strikesthrough | [Duplicity Sample]

Sinking down onto the bed so that his long legs could stretch out, Victor cast a slow, blank stare upward.

So. What now?

What should he do with himself in this new city—this new world—with no Mitch, no Sydney, no Dominic or Serena. And no Eli.

That had been the goal, after all. The end game of ten long years in prison came down to Victor allowing Eli to eventually kill him in front of the police to ensure his arrest, to make sure that the hero Eli Ever was going to spend the rest of his long, possibly eternal life, behind bars, to feel something that Victor had. Except prison had granted Victor time to prepare, to practice, and embrace patience. He could have broken out any time, it was simply easier with Mitch involved. Eli’s powers would make escape incredibly difficult—all he could do was heal and what good was that in a box.

But then the question could be turned back to Victor himself now: what good was controlling pain in a place he had no ties to, either positive or negative. He was a single unit adrift in a sea of hundreds and thousands of others. Victor Vale was a blank slate here.

Except for Dol, the massive black great dane that Sydney had brought back to lift twice already now. The not-dead-dog who had, somehow, ended up in the city with Victor and was resting his big head on Victor’s knee as his tail thudded rhythmical on the ground alongside a low, drawn out whine.

Absently, Victor lay his hand on the dog’s head, knowing he lacked the affection and interest to find the animal’s best scratching points like Sydney surely knew and instead settled on letting his slender fingers just scritch over the same spot as his mind wandered.

What does one do with a blank slate? And in a world that put so much focus on sex too.

Victor made a face—he didn’t care much for sex, but he did care about power, how he could gain it, what it could afford him, how it could shape him in this world.

So it down to a matter of making an action plan. First thing was first, he probably needed to insinuate himself into some form of work and while there were some possibilities, with his pre-med background and talent with pain, he could likely slip quite neatly into some kind of medical position. People exchanged a great deal for pain relief, as had been the case with Dominic.

Hm. Dominic. Victor wondered idly if Dominic’s pain had returned since Victor had been whisked away. Maybe he should have felt more regret or fear about being trapped far away from home with no way back, but for ten years “home” had been a prison cell and then his family became a hulking ex-con, a dead thirteen-year-old, and the dog. If he missed the former two, Victor was not going to dwell too strongly on the fact: he should have left them both early on in either case and attachment served very little purpose in the wider scheme of things.

It wasn’t a full plan yet, but it was the start of something, a direction to head in as he got a feel for the city’s pulse and all of its nerves. Maybe that was something else to consider: some people were wired to draw sexual pleasure from pain. Perhaps he could hit this city-imposed quota through more non-traditional methods, things that may not even involve him taking off his clothes or even needing to touch another person. Victor had never considered that before, never went out of his way to find people who took pleasure from pain. Why would he? It was never something he’d had to factor into any of his plans before and Victor was an incredibly pragmatic man.

Adjusting his weight, Victor carefully lifted Dol’s heavy head from his lap and paced across the room to a mirror, taking a moment to test out an approachable face, trying to soften his eyes, put on a welcoming smile, like he imagined would be appropriate for an interview. It felt like pulling on a shirt that was too loose in some places, too tight in others, and in a material that was scratchy on his skin. Victor just didn’t social very well.

It was why at times, when there was nothing else but silence he missed—

No, there was no time for that. It was time to work and there was no rest for the wicked.

Victor picked up his trench coat and shrugged it on,