Wonder Woman: Hell in Paradise (Part 2)

Part III

 

Birds of Prey

 

Black Canary and Donna sprang up as the door to the cell-block slid open.  Slade Wilson, Deathstroke the Terminator, came in without comment, the light glinting off his black scale armour as he carried an unconscious Amazon over his shoulder.

 

‘Artemis!’ Donna cried out, coming to the edge of the cell. Even without close inspection, she could see the terrible damage that had been done to the red haired warrior woman. She was covered in drying blood, and what looked like second-degree burns made ugly patters on her tanned skin.

 

‘You bastard, Wilson!’ the Canary hissed. ‘I knew you were a psycho, but this…’

 

Deathstroke dumped Artemis into a cell and secured it, testing the door to make sure it was properly locked, then turned to cast his good eye in the direction of the seething blonde crime fighter. ‘Not my doing, Ms Lance.’ Dinah returned his stare with contempt. ‘Though I must say I’m impressed with her courage – not many women I know would let themselves be worked over by demons like that without cracking.’

 

‘Demons?’ Donna said, half in disbelief.

 

‘We represent a lot of interested parties,’ Deathstroke said simply. He turned to go.

 

‘I always thought that you had some kind of warrior code of ethics, Wilson,’ Dinah said as he headed for the exit.  ‘I never figured you for one who would condone the torture of defenceless captives.’

 

Deathstroke paused at the door. As usual, his expression behind that black and tan full head mask was unreadable.  ‘Anyone who puts to words Amazon and defenceless in the same sentence deserves whatever he gets,’ he replied.  ‘And what I condone – is getting paid. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some long overdue personal business to take care of.’

 

He cast a brief but meaningful look in Donna’s direction, but said nothing more as the door closed with a thud.

 

***

 

Elsewhere, Dr Moon looked up at his new subject, who had only just regained consciousness.  He would have preferred to continue with the blonde Power Girl, but this next step of the research was one he was better suited to conduct than the eminently gifted but technologically less advanced Crime Doctor.  So he had forced himself to leave that pleasure to his star-spectacled colleague.

 

People had no idea of the sacrifices he made for science.

 

This one called herself the Huntress. Such colourful names they came up with, usually the limit of their creative intelligence, though the woman apparently liked to model herself after Gotham’s dark knight detective. Moon had a grudging respect for the Batman’s keen intellect, so perhaps this one would provide him with some intelligent comments.

 

The black tressed heroine tossed her hair out of her eyes and glared at him from behind her dark purple mask.  ‘I’m going to make you eat those glasses when I get out her, you greasy little shit,’ she snarled.

 

Moon sighed. Perhaps not.

 

‘You are a remarkable physical specimen, I must say,’ he said, trying to be patient. They had strapped her into a set of leather cuffs attached to bolts in the floor and ceiling of the stone room, the bindings holding the woman suspended spread-eagled in mid-air with her upper body slightly forward of her legs, so that she seemed to be leaning over Moon as he stood in front of her. He knew the weight on her shoulders would be starting to cause her discomfort but apart from some perspiration around her chest and arms, she showed no fatigue. His eyes took in her now mostly naked body, a lean, 5 feet ten inches of tones athleticism. They had left her mask on more as a mockery than anything else, and the only other clothing she had was the remains of her long gloves and the thigh high boots on her legs and feet. Objectively he understood that her trim curves, nicely formed breasts, and tight stomach and buttocks made her physically attractive to about 96.4% of heterosexual Caucasian males [and a large minority of females, too], but his own interests tended more towards how much that well honed body allowed her to endure physically.

 

His eyes lingered for a moment on the neatly shaved hair of her pubis, and he found himself smiling slightly.  Well, he wasn’t a robot, after all.

 

Hanging with her feet 8 inches off the ground, Helena ground her teeth as she noticed his point of interest as well. ‘Don’t even think it, creep,’ she said in a low growl.

