the_vigilante | i resist arrest until you say it's over (rp for openyourworld)

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i resist arrest until you say it's over (rp for openyourworld)

It starts, as so many things do for him, for want of a code.

Blume, however unfortunately, has gotten smart, these last few weeks. They're learning DedSec's MO, they're learning his, and it seems like they know better, now, to put anything that might give him access to their systems in arm's reach. They stop carrying their log in credentials on their phones, stop checking that remember me box on their computers, they stop sharing trade secrets over the phone, even, and move workstations to face away from the surveillance cameras in every room. They're doing it all the old fashioned way, now, by memory, and while that's annoying, it seems Blume underestimates his commitment to the cause.

It doesn't take him long to narrow it down to a short list of people who might have the code he needs. It even easier to narrow it down further, to who's the most convenient target, and he's waiting for one of Blume's code monkeys three nights later, in a dead zone along her daily after-work jogging route. He claps a hand over her mouth as he drags her, kicking and screaming, into the alley where he parked his car, and shoves a piece of duct tape over her mouth to keep her quiet before he shoves her into the trunk, neater than the fixers that came for Frewer, once upon a time, back in Chicago. Her phone gets turned off and tucked into his pocket, and then they're off, headed back towards the hackerspace he, Clara and Ray have claimed.

He's not worried about her seeing it. For all she'll know by the time they get there, it's just a house. It could be anywhere in the San Francisco or the outlying areas. He'll dump her somewhere far away, once he's done with her.

He throws her over his shoulder, when they get home, when he gets her out of the trunk, and beelines inside, hearing her nails catch on the walls as he carries her up the stairs and to his and Clara's bedroom. It doesn't slow him down any, and there's a chair already waiting, set up before he even left, at the foot of the bed for him to dump her into. When she tries to get up, he pulls out a gun and turns it on her.

"Don't," he orders, voice muffled by the mask he's had pulled up since he left for 'work.' "Sit down."

It's up to her how messy this ultimately gets.

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As soon as the trunk lid closes over her, she gets the duct tape off her mouth and starts trying to remember everything she's heard about getting out of a car trunk. She kicks at the lights, trying to dislodge a panel, but it's a tight space, and she can't get a lot of leverage. She yells for help as loud as she can and bangs on the trunk lid, hoping someone will hear her.

When the car starts to slow, she gropes around the trunk for a weapon, but her captor has obviously thought ahead, and there's nothing there. She does what she can with her hands and feet when he opens the trunk and goes to grab her, but it's a futile effort. She tries to get her bearings as he carries her toward the house, but they're inside before she can see a house number or street name.

The inside of the house is a surprise, considering she would have expected him to be taking her to an empty house - maybe one on the market - or a seedy motel or even out to the middle of nowhere. This looks like a house someone is actually living in, though, and that brings up a whole new set of worries. Maybe he's already killed the people that live here and now he's going to kill her? Oh, God.

She fights more as he carries her inside, kicking and squirming and trying to get her hands on a door frame or banister or anything that might make him lose his grip on her, but he just continues on like he doesn't even notice. She immediately starts to stand as he puts her down, intending to head for the door - but then she sees the gun, and she sinks back down into the chair.

"What... what do you want? Please let me go," she begs shakily, eyes wide and dark, and she can feel tears gathering in her eyes. She knows very well who he is, after all, and she knows what he does to people.

Behind the mask, he smiles, seemingly satisfied -- though, there's something faintly uncertain behind his eyes. For all that she absolutely has something he wants, in reality, Blume doesn't factor into this at all. This is, at it's core, a game, and while he's pretty sure she's having a good time, the fact that she's playing American a good sign, he wants to be sure.

Thankfully, he has a means of peeking beyond the facade without breaking it, and so, coolly, he tells her, "Yeah, maybe." Maybe he'll let her go. "Just give me Blume's new security code, and we can all go home and pretend this never happened."

She's a decent actor, honestly, which is a lot of why more people didn't know who she was back in Chicago. He's never seen her play this role, though, since they were working together and she wasn't trying to con him into anything. He met her as badboy17, not some script kiddie or damsel in distress.

She sniffs a little. "New security code?" she echoes, confused, still sounding more Californian than normal. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yeah," Aiden mutters, not buying it. While he shifts to put the gun up, however, it's clear she isn't off the hook, yet.

He steps up to her then, leaning down to put his face on level with hers. He lingers there a moment, studying her, then leans to catch her wrists, to hold her down as he leans past her. He shifts a little, to transfer her wrists to one hand and to reposition himself so she can't throw a knee to great effect, this close, and reaches for a length of rope on the bed. He pulls back, pulls her arms over her head, and holds up the rope so she can see where this is going before he gets started.

"Still time to change your mind, stop bullshitting me," he offers.

