" I am the sea, and nobody owns me. "
Born with a gift that's seen as a curse, a young woman must try to regain some kind of normalcy in a world that sees her as a monster.
Suicide Squad | Sunny Scribbles 2023
Bloodsport| Robert DuBois| Mature Rating
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The years following her separation from Robert would be the bloodiest yet. With zero inhibition, not a fucking shred of empathy, she easily ripped through the East Coast, and made her way to the West. Sure, it was a little lonely, but emotional isolation wasn't new to Amila. Although not officially divorced, neither she nor Robert had officially done the paperwork. She had expected, at some point, for him to be killed in the line of duty or suffer an accidental death, but she was never notified of either. As far as she was concerned, he was lost at sea.
Lovey, the fucking inter-dimensional parasite, the monstrous asshole who was quiet for some time, immediately resurfaced once Robert was out of the picture. The blinding pain of losing her son and husband in the same year allowed the little fucker to regain some sentiment of control. In all actuality, he was more of an annoying inner monologue. With him, however, she'd noticed her strength increase. It pushed her, persuaded her and guided her to tap into a primal evil she never knew existed within her. She could pop people like they were fucking water balloons. Swelling and swirling the water and blood within them, bubbling it beneath their skin until it ruptured. It was divine.
She'd lived like this for years, her body count rising in steep waves and then crashing the moment she wanted to hide. There was one instance in Northern California, after a particularly nasty storm, she held up in a small port where for the first time in almost four years she heard something that jerked at what remained of her heart in her chest.
" You survived, eh? "
The bar patron was boorish to their companion. His left arm was in a sling, and while he seemed to be in standing shape, he hunched his weight against the bar counter. Amila glanced his way, just a few seats down from hers, and noticed he had a black eye and that most of the left side of his face was a tawny green color.
" They called him Bloodsport. Some kind of fuckin' mercenary, but that was no man. He was a demon. He ran through the lot of us like a stiff wind, mate. I survived because I got knocked overboard, or I'd be dead too. "
Amila grinned something unnatural, her perfectly aligned teeth barred as she tried to contain herself. She continued to baby her hard drink and eavesdrop on the men.
" There were twenty-two of us and I'm all thas left. He got the cargo and was out inna flash. He-he, killed everyman on board, shot them in cold blood. "
There he was. She had thought he was dead for bouts of time, treading water or sinking under the waves. But he'd persevered and was doing well. She loved that, honestly. She had loved him, still loved him, deeply. Even if they were never met to be, she was happy to hear he was out living his life. She'd hoped that someday, a set of sailors may tell a similar story about her, and maybe, a familiar mercenary might remember her too.
Nearly nine years after they'd separated, Amila was approached by someone she'd least expected to run into. While on the West Coast, a not so familiar face managed to track her down. He gave her a warning.
