MidReal Story
Captured: Wonder Woman's Defiant Struggle
Scenario: Wonder woman is defeated to the ground by Mr. Bison. She was captured as slave and will never escape. Her hope will vanish and she accept her fate - her end as a heroine and forever as a slave submitting to Mr. Bison
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I was defeated.
I was captured.
And now I was a slave.
The chains around my wrists were heavy, but not as heavy as the weight of my failure.
I had been so sure that I could defeat Mr.
Bison and his forces, but I had been wrong.
So very, very wrong.
I had fought with all of my strength, but it hadn’t been enough.
They had overwhelmed me, and now here I was, chained to the wall of Mr.
Bison’s underground lair like an animal in a cage.
The chains were made of some kind of unbreakable metal, and no matter how hard I pulled on them, they wouldn’t budge.
Not that it mattered anyway; even if I could break free from my chains, there was no way out of this place.
The walls were too thick, and the only entrance was guarded by Mr.
Bison’s men day and night.
There was no escape for me here; I was trapped in this hellish place for the rest of my days.
None of them had a happy ending.
And I was no exception.
Once, I had been a beacon of hope and strength to all of those around me.
I had been a warrior, a protector of my home, a symbol of peace and justice to the outside world.
But now, all of that was gone.
My powers, my identity, everything that made me Wonder Woman, had been stripped away from me.
Now I was just Diana Prince, a slave to the man who had taken everything from me.
The chains around my wrists dug into my skin, and I pulled against them again, desperate to break free, even though I knew it was useless.
I could hear Mr.
Bison’s laughter echoing through the cold, damp chamber, and I shuddered at the sound.
It was so different from the laughter that I remembered from him.
Once, he had been kind and gentle, but now he was cruel and cold, and I couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to change him so much.
I tugged on my chains again, but they held fast.
At least I could move around a little bit; Mr.
Bison had been kind enough to give me enough slack that I could sit down on the cold stone floor if I wanted to.
But what was the point?
I never sat down anymore.
I couldn’t bear to be in one place for too long; it made me feel too much like a caged animal.
And I wasn’t an animal.
I was Wonder Woman!
I was a warrior, a princess, a hero!
Or at least… I used to be.
It was hard to remember what it felt like to be those things sometimes.
I had been Mr.
Bison’s prisoner for so long that it was easy to forget that there had ever been a time when I wasn’t.
That there had ever been a time when I wasn’t shackled in this dark corner of his lair, when I wasn’t his slave, his possession.
The gold lasso hung from his belt, gleaming in the dim light of the chamber.
It was my most sacred weapon, the thing that made me who I was, that defined me as Wonder Woman more than anything else.
And now it belonged to him; he had taken it from me when he’d captured me, along with everything else that I held dear.
Without it, I was powerless; there was nothing that I could do to stop him from doing whatever he wanted with me.
There was nothing that I could do… except fight him with everything that I had left.
Which wasn’t much, but it was something.
I glared at him as he approached me, carrying a long length of chain in his hand.
He smiled down at me, and I could see the hunger in his eyes as he looked at me, the way that they lingered on my naked body.
He wanted me; he wanted all of me, and he was going to take it whether I wanted him to or not.
But he would never have all of me; there would always be something left that he could never touch or destroy.
The fire of my spirit burned low, a tiny spark that refused to go out no matter how hard Mr.
Bison tried to smother it, and that spark would be enough to keep me going, enough to keep me fighting, no matter how dark things got down here in the abyss of his lair.
I made sure that my chin was up and my expression was defiant, even though my heart was pounding in my chest so hard that it made it hard for me to breathe.
Even though every instinct in my body was telling me to run, it told me that no matter what horror lay at the end of this journey, it would be better than what awaited me here.
But my mind wasn’t thinking straight; it was clogged with fear, with memories of the things that Mr.
Bison had done to me over the past few months—things that I would never be able to forget, no matter how hard I tried to erase them from my memory—and there was nothing that I could do to stop it.
Nothing that I wanted to do right now except put as much distance between myself and Mr.
Bison as possible, because the closer he got, the more my body screamed at me to run away from him, far away from him, as fast as possible.
But that wasn’t an option for me right now; the chains around my wrists made sure of that, wrapped tightly around my wrists so that they dug into the soft skin there, cutting off my circulation as they tethered me to this one spot in the darkness like a dog chained up in a backyard, a worthless and unwanted thing that nobody wanted or cared about; a thing that nobody would miss if it were gone.
But even though Mr.
Bison’s chains were unbreakable, even though they were stronger than anything else in the world, there was one thing that they couldn’t hold down: my spirit.
It was battered and bruised and broken, but it was still alive.
The light of my spirit was almost out.
