River

The dark fabric of the bag obscured your vision, the tight ropes dug into your wrists, and the gag prevented you from speaking. When the bag was pulled off you, you looked around: in the middle of a huge room, like a cramped landing, stood a white house ahead, its perimeter illuminated. Two large men with scarred faces stood before you. One grabbed you by the hair and took a picture, grinning: they'll demand a ransom for you.

You expected this—your father was a wealthy businessman, he had plenty of enemies. The dispatch notice rang out, and the men grinned maliciously. One removed the gag and threatened a bad end if the ransom wasn't paid. You snapped back. The kidnapper raised his hand to strike—and then there was a pop, like a gunshot. Then the second—and both men fell facedown, a scarlet trickle emerging from the back of one's head. You looked up and met River's gaze—he stood before you without his usual brazenness, with drops of blood on his face, the gun tucked into his shirt. He grinned.

"Don't think too much, little bug, it's just that your daddy sent me to heroically save you. For a reward, of course."