"Oh great, I''ve been kidnapped. Again."


    I was in a metal cage in the middle of a small outdoor shed. I could tell it was outdoors because it smelled like grass and dirt. And rain. It was weird how rain had a smell. I wonder what causes that? It must not have been raining right now, as I didn''t hear any drops hitting the corrugated metal roof. It also must be a fairly remote area, since they hadn''t done anything to gag me this time. Real rustic vibes. It made me think I was dealing with some kind of cannibal butcher pervert. That was a bit weird.


    I obviously wasn''t worried about it. If anything, I''d worry for the poor sucker who''d orchestrated my non-consensual relocation. I wasn''t, though, because why would I be? Even a normal person probably wouldn''t be sorry to see their kidnapper turn into the victim. And I was looking forward to this one, I had to admit. I hope it''s gonna be something interesting.


    It was usually just inconvenient, but there were a few times where I got to play the part of a terrified little rich girl caught in the middle of an armed dick measuring contest. There was also the one time where I got to bliss out on a fuckton of sedatives for free and with zero blame or damage to my own image. Fun, but not something I was interested in deliberately trying to repeat.


    It wasn''t like I was kidnapped every other week, either. It had been a little over a year since the last one, but once was already way out of the norm. And it wasn''t like I was trying to get kidnapped. Illegal arms traffickers just kept deciding that abducting the daughter of the director of the largest legal arms trafficker would give them some kind of leverage in whatever shit they were trying to pull. I never bothered to learn all the details.


    And maybe it would have worked if I was actually the daughter of the guy in charge of the leading anathema defense contractor. David Huntingfield of Vanguard Technologies–likely a sexy sounding name at one point–was more of a guy who I pretended to live with. My real dad was an actual Star Guardian. A pretty famous one, and also a shit dad, ''cause he went and dumped me with David. He only visited a few times a year and it felt like he was taking notes the whole time. Kinda creepy.


    The one upside was that he cared enough to keep retrieving me from would-be hostage crises, although I was starting to get suspicious. None of my kidnappings ever made the news, and if he could show up so quickly, why was I able to get taken in the first place? I think he was using me as bait. Save biological kid, root out crime syndicate. Not quite two birds. One and a half, maybe.


    None of that changed the fact I was currently in a wire cage, though, and it wasn''t comfortable in any way. I wanted to get out sooner rather than later, if only to stretch and sit on something a bit more comfortable. And since my hands weren''t bound and there were a bunch of old tools and random junk nearby, it might not even be hard. Which is kind of suspicious.


    It''s like I''m supposed to make some kind of clever escape. But why? The sound of multiple approaching voices kicked my mounting suspicion up a notch. I couldn''t quite make out proper words yet, but I''d been through this enough times to develop an instinctual feeling that approaching captors didn''t sound like that. Other hostages?


    "We need to check. There could be someone still alive in this one." A man''s voice, young and gruff. And what''s this about ''still alive in this one?'' I didn''t like the sound of that. "Even if there isn''t, there could be more weapons or supplies."


    I frowned. It could be one of two things here. Either I wasn''t the only victim, or the people responsible for this were putting on some kind of weird act. Some lame psychological bullshit? I wasn''t sure. Even if the first option turned out to be true, it didn''t lower my suspicion of how easy they''d clearly made it for us to get out. Either way, it''s not good. Just have to survive until Dad shows up.


    I was startled out of my thoughts when the shoddy wooden door of the shed slammed open. I say slammed, but it was more like it exploded inwards. A genuine Rambo strode through the shattered entrance. His look came complete with sweat-slicked muscles and a shitty headband. He could use a little more dirt and blood, but he was on his way to getting there. I raised an eyebrow.


    "Hey! There''s someone in here!" Turning back to me, he tried to look tough and in control while also presenting himself as non-threatening. It didn''t really work, and he could clearly tell it was just awkward. Clearing his throat, he gestured around at me and the rest of the shed. "I uh. I mean, we also woke up in cages like that. No goddamn idea what''s going on yet, but we''ll get you out first, yeah?"


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    I gave a short, timid nod. I decided to remain quiet for now. I didn''t have much idea what was going on either, including whether any of what he''d just said was the truth. Adding to my suspicion was the fact that I''d never had company any of the times before this. It wasn''t really evidence that Mr. Legally Distinct Rambo was lying, but once again, it made me wary. Either case came with its own issues.