 

‘You see, that is your trouble right there, woman,’ he said, looking up at her. His tone was like a professor lecturing a lazy student. ‘You limit your thinking. Wasteful.’ He placed his hands behind his back.  ‘The true scholar opens his mind to all opportunities.  And possibilities,’ he added, happily.

 

‘For example,’ he went on, walking around her as she moved her head to follow him, ‘my interest is in the working of the central nervous system, as can measured by the application of stimulus. Also on the functioning of the higher cognitive areas under such stimulation.’

 

‘I can see how a person like you would be interested in improving his mind,’ Huntress said.

 

‘Thank you,’ Moon replied with a nod.

 

‘What with you being a hopeless mental case.’

 

Moon affected not to notice the crass American humour.  ‘We have already had some fascinating results with new technology courtesy of your very durable associate, Power Girl.’

 

That made Helena pause.  Power Girl? She was supposed to be in Superman’s league, virtually invulnerable.  What the hell could this little freak have that could hurt her? ‘Bullshit,’ she said dismissively.

 

‘You are sceptical? Good – one prefers to be challenged by differing opinions every now and then.  As I said, we have made some inroads in understanding more about stimulation of the pain response; the next step is to investigate more aberrant possibilities.’ He paused and looked at his prisoner.  ‘That means unusual,’ he said with a smirk.

 

Keep talking, smart guy. Just give me chance to wiggle out of these damn cuffs and I’ll show you my idea of funny. You’ll fucking die laughing! ‘Is there a point lurking somewhere around here,’ she said, still following his measured pacing, ‘or are you planning to torture me by giving me a stiff neck.’

 

She’d said it. Torture. Helena had not illusions about why she was hanging naked in a cell with an infamous sadist, but to actually admit it out loud was a profound moment. They had tortured her before, and now they were going to do it again. She had accepted it, and felt stronger for it, less fearful.

 

Dinah, at least I wont have to watch you suffering, too, this time. She did not let herself admit that she also wished Dinah were here to help her face this.

 

‘Quite right,’ Moon conceded with another of those little nods.  ‘Let us “get to business,” as they say.’

 

Moon thumbed a button on s device around his wrist, and a panel in the wall in front of them slid away silently. Beyond it, Helena could see another room; very similar to the one she was in, but this one was occupied by another woman, strapped to a metal platform that angle back at 45 degrees. Her arms were pinned by her side by metal bands, identical restraints circling her ankles and forcing her to keep her legs slightly spread

 

The girl seemed no older than 25, but of course that was an illusion. As one of the Themyscrian Amazons, she had already lived for thousands of years, the blessing of their gods making them effectively immortal. Her hair was long and the colour of ripe wheat, and her face was one of indescribable loveliness, with expressive crystal blue eyes and a strong chin, red lips, and classically beautiful features. She was tall and lithe, fulsome in the bust with a narrow waist and very long legs. Her body was barely concealed by the ragged remains of her tunic, evidence of the struggle had put up, the light bruises on her arms and legs and the slight cut on one lip further testimony to her resistance.

 

Helena’s eyes were cold, her anger glacial and obvious.  She had never been one to hide her emotions, especially where abused women were involved.  ‘Her name is Cassandra, as perhaps you already know,’ Moon said. ‘A lore master of Themyscria, which would make her a glorified librarian in the real world.’ He paused for a moment, looking at Huntress intently, but she only shifted her weight in her bonds and breathed slowly.  ‘Of course, in the real world not many librarians look like that or can put four trained soldiers in hospital while being subdued.’

 

I know at least one, Helena thought, but she hid the idea behind a mask of stone.  Did Moon know about Barbara? Sure, he had to know she had come with them to Themyscria, but did he connect them in any other way – did he suspect she was a member of the Birds of Prey. Suddenly this whole scenario took on an even more insidious meaning. Helena only allowed herself to glower at Moon in impotent fury, making herself focus on the question of how could he and his henchmen could gain pleasure from treating her and her fellow women in this way.

