Author's Note: Important Content Warning
Dear readers,
The following chapter deals with extremely dark and mature subject matter, including explicit and graphic depictions of [rape/sexual assault]. This content is intended for adult audiences only and may be disturbing, triggering, or offensive to some.
These scenes are not written for titillation but are a part of a broader narrative exploring themes of [mention themes, e.g., power, trauma, survival, villainy]. They are integral to the development of specific characters and the plot.
If you find such material harmful or distressing, I strongly encourage you to skip this chapter entirely. Your mental well-being is more important. I am happy to provide a plot summary of the chapter's events so you can continue the story without missing key plot points.
---
Lilah wasn't an idiot.
However well she and Valentina had gotten along these past weeks, the woman hadn't truly relaxed around them—hadn't trusted them. Vandal Savage might never have visited, but he knew exactly what happened here, every single day. Lilah understood that. Her cooperation with Valentina was about proving her value at Jack's side, not betraying him.
If she told Valentina that Firestorm required two people to function? That was betrayal. Simple as that.
"Three days," Valentina said after a moment's consideration. "I'll have her for you then."
"Don't tell Master."
---
Three days later, mid-afternoon.
While Jack remained absorbed in his studies, Valentina led Lilah across the villa's sprawling grounds to a warehouse at the property's edge. Beneath it lay a soundproofed basement—concrete walls, bare fluorescent tubes, the faint smell of rust and cleaning solution not quite covering something older underneath.
Laurie hung from a wooden cross mounted against the far wall, arms and legs spread in an X-shape, iron cuffs securing her wrists and ankles. Her yellow-and-black uniform was scuffed, torn at one shoulder. Her head hung forward, dark blonde hair curtaining her face.
"Catching her was more trouble than expected," Valentina said. "She had partners—others in strange costumes. And the CIA picked up on it, so whatever you're planning, make it quick."
Lilah nodded.
Valentina turned and walked toward the stairs. She'd made it three steps before Laurie's voice echoed through the basement—raw, defiant, not quite a scream.
---
Late that night, Lilah returned to her room.
She felt hollowed out. Exhausted in ways that had nothing to do with physical exertion.
Laurie was harder than she'd expected.
"You've changed."
Jack set down his book and regarded her with an amused smile as she came through the door.
"Ah?" Lilah froze. Her stomach dropped.
"You've become cruel." He tilted his head, studying her. "Why make things difficult for another woman? Those screams carried all the way up here. Laurie really can consider herself extremely unlucky."
Lilah's knees hit the floor before she'd consciously decided to kneel. "Master, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have hidden this from you."
"Get up, get up." Jack waved a hand, still smiling. "What are you doing? I'm not upset. Actually, I'm quite satisfied with this ambitious little scheme of yours." He paused. "Though your interrogation technique needs work. Brutal, yes—but inefficient."
"I didn't know what else to do," Lilah admitted, rising slowly.
"Learn from Valentina. Or visit the Gulag camps, see how the professionals handle prisoners." His smile widened. "Perhaps you could graduate from body pillow to something more useful. An assistant, maybe."
"I won't disappoint you, Master."
But her expression shifted, uncertainty creeping in. "There's something else. When Valentina captured her, they were seen. Her partners—and CIA agents."
"If you released her right now," Jack said, "would she let it go? Would they?"
Lilah shook her head.
"Then since it's already irredeemable, you might as well see it through to the goal. Besides—" He leaned back. "You're my body pillow. Until I lose interest, nothing touches you. And congratulations. You've just extended your usefulness. I look forward to whatever surprises you bring me next."
Lilah exhaled slowly, relief flooding through her chest.
She'd done the right thing. At Jack's side, stagnation meant elimination. She wouldn't forget that.
---
The next morning, Lilah had Valentina escort her to Gulag Camp.
Jack went to the basement.
"Hi." He pulled the heavy door shut behind him, smiling at the figure still hanging from the cross. "Long time no see."
Laurie looked worse than yesterday. Lilah really had changed—the bruises mapped her ribs, her jaw, the soft skin of her inner thighs where the uniform had ridden up. Ruthless work.
"What do you want?" Laurie's voice came out raw, barely above a whisper, but her glare hadn't dimmed.
