"We be throwin'
money in a spiral."
A rollerskater with a bone to pick comes in contact with one of the biggest kingpins in Miami.
Both shrouded in darkness and mystery, they find themselves intertwined in riveting ways that'd change the course of...
WORD COUNT: 4.2K TW: interrogation, cursing, graphic torture. (Y/N) - Your Name (L/N) - Last Name (H/C) - Hair Color (E/C) - Eye Color (B/T) - Body Type (H/T) - Height (E/N) - Ethnicity (F/F) - Favorite Food (F/C) - Favorite Color
"I GOT MY GUN, SO PLEASE SPINBACK. WE ARE NOT DONE, SO PLEASE SPINBACK."
— COMETHAZINE. | SPINBACK
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
___________________________
"This morning, five bodies have been found in addition to the two dead bodies originally caught in the gang-related crossfire at Shirley's Skating Rink that police suspect had been instigated by two rivaling gangs in the Dade area—Fukurodani and Inarizaki. Heavy amounts of fentanyl were found laced into their marijuana, cocaine, and MDMA, as were most of the drugs retrieved from their pockets. This and gang violence have become an increasing issue in the county of Dade, but there have been no official statements nor announcements made by the governor just yet. Citizens can stay safe with drug testing kits sponsoring this station, available for purchase at your local drugstore or retail store, and their self-resilience to say 'no' to drugs. Now, back to Jessie with the weather!"
...
"A shell of what he once was" described the image he had of himself when forced into situations like this. It wasn't often he had a session of self-reflection in the middle of an interrogation, but it seemed this particular night held different plans for him.
"Crawler, you're doing too much."
Even in the bloody ponds below his feet, he couldn't recognize himself in his reflection. Then he realized this wasn't Bokuto he was looking at—this was Nightcrawler.
Inside the dim, cold expanse of a rundown warehouse, there stood a single wooden chair on the verge of decay, placed below a hanging light bulb attached to the ceiling. The patter of raindrops poured on the warehouse's metallic walls, echoing an ambiance of terror that whoever was unlucky enough to be strapped down wouldn't see the light of day again. Slumped onto that very same chair was nothing more than a bloody shell of a body that previously housed a loud, energetic soul. The figure was no longer identifiable due to strokes of sinister red being painted on the deformed canvas. One could barely tell it was a body, for the only indication that it previously walked this earth was the putrid smell of iron that drained and sprinkled onto the equally rotten floorboards.
