A Favor for a Favor

The Rusty Nail was as unremarkable as it got — dim lighting, sticky floors, and patrons who knew better than to ask questions.

You and Vixen arrived early and took a booth in the back. She was tense, fingers tapping restlessly on the table. You tried to appear calm, but your mind was racing.

A few minutes later the door opened.

A massive man stepped inside. Titanus — Marcus — was a towering 6'5" wall of muscle with short-cropped blond hair, a thick beard, and sharp blue eyes. Even in civilian clothes he looked like he could tear a tank apart.

The moment he saw Vixen, his face broke into a wide, genuine grin.

“Vix!” he boomed in a thick Russian accent, pulling her into a crushing bear hug. “You are alive! I thought the worst.”

Vixen laughed and hugged him back tightly. “I’m okay, Marcus. Really. It’s… complicated.”

You watched them, a sharp sting of jealousy twisting in your gut. The easy affection, the way he held her — it looked too familiar. Too close. You quickly swallowed the feeling as best you can and plastered a smile on your face.

Marcus finally released her and turned to you, sizing you up. “So this is the man who captured you?”

Vixen placed a reassuring hand on your arm. “This is Traps. Marcus, Traps. Traps, this is Marcus.”

You shook his massive hand, feeling like your bones might crack.

As you all settled in, another woman slid into the booth beside Marcus. Replica — Liora Voss. She was striking: sharp, fox-like features, shoulder-length black hair with silver streaks, and intelligent green eyes that studied you like you were a puzzle to solve. She had a lean, athletic build with subtle but dangerous curves, dressed in dark casual clothes that screamed “don’t notice me.”

Marcus leaned forward. “We don’t have much time. Overlord Seraphine — the propaganda one. Tall, elegant, silver-blonde hair, always looks like she stepped out of a fashion shoot. Flight and **** durability. She’s been pushing for harsher crackdowns on ‘unlicensed’ supers. We have a plan to kidnap her at a VIP charity ball in three days. No alarms. No witnesses. We need perfect disguises, illusions, and misdirection.”

You leaned back in the booth and let out a slow, heavy sigh.

Seraphine.

You’d seen footage of her — elegant, commanding, breathtakingly beautiful. The thought of **** her… and then getting her back to the lab… sent a dark thrill through you. You could already imagine experimenting on her. Pushing her limits. Turning the Dominion’s golden voice into something far more entertaining.

It was incredibly risky. Public. High-profile. One mistake and Kane would be on you like a hammer.

Replica spoke up, her voice cool and measured. “My power is perfect cloning. I can create up to eight solid, independent duplicates that last for hours. They can act, speak, and fight just like me. But I’m not as trusting as Marcus.” She fixed you with a hard stare. “Vixen vouches for you, but you were Vex’s henchman. If this is a trap, I’ll know. And I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Vixen jumped in before things could get awkward. “He’s telling the truth, Liora. We need this alliance.”

Marcus nodded slowly. “If you help us take Seraphine, I’ll lend you my strength for your prototype.”

You looked at the three of them — Vixen watching you carefully, Marcus with guarded hope, Replica with clear suspicion. Marcus extended his massive hand across the table.

“So, Traps. Do we have a deal?”

The Grand Ballroom of the Eisen Tower was a glittering display of Dominion power and wealth. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting warm light over elegantly dressed elites, high-ranking officials, and wealthy donors. On stage, Overlord Seraphine commanded the room like a queen.

She was stunning — tall, graceful, with long silver-blonde hair cascading down her back and piercing violet eyes. Her flowing crimson gown hugged her athletic yet feminine figure, and when she spoke, her voice carried effortlessly through the hall, smooth and hypnotic.

“Tonight, we celebrate order,” she declared, smiling radiantly. “The Iron Dominion has brought peace where chaos once reigned…”

You and Vixen were hidden in a small utility closet just off the backstage hallway, pressed close together in the dark. Her body was warm against yours, breathing quick with anticipation.

Replica had two clones in play: one acting as a waitress circulating through the crowd, the other subtly altered by you into a sleek cat-girl “villain” (complete with ears, tail, and teasing attitude) mingling among the guests as a planted distraction.

Titanus stood behind Seraphine on stage in a disguised security uniform — you had shortened him slightly and given him long dark hair to avoid recognition.

Everything was in position.

The waitress clone “tripped” near one of the massive speakers at the edge of the stage. A tray of drinks crashed down, liquid spilling directly into the electronics. A horrible screech of feedback ripped through the ballroom.

The crowd gasped. Seraphine’s smile faltered.

Titanus moved immediately, taking her arm with professional urgency. “Overlord, this way — backstage, quickly.”

He guided her off the stage and down the narrow hallway, straight toward your hiding spot.

You held your breath. Vixen’s hand tightened on your arm.

As they passed the closet, Seraphine suddenly stopped.

“Wait,” she said, voice sharp. “Why are we leaving? And why are you the only guard with me?”

Titanus tried to keep moving. “Protocol, ma’am—”

Seraphine’s eyes narrowed. With surprising strength, she shoved him hard. Titanus stumbled directly into the invisible trap you had placed across the hallway. His feet stuck fast to the floor with a wet thump as the mutagenic adhesive activated.

Seraphine stepped back, staring at him with cold fury.

“You’re not one of my guards,” she hissed. “Who the hell are you?”

Vixen’s eyes went wide with panic. She turned to you, voice a **** whisper.

“Change me. Whatever you need to do — do it now!”

The game had just gone very wrong.