I dream of darkness and fear. I'm no stranger to nightmares. We're well-acquainted. But this one is the only one that I remember. Probably because Ivory's gripping my neck and his pale lips are pulling close to mine right before I wake up with a choking gasp, heart hammering so loudly that it sounds like a frenzied bird trying to escape from a cardboard box.
Delores stares at me with concerned black eyes from her spot atop the weathered rocking chair in the corner of the room, tail curling. My skin feels too tight, almost suffocating, like a sweatshirt three sizes too small. I tear the blankets off, throwing them onto the floor and putting my head between my knees, trying to even out my breathing. Get a hold of yourself, Waterman. It's just a dream. But the writhing in my stomach makes me want to throw up. It doesn't help that Ollie and Dave are cooking waffles downstairs and the sweet smell wafts up under my door. Is this how Taylor feels? Did Ivory follow through on his disgusting words to his cronies back at the masquerade ball? I should've torn all of their heads off when I had the chance. Screw stealth. Screw death. If he or anyone else is hurting Taylor or Dominic, I'm going to go effing insane. (More so than usual, I mean.) I keep picturing his creepy smiling face, and feeling the way that his hand felt on my neck in the nightmare. I don't want to imagine that happening to Taylor but for real. All because of me. It's all my freaking fault.
The waffle smell is getting stronger. I can feel bile rising up to my throat, my head swimming dangerously. No way am I throwing up in this too-nice bedroom. I surge across the room, tearing the door open, and I manage to make it to the bathroom in the hallway before the meager contents of my stomach are deposited into the porcelain bowl of the toilet. I lean over for a few seconds longer before I'm sure that I'm done retching, and I sit back on my heels, tipping my face up to the ceiling fan rotating above and casting a nice breeze onto my feverish skin. God. What's wrong with you? I hear Ollie's- he's the only one who wears socks to bed- footsteps padding up the staircase, and I quickly lean over to shut the door behind me, staying quiet in the semidarkness. I hear his footsteps stop outside the door, can almost feel his hesitation.
"Maya? Waffles are ready," he says awkwardly, rapping once on the bathroom door with the back of his index finger. "Plus you have a visitor- that really cute medieval guy with the eyes who ditched you, if memory serves me right."
"Tell him he's an asshole and he can go jump in a lake," I mutter, staring at the wooden door where Ollie is on the other side. I hear Ollie's feet shift curiously.
"Are you okay?" I hate those words. They're the worst three words in the history of words. Because no matter what you say, someone's going to look at you with a piteous look like they can pull some psychoanalysis shit on you. If you say you're "fine," you're automatically secretly messed up on the inside and trying to build up walls or something. If you say you're not fine, then you're going to get shipped to a therapist because if you're being honest then you must really be hurting. There's really no win when someone asks you if you're okay. That's why there's something called "changing the subject." It works out great for both parties involved.
"What does Bloodhound want anyway?" I shift my legs into a more comfortable position and face the sink, resting my forehead against the smooth surface of the wooden cabinets.
"I don't know. But he says he's sorry. He brought some roses," I can hear the laughter in his voice when he says those words. I'm just picturing Bloodhound's stupidly eager face and his gloved hands clutching a big bouquet of roses as he waits patiently outside my door. Does he want the neighbors to come at us with pitchforks?
"Dear God," I growl under my breath. More loudly, I say, "Tell him to get his ass inside. I'm coming." I scramble to my feet, glancing at my reflection in the bathroom mirror and sighing out through my nose. I look like hell. But what's new?
After flushing down all the evidence of my mental instability, I open the door and storm past Ollie, keeping my head down so he doesn't ask any more of his freaking questions. He follows me like my shadow as I stomp my way down the staircase and whip open the door, disregarding the fact that I'm only wearing fuzzy navy pajama pants and one of Ollie's oversized shirts advertising his law firm. Sure enough, Bloodhound is lounging against the side of the house, grasping a bouquet of black (yes, you heard me right, black) roses.
"What. Are. You. Doing?" I'm not in the mood for this. His brow furrows when he sees me, which is not the reaction I was anticipating. His face still worried, he presents me with the roses, and I stare at them tentatively before grabbing them delicately by the grey tissue paper they're wrapped in.
"I saw the TV," he murmurs, stepping inside. I slam the door behind him and his shoulders jerk skittishly, like I was going to make a move to decapitate him instead. I emailed the footage to Sebastian last night after recording it, and within five minutes, he had aired it across the country. I'm pleased my plea is already garnering a reaction, but wasn't it Bloodhound himself who said he couldn't help me anymore? And why the hell did he bring me black roses?
"As did everyone else across the nation. Why are you here? I thought Reggie had gotten to you and you couldn't help me anymore." I cross my arms and meet his freakishly pale blue eyes. He returns the gaze steadily.
