Chapter Text
A groan escapes his lips as he stirs; his head erupting with throbbing agony. It feels as if his skull is being slowly crushed as if in any minute it’ll cave in and shards of bone will dig into his brain. It takes him a moment to register above the brain fog that he has eyes he can use and as they flit open the shoddy light hanging and flickering above him feels blinding, sending an even more miserable ripple of pain through him. He squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a displeased mumble. He tries to bring a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose however this is unsuccessful as his wrists meet the burn of coarse rope.
“Wakey wakey rise and shine sleeping beauty…” After a moment, he sighs and snaps, “just get the fuck up god- there we are. Hi again Bobby I hope you're feeling nice and comfortable.”
“ ‘t fuck? Where- where ‘t-?” He slurs; his voice barely above a whisper. His sore, dry throat shrieking in protest. It’s as if he’s been forced to swallow sand and then had to claw and wrench the words out of his throat with his bare hands.
“Hey now, what happened to hello, how are you, wonderful weather we’re having? Where’s my thank you for my hospitality? You know you’ve been keeping me waiting a while babe, do you get away with sleeping in at your new cushy job?”
“My wh-” his brain is still in the process of rebooting and it’s taking its sweet time. Most of the words are flying over his head. All mangled into an incomprehensible murmur of word vomit. On the subject of vomit, bile lingers in his throat waiting to crawl its way out and make its unwelcome appearance.
“Dropped your mecha man gig for an office job. I didn’t figure you were the type.” Robert’s awareness stutters and a moment later the sound of impatient clicking in his direction startles him present. “Christ, stop dozing off you lazy fuck.”
“...Where?”
“A suspicious warehouse.” He says whilst mimicking ghost sounds. “Picked the perfect one out special just for you so we can have our fun.” Robert finally manages to open his eyes, eyelids feeling frustratingly heavy. The blurry, dreary scene slowly comes in and out of focus until he can make out the face of the figure looming over him. Mouth quirked up in amusement.
“...Seriously? Buzzcut with the small cock?” He croaks out with great difficulty. He only just registers the cold sting of back of the chair he’s sat on digging into his back
“Oh babe you don’t remember my name? I’m hurt, you know, we had such a bonding moment back at your apartment. Look who's tied up this time. Enjoying yourself?”
“Not particularly”
“Aw, that’s too bad because I am.”
“...You-” He’s cut off by a scratchy cough. “You like seeing me tied up?”
“Whatever you want to believe in your wet dreams. Now tell me, how’s life been treating you after you wrecked the shit out of your daddy’s suit? The eyebags aren’t new but you’re certainly looking scrawny. You know, want to bet whether I can snap your arms like a twig? Wouldn’t that be fun?”
“Couldn’t work out ‘n the coma, smartass.”
“Awww, I appreciate the compliment!”
“Jus’ shut t’fuck up… ‘n tell me what you want. Cut to the chase.”
“Is it not obvious optimus prime?” He snickers.
“Get a move on.”
“Oh Bobby we can’t skip straight to the big question and the main event! We haven’t even had the foreplay. Say, how's your pain tolerance? You never know this might unlock something in you. You’re welcome by the way.” Robert's brain lags for a moment before he stiffens; face twitching into a scowl deeper than his default irritated expression. This is going to be a pain in the arse - more likely a pain in his fucking-everywhere.
“So tell me more about your new boring career decision!” He exclaims with mock enthusiasm. “You should be proud, the world needs more keyboard warriors like you. It must be so exhausting clacking away whilst the real heroes actually save people’s lives.” Robert only provides him an icy glare in response, “are your poor hands tired?” To Robert’s confusion, Toxic grabs his right hand and then moments later his skin peels back taking on its signature bilious deep green appearance. His grin is sadistic as blinding scorching agony shoots up Roberts arm like a firework is being released beneath his skin. He screams as he squirms and frantically tries to jerk his hand away but Toxic’s grip is unrelenting and the sizzling vile stench of bubbling, melting flesh is enough to send him into a fit of wet coughs, leaving bile clinging to the underside of his chin. His eyes water with instinctive tears.
“Oh babe, you're making quite the mess right now”
He jolts and writhes, viscous globules of skin and fat drenched in blood drip onto his shoe. It feels like an eternity before Toxic pulls away. Robert’s breaths are ragged as he plasters an annoyed expression on his face to mask the fear coiling in his chest. He grimaces. He opens his mouth to try to respond in a snarky manner but what comes out instead is a strained wheeze. He hunches into himself. He knows what's coming next and braces himself to the best of his ability. Regardless, it always hurts more the second time.
“You fully awake now? Brilliant. Now, we can’t leave one side scot free, that's just no fair. I like keeping things symmetrical, you know.”
Toxic takes Robert’s other hand and he was right. It does hurt more. He feebly kicks against the restraints binding his legs to the chair. Robert’s ear-piercing shriek is music to Toxic’s ears and he revels in it until Robert’s shrill shrieking dies down to pitiful moans and that’s when he draws away. Both of Robert’s hands are blistered and bloated, bright red and raw and stinging like a bitch. Infection isn’t a possibility, it's an inevitability and he doubts Toxic is kind enough to treat him. They tremble so violently he can’t help but remark on it with a taunting laugh.