 

‘She has information that my employers would find useful,’ Moon continued, looking at Cassandra, ‘but up ‘til now she’s proven…stubborn. We intend to change that.’ He glanced back at the limber heroine. ‘That is, unless you’d like to answer some questions yourself.’

 

 Helena did not answer. She knew her duty, but prayed to all the saints that this man and his brethren would one day be in front of her crossbow.

 

‘I see,’ Moon answered, correctly interpreting her silence. ‘Well, maybe we can help you empathize a bit more with poor Miss Cassandra here.’

 

There was a buzzing sound behind her, and feeling like something attaching to her skin at the back of her neck, like a needle that had pricked painfully. Suddenly she felt a wave of hot pain stabbing into the back of her skull.  She felt a hot flash going through her brain...her eyes snapped wide open and her mouth gaped. Then the flash was gone...and she felt something else.

 

She licked her lips, feeling her neither lip slightly split...had she bitten herself? No, she felt something else...she felt her arms held down at her sides, yet they were raised high up in the air.

 

In the room, men dressed in the uniforms of Deathstrokes mercenary soldiers but stripped to the waist,were now approaching Cassandra. Each of them had the kind of hard body that looked like he could have snapped her like a twig, but she gazed at them with defiance. But, in her mind, Helena could also feel the prickling of fear. Her heart seemed to be speeding up in defiance of her martial training, and with a start, she realized what was happening. Somehow, she understood, this duality of her senses was because she was feeling what Cassandra was feeling. In some way, her body was connected to hers. She felt her own breast dangling underneath her chest...yet simultaneously she felt Cassandra´s fuller globes resting atop her body. She felt herself hanging in mid-air...yet at the same time lying on a table. She felt only contempt for the sole man inside the room with her...yet felt rising fear from the men entering the other room.

 

Moon saw the understanding in her eyes and nodded. 'That right, Huntress – you can feel everything that Cassandra does; every sensation, and every emotion, though the chip we just implanted into you spinal cord. A little something extra in the chip which myself and the Crime Doctor have been field testing on dear Power Girl. I know that as a “super-heroine”,’ and he made air quotes with this fingers, ‘you are prepared to accept any pain.’ He paused for effect. ‘But I wonder how it will feel for you to experience it though the experience of someone less…extroverted.'

 

Helena glared at the sadistic scientist, fighting to ignore the dread coming from Cassandra.  'That woman may not wear a sword, but all Amazons are warriors!' she spat. ‘Not one of them would want me to help you, you sick freak.’

 

‘All warriors, perhaps, but are all warriors are created equal?' Moon mused, 'Well, I suppose we'll find out.'

 

The men in the room were standing over their Amazon captive now, and Helena felt her loathing at having their eyes roam lustfully over her body.

Their thoughts were as plain as they were bestial.

 

‘You want to prove to me that your men are filth?’ the brunette sneered. ‘You have succeeded, already!’  She flexed her wiry muscles again, but it was hopeless. There was nothing she could do as she felt Cassandra struggling as well, equally powerless.

 

'Seems this bitch refuses to tell us anything useful,' one of the men in the room said. ‘Maybe she don’t speak English.’

 

 Cassandra glared at them without reply.

 

‘Nah she understands us just fine, don’t you sweety?’ laughed another. ‘We’ve just gotta motivate her.’ He went to a table nearby and came back with a electronic device, shaped like a nightstick but with buttons and a some sort of lamp at one end.

 

Huntress felt her skin crawl and her stomach tighten...her breathing becoming heavier. They weren’t her feelings, yet there was no way of separating herself from them...she was feeling exactly what Cassandra felt...the feeling in her belly growing more queasy by the second.

 

‘This here is called a pain lance,’ the merc said to the captive blonde beauty. ‘It emits radiation from the tip at various levels - I wouldn’t expect a backward hick like you to understand the tech.’ Huntress felt the hot flush of outrage, the knowledge that Cassandra’s intellect outstripped all three men combined - a surge of indignation going through Cassandra and Helena...even subduing "their" fear for a second.