    Nodding as well–more to himself than to me–the living relic of 1980s masculinity stepped closer and ripped off a side of the cage. No tools, not even a stick for leverage. He just gripped on both sides of one of the edges and pulled the thing apart. Holy muscles. Action hero indeed. Still, there must have been an easier way. He''d also kicked apart the door instead of opening it like a normal person, so the guy had a clear interest in presentation. At least he does have the strength to back it up.


    I was still in the cage, so I had to crawl my way out onto the soft, half-rotten wooden boards. Shakily, I stood to my full height–an imposing 5 foot negative 2 inches. Or one and a half meters if you''re a scientist or Canadian. Or both. There are definitely plenty of scientists in Canada. "Uh, thanks," I squeaked out, shaking and acting like I couldn''t meet anyone''s eyes. Which was annoying, because I really wanted to see the look on Not-Rambo''s face right now. "I, uhm.."


    "We''re gonna get you out of here. We''re all getting out of here." I had to hide a smirk when he said that. This guy really does know his lines, I thought. I was starting to really hope that this part of it wasn''t all fake. Not because I was worried about the situation, but because I was starting to look forward to seeing this guy in action. Finding out he was part of some weird psychological tactic against me would be like finding out a crazy video on social media was a staged skit in the comments.


    There was a brief lapse in the action, and I took that opportunity to nervously glance around at the other people who''d trailed behind Rambo. I counted four. Two guys and two girls. The first guy looked like a shittier knockoff of the better Rambo knockoff, and the other guy looked like he''d accidentally wandered through the fourth wall of a corporate training video. The first woman, the older one, looked like she was going to cut public transport funding after the next election cycle while the second, younger one looked ready to make a video essay on why that was a horrible evil idea.


    It didn''t take me long to give each of them a name. Let''s see... How about Rambo 2, Mrs Budgetcuts, and Class President? Wait, I forgot about Corporate Training Guy–too long. I''ll just call him Jeff. He looks like his name is Jeff.


    "We''re all gonna make it out?" Rambo 2 shook his head and scoffed. "Go tell that to Brian."


    I''d already pegged him as the least interesting member of the group, behind even Jeff, and was prepared to use him as fodder. Just in case things actually get deadly. But considering what he''d just said, that sounded likely. It was safe to say I was now concerned. Good job Rambo 2. You already managed to say something vaguely interesting.


    The original Rambo winced. Clearly, this ''Brian'' didn''t make it. I wanted to know why. I couldn''t just ask what killed him though, because that would ruin the persona I''d started with. Instead, I let my eyes flick between them, and, with a quivering lip, just asked his name like it was a question. "Brian?"


    "Brian was.. he was the first other..." Rambo coughed. "The first person we encountered out here. Before you. He... didn''t make it."


    I had to remember not to roll my eyes. Gee thanks, idiot. That tells me everything. I trusted that Rambo 2 would be my savior here, though, and I was fortunately proved correct.


    "Damn right he didn''t make it. His whole head got eaten by a god-damned fucking Anathema. Big fucking lizard monster." Rambo 2 grimaced. "No way it was an accident, either. I don''t know about any of you–but I''ve survived an incursion. And this? Right here, right now? We''re not inside of one."


    Class president gasped and Jeff went a bit pale. Mrs. Budgetcuts, though, looked thoughtful. "You''re right that there''s no active incursion nearby," she said, "which means whoever brought us here–they have captive Anathema. This isn''t what I assumed. We''re not hostages. We''re food."


    My eyes widened, and it was a genuine reaction. This was bad–really bad. It was still possible this could all be some weird trick–but I was beginning to doubt it. The option where these people were genuine captives like me had grown far more dangerous. The best thing to do now was to assume with full certainty that it was the case.


    Fucking damn it. I really needed my deadbeat dad to get his ass over here, wipe out this Anathema cult facility or whatever the fuck it was, and get my ass out of here. I was no longer interested in seeing what bullshit was about to happen. Bullshit, however, had a way of showing up when it was the least convenient. We all turned to face in the same direction as something pushed its way through the trees.


    Fuck this bullshit. To break through the boundaries of a persona was disgusting. I hated it. I avoided it as best I could, even when it made things way more difficult. But it wasn''t impossible, and right now? I''d rather stay alive until my personal Star Guardian arrived to save the day. We''d only gotten the barest glimpse of the unnatural beast stalking forward between the trees–but that was more than enough.


    And while I might be small, I wasn''t powerless.


    Stepping back, I swept Class President''s legs out from under her, sending her to the ground with a panicked yelp–and before anyone could figure out what just happened or react…


    I ran.