"𝐰𝐡𝐲'𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤?
𝐈𝐭𝐬 𝐆𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐦."
❝ ── We all know friends can betray you in a snap of a finger, but what happens when your own powers start turning against you, slowly driving you to insanity.
...
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CHAPTER EIGHT, Dig Your Own Grave
Unknown 03:37 AM
Multiple towering buildings loom over the deserted streets like heavy clouds, their sleek facades reflecting the moon's image. The air was thick, with yellowish fog enveloping the premises. Enzo thought it looked like shit; it smelled like it too.
Mike drove the truck, massive metal gates blocking their entry, hinting at the secrets that may lay over these walls. Secrets so deep they had to be tucked away beyond an abandone site.
Approaching the gates, a security guard stopped them, he sat in the building beside them. Glasses pulled over his eyes as he stepped closer to their truck, observing the huge vehicle. The guard held a loaded gun in his hands.
Whatever this place was, they did not intend for anyone to get in or out alive.
Even if anyone had gone missing here, no one could ever suspect this was where their bodies lay bleeding out, watching the sunrise until darkness consumed them forever.
He walked over to the window—fire crackled underneath his leather boots as he stepped on the once-lit-up cigarette—getting Mike to roll it down.
"What's your business here?" The loud, crashing wind tuned out his voice, but the unfriendly tone was not a missable detail.
"Delivery," Mike replied, putting down his drink. The guard's expression didn't show satisfaction at his bland answer.
He proceeded to ask more questions, "For who?" He circled the car while his dog smelled it for any unwanted chemicals.
"Uhh," Mike's eyes searched for a clipboard, reaching places he'd never touched before.
Enzo was baffled at his friend's idiocy for not even remembering the client's name. "Miss Lexton. We've done deliveries for her in the past. I'm sure you can look it up somewhere in your system." There was a subtle, snappy tone coating each word.
Enzo picked up on a lot of things from the man currently eyeing their truck. He could tell the guard was fed up with his job from the way he let the words roll out of his tongue.
Enzo's gaze caught him rubbing his bruised head after unintentionally bumping into the truck's exterior.
Dude must be tired as hell.
What Enzo didn't see was the way the man froze in fear upon hearing those two words easily spilling out of his mouth. Enzo didn't see the man trembling—not from the cold weather and roaring rain but rather from the utterances of that name. Of her name.
He was shocked at how someone could actively mention the name without whispering it or even hesitating.
Gripping his gun tighter, he stood in his place like a photo forever frozen in time. Rainwater dripped down his coat, splatting on the already-overflowing concrete. His ears seemingly blocked out any other sounds, repeating the same word.
Mike poked his head out the window, getting a glimpse of the man's distorted reflection. "Hey man, are you okay back there?"
"Yeah. Go right on in." He cautiously moved forward, pointing at a building in the distance. "Just go straight and take a left; you're all good." hitting the truck's hood, implying they should get a move on.
"Thanks, man."
••●••
Mike pushed open the door and jumped out. He was fixing his ruffled-up clothes—probably caused by the hours spent sitting down—when someone abruptly rammed him onto the truck's surface. Pain lingered for a moment too long; each throb sent a chain of shockwaves through his entire body.
"Fuck! What the hell!?"
With a gun aimed precisely in the middle of his head, the man in question thrust it roughly, enough to leave a mark. "Name!"
Mike's head spins around in circles. "What?"
"Tell me your name!" pressing the tip of the gun further into his head, a finger hovering above the triger, ready to put a hole in his skull.
"Mike! Mike Carson." The intensity of the situation brought him back to reality.
"Holy shit, Mike Carson," he said, pulling the mask over his face in a sweep. "Sorry, man, I didn't notice you. Not much light out here."
"You gotta get some glasses, Kean," he said, grazing the dent in his skin. "Just here for delivery. No need to shoot." Mike put his hand up as if he were surrendering.
Kean smiled back at him apologetically, and Mike led him to the back, where he lifted the trunk, showing the goods stored inside.
Mike leaned on the side of the trunk, lighting up a cigarette as Enzo greeted him, leaving Kean to figure out what was back there by himself.
All seemed fine, Kean initially thought, but strangely, he felt a cool touch of liquid flowing past his skin. He pointed the gun at the floor, and the light shining from his gun gave the fluid a soft, ethereal glow. The tank was leaking.
Shit.
He picked up his radio, raising the object closer in proximity to his lips. "Ma'am, there has been a casualty regarding the tank." voice low, to not alert the two men bricking outside.
"What do you mean casualty? What kind of casualty?" Balanced between both demanding and calm.
Kean steadily held his breath. "There has been a leak; I'm afraid one of them could've been exposed to it."
"Wipe them out." No hesitation was left in her voice.
"Both of them?" Kean darted his eyes. It was an easy shot; none of them could've done anything to prevent it, yet a glint of uncertainty was visible in his stare.
A mangled laugh emitted from the device. "What you scared now?"
"No ma'am-"
"Actually, no, don't kill them."
"Sorry?" Kean said, wondering if he had heard her correctly. "You want me to let them go?"
"What-Gosh no! Knock 'em out and put them in the room." She corrected the wording of her orders.
"And the tanks?"
"Get someone in a hazmat suit to relocate it. Leave it there for now." A sudden pause in her sentence put Kean in an uneasy state. "Do not touch any of it. Understand?"
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Good."
A/N: I have school tomorrow but I can never sleep 🫠
