Hostaging Madam

There's no time to celebrate hitting my master.

I jump into my car and speed down the hill, engine growling as I tear through the backroad. Within five minutes, I'm parked right outside Mr. Rauss' residence.

No hesitation.

I leap out of the car and storm the house, gun drawn. I know exactly where she is. We had a secret hiding spot—used whenever things got bad. With the chaos outside, I'm sure she heard the gunfire. I'm sure she's there.

I rush to Mr. Rauss' office, head straight for the fireplace, and twist the ornate candle holder mounted above it.

Click.

The glass cover slides open.

Inside, crouched in the shadows of the hidden compartment, is Mrs. Rauss.

"Quint!" she gasps, stunned.

"Come out!" I bark, raising my gun at her.

"Please, don't hurt—"

"Now!" I snap, voice razor sharp.

Slowly, hands raised beside her head, she steps out of the secret space.

But she's not alone.

A small boy—around four or five years old—is tucked in the corner, sobbing quietly, squatting low with wide, terrified eyes.

"Please… don't hurt him," Mrs. Rauss pleads, voice trembling.

I ignore her. I had no intention of hurting the kid anyway. But she doesn't need to know that.

I seize Mrs. Rauss by the arm, jamming the barrel of my gun against her temple. With my free hand, I reach back and shut the secret door behind us.

"Move!" I growl, pushing her forward.

Still with her hands up and the cold steel pressed to her head, she shuffles ahead of me. My grip tightens on her shoulder as we approach the front door.

Just as I'm closing it—

"Joanna!!" a voice roars from the distance.

"Derrick!" she yells back, twisting her head.

My master.

Bleeding, limping, barely standing—but alive. He staggers toward us, hand pressed to his stomach, pain carved into every line of his face.

"Don't move or I shoot!" I shout, pressing the gun harder into her skull.

He freezes instantly.

"Quint…" he rasps, eyes locked on me. He tries to reach behind his back, likely for a weapon—

I fire.

CRACK!

"AAARGH!!" he howls, dropping to one knee, blood pouring from his hand.

"Don't," I growl.

I drag Mrs. Rauss to the car, shove her into the passenger seat, and slam the door shut.

She doesn't resist as I bind her—cuffing both ankles together and locking her wrists to the solid iron handle on the dashboard.

Still, she calls out to him.

"Derrick… Maxwell… he's in the fireplace…"

I slam the door shut.

Then I turn back, raise my gun once more, and without hesitation—

BANG! BANG!

—shoot both of my master's legs.

He crumples to the ground in agony.

I get in the car and drive away, tires screeching, heart pounding, with Mrs. Rauss cuffed beside me and the mission still far from over.

-

"Where are you taking me?" Mrs. Rauss asks, her voice low but steady.

"Headquarters," I reply flatly.

"That's a ten-hour dri—"

"Shut up."

"Look, we didn't mean to hurt her—"

"I said: SHUT. UP!!" I snap, my voice exploding inside the car. My grip on the wheel tightens. I remember her talent—a persuader. Her words are weapons.

"Quint… we just want—need—you back."

My jaw clenches.

"If you utter one more word," I growl, "I will blow your mouth off."

"Quint—"

CRACK!

She screams.

"Aaaaauch!!"

I fired deliberately—just close enough. The bullet slices across her cheek and smashes through the window beside her.

Glass rains down. Wind rushes in.

She gasps, blood trickling from the shallow wound.

"The next bullet goes through your mouth," I say coldly, eyes locked on the road.

She believes me now.

Silent, she presses her wounded cheek against her shoulder, trembling as she watches me with wide, teary eyes.

She doesn't speak again.

Not a word.

-

"Wake up!" I bark, shaking the sleeping Mrs. Rauss.

The woman I once called Mommy slowly opens her eyes.

"We're almost there," I say, eyes never leaving the road.

It's been a long drive—over nine hours nonstop from the Rauss residence to this place: a secluded stretch of land at the base of a mountain, twenty miles from City T.

Ten minutes later, my car rolls up to the edge of a dense forest. I bring it to a stop as a dozen men in black suits and masks block the road, forming a living wall.