 

‘It has various setting of intensity,’ the thug went on. ‘This is one.’

 

The man activated the rod, the tip glowing, and moved it towards Cassandra’s lower arm.

 

Huntress felt her own arm tense, and tried to impose her will on the emotions being pumped into her. Cassandra was strong, and she felt her resolve to endure this without breaking. But would she? She was all too aware of the anxiety...the frantic mind of Cassandra looking for a way to free herself...and her determination not to give into whatever was coming against her this very moment.

 

The lance touched her arm, and both women felt the sting of a bee, but prolonged, moving down smooth flesh. Uncomfortable, but endurable, until at last it moved away.

 

Cassandra glanced down, and Helena felt the surge of shared relief at the lack of a mark on the girls flesh, coupled with her own knowledge that that would not last.

 

'Now this,' the man smiled, ' is two.'

 

The lance touched her arm again, and this time instead of stinging, there was burning. Helena swallowed...trying to steel herself against the pain...and found Cassandra doing the same with somewhat less resolve. The nude crime-fighter grunted, but Cassandra yelped with pain as her arm began to burn and burn, not stopping this time due to the lingering touch of the rod. The glowing tip moved over her skin, leaving a red stain where the flesh had been lightly but painfully scorched.

 

Helena heard the men laughed with the prisoner’s cry, and she felt her own anger coupled with the blonde captive’s shame at showing weakness. Dont let these bastards humble you,gir,l she though angrily. Involuntarily, Huntress gazed at her own arm, only to see that it was unblemished. Yet the burning hurt was all too real.

 

‘Hey she can talk,’ said one of the men.

 

‘Or at least yelp,’ laughed another.

 

‘Maybe,’ mused the man with the rod, ‘if we try somewhere more…personal…’

 

They chuckled and one man produced a knife, moving towards the helpless woman on the platform. He ran the blade over her shoulders, then down over the soft curve of her breasts. Huntress hung in space feeling her own tits quiver, the tightening of Cassandra's nipples at the thought to that steel cutting her. Moon took time to look at Helena’s hard, stiffened nipples with interest...so far this set-up seemed to work out very satisfactorily.  Not that he expected this particular subject to talk just yet. But that was good too.

 

Despite being almost nude Huntress felt a piece of garment fall away from her breast. She felt oddly humiliated by the sensation of being forcibly undressed while having been stark naked for hours, already. She felt cool air running over her body when really she was already chilled with sweat, and saw her fellow prisoner’s breasts being bared for the men in the room. One whistled in appreciation. ‘Look at those Amazon titties,’ he said in awe, and indeed even by Themyscrian standards, Cassandra’s chest was impressive.

 

He took one of the proudly erect, hard nipples between thumb and index finger and tightened his grip. The full and ripe breast trembled as he touched the orange teat, pinching it. Cassandra closed her eyes, the black haired heroine watching sharing her hurt; to her pride more than her body.

 

‘Reckon these ta-tas must be pretty sensitive, boys?’ one man asked.

 

‘We’d better find out,’ said the lance holder.

 

Cassandra’s breathing quickened.  She gulped, Helena sharing in the reaction as the glowing source of pain dipped towards the two spheres of womanliness. From her suspension Helena could see as the blonde tried to press herself backwards though the platform, shoulders hunched, watching the instrument approach.

 

<I will tell you nothing,> the lore mistress snarled in Themyscrian.

 

Helena could not understand the exact words and better that the mercenaries, but found that through their link she could comprehend their meaning. As the sensations were funnelled into her, the young Gotham crime-fighter felt the cold surface of a table against her back, preventing her withdrawal from the source of impending pain. She silently cursed Cassandra’s mistake, knowing silence was strength here.

 

‘Sorry bitch, you'll have to learn English,’ said the rod holder.

