The Snaring Joke

Meet Tommy. Tommy is a member of an up-and-coming gang somewhere in urban America. Tommy is the type to take himself and his affairs too seriously. Even among his buddies the youth of twenty-six was known to be, and I quote, 'a guy with a bug up his ass'. One day around noon, Tommy was feeling particularly irate. His latest hookup had dumped him for his violent tendencies. He would've drove to his gang's hangout that day, except his clunker of a car was acting up again. It wasn't worth the effort for the aspiring grease-monkey to try and fix the thing, so he threw on his clothes and colors and marched on out in a huff.

Meet Dana. Dana is a trickster spirit from another Earth, raised to believe she was a mutant fox. Not that she wasn't at this point due to mutative alterations against her will, technically speaking. Dana had little use for paper money, having grown up in a post-apocalyptic world, and being a skilled scavenger even in urban environs. She hid just out of sight from the human populace of this Earth, eagerly perched on a sturdy awning overlooking a busy street during the midday rush. Watching cars pass, she finally saw someone take the bait of a $5 bill, crumpled on the ground. Unbeknownst to Tommy, the unwitting victim of her prank, a clear and viscous slime was attached to the bottom of the dollar, meant to expand when stretched and exposed to air. It was quite the tricksy substance from the locally-owned toy store! Poor Tommy got his fiver alright, only to get his hand slathered in sticky, foamy goop.

For the sake of modesty, let us draw the curtain before Tommy's vulgarity-saturated yelling begins. Instead, let us focus on the third key player in this incident, shall we?

Meet Peter. Peter is a youth of just seventeen, a good-natured lad with power over mere paper, despite how potent it was under his control. He happened upon said sourpuss as he fell for the out-of-sight vixen's trick. He himself was a fellow prankster, but only of a good nature. Though inspired by this well-placed prank from the anonymous culprit, surely he wouldn't have dared perform this same sticky snare upon him? Whatever the prank was -- perhaps with a counterfeit, paper-only dollar controlled by his powers, if the writer may suggest -- it landed him in a lot of trouble with Tommy. Unlike Dana, using a ninja trick she'd seen from a salvaged old cartoon episode, Peter was out in the open when the fuming Tommy strode up to him.

The good news is that Dana was well-aware of the youth, her mama bear instincts kicking in once the first punch was thrown at Peter. The bad news is that she went for deadly offense first, causing cars to swerve in a panic as a bolt of violet-blue plasma streaked from her hidden locale. Neutral news was that the plasma bolt missed wide in Dana's panic, melting a patch of pavement behind Tommy instead of Tommy. As the shimmering air dissipated from the missed blast, the vixen pounced her way into action... only to get hit by a skidding car among those who dodged in surprise.

She'd had worse, believe me.

And once Peter was properly beaten senseless by Tommy, falling unconscious, the ganger snatched the boy up. As to be expected, Tommy is known for holding vendettas and didn't want to leave snitches behind. Scooping up Peter, and kicking Dana in the fangs to knock her back out once she revived from the car? He made a break for it, carrying the young adult and the lithe fox-woman into the darkness of the alleyways.

When both came to they were alone, save for each others' company. Well, they also had the thick iron chains and shackles they hung from. Potentially the black mold in the corner of the run-down room they were kept in.

"Damn", Dana mumbled to herself, the room still spinning too much to make sense of the circumstances. "Didja get the plate on the car that hit me?"

Clank. Clank.

As the chain was slowly spinning clock-wise,  Peter’s head was spinning much faster. Possibly a concussion. As his left eyes slowly tore itself open, an unfocused view of a slowly spinning room reached Peter’s focusing consciousness. He was hanging upside down in chains, inside a cement-filled basement with little to no decoration, just a few wooden support pillars and tables with tools his mind couldn’t yet make sense of. Seemingly no windows. He was just next to a wall that had some interesting old strawberry jam marks on the wall. As his body slowly revolved around, his vision spotted a fox-like creature chained not too far from him, with the possibility of it being a costume crossing Peter’s mind, until it actively spoke out. Peter’s other eye opened in surprise, but immediate pain set in, as he couldn’t muster to open it fully, with a swollen eyelid limiting movement.

