she managed a view through fluttering eyelashes but the gauzy haze revealed nothing. Blinking her eyelids open, she gave her pupils some time to adjust. Through still cloudy vision she realized somebody was right in her face, peering at her.
"Ohh..."
Shutting her eyes briefly, she tried to clear her head. It seemed even her teeth hurt. Determined, she opened her eyes again to return the stare of...
"Mmm..."
Her own reflection. As her vision, and her wits, returned, it occurred to her that she was laying face down. The bloody lip she had imagined, only drool escaping from the side of her mouth. She rolled herself over on to her back and wiped her mouth dry with her forearm. The stiffness in her arms and legs, and the crick in the back of her neck, signaled she had been motionless in her previous position for some time. Colt felt bruising on her chin and cheek. Whoever had left her in here hadn't been worried about her hurting herself as she hit the floor. She shivered. The room was inordinately cold. She looked up at the ceiling a good 30 feet away. Most likely plexiglass, the light bathing the room originating on the other side. The walls, stainless steel.
"Urrr..."
Her bearings established, she moved herself into a sitting position.
Her costume had been removed. That would at least partially explain why she
felt she was freezing. She had been left in a bra and panties. She didn't
need to check to know that her earrings had been removed, as well. Colt noted
ruefully that even her fingernails had been trimmed.
She contemplated the undergarments that clearly were not the ones she had previously been wearing. The black lace bra was at least two sizes to small and so constricting that she wondered if it might be affecting her circulation. The matching thong panties fit only slightly better. Her captor had been thorough. He had taken no chance that she had secreted a weapon in any article of her clothing. Indeed, it was a smart move on his part, she had used the underwire in her bra to escape predicaments before. Still, why not leave her naked?
"Hmmm..."
Most likely, there was some kind of tracking device attached to the clothing. She made a mental note to ditch the provided outfit when she came up with a plan for escape. In the meantime, what little coverage it provided was welcome.
Standing, she looked around the room. It was approximately 8 feet by 8 feet, with no windows. The floor and walls were stainless steel as she had initially surmised. The door was recessed perfectly and, from a distance, its' location was barely noticeable.
Knitting her brow, she considered the events that had brought her to this room. Clearly, the plot against Courtwright had been a ruse to lure her into a trap. Why her? Perhaps more importantly, why him? Was he the mastermind or acting as a pawn for someone else? Her last memory before awaking was looking up through glazed eyes at his face. If he was behind this, he obviously had some plan for her or he wouldn't have kept her alive when he had her completely at his mercy. She'd find out soon enough what he had in mind. Meanwhile, she moved about the room trying to generate some body heat to ward off the cold.
***
"Ahh, our Weapons Mistress is awake, is she?"
Courtwright strode into the observation room where Mueller observed the closed-circuit feed from the camera hidden in the lights above Colt's cell.
"Yes, sir. She's up and about."
"Taking her capture well?"
"Very calm."
"Good. You've got the air conditioning cranked up, right?"
"Per instruction. She's been moving around, trying to warm herself up. When I zoom in, you can see the goosebumps, though."
"Now, Bill, why would you need to zoom in?" Courtwright laughed and slapped his security chief on the shoulder. "I think it's time to make it a little colder in there. Crank up the air conditioning. Maybe you won't need to zoom in to see the goosebumps."
"Yes, sir. Tell me something..."
"You want to know why she's not nekkid, Bill?"
"Mm-hmm."
"So does she. One more thing for her to think about. Don't forget to lower the temperature in there. I'll be back in a couple of hours."
***
A shivering Valencia Kirk stopped to assess her condition. By her count, based upon the steady walking pace she had maintained and the number of steps she had taken, approximately 2 hours had passed. Despite her efforts, she knew her body temperature had fallen. The blue lips and pallid skin of the reflection on the wall told her she was slowly freezing. If she didn't produce more body heat, it wouldn't be long before she sank into unconsciousness. The drawback was that to produce more kinetic energy she had to exert more effort. She could only keep up a high enough level for so long and then, tired and sweaty, the cold would do her in twice as fast. Still, better to try something than to slide slowly into oblivion.
Continuing to keep track of her steps, she picked up the pace. Jogging in a circle around the room, she felt some warmth return to her limbs. To take her mind off the cold, she let her mind wander to her encounters with James Courtwright as she tried to deduce the motivation for imprisoning her.
***
Mueller glanced up at the clock. 6 hours since she had first awakened. He'd passed up every opportunity to go on break. The sight of the diminutive hardbody bouncing around the room as her ill-fitting ensemble struggled to contain her flesh had been exhilarating! Oddly, that sensation paled in comparison to the more fascinating recent hours as he had watched her pace slow.
