Location: Chimp Country Sanctuary – Voughtland West Lot
Time: 1:27 PM
The VTOL dropped like a whisper behind the curtain of trees and animatronic giraffes. Beyond the amusement park's more commercial zones, past the gates of "Brave Maeve's Inclusive Kingdom," there stood a fenced-off development lot — Chimp Country Sanctuary — half-finished buildings, dusty props, and one mobile home painted crimson and gold, sitting like a diva's throne in exile.
The hatch hissed open as Glacius stepped out, his boots touching cracked concrete. Even in the midday sun, the faint shimmer of cold mist coiled off his armored frame. He walked with unhurried confidence, drawing attention from construction workers and interns alike — many of whom fumbled their coffees or dropped clipboards just watching him move.
He knocked once — a sharp, deliberate knock — before opening the trailer door himself.
Interior: Crimson Countess' Mobile Home
The inside was exactly as he imagined: velvet drapes, incense smoke, vintage show posters, and at least two life-sized cutouts of herself in stage costumes. A large wall-mounted monitor idled in the background with a paused feed from SupePorn.com Live Platinum Tier — muted, but unmistakable.
A voice called from the back hallway.
"Wait, wait—! I wasn't expecting—"
She rushed into view, her red hair pinned back hastily, a silk robe half-clinging to her frame, one heel on, one heel in her hand. She blinked when she saw him — calm, glacial, unreadable — standing there like a monolith with glowing white eyes behind his frost-slicked visor.
"Well damn… You really do know how to make an entrance."
Glacius replied flatly, "I knocked."
She smirked, trying to recover ground.
"Next time give a girl ten minutes to turn her sparkles on. Or are we doing the ice king crashes the dressing room routine? You're younger than I expected…"
"And you're exactly what I expected."
He moved past her without waiting for an invitation. She turned as he walked toward the center of the trailer, inspecting a table lined with stage scripts, makeup kits… and what he already noticed: a few too many pieces of suggestive Vought merch.
Countess folded her arms, feigning casual control.
"You know, back in Payback, we called that 'disrespect.' I've been in this game longer than you've been shaving, rookie."
He turned to face her.
"True. But none of that stopped you from moonlighting on SupePorn Platinum... LoverLaFlare97, right?"
She froze.
Just for a moment.
Then she scoffed — a little too loud.
"Please. Everyone does something extra these days. It's just marketing, sweetheart."
Glacius, with mock curiosity, replied, "Marketing? So the Countess Deluxe ThermoStim toy line… also part of your artistic vision?"
He walked over to a side wall and opened a nearby closet without asking.
Inside: a veritable arsenal of branded toys — Vought-stamped, customized, some clearly modeled after former Payback teammates. A crimson silk whip hung neatly from a hook.
She looked visibly rattled now.
Crimson Countess defensively provides an answer, "People pay top dollar for connection. That's more than most of The Seven manage."
"I don't judge you for the hustle. I just want to know if your other job's going to get people killed."
He sat in the armchair near the trailer's center, elbows resting on his thighs, mask still on. His presence seemed to claim the space, and she knew it.
Crimson Countess circled him, voice lowering, "Is this the part where the cold, judgmental type lectures the fire girl about self-control?"
"No. This is the part where I remind you Vought still owns everything you've sold... including the footage."
Her mouth opened slightly, but no words came.
Glacius leaned back, "Voughtland's going to be hit. They want you distracted — loud, emotional. You're a liability if you're thinking about angles and followers while bombs are under the stage."
"And you're here to… what? Intimidate me into cooperation?"
He looked her up and down — not with lust, but with the measured gaze of someone weighing consequences.
"No. I'm here because Stan thinks you're useful. But between your cam shows and emotional instability, I think you're one spark away from setting that park on fire yourself."
She flared with heat for a moment — literally. Her fingers shimmered, a light glow pulsing down her arm.
He didn't flinch.
Crimson Countess gritted her teeth, "You little icy bastard…"
"...Original.Control it. Use it."
