The Inspector trailed the girls downtown, back to Elvis Lane, where he found them fixing a cheap walkie-talkie onto the door. He scoffed, but then froze as he saw a shadow move under the light of the door.
"Hide!" he hissed, diving into a nearby dumpster. Mavis and Tyra understood, slipping into the shadows, but Mikara looked about, frowning. Too late, she realized her mistake and tried to leap into a trash can, but a pair of lanky, identical young adults grabbed her and hauled her up. They yanked her inside. To the Inspector's and the girl's horror, they heard Mikara scream from inside the building. Tyra leapt for the door, howling, and pounded hard on the front door. Mavis and the Inspector both lunged out of their hiding spots and yanked her back into the shadows. The door creaked open a moment later, and one of the lanky twins looked out the door, her blonde hair blowing in the wind. After a moment, she grunted, pulled something out of her pocket, and dropped it on the floor, then swung the door shut. A metal door slowly closed over the inner door with a mechanical hum. Mavis darted forward. Then she screamed.
"What's going on here?" the mechanical door slid open, and one of the twins opened the door, frowning. When she saw Mavis, she made a grab and latched onto Mavis's arm. Then the bomb went off. All four were blown back, Mavis and the twin taking the brunt of it. The Inspector recovered quickly, and, hauling Tyra to her feet, dashed out of the alley, leaving Mavis to fend for herself.
Mavis's eyes, sticky with blood, fluttered weakly. She was being slapped across the face. It was gentle, though. Managing to pry her eyes open, Mavis saw Mikara sitting beside her, shaking and slapping her lightly on the face. Mavis shoved Mikara's hand away from her face and sat up. She found herself on a large, luxurious bed, with silk sheets. Mikara was sitting beside her, on a velvet-covered armchair. The room, however, had only one window, which was tiny and grimy.
"Door?" Mavis rasped.
"Locked. I was knocked out, and so were you, by the bomb, and we both woke up here." Mikara said. Mavis sat up and glanced down at her cuts and bruises, seeing bandages and cream galore.
"Why haven't they killed us yet?" she asked.
"Beats me." Mikara answered, rolling up her sleeve to reveal an impressive bloodstained bandage. "One of the twins- maybe the girl one, though it looked like the boy one- brought me to some person who has a knife collection that probably has more blades than the amount of money the General has. She cut me to try and find out where the Inspector and Tyra were, which I actually don't know, and then the twin clocked me over the head. When I woke up, I was here, and you looked like you were dying."
"That bad?" Mavis got out of bed and limped around to peer out of the window, making a sound of disgust as she could only see a layer of squashed bugs. She tried to squint past a smushed moth, failing miserably. Giving up, she stomped away from the window, then noticed that Mikara was wearing a pair of fresh clothes.
"Can I change?" she asked.
"Yeah." Getting up, Mikara crossed to a large, sleek, modern closet, then pulled open the doors. "Take your pick."
After taking a shower and changing into the silk tunic and soft pants, Mavis stepped out of the bathroom and went to sit on an armchair. Mikara had sat down on her armchair. A sumptuous spread was on a silver tray on the coffee table: baked chickpea rice pilaf, a rich chicken-potato stew, cucumber salad with a lemon dressing, chicken with spinach in a creamy paprika dressing, garlicky saffron rice, peppered lemon pork, zucchini-mozzarella bruschetta, and spicy fish tacos. A smaller tray was lavished with desserts- lemon ginger tarts, banana-nut bread with a variety of fillings (strawberry cream, butter, lemon cream cheese, peppermint mousse), powdered-sugar donuts, and rolled maple-sugar crepes. Neat pewter cups, plates and cutlery sat by, with a pitcher full of lemon water. Mikara shook her head at the food.
"It could be poisoned."
"True." Mavis agreed, and glanced around the room to look for weak spots. The vents, the door, the window- and a small hole nearly concealed by the wardrobe. Then there was a commotion out in the hallway, and soon the door swung open. A fresh-faced young man was trailed by two women, one with silvery-blonde hair, thigh-high white boots, and a fur coat, the other with jet-black hair toned with poison green and purple, wearing a matching vest and boots. Both were armed with heavy firearms, but the man himself was wearing a simple black shirt and pants, with no visible weapons. He settled down in an adjacent armchair from the girls, his eyes hidden by black shades. The girls tensed in their chairs, waiting. He simply sat there, his long slim fingers interlaced. Silence lay thickly in the room. Finally the man looked up calmly.
"Hello. I am BlackJack." he said.
"Big deal. Why are we here?" Mikara asked bluntly, hiding her shaking hands under her thighs.
"Because you found us." BlackJack answered placidly, picking up a pewter glass and pouring himself some lemonade. "Don't worry, you will be provided for."
"So you mean... you're going to keep us here?" Mavis asked, crossing her arms tightly.
"Yes. Forever. Try to escape and you'll die."
"Very straightforward." Mikara said.
"Yes! Very good, Mikara."
"How do you know my name?"
"Oh, we know everything about you. The only you have to know is that you're trapped in here." BlackJack answered, swigging his lemonade. One thought alone crossed the girls' minds.
We're trapped.