Behemoth tore through the city, its engine a low growl that vibrated right up my spine. My eyes darted between the Digivice screen—where Black Widow's signal for Jessica was flickering and growing faint—and the chaotic, neon-streaked streets blurring past. This city was a goddamn maze.
"Y'know, for a high-stakes rescue, this ride's severely lacking in decent snacks," Impmon griped from his perch on my back, his claws digging into my jacket. "Also, my ribs still hurt. Just so you're aware of my suffering."
I ignored him, twisting the throttle harder. Worry for Jessica was a cold knot in my gut, but it was tangled up with a simmering, white-hot anger at Killgrave. Every wrong turn, every dead-end alley where the signal decided to play peek-a-boo just poured more fuel on it. This wasn't a chase; it was a taunt.
We finally burst out of the dense grid of city blocks and skidded to a halt. The signal on my Digivice flatlined. Completely dead.
In front of us was a rundown amusement park, long abandoned. The rusty skeletons of roller coasters and tilt-a-whirls stood silhouetted against the night sky like forgotten giants. The only light came from a distant, sickly yellow streetlamp.
"Oh, great," Impmon muttered, sliding off Behemoth. "A funhouse of horrors. My favorite. Real subtle, puppet master."
I cursed under my breath, killing Behemoth's engine. The sudden silence was worse than the roar. It was thick, heavy, broken only by the occasional groan of metal and the faint, constant hum of the city we'd left behind.
I slapped my Digi-Goggles down over my eyes and activated a thermal scan. The lenses whirred, painting the world in blues and grays.
Nothing. No heat signatures. No energy spikes. Not even a stray cat.
"Scan's clear," I said, my voice sounding too loud in the quiet. "It's just… empty."
That was the unnerving part. After all that noise and chase, we'd been led to a perfect, creepy dead end. It felt staged. It was staged.
Suddenly, with a jarring sputter and a shower of sparks, the carousel in the center of the park jolted to life.
Its painted horses began a slow, ghostly rotation. A distorted, tinny music box melody scraped its way out of ancient speakers, the notes all wrong and stretched. It was the soundtrack to a bad dream.
Then, Killgrave's voice, amplified and echoing from everywhere at once, filled the dead air.
"I do hope you enjoyed the little game of hide-and-seek, Chosen Child. I find the build-up so important for a proper… reveal."
My gaze snapped to the carousel. And there she was.
Jessica stood perfectly still, poised atop one of the gaudy, frozen-smile horses. She was still in her full Jewel costume—the white and silver bodysuit, the blue sash, the vibrant pink hair. In one hand, she held that stupid bag of money from the bank. She wasn't looking at me. She wasn't looking at anything.
She was a macabre centerpiece in his twisted little amusement park.
"The robbery was merely a prelude, you see," Killgrave's voice continued, dripping with condescending calm. "A bit of street theater to set the stage. And my new toy here… she performs so beautifully under direction."
The sound of a voice drifted from an open window of a brownstone, calm and conversational. A chill went through me that had nothing to do with the night air.
"Now, bow for me, Jewel."
I saw her through the gap in the curtains. Jessica, in that bright white and blue costume, her pink hair unmistakable. Her body moved with a stiff, mechanical precision that was nothing like her.
She bent at the waist, a perfect ninety-degree angle, and held it.
"Very good. Now, spin around for me. Slowly."
She turned in a clumsy, puppet-like circle, her arms hanging limp at her sides. It was a child's gesture, empty and ridiculous, forced onto a hero. My hands clenched into fists on the handlebars.
The voice came again, pleased and conversational. "Now, stand perfectly still. Don't even blink until I say so."
Jessica froze, a statue in the middle of the room. The blankness on her face was worse than any expression of pain. It was the absence of her. He was erasing her, line by line, turning her into a wind-up toy for his own amusement. Every command was another piece of her dignity ripped away and crumpled up.
A low, furious snarl ripped from Impmon's throat. "That slimy, mind-raping son of a—"
A cold fury, sharper and more focused than my earlier anger, ignited in my chest. This wasn't just capture. He wasn't just holding her. He was humiliating her. Making her act out his commands like a wind-up doll in front of an audience. Of me.
The strategic part of my brain, the one that usually laid out plans like chess moves, was drowned out by a single, screaming directive.
Get her out. Now.
I charged toward the carousel, my boots crunching on broken glass and dead leaves. The anger was a burning fuel, narrowing my vision to that static figure on the horse.
A ghostly, translucent clown with a leering grin materialized right in my path. At the same time, a spike of purple-tinged energy shot past my head from the shadows to my left.
I ducked on instinct. The energy grazed my cheek, leaving a sting like a static shock.
"Hey, ugly!" Impmon yelled. "Pick on someone your own lack of substance!"
A burst of purple flame shot past my shoulder. It hit the clown square in its painted face. The creature didn't scream—it burst into a shower of pixelated static with a sound like tearing paper, then dissolved into nothing.
"Hah! One down!" Impmon cackled, already spinning and firing another blast at a nearby ring-toss booth. The booth flickered with the same unnatural light before going dark and silent.
From the deeper shadows by the rusted Ferris wheel, Killgrave's amplified, calm voice cut through the air.
"My, my. So very… reactive." His dry, amused laughter followed, echoing unnaturally through the still park. "But do keep going. I'm finding this all rather instructive."
I kept moving, my eyes locked on Jessica. I had to reach her, break whatever hold he had. But that colder, logical part of me finally fought its way back to the surface.
The clown wasn't real. The energy spike was magical, not digital. This was a prelude, just like he said. A warm-up act.
The real battle—against Killgrave himself, and whatever Digimon he had lurking in the wings—was still waiting in the shadows. And I'd just run headlong into his playground.
***
Donate Power Stones to support this novel
Advance chapters in patreon.com/Najicablitz