“Cold, are we? Come on Bobby, what happened to your sass, your lip service. You were so talkative dangling me off that balcony now you're so quiet. What a shame I really quite enjoyed our friendly banter. Does your throat hurt? You poor thing let me help you out.”
Suddenly, he grabs Robert by the jaw and pulls his mouth open, letting just a slight trickle of his toxic solution fall down his throat. Not enough to be fatal or cause significant damage but enough to send Robert into a frenzied pained panic; his jaws clamp down and Toxic swiftly withdraws his hands and waves them in the air. “Jesus- OUCH you fucking bastard.” Toxic hisses.
It feels as if he’s poured magma down his throat. Robert chokes and splutters. He can’t breathe. He can’t fucking breathe. He gasps for air with the terror of a drowning, flailing man at sea. His head spins. It takes what feels like decades for him to finally feel like oxygen is getting into his lungs.
“Way to overreact. You know. I could easily give you more of a taste that was like two drops at best. I could let you corrode from the inside out. Perhaps, I’ll do so in increments. Now, that’s a more interesting way to go than pissing your pants in some fuckass robot, right? Your stomach would rot and your stomach acid would have a field day with all your inner tissues... Awww, are you scared babe?” He croons and Robert shudders.
“I won’t kill you yet. I have some questions to ask you but perhaps I should’ve considered that before I burnt your throat out. Gives us more time to bond though, doesn’t it?” Roberts glare in return has less fire to it. Toxic begins to run his fingers down his arm and Robert recoils. “Calm the fuck down I haven’t done anything yet, who knew the great mecha man was a pussy.” His index finger once again glows a sickly deep green colour as he begins to trace one of Robert’s scars. He clenches his teeth “I should write something funny here; got any ideas Bobby? Maybe something problematic to get you cancelled on twitter. Heck even a dick. What do you think about that? Dick scar? So you think of me when you see it.”
Robert can only manage a faint whispered, “no,” only just audible to toxic alongside a shake of his head.
“What? No dick scar? I admit it's pretty immature and we’re both adults here aren’t we Bobby. What about my name? You’d love that babe.” He wouldn’t but Toxic doesn’t wait for Robert’s approval. He holds his arm down with bruising force and snarls, “Don’t you dare jog me,” he slowly and painstakingly etches his name into Robert’s flesh. He goes over it multiple times to be sure. The letters are large to ensure it’s very clear what the word is. Robert twitches and quivers, refusing to give the supervillain the satisfaction of a reaction. However, he fails at this quickly. He struggles to bite down against a pained shout that still manages to crawl its way out of his mouth despite his best efforts. It leaves a lingering sting in the back of his throat.
“Is this not a masterpiece?”
“Your-”
“Mhm, mhm use your words Bobby”
“Hand- handwriting… is… shit” He rasps. It takes him a long time to choke up the insult like it’s a particularly stubborn clump of bile.
“That’s not very polite considering I just gave you a tattoo free of charge. I’d say I did a pretty good job”
“A… toddler could… b’er”
“Well a toddler isn’t here you little shit. This is my magnum opus. You have no eye for art Bobby”
“You know what enough beating around your mum’s bush” He grabs Robert by the collar of his shirt. “I have some questions for you and you’re going to answer them or I’ll start breaking your fingers. I’ll start dislocating all your joints. Don’t test me, babe, I have all day.” He lowers his voice. His tone is threatening and Robert knows these aren’t empty bluffs; they’re promises if he doesn’t answer. “Where is the astral pulse?”
“...What?”
“You imbecile the thing in your goddamn suit. The astral pulse. Where the fuck is it?” He hisses “You’d think the mecha man would understand what the thing powering his suit is. Where are you hiding it?” He’s already irritated.
“...Shroud doesn’t- doesn’t have it?”
“Why the hell would I be asking you if he had it? Use your brain, your smooth polished sanded brain. Tell me where you're keeping it and I’ll keep your joints intact.” He snarls, venom dripping with each word.
“You’re… kidding me” His tone is incredulous with a slither of amusement.
“You think I’m taking the piss mecha man? Because I will leave your body in an irreparable state if you don’t answer my question adequately.”
“Lost it”
“Don’t bullshit me.”
“No bullshit… lost t’shit… in the… wreck” He mutters.
“Likely story. Of course you did. You really think I’m gullible enough to believe that? I’m not an idiot Bobby”
“Eh, that’s debat-” he’s cut off when Toxic seizes his hand and squeezes - hard - reducing Robert to a state of distressed babbling as excruciating agony shoots up his arm. “ ‘m… telling you t’...truth” Toxic then grabs Robert’s index finger.
“Last chance Bobbie. Where. Is. The. Astral. Pulse.”
“G-gone… t’wreck”
Snap. Robert’s babbling increases in speed. Toxic does not let up pressure on Robert’s hand.
“Where’s the astral pulse? Stop BULLSHITTING me.”
