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chapter zero / prologue
warnings: blood, fighting, description of pain, death
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SUNDAYS ARE THE WORST. I think everyone in the world collectively agreed on that. We all agree that there should be another day to rest and relax. Another day to burden our minds with mindless TV or drugs. Whatever works better, I'm not one to judge. All I know is that we all pick our poisons.
My eyes burned from the blue light of my computer. I hadn't been this tired in ages. The computer screen flickered, and so did the hallway lights. Paranoia crept into my veins. It was ironic how paranoid I could get. I was a Lawyer, for Christ's sake, facts over feelings. I shook away any bone-chilling thoughts. I blamed the lights on my power generator. Sitting up from my hunched position, I walked out to my hallway. I tried to keep down my pounding heart. It was unusual for my apartment lights to go out.
I looked through the peephole of my apartment door. Five men and one woman, dressed in black, stood outside. I instantly took a step back. I tried to recall any time I might've pissed off any high-profile companies. A bang erupted from the door. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to control my heart.
"Open up." One of them called out. His voice was rough and demanding. I reached for my phone, slipping it into my back pocket. I didn't have any reason to suspect anything yet. It could be a misunderstanding. I grabbed the nearest kitchen knife, holding it to my side.
I took another look through the peephole; the blonde woman rapped sharply on the door. I took a step back instinctively—I wasn't capable of opening this door. I stepped back as the knocking grew louder, more punishing. I clutched the knife tighter to me as the door rocked back and forth. It was jamming through—they were trying to get in and fast. I pivoted, my eyes searching for the nearest hiding spot. Fortunately, my apartment was big enough for a family. I crouched down behind the kitchen counter. I reached for my phone. Before I could dial 911, the door had swung open. Footsteps echoed against the hardwood floor.
I slipped my phone into my jean pocket. If these men are working for who I think they are, there isn't any point in calling the police.
"Miss. Mitchell, you've messed with the wrong man." The same rough voice sang out. The pit in my stomach dived deeper. I felt my phone buzz gently against my jean pocket. I silently cursed whoever was calling me. I slipped my hand into my pocket, pulling out my phone. Gemini was calling me.
Their footsteps grew louder than my heart. The brightness of my phone was giving away my position. I shakily hit the ignore button, slipping my phone back into my pocket. "Time is ticking, Mitchell! We don't want to hurt you. Boss needs to talk to you for a little bit. Then you can come home to this shithole." The blonde remarked, kicking a trash can in her way. I swallowed the bile in my throat. I recognized her from one of my prior meetings with Fisk. Platinum blonde hair and athletic build.
I watched as the trash can fell to the floor with a loud clatter. Papers and wrappers fell to the uncleaned, cold floor. If this were anytime else, I would've been furious that someone had just kicked down my trash can. I watched as they continued to search for me. They plowed through documents and pick-pocketed whatever they could find.
The lights flickered back on; my breath hitched. At that moment, I wished the Kitchen floor would've eaten me alive. Fortunately, they seemed as confused as I was by the lights. "What the hell?" The rough voice spoke. I could detect a Russian accent laced in his voice. I unwrapped myself from my hunched position and peeked out from under the counter.
The men had scattered throughout my apartment. Vases and other valuables had been shattered and broken. Two men searched through my room, and the three others were in the living room. The woman's back was facing me, blonde hair tied into a tight ponytail. I debated sneaking up behind her and trying to strangle her. But by the look of her, she would probably flip me over and kick my ass.
The woman turned around. I sucked in a breath as she made direct eye contact with me. I yelped before I ducked down, but she was faster than me. She sprinted towards me—grabbing a handful of my hair. I screamed out as her fingernails dipped into my scalp. The mysterious woman lifted me to a standing-hunched position. Her hands were still tied around my hair menacingly. I always thought of myself as someone who could protect themselves, someone who was tough as nails. But, now, I realize, I was just a pretender. I kicked and screamed, grasping for the woman to let me go.
The door swung open once again. Except for this time, it was one man. Stubble covered half of his face—the other half was covered by a piece of black cloth. Bloodied bandages covered his muscled body. He breathed heavily, and his position was slightly slanted. He looked as if he needed to lean onto something or he might collapse. Although he looked like a dying man, he moved swiftly. He advanced towards the men. A man with brown hair threw a sloppy punch, but it was blocked easily.
The grip on my hair let loose; I could feel my hands again, I could feel the knife in my hands again. I jammed the knife right into the woman's calf. She howled in pain, clutching at her leg. Momentarily, releasing me. I scrambled away and into the living room. My scalp was on fire, and I could feel several bruises forming.
I stopped short when I heard the tick of a gun. I turned around sharply, covering my head as I hid behind my coffee table. Gunshots went off, and I hunched down harder. I could hear grunts coming from the living room. Then, I heard slams, like a body hitting the floor. I pressed up against the coffee table harder. I had lost my knife. I had no way of defending myself now.
A raspy voice echoed through my hallway. "I'll break every bone in your body if I have to."
Slowly, the grunts faded away, and the sound of punches stopped. Slick blood flooded my apartment. Everywhere I looked, I saw unconscious men. They all looked dead. Their faces contorted and twisted. It made me want to vomit. Expect the black-masked man. There he was, shivering out alive. I think it was rage he was twitching with, but I couldn't be sure. His shirt had red, bloodied holes in them. I wanted to say something, anything.
All I could muster was, "I think you just saved my life."
