2:45. Right on time.

Isaac peered out from under his large, tan duster at the shimmering horizon. He was lying in a shallow ditch on the side of one of the few highways to cross the Nevada desert. Sand and bits of brush were scattered on top of his coat to help hide him, and spread across the road in front of him was a set of tire spikes painted matte black to blend in with the asphalt.

His target approached.

Very few cars used this highway. Most of the people traveling to California flew or drove south through more welcoming terrain. But it was not uncommon for armored trucks to use the route when transporting money to and from Las Vegas. And one of them was headed right for Isaac’s little trap. It wasn’t often he was able to catch one, but it was good money and it wasn’t exactly like the was robbing the poor.

Isaac ducked his head under his duster as the vehicle approached and waited. The dull, mechanized ocean roar of tires on pavement grew steadily louder. Then there was an explosive bang as the tires hit the spikes. A second explosion followed almost immediately as the rear tires burst, but Isaac was already leaping to his feet, throwing the duster to the side. He was shirtless underneath and already glowing a dull red as he sprinted to the side of the swerving truck and clung to the driver-side door.

In cases like this, the guard’s security protocol would follow three steps: 1) lock the doors and remain inside. 2) Ready weapons in case of hostility. 3) Radio for back-up. The car was barely slowing to a drunken stop as Isaac plunged a firey red fist through the handle and wrenched the door open, swiftly nullifying step 1.

Step 2 was always more annoying. The guard in the passenger seat already had his shotgun pointed across the driver’s lap and managed to fire two shots into Isaac’s chest before he got a hand around the barrel of the gun and melted it closed. Isaac had made sure not to get hot enough that the pellets would penetrate his skin, but damn if they didn’t sting.

A few more swift movements saw the engine die as the steering column was wrenched into a mangled mess, the driver knocked unconscious via blows to the head, and the passenger sufficiently intimidated with the use of the driver’s pistol. Isaac climbed out of the cabin and walked around to the rear door. It offered just as much resistance as the driver’s side had. With a small sneer of satisfaction, Isaac climbed in to get a look at his spoils.

Money. Large black crates filled with so much money. Probably enough to last him the next eight months. He walked slowly past all the crates, counting them as he went. He’d made it to eleven when he heard a sharp pop followed by a steady hissing sound. He turned sharply to see what the sound was, but he couldn’t see anything. The bright sunlight glaring in through the door at the back made it hard to see…. hard to see. The air smelled… wrong somehow. And numb. For some reason, he was laying on floor of the truck bed, but he wasn’t sure how he got there. Or… why he was there.

“Gotcha, ya little prick,” said a voice miles away, and the world went black.

A dull ache in both shoulders crept its way into Isaac’s mind long before light did, and the gnawing of cold preceded even that. Gradually, he became aware that his arms were stretched above his head and there was some kind of pressure on his wrists, ankles, and neck. He groaned and twisted, but something held him in place.

Voices. There were voices now, coming from dark, fuzzy blobs in Isaac’s blurred vision. One of the blobs came closer and started to resemble the outline of a man before a blow struck Isaac’s head to the side and changed his view to a slowly focusing picture of the floor.

Isaac pulled again at the restraints, but they didn’t budge and kept him stretched out and upright while more blows hit his head and stomach. The blows didn’t really hurt, but they were annoying, and as his head cleared they made him more and more angry as he realized he was being beaten as some kind of prisoner. Isaac snarled and pulled at the restraints again, sending burning heat down his arms and legs to melt them into slag.

And that’s when the pain came. He didn’t know where it came from, but searing, blinding pain shot through his body, tensing his muscles and forcing a scream from his throat. Isaac couldn’t struggle against it; he couldn’t think to use his power; he couldn’t think at all. All he could do was scream and writhe as the pain tore through his body.

After three seconds of eternity it finally stopped, leaving Isaac hanging limply from his bonds.

A reedy chuckle drifted across the room. “Didn’t like that, did ‘ja?”

Isaac lifted his head. He could see now, and he was in a clean, white room filled with metal cabinets and lock boxes. He was still shirtless, cold, and up against one of the walls, held by metal manacles that pulled his arms straight above his head and others than fastened his ankles to bolts in the floor. Next to him was the man who had been beating him, a large, square bulk of a man in a tent-like suit. In the center of the room was a medium sized rat-faced man and the source of the chuckling.