“No… bullshit”
“I’ll break every finger on your hand if you don’t just- JUST get on with it and tell me”
“ ‘m serious… gone…why’d you… think ‘m not… n’suit”
“Because you got cold feet after we put you in that coma.” He snaps. “Now tell me. Where is the astral pulse?”
Robert can tell this isn’t going to end well regardless. So, he might as well get the last laugh so he does but it sounds more like breathless wheeze, hell even a death rattle. “Up yours, buzzcut” He’s no stranger to provoking kidnappers and it’s not even that funny. Textbook, overplayed and immature but if he was born a little shit he’s going down a little shit. That rewards him with another broken finger but Toxic’s desperation is getting increasingly hilarious and maybe he’s a little delirious off the adrenaline high but he can’t help but continue laugh-wheezing.
“You know what? Change of plans. Breaking your fingers is nothing. Hell- I’m not going to kill you. You probably want that anyway.” Toxic blatantly airing out his dirty laundry like that is a little jarring. Bastard has always been surprisingly observant. He walks off leaving Robert’s laughter to die down overtaken by confusion before he comes back with a sharp blade.
“Alright Bobby I’m going to give you time to get a good look at my handsome face before lights out.” He smirks and stands there for a moment posing whilst Robert’s brain lags. Not yet connecting the dots until Toxic suddenly brings the blade up to his right eye.
“...No NO… no what- what the hell are you doing?” He recoils and tries to move his head away but Toxic grabs the back of it. Horror twists his guts into squirming knots, panic seeps deep into his bones leaving his limbs feeling heavy. He freezes like a fawn caught in headlights. His mind is a whirring whirlwind and he is well and truly done for.
“No struggling, no moving. Stare deep into my eyes, babe. Pretty good last thing to see, am I right? After this, we can call your pals at the superhero brothel and they can come pick you up. Doesn’t that sound lovely?” Robert can only blather his clear vehement disagreement.
The blade plunges in slowly and the dispatcher completely unravels, any effort to maintain some sort of composure is thrown out the window. He thrashes, floundering and yelling. The ropes run raw against his wrists and ankles, grating against his skin and flaring the agony in his hands that crawls up his arms and everything is searing, boiling, racking through his body as a sob is torn from out his lips. Now more than ever, he wishes he died in that suit. He doesn’t even register when Toxic gets to his other eye, nor does he register the blade twisting and the villain’s sadistic laughter. Blood mingles with the tears, snot and the vomit clinging to his cheeks and the underside of his mouth. A vile mixture of bodily fluids. Toxic steps back to admire his handy work like an artist would after applying the finishing touches to a painting or more accurately a crude sculpture. The lull of unconsciousness beckons Robert and he has no complaints. Fainting to Toxic’s disappointment.
—
“W- up”
“...Bo- …-ke up” He’s hardly conscious, drifting between a state of confusion and fogginess and the safe harbour of sleep.
“Wakey wakey. C’mon it’s time to dial up the superhero brothel. Don’t you want to let your friends at the SDN know how you're doing?
He can’t even groan as he finally comes to. His throat ran to hell and back leaving him weeks of mandatory vocal rest that’s for sure. The persistent throbbing in his hands, head and chest is ever present, flaring up as he tries to reposition himself slightly. It’s only then, minutes later, that he realises he is no longer tied up. The cold floor against him is significantly more comfortable than the steel chair digging into his back and he would’ve fallen back asleep if it wasn’t for a brisk kick from Toxic. He lets out a soundless yelp and curls into himself. Wilting like a decaying flower petal.
“You’ve had enough sleep, bastard. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up for longer than a fucking day. You are not going back to sleep again or I’ll rip out your trachea. Hell. I even had the decency to wrap your face up all nice and pretty and I don’t even get a thanks? Not that you’ll ever be able to see it.” He snickers. “C’mon , we have a phone call to make. Sit up.” Robert doesn’t respond so Toxic pulls him upright and leans him against the chair. He keens in agony.
“Here, take your phone” He waves it in front of Robert with his lips quirked up into a grin. “Oh!” He fakes shock. “How on earth are you going to dial the number with the state of your hands! Oh dear, Bobby, I suppose I have to do it for you don’t I?” Accepting help from others is the last action Robert tends to resort to and being this uselessly helpless is the bane of his existence, alongside the agony he’s in. He wants to be torn to shreds by space time in a black hole, that would be more bearable. He trembles in response. He’d feel significantly less ashamed if he was still tied to the chair.
“What’s the number again?” Toxic continues, more so muttering to himself and after a pause the telltale ringing startles Robert. “I’ll put it on speaker for you. Aren’t I considerate?” The supervillain laughs and he is not amused.
“Hello? Hello hello!” He turns to Robert, smirking. “Oh come now Robert don’t be rude, say hello to the nice new replacement dispatcher.” Toxic puts emphasis on articulating his name, over enunciating each syllable. He then sighs dramatically. “He’s not feeling talkative right now. I’ve got your boy toy ready for collection; we had such a fun night, didn’t we?”