The thug pulled the black hood off of Jenny's head, revealing her face to the air. I frowned at the sight of a small bruise high on her cheek, the tear-streaked cheeks, and the duct-tape gag over her mouth. "I thought I told you she was not to be harmed," I growled.

"Forgive me, Doctor Oblivion. The girl struggled, and I had to keep her quiet," Jonas said nervously.

I scrolled through the PainApp on my phone and tapped Jonas's icon. The big lunk screamed as he fell to his knees, every nerve in his body activating at once. "Your orders were to go to her house, knock on her door, and ASK her to come with you to the Lair of Fate!" I bellowed. "NOT to grab her from behind, put a HOOD over her head, and smack her around!"

Jonas fell to the ground screaming and twitching. It was tempting to hold down the icon until he shit himself to death, but I relented. "Take him away. Put him on stable duty for two weeks. Maybe some time mucking out the doombeast stalls will teach him the meaning of following orders to the LETTER. Now leave us."

My squad of mirror-masked death goons bowed respectfully and exited the room. I waited until they were gone to lock the doors and turn off the internal cameras. "Godddamn it. I'm sorry about this, Jennifer," I said, giving my daughter a tender pat on the head. "This wasn't supposed to happen this way. This is going to hurt like hell, by the way."

I ripped the duct tape off her face in one swift movement. "FUCKING HELL!" Jenny screamed. "Goddamn it, Dad, I thought I told you! No more sending death goons to my apartment!"

"It's been a long time since I last saw you! I thought you might like to have lunch! Guido makes a delectable spaghetti with Sunday gravy. Hang on a minute, I'll untie the ropes." Jonas had used a granny knot to tie her hands behind her back. I made a mental note to hold a hogtying seminar with my death goons at a later time: this sort of sloppy behavior did not bode well for them.

"Then send me an email! Or a TEXT! Or CALL! Don't just send a death squad over to my place with orders to bring me to your lair!"

"Emails and texts can be traced. Calls can be tapped. Our connection cannot be made public. For your sake." I gave up on untying the knots and just used my vibro-scalpel to cut the rope in half.

Jenny sat up, rubbing her wrists and giving me an incredulous look. "Calls and emails and texts are no go, but kidnapping me in broad daylight. . . never mind." She sighed and rubbed her forehead. "So, what did you want to talk about?"

"I mean. . . the usual. How's college? How's your mother? Are you seeing anyone yet?"

"College is fine. Mom's all right. And yes."

"Oh? What's his name?"

"Tracy."

"Is this one of those gender-neutral names? Like Pat or Lee?"

"No. Tracy's a 'she.' A Black 'she.' "

"Oh." I heard the screaming of my grandfather's ghost in my ear, howling about miscegenation and unnatural relations. I quieted the inner voice with a stern reminder: This is my daughter, whom I love very much. "Does she treat you well?" was what I said.

Jenny breathed a sigh of relief at that, and I saw the tension release from her shoulders. "I mean. . . she's great," she said, curling up on the couch. "She's sweet, she makes me laugh. . ."

"But?"

"But she keeps disappearing for days on end. . . cancels dates on me at the last minute. I'm worried she's keeping secrets from me. Worried she might be. . . you know. Cheating."

"I could have my death goons trace her movements. Find out what she's up to."

"God, Dad, not all problems in the world can be solved with death goons! I'll just talk to her about it the next time I see her!"

"That would work too. But I want you to know, if she does hurt you, that death goons are on the table."

"Like with Jeremy Clark?"

"Jeremy was a little thug who bullied and tormented you, and he deserved what happened to him."

"It was THIRD GRADE!"

"And the lesson he learned served him well to this very day. Model citizen, I understand."

Whatever Jenny was about to say next was drowned out by the sound of the Red Alert alarm. "Fuck," I muttered, tapping my earpiece. "Delilah, what's going on?"

"The Lair is under attack by a superhero," Delilah Doom said. "Patching the feed through now."

I threw the image onto the big screen. A dark-skinned young woman with black dreads, dressed in a skin-tight red outfit, was speeding around the outer perimeter of the Lair, punching death goons in the face. "DOCTOR OBLIVION!" she screamed. "I KNOW YOU'VE KIDNAPPED JEN! DOES YOUR TREACHEROUSNESS KNOW NO LIMIT!?"

I slowly turned my head, one degree at a time, to look at Jenny. My daughter's face was a mask of horrified realization. "So. . ." I said. "'Tracy'. I don't suppose that would be a nickname for Trace Margrave? As in. . . the secret identity of the superhero Tracer Fire?"

". . . she told me she had a part-time job," Jen whimpered. "Dad. . ."

I sighed. I'd kept my relationship to Jennifer as secret as I could. Kids of supervillains often end up as targets for the types of antihero vigilantes who think that killing bad guys is the same thing as helping the good. And Tracer Fire was exactly the kind of hero who might blab Jen's real identity out of impulse or some misguided sense of honor. . . or even worse, break up with her. "Don't worry about it," I said. "Dad will take care of it."

I fired a dart from my wrist-launcher. Jen whirled around, clapping a hand to her neck. "Dad, you fucking asshole! I meant you should talk to heeerrrrrrr. . ."

She was passed out before she could finish the sentence. I caught her and lowered her gently to the couch. "Sorry, honey. Not my style."

I took a moment to address my goons over the private channel. "Death Goons. Engage Rapunzel Protocol." Nonlethal weapons only. Don't escalate against the attacker. Secure essential areas, but leave the path to my private chambers open. Try to funnel the attacker into my private chambers for a 1 on 1 confrontation. Do not interfere with their escape. Full medical care for anyone who is wounded, full retirement benefits for anyone who suffers a career-ending injury.

I took a wad of bills from my wallet and tucked them into her jacket pocket. "A little spending money, hon," I said. "And apology money for the kidnapping." I took a moment to arrange her theatrically on the couch, then took up my position standing at the window, looking out over the bubbling magma pools.

Tracer Fire kicked down the door with a mighty CRACK! Then she gave a mighty gasp. "DOCTOR OBLIVION!" she bellowed. "WHAT FOUL DEEDS HAVE YOU VISITED UPON MY BELOVED JEN!"

"WHAT!?" I screamed back. "How DARE you imply that I could. . . I could HARM AN INNOCENT!?"

"Then why did you kidnap my GIRLFRIEND!?" Tracer Fire shouted.

"To lure you out of course!" I cackled. "Too long have we danced around each other in this little game of ours. . . today, it ENDS!" I tapped the badge on my chest, and my powered armor deployed around me with a thousand little clicks and whirrs.

'Tracy' let out a gasp. "Then this. . . was a TRAP!"

Sure, let's go with that. I tapped a control on my wrist and closed the blast shutters: I'd had them installed for those times when the magma pools got a little extra-bubbly. "NOW YOU ARE TRAPPED IN HERE WITH ME!" I bellowed. "AND NOW YOU MEET YOUR DOOM!"

I deployed my defensive turrets, surreptitiously turning down their accuracy so that every shot would barely miss. Knowing Tracer Fire, she'd take out the turrets before going after me, which would give me enough time to deploy the catwalk over the magma pools. A quick fistfight over the magma, a dramatic plunge for me into the molten rock. . . it would test my powered armor's mega-shields, but they should hold long enough for Tracy and Jen to make their daring escape.

The things I do for my daughter. I sighed. "I hope you appreciate this, young lady," I muttered, activating my electro-fists.