// Nine //

// Sicko //

Tacey didn't recall the walls and floor being a deep shade of red. She didn't remember there being scattered corpses of finely dressed aristocrats and nobels, or rose tiles being chipped and shattered.

There were dancing couples and laughing men when she'd left with Markus.
Nine and Oliver had been standing off to the side of the room, confused and disappointed with her dissaproval.

Now they were in the center of the ballroom, sitting on the ripped and teared cushions of the grand thrones where the king and queen once sat. Brutally murdered bodies lay at their feet, faces ripped off, eyes plucked out, fingernails ripped out and stabbed into their throats.

Among them lay the king and queen themselves, one with a bullet lodged in her skull and the other having a gaping hole in his throat, pouring blood onto the caked ground.

Tacey wanted to scream, but the sound wouldn't leave her lips.
Instead, the static sounds of flickering overhead lights filled the room, quite and humming.

It was dark, glass spread across the floor and reflecting red onto the walls from the blood underneath it. It splintered and shattered under Tacey's heels as she made her way forward with her head up, up and away from the traumatizing scene below her.

Nine saw her first, standing from his seat next to Oliver warily.

His tie was loose and covered in blood, now more red than yellow and swinging side to side in a nonexistent breeze. His white dress shirt looked the same, but one could hardly tell that it had been white before, whereas his tie could become it's vibrant self again with enough washing, his shirt would never be pale again, the best that could come out of it would be a dull gray with red undertones.

Nine was watching Tacey's face with interest. She wasn't immediately scared or angry, she was deciding whether to be, whether the evidence pointed and jabbed at him or Oliver, who sat with his ankles crossed beside him.

He said nothing, simply watching his daughter stare at his second most beautiful creation in borderline fear.

Nine slowly folded his hands behind his back, something that had become something of a habit at this point, and took a step forward to shove his face into Tacey's.

Oliver sat up.

"W-what did you do? " Tacey whispered, wanting to step back from Nine but being unable.

He cocked his head, squinting. Nine could say nothing, but he indicated to the mass of bodies directly behind the heel of Tacey's shoe with a jerk of his head. She didn't turn, a deep pit of fear sitting in her stomach.

"I know. But 𝘸𝘩𝘺? "

Nine was confused, turning around to look at Oliver for answers, which he always had.
Tacey followed his gaze, her eyes wide with disbelief and betrayal.

Oliver stayed silent, locking eyes with Tacey and shifting in his seat. He gestured for Nine to come back and sit down, though he obviously had not finished with Tacey just yet.

" 𝘠𝘰𝘶. You did all this? " Tacey gritted her teeth and felt a lump form in her throat. She reached up to wipe away the threatening tears with the sleeve of her dress, angry and afraid and unable to do anything but stand still and yell with the frightening position she was in.

"𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬. You killed all these people? 𝘞𝘩𝘺? 𝘞𝘩𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶-"

Oliver stepped down and cupped his daughter's face, grinning sadly,

" Don't you get it my little princess? 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 is our new beginning. 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 is what Nine is helping me- 𝘶𝘴 achieve. " He said, rubbing small circles on her temples.

Nine watched placidly from the thrones, his eyes large and empty. They locked with Tacey for a split second, pulsing and disgusting and frightening, before flicking back to a hysterical Oliver.

He giggled, moving his hands down from Tacey's face and onto her shoulders. His teeth were red and blood coated, opening and closing as his giggles formed into bursts of laughter, thick and spittle inducing.

Tacey's face was becoming more and more wrinkled, she wanted to pull away to run away. She yanked at Oliver, close to screaming with the panic built in her stomach. She couldn't get free. He wouldn't let her.

Yellow vomit was coming up her throat, she wanted out, 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘦𝘥 out. She pulled and yelled and looked to Nine for help, who did nothing but watch. She jerked forward and slammed her head against Oliver's, blood splattering and drowning her senses in it's mettalic scent. It was in her eyes, she couldn't see, she couldn't see, she couldn't see.
She scratched and she screeched and pulled and punched, but he wouldn't let her go. He would never let her go, he'd kill her, just like all the others.
She vomited again, blood was up her nose. She hit him again, and again and again and again.

Finally, he let go.

𝘊 𝘳 𝘶 𝘯 𝘤 𝘩.

Through the small sliver of sight Tacey was mercifully granted through her blood soaked eyes, she was able to look back and down at what her heel had pierced.

The flat bottom of her pointed shoe had shoveled out the flattening and dry eye of her cousin. It was squeezed under her foot, the organs piled onto the ground next to her.

Tacey couldn't scream.

Everything was black.