Jennifer Morgan got out of Vought's grasp in the mid-90s and has been under the radar ever since, turning into a mercenary for hire to make ends meet. When Hughie Campbell and Billy Butcher break into her apartment and pitch to her the notion of kil...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
───── ❝I don't kill for survival... I kill for sport ❞ ─────
《☆》★《☆》★《☆》★《☆》★《☆》
The apartment door swung open and heavy boots shuffled inside, covered in blood and dirt from a night working two high-paying contracts. Jen undid the laces with stiff fingers and left them to dry by the hallway radiator. She made it to the bathroom and turned the shower on, filling the room with steam in a few short minutes. Perched on the edge of the tub, she unzipped the rest of her suit and left it on the floor, her mask came off and sat by the sink.
Now fully nude, she was able to see the dirty black and blue bruises that littered her skin from a night of fighting criminals. Under the near-scalding stream of water, Jen washed away the remains of the night and scrubbed herself clean with lavender-scented soap and coconut hair products.
Once clean and mostly free of aches, Jen turned the water off and stepped out onto the bathmat to wrap her towel around her torso. She went through the motions of her post-shower routine and dumped her dirty suit in the tub to handwash later when the sun was up. After pulling on a worn pair of sweatpants, a hugely oversized and faded t-shirt and a hoodie, she moved to the window that let out onto the fire exit.
The hand that held the box of Marlboro Reds was still mottled with angry purple and red blotches, but the pain had gone, so she was already healing up. A few failed attempts at sparking up the lighter she'd dug out of her sweatpants pockets and she let out a frustrated sigh before giving it a quick shake. This time it worked and in seconds, she had a fuzzy chest and the thrumming in her veins was muted.
"Fuck..." she sighed with an exhale, sending smoke curling into the night air as the cigarette hung between her bitten lips. It had been a long night - and one that she hadn't volunteered for - but it was finally over now.
Jen smoked two more before deciding to turn in for the night. The window slid shut with little resistance and she padded through to her bedroom and her unmade bed. She barely managed to discard her hoodie and step out of her sweatpants before flopping face-first onto the mattress and slipping into unconsciousness with relative ease.
The nightmares were less than pleasant, but in between fitful bouts of sleep, it wasn't so terrible. And when the sun began to force its way through the haphazardly-drawn curtains, Jen rolled over and pushed her face further into the rumpled pillows beneath her.
It wasn't until she heard something fall over with a thud that she sat bolt upright, instantly on high alert. As quietly as she could, she detangled herself from the sheets and crossed over from the bed to the door. Jen opened it as slowly as possible, cracking it open just a sliver, allowing her to catch a glimpse of a broad figure in a trenchcoat and a hard-to-decipher accent.
"- She's the next best shot we 'ave -" Her stomach twisted and her mouth went dry. Jen took a deep breath and stepped out of her bedroom, senses electrified as she moved barefoot through her apartment towards the strangers.
