Eris Kane came to consciousness the way most people did on Monday morning after a weekend of drinking: slow, confused, and vaguely pissed off. Something was wrong. Her mouth was dry, her wrists were bound, and judging by the tension in her shoulders and the weight against her spine, she was sitting in a rickety wooden chair.

She blinked once. Then twice.

Dark room. No windows. A single overhead light that was too dim to be useful and too bright to be ignorable. Smelled like mildew, bleach, and someone’s bad desicions.

Her mouth was gagged. Classic rookie move.

If her captor had done a cursory Google search for “how not to immediately die after kidnapping someone,” they might’ve started with _don’t let her keep her boots. _Or her watch. Or her bra; which, in Eris’ case, wasn’t Victoria’s Secret so much as Victoria’s Shoulder-Holster-For-A-Folding-Knife.

But sure. Gag the girl. That’ll work.

She shifted, testing the ropes. Nylon, double knotted at ankles and wrists both. Not bad… for someone whose tactical training consisted of watching reruns of 24 and maybe tying up their ex during a weekend retreat in Vermont.

Internally, Eris sighed. _Okay. So this is happening. Tied up. Gagged. Smell’s like a mop bucket’s asshole. Chair is missing a screw, left leg wobbles. Fantastic. Ten bucks says this guy’s name is something generic like Chad._

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Outside the door, Eris could hear footsteps. They were slow and heavy, not the confident stride of someone in control, but the stomping shuffle of a man who thought intimidation could be achieved through loud boots and subpar deodorant.

Enter: Chad. Or Steve. Or whatever ridiculous name he gave himself on the dark web to make himself sound scary.

He stepped into the room like a villain in a straight-to-streaming action film. Black cargo pants, fingerless gloves, T-shirt with a skull on it because of fucking course.

He paused dramatically.

“You’re awake,” he said, as if that hadn’t been obvious by the way she was already staring at him like she was rating his life choices on a scale of ‘_one_’ to ‘_arson is too good for you._’

Eris tilted her head, just a little, just enough to convey: _Seriously?_

He moved closer and tried to loom. Unfortunately for him, she’d seen toddlers loom more effectively. “I bet you’re wondering why you’re here.”

_I’m wondering why your tactical vest still has the price tag on it, sweetheart._

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“You’ve pissed off the wrong people, Kane.”

_Join the club. There’s merch. _

He squatted down in front of her and looked her in the eye. Bad call. Her gaze didn’t flinch- it never flinched. But his did; a little twitch at the corner of his left eye. She mentally added that to the file: _Emotionally unstable, possibly compensating. Probably dropped on his head as a child. _

“You’re going to tell us what we want to know. Or this is going to get ugly.”

_This is already ugly. You’re wearing Crocs with tactical pants. _

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She didn’t respond, not with her mouth gagged, but she didn’t need to. Her expression said everything: _This is your first kidnapping, isn’t it?_

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Probably-Chad rose to his feet, clearly uncomfortable with silence that wasn’t punctuated by screaming or begging. Which told her everything she needed to know about his experience level: zero, possibly negative.

He turned and stormed out.

Eris waited three seconds after the door clicked shut before sighing through her nose. _I give it twenty minutes before he comes back with a buddy named “Razor” who looks like he sells fake IDs to high schoolers. Or maybe he calls in someone named “Viper.” There’s always a Viper. Bonus points if he has a neck tattoo and unresolved maternal issues._

She rolled her shoulders subtly, just enough movements to test the structural integrity of the chair. The back slats creaked. Cheap wood. The Home Depot special. She could break it with her thighs if she was willing to get a splinter in a very uncomfortable place.

Which she was.

But not yet.

First, reconnaissance. _So. No visible surveillance cameras. Light fixture isn’t one of those cheap spy bulbs. They’re not streaming this which is dumb, they could have gotten millions on the dark web from my enemies if they could see me mildly inconvienced like this. Which means they’re amateurs. Or perverts. Or both. Probably both. _

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She examined the room again, eyes flickering over the peeling pain, a bucket in the corner, and- ah. There it was. A ratty duffle bag on a table in the corner. The duffle bag wasn’t even locked.

_God, you people really don’t value your lives. _

Footsteps again; two this time.