She watches him put the gun up - and then pulls back away from him as he leans in close to her. She struggles a little as he pins her wrists down, trying to pull away - and she does start to pull a foot up, ending up with her foot pinned at an awkward angle as he moves closer. She's still trying to pull away, the effort fruitless. "Please," she begins, swallowing hard, eyes flicking between the rope and him. "What are you going to do to me?"

It's perfectly in character, really, but they only went so far in planning this. She's definitely curious what he has in mind. Whether or not he tells her is another matter, obviously.

"Guess you're gonna find out," he answers, still keeping her pinned as he struggles with the rope. Thankfully, it unravels from where he had it wrapped up fairly easily, and he takes one end of it, circling around to stand behind her, the chair. He pulls his arms down then, behind the chair, and starts to tie her to it.

And just in case she has any ideas, as he works, he puts his mouth near her ear and growls, "Move and you die."

She whimpers softly as he undoes the rope, as he pulls on her arms, as she feels him start to wrap the rope around her wrists. "Please," she says again. "Please don't hurt me. I didn't do anything."

She's definitely starting to struggle, hands moving a little - but she goes still as he speaks - and the little breath that catches in her throat isn't entirely part of the act, now, though it's definitely not a sound of fear.

"That's good," Aiden tells her, ever-lowly but mocking now, too. Good of her to pay attention to that of all things, and stop squirming so he can tie her up properly, so she won't escape -- and so he doesn't end up accidentally cutting off the circulation in her wrists, more realistically.

Either way, he makes quick work of tying her wrists, the motion practiced over and over, these last couple weeks, building up to this. He straightens when he's done, then circles back around her, staring down at her for a moment, something behind his eyes at odds with how cold he seems, otherwise, and then he starts to kneel in front of her. He puts his hands on either knee, to hold her legs down, to keep her from kicking him, as he divest her of her shoes and, with the rest of the rope, starts to tie her legs to the chair, too.

His eyes dart up to her face several times as he works, and after a moment, he tells her, "Same deal."

She moves, and he'll kill her. As if it wasn't obvious.

When he finishes tying her hands and moves away, she considers that first warning moot and does tug on the ropes, testing the bonds, honestly trying to work her hands free. Obviously it gets her nowhere, and she clenches her fists, swallowing a whimper as she looks up at him.

Her eyes are still wide and dark, but it's not fear that has her pupils dilating, her quick breaths only half an act.

She nods quickly to his warning, swallowing hard as he secures her ankles. "Someone... my friends will be looking for me," she tries, this time.

"They'll look," Aiden agrees, on the heel of a breath of a cruel laugh.

They'll look, but they won't find her -- and never mind the fact that Ray is just downstairs in the basement, otherwise intentionally occupied. The threats seem to be doing it for her, though, so he'll keep at them. Her reactions are definitely doing it for him, and his looking up at her every so often is as much to maintain the illusion of being dangerous by staring at her from under his eyebrows as it is so he can watch her face. The smirk he's wearing under the mask is genuine, too, though it plays into all of this just as well as anything else.

Either way, again he makes quick, practiced work of her, and again, he stands when he's finished, looking her over again. After a beat, he reaches into his pocket, and pulls out a knife, flicking it open. He doesn't usually use a knife, at work, but his carrying one at all isn't out of place, he thinks. He doesn't think she'll think too hard about it, when he rests the point of it in the space between her collar bones, just below the top of her shitty t-shirt, seemingly gently and actually so all at once.

"The code," he repeats as he holds there.

She swallows hard again, tipping her head back for a moment like she's blinking back tears. She looks back at him a moment later, though, holding carefully still otherwise, muscles almost trembling.

Again, once he's finished, she dares to move, testing the rope and finding no give. She goes still when she hears the knife open, staring up at him, pulling her shoulders forward a little as she tries futilely to retreat from the weapon.

"I don't know any code!" she says more insistently, her voice still shaking. "I'm just... I just do basic code, I don't know anything, please, please let me go."

"Not my call."

It's still up to her, whether or not he actually lets her go, and if she doesn't want to cooperate? Well, he can't be blamed for what follows -- which, in this case, is him catching her shirt on the tip of the knife, and pulling it away from her. He holds there for a handful of heartbeats, so that maybe, maybe she can clue in to where this is going, and then he takes part of her shirt in the other hand, to hold it steady as he starts cutting it open. The knife goes through like butter, though he has to make a few passes, bound as he is, to get it off her in entirety.

Pulling the remains of it free of her, he leans back in to repeat the process on the sports bra she's wearing, then rocks back, studying her. He doesn't bother to hide the hunger behind his eyes, as they dart from her face to her bare torso and back again.

"What... what are you doing?" she asks as he catches her shirt on the knife - and then she actually goes still when he starts cutting through the fabric. It's not that she doesn't trust him to be careful, but she doesn't want to mess up the scene because she flinched at the wrong moment, considering how sharp the knife clearly is.