But as long as that light was still burning inside of me, there was still hope that one day, somehow, some way, this nightmare would be over.
And until that day came, I would stay strong.
I would survive.
Mr Bison stopped in front of me, and for a moment, he just stood there looking at me.
His eyes raked over my body like two greedy fingers, his gaze lingering on my breasts, on the dark patch of curls between my legs.
I shivered under his scrutiny; it made my skin crawl to be looked at that way, like a piece of meat that he was thinking about buying at the market.
Like a thing that he owned, that he could do whatever he wanted with.
Because that was what I was now: his.
In every possible way.
He reached out and put his hand on my cheek, stroking it gently with his thumb.
His touch was like fire against my skin.
I wanted to pull away from him, to spit in his face and tell him to go to hell.
I fought against the chains he had wrapped tightly around my wrists, my ankles, but they wouldn’t give.
“Such a pretty little face,” he said.
“I bet you’re going to be even prettier when you cry.” He leaned in close to my ear and whispered: “I can’t wait to see you cry.”
I turned my head away from him so that I wouldn’t have to look at him; I didn’t want him to see the tears that I could feel stinging in my eyes right now.
I didn’t want him to see how much power he had over me.
I didn’t want him to see how much he had broken me.
And most of all, I didn’t want him to see how scared I was.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said as he straightened up to his full height again.
“You’ll get used to it.
But just in case you don’t…”
He put his hand around the back of my neck and gripped it tightly.
I closed my eyes tight and gritted my teeth so that I wouldn’t make a sound.
I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of hearing me beg for mercy.
Or seeing the tears in my eyes.
Or feeling the fear in my heart.
Or knowing that he had completely and totally broken me.
“But in case you don’t,” he said, “try to remember that I’m the one who has the power here.
“The only one who has any power here.”
I opened my eyes again, and I looked at him.
His face was just inches away from mine, so close that I could see the small scar on his chin, the tiny freckle on his cheek.
“I’m the one who calls the shots, and I’m the one who makes the rules.And if you don’t do what I say…”
He reached out and stroked my cheek again.
“Let’s just say that you’re not going to like it very much.”
I closed my eyes again.
But this time, it wasn’t because I was afraid.
It was because I was so, so tired.
Tired of fighting against something that I knew I couldn’t win.
Tired of struggling against chains that were too strong for me to break.
Tired of hurting, both inside and out.
Tired of being alive.
If only Mr.
Bison would just let me go, then maybe it would all be over soon, and I would finally be able to rest.
But no matter how hard I fought against him, no matter how much pain he caused me, no matter how much he humiliated me or degraded me or hurt me, he just kept coming back for more.
And no matter how much I wanted to die, no matter how much I wished that the darkness would just swallow me up and take me away from all this pain and this horror and this shame, something inside of me wouldn’t let it happen.
Some small spark of light refused to go out, no matter how hard Mr.
Bison tried to extinguish it.
“I think you need to be reminded of your place,” Mr Bison said as he grabbed my hair and yanked my head back so that I was looking at him again.
“Don’t you?”
I raised my head and looked up at him through bleary eyes, then I spit in his face as hard as I could.
“Let’s see if that makes you feel any better,” he said as he slapped me across the face so hard that I saw stars.
I collapsed back onto the stone floor and lay there in a daze while he laughed at me, then he wiped the spit off his face with the back of his hand and left the room again.
Once he was gone, I reached up and wiped at my lip with the back of my hand, then I looked at the blood that came away on my skin.
It didn’t hurt that much; it was just a cut on my lip where the chains had rubbed against my skin.
But it was almost a relief to feel something else, something that wasn’t pain or fear or shame or despair.
That wasn’t humiliation or degradation or violation or slavery.
I lay there for a little while longer, then I rolled over onto my hands and knees and tried to get up.
But the chain that was attached to my collar was too short for me to stand up all the way.
So instead, I crawled over toward the wall and propped myself up against it so that I could sit down.
And as I did, I saw something lying on the ground next to me.
Something red and shiny.
I held my hands out in front of me and examined them.
They were covered in blood and dirt, and they were swollen and bruised from where Mr.
Bison had hit me.
But there was something else there, too.
The red gauntlets that Wonder Woman always wore on her wrists.
He had taken my armor and my boots.
He had taken my lasso and my sword.
He had taken everything.
Everything that made me who I am.
Everything that made me Wonder Woman.
Now all that was left were these gauntlets and this tiara.
He had left them on my hands because they were too tight for him to take off.
But he had ripped everything else away like it was nothing.
Like it was nothing at all.
Like it was nothing important at all.
Like it was just something that he could do whenever he wanted and nobody would ever be able to stop him.
Like it was nothing that mattered at all.