A long beat. Then something in her posture… dropped. Less fight. More wariness. She looked at him now not like a junior, but an equal — or at least someone just as broken in by Vought.
"Stan doesn't need perfect. He needs you to be stable. Useful. And coordinated."
"And you're going to teach me that?"
"Perhaps"
-----
Location: Inside Crimson Countess's Mobile Home – Chimp Country Sanctuary, Voughtland
The room still shimmered faintly with warmth — not just from the heater coils beneath the floor, but from her. The incense had calmed to a low burn, mingling with the cold mist that trailed faintly from Glacius' breath as he moved with that same purposeful grace that made even silence feel heavy.
Crimson Countess sat at her fainting couch, her robe now replaced by her glittering costume, though it clung slightly looser around the shoulders. Her earlier snark had settled into something more curious, cautious, and for the first time in a while… open.
He stood over her now, head tilted slightly, arms crossed behind his back in that ever-calm posture.
"You burn hot. Not just powers. Temper. It leaks into everything."
Countess arched a brow, "You here to write a therapist's log now?"
Glacius quietly stepped behind her. "No. I'm here to keep you alive."
She blinked — surprised, perhaps, by the softness in his voice.
"And make sure when this mission kicks off, you're not the match that sets the fireworks off early."
A long silence stretched.
Then his hands came down — carefully, confidently — and rested at the tops of her shoulders. She tensed for a split-second… then relaxed.
"You're a strange one, you know that?"
Glacius chuckled faintly, "You'd be surprised."
He began to massage her shoulders, his thumbs firm yet practiced. His gloves had been discreetly removed at some point, leaving only the cold, disarming tenderness of his fingers in contact. Countess let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding.
Her posture slumped.
Her walls fell a few inches.
"When's the last time someone asked you what you wanted?"
Countess caught off-guard, "What?"
"What you wanted. Not what Vought wanted. Not your fans. You."
She swallowed. Something flickered in her eyes.
"...There was a time I wanted to tour again. Real tour. Small clubs, real stages. Just me, a mic, and a bit of lightshow. No apes. No product placements. Just… Caralee."
He let the silence breathe — didn't interrupt. So that was her name.
"And I wanted to matter. After Payback broke apart, they… they said I'd fade out in five years. That was so long ago."
He massaged deeper into the muscles of her back now, loosening what felt like years of bitterness coiled beneath the surface. He leaned closer, letting his voice dip to something soothing.
"You've still got fire, Caralee. You just needed someone to give a damn."
The way he said her real name landed like a lightning strike. Her breath hitched.
"You're just saying that…"
"No. I'm reminding you."
She turned slightly, just enough to glance over her shoulder. He was closer now — cold, controlled, but radiating presence. Her guard dropped a little more. She didn't try to mask the look in her eyes.
Countess smiled faintly, "You're dangerous."
"Only when I need to be."
His fingers traced along the back of her neck, sending a chill down her spine, not unpleasant. Not at all. She leaned into the touch now, no longer defensive, no longer posturing.
She felt seen. She felt wanted.
"You know… You make me feel like I'm still something. Not just glitter and nostalgia."
"You are."
There was a long pause. Then the park's intercom buzzed sharply outside the trailer windows.
"Good afternoon guests! The afternoon showcase will begin in fifteen minutes. All performers, please make your way to your zones. Repeat—"
Reality returned like a curtain pulling back. Countess sighed — but didn't move immediately.
Glacius took one final moment. He stepped around in front of her, knelt slightly, and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.
Not seductive. Not domineering.
Affectionate. Intentional. Grounding.
"Time to get to work, Firebird."
Her eyes fluttered open, breath shallow. He was already walking toward the door.
Countess followed after him, half-smiling, voice softer than before."You sure know how to leave a girl melting…"
He paused at the doorway, glancing back with a faint smile only visible in the crinkle of his eyes.
"Try not to combust before we're done."
The door clicked shut behind him, and the Countess sat there, robe still loose, heart racing, lips parted as if still catching up.
For the first time in years, she didn't feel like a relic.
She felt alive.