The Long Drive Back

Rain continued to hammer the roof of the unmarked van as you navigated the slick streets of New Eisenstadt. Gothic spires and concrete bunkers blurred past in the downpour, illuminated by sweeping Iron Dominion floodlights and crimson holographic billboards.

Velocity Vixen sat secured to the reinforced bench in the back, suppressor cuffs glowing faintly around her wrists. Her massive chest still rose and fell heavily, the wet black-and-silver suit clinging to every lush curve like a second skin. You kept your eyes on the road, but the rear-view mirror kept pulling your gaze back to her. She looked up and caught you looking at her in the rearview mirror, jumping on the chance to try and change your opinion.

“You don’t have to do this,” she said after a long silence, her voice low but fierce. “You’re not some brainwashed Dominion thug. I can see it in your eyes.”

You exhaled through your nose. “Doesn’t matter what I am. You were operating unregistered. That makes you a vigilante. No rules, no oversight, no accountability. Just another powered lunatic deciding what ‘justice’ looks like. I remember the chaos in the streets. The Dominion at least has structure.”

Vixen let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “Structure? That’s what you call it? If rules are so sacred, then explain why half the Dominion lords trade people like livestock. Why girls get sold on the black market to whichever villain wants a new toy, or why low-level grunts get thrown into turf wars because some mid-tier psycho says ‘they’re expendable’? I stopped one of those trades tonight, before you ambushed me. A woman and her eight-year-old son—about to be shipped off to some sadist’s private collection. I got them out. That’s why I was in that alley.”

Her words hit harder than they should have.

You remembered the first hero you’d delivered to Vex. Except she hadn’t been a hero at all—just a scared, pretty brunette bought straight off the **** market. Vex had paid extra for her. You still saw her face sometimes when you closed your eyes: wide, terrified eyes staring at you as you handed her over. She hadn’t fought. She’d just whispered, “Please… I have a daughter.”

You’d told yourself it wasn’t your business. That the Dominion had cleaned up the worst of the chaos. That the money was good.

But the memory still twisted in your gut.

Vixen watched you closely in the mirror. “See? You know I’m right. The rules only matter when they protect the people at the top. Everyone else is just currency or cannon fodder.”

You stayed quiet for nearly a minute, jaw tight. The wipers thumped rhythmically against the windshield.

“…Doesn’t change what you are,” you finally muttered. “Vigilantes cause more problems than they solve. I’ve seen it.”

She leaned forward as much as the cuffs allowed, her heavy breasts pressing against the restraint harness. “Then why do you look sick every time you think about where you’re taking me?”

You didn’t answer.

The radio suddenly crackled to life—old-world rock cutting through the static with a gritty guitar riff and a voice howling about rebellion. You reached for the knob.

“Wait,” Vixen said quickly. “Leave it on. Please.”

You hesitated… then dropped your hand.

For the next few minutes the van filled with raw, defiant music. Vixen hummed along softly, eyes half-closed, crimson hair still damp and wild. Despite everything, the tension in the cabin eased. You caught yourself tapping your thumb on the steering wheel in time with the beat.

She noticed. A small, exhausted smirk tugged at her lips. “Didn’t peg you for a classic rock guy, Traps.”

You grunted. “It’s just noise.”

But it wasn’t. For a fleeting moment, the two of you shared something stupidly human — a captured speedster and her **** captor, listening to music together while the rain poured down.

You killed the radio with a sharp twist of the knob.

“Don’t,” you muttered, more to yourself than to her. “Don’t do that.”

She laughed softly, bitterly. “What? Act like a person? Too late, rookie. You already let me in.”

The rest of the drive passed in heavy silence.

Dr. Vex’s hideout was a nondescript concrete bunker tucked beneath an abandoned industrial block. You backed the van into the loading bay, rain still sheeting down as you hauled the now-quiet Velocity Vixen down the stairs.

The lab smelled of antiseptic, ozone, and something faintly sweet and chemical. Dr. Vex waited in the main room, gaunt and wild-haired in his stained lab coat.

His eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas.

“Ohhh, magnificent, Traps! Velocity Vixen herself. Those hips, that speed metabolism… perfect for the new serum line.” He circled her hungrily. “The Overlords might actually notice me after this one.”

Before she could speak again, Vex pulled out his slender metallic “sleep stick” and jabbed it against her neck. Hiss. Her eyes fluttered, body going limp. You caught her as she slumped forward, feeling the warm, heavy weight of her breasts against your chest one last time.

“Strip her and put her on Table Three,” Vex ordered, already turning toward his glowing equipment. Then he paused. “Wait… where are her goggles?”

You blinked. “Her goggles?”

“Yes, her goggles!” Vex snapped, irritation flashing across his face. “They’re not decorative, you fool. They contain critical speed-enhancing tech and data lenses. I specifically noted that in the briefing. Go back to the alley. Find them. Bring them to me. Do not return without them.”

He waved you off dismissively, already prepping syringes and humming to himself.

You laid Vixen’s **** form carefully on the cold metal table, her full lips slightly parted, chest rising and falling slowly. Then you turned and headed back up the stairs into the rain.

The goggles were still lying somewhere in that alley. At least you hoped they were. As you turned the van on and angled back on the road, Vixen's warning seemed to linger in your mind.

The rules only matter when they protect the people at the top. Everyone else is just currency or cannon fodder...