Chapter Text
“I’m disappointed in you, Richards.”
Reed froze, his hands beginning to shake where they’d been digging though one of the tool drawers. He’d finally managed to slip into Victor’s workshop after weeks of planning, and he’d been searching it top to bottom for anything that Victor had used to create the power inhibiting device wrapped around his throat. He’d also hoped to find the remote for his collar, but he doubted Victor had more than one of those, and it was always on his person. Always. But he had to find something, anything… and in the past twenty minutes, he’d found nothing. Not even a strong enough magnet he could use to disrupt the latch mechanism.
Reed could feel Doom’s eyes on him, probably standing menacingly in the workshop doorway behind his back. He swallowed thickly, thinking fast.
You can’t fight back with the collar still on, Reed thought. You don’t have your powers. He can hurt you at any time with his remote device. It’s over. It’s done.
But Reed wasn’t going to give up that easily. He never did.
Maybe that’d be his downfall in the end.
“Turn around,” Doom commanded him.
Reed’s hand curled around one of the larger tools in the drawer. His shoulders tensed.
As quickly as he could, he whipped around and threw the tool at Victor’s armored head—
And it’d barely left his hand when the collar fired.
Reed screamed as liquid fire filled his veins, horrible pain eating him from the inside out, and he collapsed onto the floor of the workshop, knees smarting against the hard surface. The pain seemed to go on for so long, longer than it ever had before. Reed couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t see.
And then the pain stopped, and he slumped onto his side on the floor, gasping in tearful relief.
Reed trembled and shook, his body twitching from the aftershocks of pain and adrenaline. Victor’s metal boots came into view and stopped inches from his face, and Reed opened his mouth to say something witty and sarcastic and utterly self sabotaging. All that came out was a pained gasp.
“V-V-Vic—” he managed, and then the collar went off again.
This time, he didn’t scream. He refused to, even as the pain shredded his nerves and destroyed every part of his senses. His back arched, fingers and legs spasming, teeth clenched together as he did his best not to make noise. And then, finally, it stopped.
Reed’s body collapsed onto the ground again, his chest heaving. Tears began to prick in his eyes.
“That,” Victor said, standing above him, “was for using the wrong name. I expect you to remember my proper title next time.”
Reed didn’t respond, still trying to calm his breathing, still trying to center himself. It was impossible with Doom next to him, above him. With Doom’s collar around his throat and his words in his mind.
Doom lifted one foot and placed it on Reed’s hip, and then shoved him onto his back unceremoniously. His boot came to rest on Reed’s chest, still heaving. Sweat dampened Reed’s hair and slid down his temples.
He stared up at Doom’s mask. Victor’s eyes peered out from behind them, cruel and cold.
“Beg me for forgiveness, Richards,” he said. “Make me believe it. Or I’ll throw you back into the dungeons and retrain you for as long as I see fit.”
The boot heel dug into Reed’s ribs. And the mention of the dungeon sent fear down his spine—from the glint in Victor’s eyes, he’d seen the fear on Reed’s face as well.
“I’m—” Reed’s voice choked, stopped, so he swallowed and tried again. “I’m. I’m sorry.”
Doom stared down at him for a long moment.
“Pitiful,” he said, and then pressed his thumb to the button of the shock device again.
Reed screamed as pain tore through him, the boot at his chest keeping him pinned and helpless on the floor. It felt like Doom was scraping salt and sand along his exposed nerves. It felt like he was on fire. Like he was going to die.
And then it stopped. Reed slumped to the floor once more, a few stray tears slipping out of his eyes and down his face.
“Try again,” Doom said above him.
Reed couldn’t quite force his mouth to make the words for a moment. “I-I-I… I’m sorry,” he managed. His voice was just above a whisper, weak and pitiful and small. He hated himself for it. “I’m, I’m sorry, please, it was stupid to—I shouldn’t have—”
“Louder, Richards.”
“Please,” he said, louder, and his voice broke, unable to meet Victor’s eyes, his looming form blurring behind Reed’s tears. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. F-Forgive me, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
Quiet, for a moment.
And then Doom sighed and lifted his foot from Reed’s chest. Reed stayed where he was, trembling.
“Adequate,” Doom said. Reed could hear the sneer in his voice. “Clean up your mess.”
He stepped away, still in the room, and Reed sucked in a shaky breath and rolled onto his side. When he pushed himself up, his elbows shook with the effort, barely strong enough to hold him. But he managed to get onto his hands and knees.
“No,” Doom said suddenly, as Reed put one bare foot on the ground to stand. “You will crawl.”
Reed dared to glance up at that, half a protest dying on his lips as he saw the look in Victor’s eyes.
He swallowed thickly again and nodded, dropping his gaze.
He’s angry.
This wouldn’t be the end of his punishment. Reed knew better than that. He stayed on his hands and knees and began tidying up the workshop as best he could, trying to ignore the trembling in his hands. All while Victor watched him crawling on the floor, eyes sparking with malice through the mask. Cold and hard and relentless.
Unforgiving.