A crushing peril

Cleo Capone surveys the warehouse with narrowed eyes, scanning for something that could deliver poetic punishment without requiring a Broadway set budget.

Her eyes land on a towering stack of precariously balanced crates tied down with a fraying rope looped over a rusted pulley system.

She grins.

“There. That’s got just the right amount of drama... and gravity.”

Moments Later…

Velvet Vixen stirs.

Her vision swims. Her head pounds. Her arms… tied.

“Mmmph…?”

As her eyes focus, she sees it:

She’s tied upright to the side of a tall pallet stack—thick ropes looped around her torso, pinning her arms to her sides. Her legs are similarly bound, ankles pressed tight against the wooden slats. Above her looms an ominous tower of crates stacked high, wobbling slightly as if eager to fall. They’re rigged to a rope—one so threadbare it looks like it’ll snap if she breathes too hard.

A small kitchen timer ticks loudly nearby. Ten minutes.

Delilah gives it a loving twist with a smirk.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Cleo stands a few feet away, arms folded, pistol holstered again. Her voice is cool and collected, but her eyes burn with disdain.

“This, my glittery little nuisance, is what happens when you mess with my plans.”

Kendrick squirms against the ropes, only making the tower sway slightly. She freezes.

“One snap,” Cleo says with a smirk, “and it’s a very messy end. But you’ve got time. And you seem to be good at getting out of things…”

She turns to walk away, heels clicking against the floor.

“Let’s see if you can Houdini your way out before you’re crushed like last season’s shoes.”

The henchwomen laugh as they follow her out, leaving Velvet Vixen alone in the flickering light of the warehouse… and the growing creak of the rigging above her.

Tick. Tick. Tick.