Angel ♡ Eyes

♡Chapter 12

It had been an hour.

The sun had yet to rise, keeping everything encased in darkness. The gravel beneath the threes feet had turned to grass and dirt a few miles back. Open planes slowly faded into a forest terrain.

Blossom turned her attention towards the sky. A hawk circled above them before flying ahead. The same hawk that had circled back every fifteen minutes for the past hour.

Though there was no sun to emit heat, Blossoms' shirt still clung to her back and breasts, sticky with sweat. The backpack wore heavy on her shoulders. Her feet ached. She had forgotten how much she hated walking. But the constant knowledge that she needed to keep moving kept her from complaining out loud.

The girl kept looking over her shoulder, wishing she'd see Buttercup and Butch—though she longed to see her sister more. It pained her leaving Buttercup behind. Blossom know her sister was more than capable of taking care of herself. When they were younger, Buttercup often split away from the Bubbles and Blossom to cause distractions and—as Buttercup would say—raise hell. It still hurt though. There was always that fear in the back of Blossoms' mind: 'what if something goes wrong'. That what if was enough to keep her on her toes.

"She'll be fine." Jenkins—Brick—announced. "From what I can tell it'll take a lot to hurt any one of you three."

"True." Blossom nodded. "But I still worry."

Brick snorted. "You act like a mom."

"Hate to break it to you," Boomer kicked at a pebble under his feet. "But we've kinda already figured that out. On the plane, remember?"

Blossom rolled her eyes. "Would you stop with that poorly articulated family analogy?"

Boomer mimicked her motion and stuck out his tongue. "Whatever, mom."

"God, you're such a brat." Blossom scrunched up her nose.

"Remind me what you were." Brick smirked. "The single child who's never been told no?"

"And whose fault would that be? Huh, dad?" Boomer giggled.

Blossom closed her eyes and sighed. 'Patience, please, Blossom. It'll all be fine.'

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

'This is not going to be fine.' Buttercup sat crouched behind a dumpster in a nearby alley. She hacked into a surveillance system and kept an ear tuned in on the police radio. Did she expect police to show up? No. She was expecting government extraction to be necessary.

Which is why when an alarm rang through the city telling everyone they needed to evacuate, Buttercup was more focused on hiding opposed to leaving.

She could already smell the chaos about to happen.

Oh boy had she missed this. Destruction. Anticipation. Adrenaline spikes.

She knew she'd feel intensely bad afterwards. She always did. But it wasn't for what most people would assume she felt bad about. It wasn't the terror shed caused. It wasn't the murder she'd commit. It was the fact that she became everything she was built to be. She became what she was trained to be.

A monster.

A monster with a thirst for blood that could never be satisfied.

"It's awfully quiet." Butch muttered. Buttercup watched him twirl a handgun around his finger. Part of her wished it'd accidently fire and shoot her. Put her out of her misery. She loved the thrill of chaos—it was something she always thrived in. But the guilt clawed up her gut as she thought about the demon that lurked inside of her. It made her nauseous.