Red - A Warriors Fan Fic

Eliminators #2

  You were crowded around on the couch, looking up pathetically at your upcoming doom. You were about to get japped. They all continued to give you sickly smiles.

"How did you find out?" You stuttered, you felt like you couldn't speak. You began to shake. The boys separated and a boy that must have just arrived walked through to face you; closing in on you again. He too had dark brown hair, parted down the middle in waves. He had thick eyebrows and cold blue eyes.

He spoke with a raspy low voice. "So. You're the Warrior chick we've heard so much about." He sneered. "You caused quite a bit of shit with the Panzers." He spat at your feet. You glowered up at him. He gave an evil laugh, and answered you. "How did we find out who you were?" He said. "Well Isaac- the boy you tried to shoot down-and failed; got back to his boys that same night. He was able to tell his brothers "it was C-styles bitch" before he croaked.

You gulped. He continued. "C-style wasn't too happy you can imagine. So he drew up a picture of you, bein' the artist and all. And told everyone how you fooled em." He darkly glared down at you now.

"We weren't sure when we saw you last night. But we brought down a Panzer before you left back home. Got the confirmation." He smiled at himself. You remembered how you saw the Eliminator last night going up the train station stairs. They were following you. You felt so stupid.

"So now we've got some questions, girly." He straightened his face out, leaning down. He levelled his face an inch away from yours, staring into your eyes with hate. You mirrored this.

"Where's your outfit?" He breathed. You stared back into his cold soulless eyes, refusing to answer. He leaned back up and put his hands on his sides. He turned to look at his brothers and laughed. They smiled back, and he turned back to face you; striking you hard across the face.

The rings on his fingers cut into your jaw, stinging like fire. You gasped and held for your face, you wouldn't look at him.

"I'll ask again. Where's your outfit?" He asked more smug. But you wouldn't rat them out. You'd rather die than let them take out your family. You shook your head defiantly.

He breathed out in frustration, looking down at you for a moment. In the next second he clutched the neck of your shirt and held you tightly. "Listen up bitch. One way or another, you're gonna tell us." He seethed through his teeth. "Now, again." He held you rough. Taking his free hand and reaching for his back pocket, pulling out a switchblade. He flicked it open and brought the blade to your right cheekbone; pressing it there. "Where's-your-outfit." He snarled.

It was hard playing tough. You were truly frightened, and without your brothers you were weak, and powerless. "I ain't saying shit." Your voice shook, but you continued to glare at him with daggers. He didn't like that.

He pierced the blade into your skin and dragged it upwards, slowly cutting into your cheek; deep. You winced in pain as you tried to move his arm away; but he released your clothes and gripped your wrists. "Where is it!" He bellowed through the room. It echoed off the walls and the boys stood there, watching.

You were breathing hard, knowing full well what would have to happen. "You'll just have to kill me." You said. You tried not to think about it, but you knew you'd never live with yourself if you sold them out. You wouldn't ever do it; no matter how much they cut you.

"Tracer, man. She's not gonna tell us this way." Zidane spoke up. You looked over at him, feeling rage boil inside you. Tracer let go of you, putting his blade back in his pocket. "You're right Zidane. You know what?" He looked around to his boys than back to you. "I think we've got much better ways to get whores to speak. You might even like it." He laughed. The boys exchanged looks of excitement and hostility. You looked at them and felt your skin crawl. You had an idea.