 

Helena’s own breasts were rising and falling rapidly, awaiting the agonizing touch of the pain-rod. Cassandra sucked in air and held it, the rod less than an inch away. Then…contact! Instantly the burning was back, this time at the top of her curving breast, like a lit match pressed to her flesh. But instead of being snuffed out it burned on, searing her, sending its message of pain though her nerves in her shapely tits.

 

Huntress pressed her lips together and closed her eyes...fighting the pain in her own breast...feeling the rod burning away at her skin and sending its terrible pain into her mammal globe. She was experiencing everything the tortured Amazon did except the actual physical damage. Sweat broke out on her forehead and began matting her glorious, midnight mane. She felt her nipple shrink and harden even more under the heat.

 

Hold on, she urged Cassandra inside her mind. Hold on, hold on!

 

Then glowing rod was doing a lazy circle of the blondes tit mound, filling the firm softness with terrible heat. The men snickered and giggled as they watch Cassandra squirm in her restraints, frantically trying to turn her breasts away from the burning rod, her moves mimicked for an audience of one in the adjoining chamber. The beautiful librarian pressed her lips tight, struggling to remain somehow in control, Helena feeling her desperate need to escape the pain all to well. She felt her breast ablaze with heat, as did her sister in suffering on the table. A small tear formed in the dark haired woman’s eye, and she knew it came from herself as much as the tortured girl.

 

Huntress shook it away in rage, urging Cassandra to be brave. And in the room of horrors the girl was fighting, fighting with all she had. It was Huntress that was trembling with fatigue and despair. She cursed the weakness creeping up inside her, knowing that Cassandra was struggling on. A woman who devoted her whole life to books, and she was facing pain and suffering as bravely as any woman Helena had ever met. She reminded her of Dinah, and the memory of her friends courage in the torture chamber filled her with shame. You’re a hero, Helena, she thought bitterly. Act like one!

 

The man lifted the rod. Cassandra’s left tit was traced with a patchwork of red marks, all still burning ferociously. ‘Well, anything to say now, slut,’ he smiled. And Cassandra…

 

…spat in his face!

 

‘You stuck up cunt!’ the man cursed, punching his fist into her burned, hot left tit. Cassandra screamed and Huntress thrashed in her bonds, her breast feeling like it wanted to explode.  ‘Do the other one!’ one of his friends urged., but another said, ‘No, lets heat up the other tit even more and then beat the shit out of it!’

 

Helena felt the pain arcing out from her chest and sobbed, knowing Cassandra’s courage would no come with a price for the young scholar and that she would share in it all, a helpless victim. Unlike the Amazon, she had no choice about whether she suffered or not – her fate was completely in the hands of others, even if they did not know it.

 

‘This could end, you know,’ Moon offered.  ‘Some little bit of information, something we would find useful.  For example – how a pair of costumed vigilantes end up playing escort to a crippled librarian from Gotham City?’

 

Helena dragged air into her lungs and every one made her tortured breast ache with suffering. So, it was Barbara they were after – they wanted information on her, maybe even suspected that she was linked to the Birds of Prey, to the enigmatic cyber entity Oracle. 

 

Helena closed her eyes in, her emotions in a torment as great as that wracking her lovely young body. She had no illusions about these monsters willingness to torture a woman in a wheelchair, but she was confidant in Barbara’s ability or hold out, if only long enough to convince them she was just what she seemed; an innocent woman in the wrong place at the wrong time. But if Helena told them anything, they would torture Barbara without pause and without mercy to find out what secrets she possessed. Moon would make her suffer until he extracted every tiny bit of knowledge and all that was left was the broken husk of a woman, destroyed mind, body and soul.

 

And if she refused to say anything they wanted to hear, Cassandra would be tortured while Helena watched, maybe to death, and she would feel every agony, share in every anguished scream.

 

Huntress had been raised as a staunch Catholic from childhood and experienced her fair share of guilt. But this was the first time she had truly known that she was damned.