You probably wonder how I got here. Let me give You the short of the long version of it.

***

Now everybody knows the dollar attached to something trick. I think I even passed one by just now Peter thought as he got his thick pink yarn attached to the dollar bill, leaving it on the sidewalk on the street. The other end was tied to his left hand’s pinky, with the pink line in between them noticeable even from further away.

The trick wasn’t to pull the bill away as a person tried to reach for it. That was too simple to do and was achievable by anyone. However, everything in the setup was planned out. The pink color was bright and encouraging people to try and foil the prank before it happens, dragging their attention from the fact that the bill was counterfeit and just printed out on very soft paper that was just crunched up a couple of times.
As passers by would notice the bill, the little rope attached to it leading to a guy a bit away from the sidewalk, leaning against a building, the simple human mind would almost immediately perceive it as a challenge, attempting to step on the rope and grab the bill “to teach the prankster a lesson”. His bill, however, would fly in the opposite direction, with the rope being loose enough that it might gain a few meters radius. And in the rare case where somebody managed to be an asshole as steal the bill from the kid without noticing it was counterfeit, Peter could always attempt to drag out the wallet that now had paper in it to get his dollar back, and some tips for the performance.

A few passersby walked around, not paying too much attention. The day was not too busy, so not a lot of traffic. Peter’s mind was starting to drift off, as combinations of cussing he hadn’t heard since middle-school echoed off through the street. As a guy started approaching in a fast pace from around the corner, Peter did not even think of ill intent.

Oh, he has ‘TOMM’ tattooed on his knuckles, that’s coo- no chance of finishing that thought, as he realized the fist was approaching his face. A piece of paper slid up from behind his collar to protect the cheek from impact, but without much time to have it harden and stabilized in air, the punch pushed against the paper into Peter’s face, having his head bang against the wall behind him.

Still having a few seconds to react, paper sheets slid out of Peter’s sleeves, covering his knuckles, as the lad was ready to get into this fist fight by punching back.

A knee to his stomach ignored the plans, as the attacker grabbed Peter’s hair, throwing the beautiful face into his knee, straight above the eye, following with another knuckle imprint to finish the beautification procedure.

***

Started in the street, now we’re here. Peter thinks to himself, as his senses slowly pick up on the pain in his body. His chain was just finishing a full circle, as the fox asked a question.

Peter just shook his head, as he could feel the blood still rushing to his face, imagining himself as red as a tomato at this point.

What…? he loudly asked. It was directed to the fox, as much as it was to himself, and the whole situation in general.

Shaking her head slowly, some blood matted to the tuff of fluff at her forehead, the strange fox-woman groaned loudly back at... well, however just spoke up. Despite skidding on the pavement from the car collision, the worst of her injury was in the ribs and hip. A couple of the former felt cracked, and she couldn't tell how long her healing factor had to repair them. It was fortunate that she got slammed on her left side, because that meant she could still lodge a bullet, blade or bolt of plasma into--

Wait. She couldn't feel anything on her person other than her light clothes, not even her belt with that cool side pouch. Whoever put her here, she hoped they took her weapons and stashed them somewhere. No, seriously. It meant she could get them back, rather than some random person lifting them off the streets. It wasn't just that her blaster was arcane overkill in the palm of her hand. It was an heirloom of hers, the only item she had to remember her surrogate father by.

"Lugh's... balls", Dana grunted slowly. It didn't matter to her that the Irish pagan god's name sounded more like 'Lou'; she liked her colorful heathen swears. The fox's head pulsed from the young man's words though; totally hit the asphalt harder than she thought. "Not so loud. Who th' hell are ya, any... right. The kid, I'm hopin'. Uh." The fox totally hit the asphalt harder than she thought. Though battered and bruised from her hasty failed rescue, her eyes weren't swollen shut like Peter's.

Thus Dana lifted her eyelids, trying to get a good look at him. She sighed the moment she locked eyes with her fellow captive. Yep, it was the kid alright. That son of a bitch beat him pretty hard in the face. Eye swollen shut and everything. That street punk had to have been older and bigger than him, the heartless bastard. What sicko beats someone up over a harmless prank, anyway? Dana was sure she was a sociopath herself to some degree, but that beating just took the cake.