Enter Viper. She didn’t even need to look at him to know it was Viper. You could _smell _Viper from the hallway: sweat, chewing tobacco, and a recent drowning of Axe body spray circa 2007.

“You sure she’s the one?” Viper asked, voice rough like a man who gargled with gravel and unresolved bitterness.

“Positive,” Probably-Chad said. “It’s her. Facial recognition hit. She’s the Mercenary.”

“Oh, she’s the one who blew up that convoy in Dalkoran Province?”

_Wow. Someone’s been reading my Wikipedia page._

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“Yeah, that’s her.”

_Correction: The convoy was already on fire. I just made it cooler._

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“So what now?” Viper asked.

“We get her to talk.” A pause. “Or we break her.”

_Good luck, dipshit. You couldn’t break a glow stick. _

They stood in front of her like bouncers at a club she wouldn’t be caught dead in. She met their eyes, one by one. Didn’t blink, just started, cool and detached. It was the kind of stare that made grown men start confessing sins they hadn’t committed.

“She doesn’t look so tough,” Viper muttered.

_And you don’t look like someone who made it all the way through puberty with all your brain cells, but here we are._

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Probably-Chad pulled the gag down. “You gonna talk or are we going to make this messy?”

Eris licked her lips, considering, before saying, “Your mother called. She wants her basement back.”

Silence.

Then: “What did you say?”

Eris smiled. Not sweetly, not apologetically. It was the kind of smile you gave someone right before you tore out their throat with a nail file. “I said, this setup? Amateur hour. The ropes are uneven. The knot’s too close to my pulse point. You didn’t even check for lockpicks. And the lighting in here makes you look like a meth-dealing accountant. Oh, and your friend Viper smells like swamp ass and methamphetamines.”

Viper lunged. She pivoted, chair and all, using the loosened left leg as leverage. The chair cracked sideways, splintered, and in one fluid motion, Eris twisted, snapping the ropes against the pressure point she’d been working with her fingernail for the last ten minutes.

She was free.

“Shit! Grab her-!”

Too late.

She swung the broken chair leg up like a bat, caught Viper across the nose. Blood geysered and Probably-Chad fumbled for his pistol.

She kicked it out of his hand. One-two, twist, elbow to the throat. He crumpled.

Viper charged her again, but she was already moving; stepping aside, tripping him, driving her heel down in the back of his knee. He howled.

She grabbed his tactical vest and ripped it open. No body armor underneath, just a mesh shirt.

“You know,” she muttered, breath even, heart calm. “I woke up this morning thinking I’d maybe go get a coffee, shoot someone, and get a manicure. Guess which one of those things you’re ruining?”

Probably-Chad tried to crawl away. She snapped out her leg and slammed her boot in the back of his shoulder. “Don’t bother, you’re not interesting enough to let live.”

He whimpered.

“You two have two choices,” she continued crouching down between them. “You can tell me who paid you to drag me here, or I can start breaking bones alphabetically. Let’s see… arm, ankle, appendix— wait, that’s not a bone. But I can try anyway.”

Probably-Chad squeaked. Honest-to-God _squeaked. _“J-Jasper Vellin! It was Jasper Vellin- he’s with the Concord. He said you were a threat, said they’d pay double if we got it on video.”

She rolled her eyes. _Oh good. The Concord again. Is it Tuesday already? I feel like they always bug me on a Tuesday because nothing else ever happens on a Tuesday._

She stood, brushing off her pants, smearing blood across the knee. Irritating.

She turned towards the door, then paused, and looked back.

“You should know,” she drawled, “Next time you kidnap a woman with a higher kill count than a small war, maybe start with chloroform and titanium cuffs. Just a tip.”

She stepped over Viper and opened the door before turning around. “And for the love of God. Burn that shirt. What are you? Eleven?”

- - -

Outside, the night was cold. Her boots crunched over gravel. Eris pulled out the folding knife from under her bra strap and checked for blood.

_Note to self: track down Jasper Vellin. Ask him politely to stop sending idiots. Maybe start with his kneecaps. Or his prized garden plants. _

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She slipped into the shadows, blending with them like ink into water.

Just another Tuesday.

Someone, somewhere was about to have a _very _bad morning.