"She was bred to be the perfect soldier. She doesn't blink, she doesn't think, and most importantly she doesn't hesitate. She just kills without remorse."
Her entire life, Storm had only be one thing; a mindless soldier for those around her to use f...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
SHE USED TO LOVE THE SOUND OF GUNSHOTS; it echoed in her soul and ignited her skin on fire. Tempest was one with her weapons, each acting as an extension of her twisted self. Without them, she was nothing but a good fighter, but with their cold steel she was invisible. Powerful. Though it didn't feel like that anymore. It felt just as hollow as her heart: nothing. Tempest couldn't pinpoint exactly when her love of guns dissipated, all she knew was that it was gone and only a fleeting sense of horror was left in its wake. Now every time she picks up that metal weapon, it feels heavy. It weighed on her like a crumbling house; for all she could hear was the deafening sound of the shot that pierced Ember's heart.
Her hand shook with uncertainty as she aimed the gun at the three men in front of her. The room held their breath; Caleb scrambled behind his sister, Evelyn clenching her firsts with rage. All of them were waiting for that piercing sound to light the dining room with fear.
The one in the middle, who looked by far the youngest, looked straight at the barrel of the gun. He was petrified, the tears threatening to spill over his glossy eyes. The blood from his arm began to cover his body as his breath slowly became shallower and shallower.
"I narrowly scraped all of your brachial arteries. Without medical treatment, you will all die within 10 minutes from the bleeding," Tempest spoke with little emotion as her jaw ticked.
The older man's facade had finally begun to weaken, the color leaving his grimy face. The latter man had already collapsed to the ground. His pale hands caught him before he face-planted, but all the strength left his body as the red liquid continued to spill from his arm.
"I will offer medical assistance to two of you, one of you will die. I don't care who it is, but someone has to pay," she lowered the gun.
"Get it over with then!" The oldest man shouted.
So she may have lied. She didn't shoot them all equally. The mouthy man would die much faster, as the bullet landed right in the middle of his artery, but telling him that small factor would simply take the fun out of the revenge she desperately craved.
"Oh I'm not going to pick," the assassin nearly laughed, "if I had it my way I would kill all three of you. But I would much rather have you choose who gets to go to the grave."