"Uh... so! Name's Da-- uh, never mind. Call me the Apocalypse Fox, I guess? Can y'believe this ain't the first time I've been hung from chains like this?" Even a meager introduction would have to do, and she had to break in that heroic alias somehow. All seemed quiet otherwise... for now.

...dafu- Peter whispered to himself as the fox groaned at him, seeing her twist around a little bit as if she was measuring her situation.

Oi, no swearing, we...- Trying to get a sentence into her ranting, I‘m known as..., Peter was once again shut short by her rambling. what kid...? he thought as he tried to comprehend any of her statements. It‘s either me or her, but somebody definetly has a concussion here...

Peter locked eyes with her for a brief moment, before deciding that the details don‘t matter at this particular moment. He closed his eyes, focusing on the immediate area on him. Hacing the paper vibrate, he could sense if any was still on him, and while most seem to have been lost, either taken away or slipping off from underneath his clothes, there was still a handfull of sheets stuck to his lower back as well as crunched up paper balls in his pockets.

If I could make the sheets slide out, I could probably cut the chain in a few minutes, but at the same time, I could instead crunch them up into additional project- Peter‘s planning was quickly cut short by the Fox‘s introduction. Peter just gave a deeper sigh as an immediate answer, but quickly cam to realization that her looking like a Fox is probably not the only special property of hers.

Apocalypse Fox is wayyyy too long. I‘ll just call You Apex, or Apox, whichever You prefer. Peter just shook his head. I‘m known as Papercut, but whichever way You decide to reference me is fine.

I‘m just glad I‘m not 12, or this view might create some... extreme combinations of interest He thought looking at the chained fox lady.


If it‘s not Your first time, I‘m assuming You know the standard procedure? He said smugly, but immediately got serious . I have abilities to control paper, but posses to additional physical prowess. I can try helping with the chains, but I‘m assuming – and hoping – You have a quicker way for us?

Maybe the room was still spinning too much, but Dana couldn't quite tell that her blathering was getting on Peter's nerves. She did have a habit of being too vocal for her own good when given a chance. That said, even if having chronic yapping syndrome was an issue for her? She was much more proficient at sneaking than talking.

"Or? Eh, Dana works", the vixen mumbled with a dash of disappointment in her voice. "I'd prefer Dana".

She did perk up when she heard of Papercut's abilities, however. Though not certain how potent mere paper could be against iron chains, the power was still  interesting to her. Sounded like something out of an old cartoon, which made sense. This was a superhero universe that the trickster spirit found herself stuck in.

And right then, she was stuck in some handcuffs hanging from the ceiling! Rather than tell that she was plenty capable, Dana preferred to show. Even if her obvious gear was taken, she had a backup idea or two. Neither her nor Peter's legs were bound, even if the cuffs were locked tight. The thing about handcuffs, even standard-issued police ones, is that they usually had pretty crummy locks. Sure, they were stronger than zip ties and better cuffs did exist,  but Tommy's crew didn't have the quality goods.

For instance, a certain mutated fox-woman could wiggle her ankle where a strip of light green cloth was tied, checking to see if it had been disturbed by her captors. As it had not been, a couple of paper clips and a bobby pin rattled around between the cloth and her ankle. So long as she could get one of those bent metal wires into her hand, she wouldn't have to break her thumbs and/or wrists to escape.

Not that she hadn't before, but it could permanently break something in the average person's hand. It at least meant she couldn't hold a weapon right for about an hour or so, thanks to her healing factor fixing the delicate little bones and sinews. So rather than let things get graphic, the Apocalyse Fox demonstrated a simple fact to the hanging hero: foxes are more flexible than humans.

She swayed her legs forward. They didn't get very far into the air. "Hang on", she blinked. Dana tried again. They got up to her midsection this time, but a unpleasant little pop rang out from her chest. "Ow, damn", she yipped. Yep, at least one rib was broken and didn't heal all the way yet.