One of them approaches my side of the car.

I lower the window.

The man freezes when he sees Mrs. Rauss. "Ma… Ma… Madam," he stammers—then spots the cut on her cheek. His demeanor snaps. He raises his gun at me.

The rest follow suit, weapons drawn and aimed at my head.

I turn to Mrs. Rauss. "Well…?"

"Put your guns down," she commands, voice firm and cold. "He's a guest."

"Y-Yes, Madam!" the man stammers again. He gestures for the others to lower their weapons and waves us through.

"Let us in," she adds.

The man nods and steps back, murmuring into his radio.

Moments later, the iron gate to headquarters opens.

If you think that was sloppy security—it's not.

First off, the narrow road we just drove through is the only entrance. This forest might look vast, but no one can breach it from any other direction. It's surrounded by an invisible shield—completely impenetrable.

Second, those guards are just the first line.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spot them—the real guardians.

Lions. Elephants. Cheetahs. Wolves. Bears. And further back: snakes, lizards, spiders, and other venomous creatures.

Not one of them moves.

They're trained—no, controlled—to guard the area. They're still only because my car was authorized to enter. If it hadn't been…

My car would've already been crushed. I'd be dead.

Or worse—snack to a lion, python, or grizzly.

"Where is she?" I ask Mrs. Rauss, eyes fixed ahead.

"Health facility," she replies.

I drive toward the west side of the forest.

This isn't a regular woodland. It's a synthetic rainforest—replicating those found near the equator. Massive trees, thick canopies, and dense vegetation swallow the path ahead.

Ten minutes later, the road curves toward an old, crumbling fortress.

I stop the car just outside it.

Climbing out, I unlock Mrs. Rauss's cuffs from the dashboard and gesture for her to walk in front of me.

We stop at a moss-covered stone pillar.

"Olympos," she says aloud.

Immediately, a hidden panel slides open, revealing a narrow slot.

She leans forward and places her eye to it.

A laser scans her retina.

"Welcome, Madam," a robotic voice replies. "Do you bring a guest?"

"One guest," she answers, then steps aside.

I lean forward and present my eye to the scanner.

Another beam.

"Welcome, Scott Bennet. Formerly known as Deathstalker. Pronounced dead—"

"Enough," Mrs. Rauss cuts it off sharply. "Let us in."

"At your service, Madam."

With a deep mechanical groan, the fortress gates swing open. Rust flakes fall from the hinges as the entrance yawns wide.

I press the gun back to Mrs. Rauss's side and push her forward.

Inside, the contrast is staggering.

Gone are the vines and rot. This place is pristine. Futuristic.

Glass walls. Polished white tiles. Gowned men and women moving swiftly through corridors. They freeze when they see her—then stare even harder at me, and the gun I'm pressing to her head.

"It's alright," Mrs. Rauss says calmly.

She leads us to an elevator, which descends into the depths of the facility.

We step into the underground level.

She guides me deeper—through hallways I've never seen before. Or maybe I have, and just don't remember. Maybe this is where they keep the mutants. I don't care.

I've come this far. Whatever's waiting—I'll face it.

We stop.

She turns, facing left.

I follow her gaze.

Behind a tall glass wall, I see a sterile medical chamber. Machines beep and hum. Two men in white gowns monitor readouts.

And on the bed—hooked to all the machines—is her.

"Jen!!"

I move without thinking. I charge the glass.

But—

THWUMP!

I slam into an invisible wall.

An alarm blares.

"GERMS DETECTED! GERMS DETECTED!"

"No!! Let me in!! Let me in!!" I scream, pounding my fists against the barrier, heart racing, panic flaring.

"Quint… Quint… Calm down!!" Mrs. Rauss grabs my shoulders and spins me to face her.

"Let me in!" I shout, raising the gun at her again, voice cracking.

"You can go in," she says, calm as ever. "You just need to be sterilized first. If not, you'll endanger her life."

I freeze.

Her words sink in.

It takes me a couple of seconds… maybe minutes… to process what she said.

Then I lower the gun.

"…Sterilize me, then," I say.