“It cost me quite a bit to get my hands on that,” the rat man said, casually strolling closer and motioning to Isaac’s neck. Isaac couldn’t see what he was pointing at, but he could feel the weight of some large collar that bit into his skin and prevented him from looking down.

“It was made for the brute mutants,” the man continued, “big ones. So I figure it should be more than enough to keep a little prick like you in line, eh? Go ahead, try to do your little thing.” The man slapped Isaac across the face. Anger flared up Isaac’s neck, bringing a bloom of heat- and then suddenly pain. A second surge of the hellish pain shot through his body as the rat-man laughed. By the time Isaac’s screams had stopped, the man was standing back in the center of the room.

“Yeah, I thought so,” rat-face smirked. “But hey, look on the bright side! You wanted to get your grubby little hands on my money and here it is.” The man spread his arms and spun slowly. “You made it to the vault, bucko! Further than any friends you may have could possibly reach. And all this money,” the man produced a knife from his suit, “Is gonna be the last thing you ever see.”

With a few quick steps, the man closed the distance to Isaac and stabbed the knife at his exposed stomach. Isaac almost laughed. The man’s blow had almost no strength behind it, and was easily turned aside by the toughened surface of Isaac’s cooled flesh. A knife. As if he’d be afraid of a knife.

The man looked down at the weapon in his hand, dumbfounded, then tried again. And again. After several slashes across Isaac’s torso that produced no more effect than a few reddish streaks of skin, the man tried to stab the knife into Isaac’s neck. Still no effect. The man’s nostrils flared.

“What kind of motherfu—gimme your gun!” Rat-man motioned to his thug. The other man pulled a dangerous-looking pistol from his suit and placed it in his boss’s hand. Rat-man whipped it up as soon as it touched his palm and pressed it to Isaac’s shoulder. “Mock me, will ya?” he said, and pulled the trigger.

The echo of the shot filled the sterile space of the room. Isaac winced, and the man pulled the pistol away.

A flattened bullet plinked to the ground from the bruised but unbroken surface of Isaac’s skin.

Rat-man looked up at Isaac in rage and disbelief.

Isaac spat in his face.

Fury boiled from the smaller man’s ears and more bullets and obscenities were hurled at Isaac. Isaac just responded with grunts and smirks. Like a gun could hurt him, either. Sting, maybe, but little more.

Finally, it a fit of desperation, the rat-man pressed the gun against Isaac’s crotch and fired several rounds into the most sensitive spot he could think of. Isaac howled at the bruising pain, then screamed as the collar responded to his instinctual reaction of burning anger.

As the collar relented and Isaac slumped back in his restraints, he saw the shape of the rat-faced man storming out of the vault with his thug in tow, and caught the sound of “Get me something that will kill ‘im!” before the vault door slammed shut and the lights clicked off, leaving him hanging in darkness.

Any satisfaction Isaac felt at the rat-man’s frustration was short-lived as the reality of his situation sank in. He was trapped. If this was indeed the casino vault, it had some of the best security in the world. He was likely deep underground, with a two-foot-thick steel door between him and the only elevator up to the surface and even more layers of security. It was dark, he couldn’t move, and it was cold. That was the worst part: the cold. He didn’t have his clothes and he was already shivering in the freezing, air conditioned room. He had no idea how long he would be left here; quite possibly long enough to die of hypothermia.

And he couldn’t use his power. Not to get free, not to stay warm. He rolled his head to the side to get a feel of the collar against his upraised arms. It was thick, a bulk of a thing obviously designed for mutants much larger than him. The pain of the electric shock certainly felt like it.

Isaac pulled on the chains holding his hands. Nothing. He twisted his hands around to feel at the links. Crap, they were heavy-duty. Strong, steel chain that he couldn’t hope to break no matter how hard he pulled at it.

He pulled anyway. Again, nothing.

Frustration boiled in Isaac and he yanked down with all the strength he could manage. Over and over again until he hung wearily from his bonds. He was trapped.



NO.

He was not going to stay like this. He couldn’t stay like this. The cold would kill him, and that was not going to happen.

He needed to get the collar off, but to do that, he would have to use his power, no matter how much it hurt. He wrapped his hands around the chain that bound them, braced against the coming shock, and pulled down hard, willing as much heat into his fists as he could.

Screams echoed though the darkness as the collar responded. Isaac hung limply, panting from the torture, but he couldn’t give up. He closed his eyes, steeled his will, and wrapped his hands around the chains again.