Third time's the charm. Wincing and taking a deep breath, she swung her feet back and forth a bit to build up momentum, kicked both legs up, and managed to wrap her ankles around the chain! A few moments later, her fingers scrambled to pluck a larger, rusted paper clip from that ankle wrap. Body still bent upward, she bent the paper clip and in less than a minute, managed to unlock one cuff! The freed hand zipped up to snatch the chain for a better grip, lest she slip. In that position, wrists were easily dislocated that way.

One more click seconds later, and Dana dropped to the ground with a soft slap of paw pads on the cold ground. She took no time to rub her aching wrists. "Whew! There we are. Y'need help out, or are you good?"

Because their captor and his buddies did not investigate either Dana nor Peter well, any paper hidden under Peter's clothing would've gone untouched. And who knows? Odd as it was, even the paper in any pockets might've been left undisturbed. After all, the fox had a survival knife and a weird-looking gun on her person at the least. How dangerous could some paper be?

Maybe the thugs were about to find out.

Oh right Peter noted to himself. Cuffs have locks.

This realization hit him while he was watching the lady fox do her acrobatics jig, with his head racing to think how she could make money with moves like those, to the fact that he might have heard her ribs pop. Hopefully it was just a well-hidden little balloon. As she freed herself and offered some help, Peter just shook his head.

No need he answered I got this

Moving around a bit, and focusing on the paper on his back, he started freeing up the paper sheets and having them slide out his collar. With a couple of them now loose, he had them float next to his face, where he could bite into them and tear into smaller pieces.

He raised the handcuffs as much as he could, just so the locks would be easily accessible, as the small paper pieces now slowly descended like feathers, they would suddenly jam themselves into the locking mechanism once they’ve gotten close enough. Both locks filled in with paper quite fast.

As You probably now, most locks just need the correct lock teeth...  he stopped for a brief moment, thinking if he’s using the correct terminology, but without thinking up a more suitable term, just rolled with it: ... to be lifted by the key, or Your lock-picking instrument. But the same can be done...

Creating a moment of intrigue, Papercut glanced at the fox, giving her a cheeky smile, having the paper expand in the locks as he thrusted his arms to the sides as much as he could to open up the cuffs.

...with a little bit of paper and magic! As he performed his act, a pretty clear, while not too loud BOP echoed through the room.

Peter’s smile faded a little bit as he realized his cuffs were still locked, and his shoulder hurt like hell. His face went into a bit of a shocked look, but more from embarrassment than pain, as he realized he most likely just jammed the lock and dislocated the left shoulder.

Dana watched in awe as Peter performed his papery powers before her. The most she'd seen like this was a warlock's spellbook -- an old tabletop RPG's core rulebook, to be specific -- flip itself open to the right page to sling spells at her. But here he was, making scrap paper float before him as he tore it to confetti with his mouth.

Those scraps of paper flowing with the grace of autumn leaves in the wind, Peter had the vixen's full attention. If not for her child-like wonder, something she hadn't felt in a long time, she'd cast an eye to the door. Surely their conversation and her escape would've created enough noise to draw suspicion.

"Yer right", she replied to his lock-teeth comment, any hint of cynicism gone from her tone. She would add that's how she used her paper clip to force the handcuffs open, but held off. She couldn't wait to see him escape in a papyrokinetic flourish. Her eyes dilated in fascination, an earnest smile spreading across her snout as Peter prepared for the big finish...

...and, it didn't work. And, it seemed like she wasn't the only one with internal damage too. The paper went off like an old party popper but in the end, all this accomplished was popping Peter's arm from his shoulder socket.

The scowl returned to Dana's face. "Fuck."

She only had time than to sigh before her left ear twitched. Someone was coming. He was murmuring something she couldn't quite pick up, but she knew swear words more than enough to know one or two were being said. Her eyes widened and darted about the room. Nowhere to hide. Holding a finger up to her lips, she slipped toward the side of the door and pressed herself as close to the wall as possible, crouching. Maybe the thug wouldn't expect her to hide in plain sight?

A second later and the guy's size 10 burst through the door. This wasn't Tommy. Too much hair gel, not enough body hair, too bright of a red wife-beater compared to Tommy's dark covering clothes. A piece of metal pipe was clenched in his hand, and the spiky-headed creep looked up at Peter, only counting one hostage. "Hey! The fuck's the furry?!"