Clara also slips a little when he steps back, not quite hiding a smirk of her own in response to the look in his eyes, and she presses her lips together for a moment to get back into character.

"Getting creative," he answers, already starting to kneel down again. He turns the knife on her sweatpants then, on her panties, more careful here than he was with her shirt because he can be, the fact that she's tied up keeping her from watching, from breaking the illusion.

Regardless, he yanks the remains of her clothing out from under her roughly, the snaps the knife closed. He takes another long, lecherous look before he trades the knife for his baton, snapping it open with more force than he really has to, for the sake of the show. He rests the tip of it on her shoulder for a moment, then swings down and away, to touch it to her stomach. From there, he drags the thing up over her chest, between her breasts, and up to her chin, where he tips her head up to look at him.

"Feeling talkative yet?"

"Stop, please, stop," she pleads quietly as he cuts away the rest of her clothing, still carefully not moving as he works.

She lets herself flinch as he opens the baton, turning her head sharply to the side like she's bracing for him to hit her with it. She looks away from it when he touches it to her shoulder, pulling away from it as he touches it to her stomach - and there are more tears in her eyes when he forces her to look at him.

"I... I told you. I don't know what you want, they don't tell me anything." She takes a shuddering breath and whispers, "Please."

He hums, hesitates albeit intentionally so, trying to give the impression that he's actually considering it. Then all at once, he pulls the baton out from under her chin and swings down, this time with real intent, striking at one of the back legs of the chair. It scoots the chair and her along with it away from the bed; it tips the whole thing back against it, so for a second, she's in free-fall before the mattress catches the back of the chair.

He steps up to her then, over her, legs on either side of the chair and her, and leans down to put his face near hers. "You're a shitty liar."

She cries out as he swings the baton, still (not really) expecting a blow - and then really cries out as the chair tips, honestly not expecting that and worked up enough for it to actually startle her.

She gasps a little as he leans down, pulling away from him as much as she can. "I'm not lying! You're... you're... they call you the Vigilante, everyone at work talks about you, I know what you do to people, but I haven't hurt anyone, I just work for them, please, please, please," she all but babbles, trailing off and swallowing hard.

"You work for Blume. Even if you don't have the code, that's enough."

The torture is on, regardless, until he gets what he wants -- until she breaks and gives him the code to call him off or he does. He's really not sure who will outlast who, here, considering how hard he is, already. He's a little embarrassed, maybe, that he's enjoying this, for all that it reads like a porno, but he's absolutely enjoying it.

He pulls away just enough to get the baton between them, circling one of her breasts with the tip of it, watching her face for her reaction, that in mind. He's pretty sure, from all the begging, that she's into it, too.

It's really putting it mildly to say that she's into it. She doesn't find it weird at all, honestly, considering she's found Aiden attractive since they met, and having all that energy directed at her is absolutely doing it for her.

There's also the fact that, while she has played the role of dom for people before, she's definitely a switch. It's nice to take a turn on the other side of the image she usually portrays.

She catches her breath as the baton touches her again, shivering a little, her nipple hardening as she tries to pull away from the touch, her bonds and the position of the chair stopping her from really getting anywhere.

Aiden hums, pleased by her reaction, and almost like magic, the baton disappears. His hand replace the metal on her skin, rough pads of his fingers trailing up over her chest to palm the rise of her nipple. He massages her breast, then, sure that the sensation is something, for all that the sweater he's wearing covers about half of his hand. He watches her face, still, hungry for her reaction.

She squirms under his touch, still trying to pull away, pulling on the ropes around her wrists. "Stop, please stop," she begs, voice shaking, still sounding like she's near tears.

She's not offering to tell him the code, though, so that should say something.

"You wanna go back to the duct tape?" he asks, as if the begging is bothering him. He won't, though -- just in case, she needs to be able to talk -- but again, the threat is a good one, he thinks, and one he punctuates by squeezing her breast a little roughly.

He pulls his hand away then, and as he starts to his knees between her legs, he continues, "If you're not gonna tell me what I wanna hear, I don't need you talking through this."

She gives a frightened little yelp at the threat and the touch. She shakes her head minutely but violently in response to the question and presses her lips together pointedly - she'll keep quiet, she promises

"Better," he promises, one hand falling to her hip, as if he needs to hold her. The other goes up to his mouth, to the mask, to pull it down, before joining the first, and then he leans in, attaching his mouth to her nipple, now.

Just because she doesn't speak doesn't mean she's entirely silent, and she gasps again as he presses his mouth to her breast. On apparent reflex, she tries again to pull away, making an honest effort to get out of the ropes, now, trying to get away from him, from his touch.

She moans softly, too, and there's definitely a little less distress in it than there really should be as far as keeping in character.

i resist arrest until you say it's over (rp for openyourworld)

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