"I didn't realize he had taken Taylor, also," Bloodhound grumbles. My eyebrows raise disbelievingly.
"Oh. So the kidnapping of a six year-old is totally okay with you, but once you throw in his mother you then decide to act?" I dig my fingernails into the delicate grey tissue-papered bouquet, wanting to shred it to pieces at his ignorance.
Bloodhound's gloved hand goes to the back of his neck, rubbing it self-consciously. He doesn't say anything, and suddenly I realize why he's so concerned.
"Are you kidding me? You have a crush on Crimson?" I groan. "You really do have bad taste, you know. First the costume, then the roses, now this? God." Bloodhound looks down, his eyes lowered bashfully. What is it with mercenaries and ex-villains and falling in love? I pray I'm not the next to become victim to that curse. "Ok. Ok. What makes you think you can help?" At this, Bloodhound lifts his head and his eyes twinkle mischievously.
"I know where he is, for the moment," he insists. His hand falls from his neck to the strap of his crossbow slung across his back. "They're being held at an abandoned clothing factory in New Mexico." Of course with the abandoned buildings. Because you can't ever hold your hostages somewhere less illegal and sketchy.
"Ok. That's great, but... I don't exactly have a personal teleporter or a private jet at my disposal. I'm not Reggie- thank God." His smile doesn't falter, just grows wider. He obviously has something up his sleeve. "Okay, your lack of idiotic blabber is kind of creeping me out. What's up?" He pretends not to notice the insult.
"I haven't been entirely honest with you. I mean, I haven't divulged everything. It's about my... abilities."
"Don't tell me that Bloodhound, known for his shroud of mystery and secrecy, is going to tell me his powers and the secrets of his information-gathering methods that he's so known for?" I ask melodramatically. Bloodhound rolls his eyes at my antics, but his lips twitch up into a smile.
"Only one truth today, Maya," he warns me, "too much honesty would kill my vibe." His icy eyes crinkle at the edges with suppressed amusement. "You don't need to worry about transportation now- because in fact you do have your own personal teleporter." He glances at me expectedly. It takes a moment for me to piece it together.
"You're a teleporter?" I question cautiously. He nods, looking rather pleased with himself for his secrets. He makes it so hard to trust him, whether on purpose or not I cannot tell.
"Go get dressed. It's time to scope this place out," he instructs me, ignoring my narrowed eyes and my pursed lips.
"How exactly did you find out that the factory is Ivory's lair anyway?" I inquire suspiciously. He raises an eyebrow immediately, his eyes shining and a lazy grin splitting across his stubbled face.
"I can't reveal all my secrets, darling." He taps the roses in my arms theatrically. It's my turn to roll my eyes, and then I spin on one heel and head upstairs to change, the roses clasped carelessly in one hand. I get dressed in a hurry, and of course Ollie and Bloodhound are still talking in hushed voices downstairs by the door because they're assuming I'd take forever. I take the opportunity to crouch unnoticed by the landing, eavesdropping into their conversation.
"She looks terrible," Bloodhound whispers in a fierce, accusatory tone. Wait- what? Is he actually concerned? "I can't have my wingman in poor condition before a battle," he explains with a smirk. There it is. Satisfied, I heavily step down the staircase to announce my presence and interrupt them before Ollie can say something about my fragile mental state. I've had enough pity for three lifetimes, thank you very much.
"Nice," Bloodhound comments offhandedly when he sees me in my costume. Ollie gives me a strained grin, obviously still thinking about the little closed-bathroom-door incident. It's definitely giving me incentive to leave with Bloodhound.
"Let's go," I say shortly. Bloodhound glances between Ollie and me before his gaze settles on the entrance to the kitchen.
"Do you want to say goodbye to Sunshine and Rainbows #2?" he gestures toward the kitchen where I can hear Dave making something in the blender. I scowl at Bloodhound and shove past him on my way into the kitchen.
"Bloodhound's a teleporter and I'm leaving with him to go check out a place where Taylor and Dominic are allegedly being held by Ivory and if everything goes well then I'll probably be back in a few hours but if not I'm probably dead ok cool bye."
"Wait, what?" He stops blending abruptly and gapes at me like a fish as I curtly turn away and make to walk away. "Maya?" Dave blurts, alarmed, and I turn my head to glance at him.
"You heard me," I say impatiently, knowing I sound rude but not really caring. I just want to get to Dominic and Taylor before it's too late. I can't waste any time.
"D-Don't you want to bring some backup?" Dave stammers, looking increasingly confused and shocked.
"We're not going to start any fist-fights, Dave. We'll be fine," I grunt. "We're just taking a look around." He doesn't look assured- if anything, he looks even more worried.
"The last time you said that, you ended up punching someone and getting kicked out by security," he says, referring to the masquerade ball.
