As chaotic consciousness slowly knit itself back together, pain burst through the darkness like a bolt of lightning, and Daisy Johnson jolted awake. Her throat burned with dryness, but she still sucked in air desperately, as though she'd been drowning and finally broken through the surface. She couldn't see a thing. Her entire body was engulfed in agony, as if every bone had been shattered. Her arms in particular felt like raw nerve endings wired directly into a high-voltage line, surging over and over into her brain, the pain so maddening it nearly broke her.
She realized she was seated in a chair, both arms pinned behind her by some heavy metal restraints, her legs bound in the same way. The frigid touch of the metal sent goosebumps crawling across her skin.
Daisy gasped for breath, forcing her eyes open to confirm she hadn't gone blind—nor had she been blindfolded. She smelled the same moldy stench she remembered from the temporary hideout she'd stayed in not long ago, confirming her suspicions about her location. Gritting her teeth against the blood-tinged dryness in her throat, forcing herself to push back the pain that made her want to scream, she focused on calming her scattered thoughts.
"I'm trained. I'm a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent," she told herself. "There's always a way out. Nothing can keep me down."
But the moment she tried to wriggle and figure out what was binding her, the restraint systems discharged a high-voltage current, paralyzing her nervous system and draining her strength like air escaping a punctured balloon. The searing pain broke her. A scream tore from her throat through clenched teeth, tears smearing her dark makeup as her body writhed in helpless response. But then she caught herself—choking the scream into a strangled growl like a wounded animal, sniffing hard as she bit it back.
Perhaps her movements caught the guard's attention. The fabric obscuring the light was yanked aside, and a harsh glare poured through the gaps in the curtain. Daisy flinched away, shutting her eyes and turning her head instinctively, but forced herself to face it again. Squinting through blurred vision, she tried to see the silhouette casting that long, intimidating shadow—the golden figure she still hadn't clearly seen.
And only now did she fully register how massive it was.
Compared to her, bound to the chair, the golden figure seemed taller than the ceiling itself—a literal giant out of myth. Even its weapon was oversized. A glance told her that the building's floor likely wouldn't hold its weight much longer.
"What the hell are you?" she rasped. "Why did you attack me?"
"You don't need to know that," Constantine said as he removed his helmet.
To Daisy's shock, the metal giant had a human face—expressionless, eyes black as voids. They bore down on her with such weight she felt like they could peer through her skin and extract every secret she had. Still, she kept her composure, letting her gaze drift across the armor. She spotted mechanical systems and ornamental engravings—human craftsmanship.
"You just need to tell me what I want to know. Nothing more," the Royal Guard said flatly. He had used his urban camouflage cloak to create a darkroom around her, hoping to exert psychological pressure. Judging by her condition, the technique wasn't entirely effective—perhaps because she'd been trained to resist interrogation. He noted this mentally: next time, use it on someone without counter-interrogation experience.
"Are you ready to talk?"
"What are you going to do to me?" Daisy straightened up, scooting herself back upright as she threatened to fall from the chair. She assumed a negotiating posture, trying to extract useful details from his phrasing—another technique she'd learned at S.H.I.E.L.D. But there were no S.H.I.E.L.D. field guides on how to interrogate a walking statue.
Constantine stared directly into her eyes and stepped closer.
It's hard for anyone to stay calm when a three-meter armored behemoth looms suddenly, like a car racing toward a pedestrian. Even if you know you should move, your brain freezes. Daisy forgot to breathe—literally forgot. Her lungs locked up.
"I've read your notes," Constantine said, his tone unchanged. "What do you know about the Pasadena Energy Laboratory?"
Daisy gave him a defiant smirk. "Come a little closer and I'll tell you."
He leaned in without expression. She instantly stiffened, jaw clenched, body trembling.
"Those devices prevent you from using your powers," Constantine said calmly. "I've examined your health—if you try to use your abilities to break free, the recoil will shatter your entire body. Including your skull. I suggest you don't try it. You're not allowed to die—yet. But if you do, you'll still face interrogation. I'll extract your brain, keep it alive, and manually probe your memories. So again, I suggest you just tell me what I need to know and I'll let you go."
Daisy's heartbeat pounded in her ears. It took minutes for her to calm down. Maybe he'd taken her condition into account—the shock hadn't stopped her heart. But his words dropped her heart into her stomach. There was no drama in what he said. No malice. Just cold routine. A calm, accustomed cruelty.
"You'll let me live?"
"My orders are to extract information. Killing you isn't part of them. Now—what was taken from that laboratory? What did you tell Robbie Reyes? Where is he now?"
"He's with the Skinheads. They stole something from the lab—some kind of weapon. I don't know where they hid it!" Daisy snapped. "And I don't know where Robbie is. All I know is that he's aware of that lab!"
"Thank you for your cooperation, ma'am."
"You're awfully polite, big guy," Daisy sneered. "I don't know what you're planning, but you clearly know more about that lab than I do. You know what the Skinheads stole, don't you? You want it?"
"As a courtesy, I've been permitted to share some information," Constantine blinked, though clearly reluctant. Daisy guessed someone had forced him to comply. "It's not a weapon—but it's worse than any weapon. My mission is to prevent anyone from acquiring it. If it falls into the wrong hands, it could destroy the human world."
"If I wasn't shackled, I might actually be interested in asking where the hell you're from."
"You know my master," Constantine said softly. "He asked me to tell you—your stitching technique still sucks."
______
(≧◡≦) ♡ Support me and read 20 chapters ahead – patreon.com/Mutter
For every 50 Power Stones, one extra chapter will be released on Saturday.