"If I told you I'd completely forgotten about you?" Jack dragged a wooden chair across the concrete, positioning it directly in front of her, and sat down. "That my body pillow acted entirely on her own initiative? Would you believe me?"
"Do you think I'm stupid?"
Jack spread his hands. "Believe what you want. It doesn't actually matter." He crossed one leg over the other, settling in comfortably. "I spent last night thinking. If Doctor Manhattan foresaw the future and got scared enough to flee Earth because of me, then he already knew about anything I might do to find him. Yet he still ran. You understand what that means?"
Laurie said nothing.
"It means nothing I do will draw him out—not unless I grow stronger, master more abilities, become capable of finding him myself. The funny part?" Jack's smile turned sharp. "He knows this too. But he can't stop it. He can't even try to stop it, because the moment he shows himself, the moment he interferes—I win. All he can do is run and delay the inevitable as long as possible."
He leaned forward. "Someone that powerful, and all he can do against me is flee. So what exactly are you still fighting for?"
Laurie's expression flickered. Something behind her eyes went uncertain.
Jack rose. Slowly, methodically, he undid the iron cuffs—first her right wrist, then her left, then her ankles. Laurie stumbled as her weight came down on legs that had gone numb, catching herself against the cross before steadying.
She stared at him. "You really didn't want me captured?"
Jack shrugged, not answering. His gaze traveled down her body with open appraisal.
The uniform did suit her—yellow panels against black, cut high on the thighs, hugging her waist and chest. Gender equality was a joke. A man dressed like this would be called a pervert. On a woman, it just added to her appeal.
"Where is this?" Laurie asked after a long silence. "Can I leave?"
"You're free to go whenever you like. But this is Soviet territory. Dressed like that, getting back to America won't be simple." Jack walked to a table against the wall, swept the tools and restraints off its surface with one arm, and dragged it in front of her. "And knowing you, once you do get home, you won't just let this go. You'll keep investigating me."
"What are you doing?" Laurie stepped back, tension snapping through her shoulders.
"I can have someone escort you back. But first—" He moved faster than she could track, one hand catching both her wrists and wrenching them behind her back, the other forcing her forward until her chest hit the table's edge. "I need to give you something to remember."
"Get off—"
Her uniform tore down the back with a sharp ripping sound, yellow-and-black fabric splitting to expose the line of her spine, the clasp of her bra.
"Back when your mother was still a superhero," Jack said conversationally, pinning her wrists at the small of her back with one hand while the other traced down her bare skin, "she wore a costume just like this. Got pressed over a table just like this."
"Don't you fucking dare—"
Electricity crackled from his palm into her spine.
Laurie's body seized, muscles locking and releasing in rapid spasms. Her legs buckled. She collapsed forward against the wood, cheek pressed flat, arms twitching uselessly behind her as the current left her nervous system scrambled and unresponsive.
"And then—" Jack reached down, hooked his fingers under the waistband of her uniform where it sat low on her hips, and pulled. The fabric ripped away easily, baring the curve of her ass, the black underwear beneath. Those tore too, a casual afterthought, leaving her exposed from mid-back to thighs.
"Stop," Laurie gasped. Her voice had gone thin, broken. "Please—"
Jack's belt clinked open.
He pushed inside her without preamble—dry, forcing, her body clenching uselessly against the intrusion. Laurie choked on a sound that wasn't quite a scream, her fingers scrabbling against the table's surface, finding no purchase.
"Your mother took it better than this." Jack rolled his hips, driving deeper, and Laurie's whole body jerked forward with the impact. "Of course, I hear she came around eventually. Started enjoying it. Maybe you will too."
He set a brutal rhythm, one hand fisted in her hair to hold her head down, the other gripping her hip hard enough to bruise. Each thrust scraped her bare stomach against the wood. Laurie's breath came in sharp, hitching gasps—pain sounds, not pleasure, her body fighting even as the lingering electricity kept her too weak to do more than tremble.
"There we go." Jack's voice stayed conversational, almost bored, even as his pace increased. "See? Not so bad. You might even learn to like it, given enough practice."
Laurie's only response was a broken sob.