The bounce in her step
had gone and more leaden legs trudged forward. Occasional bursts of energy
quickly subsided and the glistening sweat on her skin had gradually taken
on the look of frost. Every step seemed more difficult than the last as her
strength inexorably diminished, and now, her legs failing her, she stumbled
against the wall, leaning heavily against the steel, unable to stand on wobbly
legs without assistance. Her fingers struggled to unsecure the bra constricting
her heaving chest but, to no avail, as weariness and extreme cold hampered
her dexterity. Finally, she slid down the wall to the floor, balling up to
try and contain some warmth.
Mueller pressed the intercom button. "Mr. Courtwright, the cold's got her."
After a long pause, the panel squawked back, "About time. Turn off the air conditioning and bring the heating coils online."
Mueller did as instructed and signaled his man at the door to take over for him while he took a break. He wondered if James Courtwright had considered the prospect that the heroine might strip for them of her own volition when the decision was made to dress her in clothing that allowed her to retain the barest measure of her dignity. If so, the deviousness was impressive.
***
The cold chills that wracked Valencia Kirk's body had imperceptibly been diminishing for the better part of an hour when she sensed warmth replacing the chill in her bones. So, the plan wasn't for her to freeze to death, at least not yet. As her body temperature slowly returned to normal, she took advantage of the opportunity to relax. Stretching out on the floor, she closed her eyes and reflected on the purpose behind her torture. She had been taken to the brink of death and then spared. Why? Was it as simple as a sadistic impulse to keep her alive so that she could act as a further victim, or was there more to it? Perhaps, a test? Of stamina? Or will?
One thing was for certain, she wasn't done. Heat would be the next hurdle. She could feel the steel below her back getting hotter. Then, the room went completely dark and she heard a sound from somewhere overhead before the metallic ringing of an object hitting the floor reverberated around the room. When the lights returned seconds later, she raised herself up onto her haunches and looked to see what had joined her in her cell. A bar of chocolate? She walked over and picked it up.
"Hmmm."
An energy bar. Unwrapped. Drugged? She tossed it in the corner. No need to find out. Any benefit it could give would be temporary and was outweighed by the risk. Besides, it had already provided her with confirmation of what had previously only been speculation. There was access to the room through the ceiling and, most likely, cameras up above recording her every move. Of course, that knowledge and a nickel wouldn't buy her a dime candy.
The room had become uncomfortably warm as she wiped the sweat from her brow. Temperature extremes. She'd been right. It seemed part of the agenda was to wear her down physically and mentally. She decided the plan wasn't for her to die in this room and that whatever happened here was leading up to something else. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and watched the chocolate covering of the energy bar melt onto the floor.
***
Ames
watched as beads of perspiration falling from the Weapons Mistress's body
turned to steam upon hitting the steel floor of her cell. That was more like
it! The hotfoot provided by raising the temperature had lifted her from the
doldrums of heat exhaustion and sent her knees thrusting into the air as
she tried to avoid burning the soles of her feet. As expected, Ames was enjoying
the show, salivating over the jiggling flesh on the monitor, when Mueller
returned.
"Ron, what the hell?"
"She needed a little wake-up, boss!"
"Dammit! Courtwright wants her softened up, not cooked! Knock it off!"
"Okay. Okay. Here, I'm turning the setting back to where it was before. Are you happy now? Jeez, I just wanted to have a little fun!"
"You better hope that this little stunt of yours doesn't get back to Courtwright. He'll have your head. Get outta here, you're back on perimeter duty."
"Aww, come on, Bill! She's not hurt. Look! She's fine!"
"Yeah, no thanks to you. I hope the show was worth it, Ron, because I'm not letting you behind these controls again."
"Damn, Bill," Ames got up to leave the control room. "Well," he turned and winked at his boss, "It was worth it."
Mueller watched him go and, as the door shut, he chuckled to himself. "I'll bet it was."
***
An exhausted Valencia Kirk, breathing heavily, staggered across the floor. Every breath caused her to wince from the pain in her lungs. The metal had cooled enough that she was in no danger of burning her feet but the temperature in the room still had the feel of a sauna. Weary, she dropped to her knees and tried to compose herself. When the floor had heated to burning temperatures, she'd wondered if she'd been wrong about the plan not being for her to die in this room. Now, as the heat had again become more bearable before she suffered any serious injury, she was more convinced than ever that she had been right.
Lifting her head, she looked up at the lights and smiled.
"I'm still here."