"I'll be sure to restrain myself," I intone. He doesn't smile.
"You're telling me that if you see Taylor or Dominic hurt and tied up somewhere you won't go berserk and try to get them free?" His eyebrows raise at my following silence. "I didn't think so."
"I'll figure something out, ok?" I snap. "I'll be fine. Besides, it's not like you can stop me," I retort, probably sounding like some eight year-old wannabe rebel.
"I don't think anyone can stop you. Not even yourself," Dave remarks, glancing down at the blender with his lips pressed into a thin line. Once again, I am rendered wordless. "Be safe," he says to the blender.
"I will. I promise," I reply. I don't like promises, because I always end up breaking them and hurting someone I care about, but I vow to myself that I will not break this one.
With that, Bloodhound drags me out of the kitchen and out the door. Ollie gives me a wave of goodbye and a weak smile through the window. I give him one in return, and then Bloodhound is pulling us away.
:
"Yep. Totally wouldn't have guessed this was a villain hideout. See, look how cheery!" I grin enthusiastically and pat the faded cement wall riddled with cracks and graffiti- various delightful curses and sloppily-painted skulls with tongues sticking out.
"Are you always sarcastic when you're nervous?" Bloodhound inquires in turn. I give him a glare. His thin eyebrows are raised curiously, like it wasn't a rhetorical question.
"Just... lead us to where we need to go, 'kay?" My wry smile turns hard and forced, telling Bloodhound not to push it. He rolls his pale eyes and nods wordlessly, striding away dramatically with that forest green cape flowing behind him. I grudgingly admire his severely outdated yet admittedly very cool costume. My combat boots and my hoodie don't compare.
"I don't know exactly where they are inside the building," he tells me apologetically, "but if they're following the clichés that usually surround these kinds of situations, they're probably being held toward the back or below ground."
"Should I be worried at how much information you have on basically everything? Are you secretly a robot? Do you have a supercomputer for a brain?" He smiles faintly, but his expression remains guarded and he doesn't reply- just keeps walking. I struggle to keep up alongside his purposeful stride. Curse these short, short legs.
"Exactly how sure are you that they're here?" I press. He doesn't even spare me a glance. He's heading toward the shattered glass doors that lead inside the skeleton of the old factory. If I had any sort of precognition or common sense whatsoever, I would probably know to get the hell out of this place, but right now I just want to see Dominic and Taylor safe so bad that it physically hurts my heart. I can't have false hope now.
Bloodhound's voice is surprisingly gentle when he replies, "They're here. I know it." He must be able to read the desperation in my face, because he momentarily places a cautious hand on my shoulder and blinks his freaky eyes at me in some semblance of reassurance. "Do you trust me?"
Do I trust him? He's a merc. By definition, he's untrustworthy. By definition, he has no ties to anything whatsoever- but he has ties to this. Apparently he's in love with Taylor, which to me seems like a very dangerous rope to walk. I think he'll do anything he can to get her back. But can I trust him? Honestly, I don't think I have any other choice. (Oh, that confidence. Inspiring, no?)
"Just don't go and get us killed, Bloodhound, and we're good," I tell him curtly. This time he actually smiles, if only with one half of his unshaven face. "Speaking of, I'm kind of getting tired of calling you Bloodhound. It sounds like we're creepy LARP players, and I know that you don't don that Goth Robin Hood costume all the time. Do you have a real name I can call you?"
"No."
"I'm going to call you Ryan. No... Gunner. You look like a Gunner," I go on. I look at him and he's just shaking his head, looking exasperated.
"Everett," he blurts shortly. When he glances over and sees my happy look of shock, he grits his teeth. "Don't get too excited. It's not my 'real' name. But for God's sake, don't call me Gunner."
"You had that name ready on the spot. Do you keep a lot of fake identities? Are you one of those people who wears wigs and contacts all of the time and pretends to be different people? Do you-"
"It was my brother's name," he says quietly, staring straight ahead as he comes to a stop at the set of shattered doors. "Now kindly shut up, ok? We're trying to go for stealth here." He ignores my sudden stupefied silence and slides, catlike, through the doors. He easily clears the gaping jaws of jagged glass lining the edges of the metal door frames and glances back at me expectantly, daring me to follow. As I pick my way across the broken glass, he keeps a ready hand on the strap of his crossbow and his eyes searching around in the darkness. If he were a cat, his ears would be pricked and his tail poofed out.
When I finally join him, he takes off silently across the floor, every muscle in his body tense underneath his armor. His face is a puzzling mask of both worry and confidence, his eyebrows furrowed and his jaw set. I don't try to figure him out- he's a brain teaser I won't waste any more time on trying to solve. I do what I wish Dave and Ollie would do and I leave his secrets alone.
"Stop," he orders me in a fierce whisper, holding out a hand to stop me as I come up beside him. I don't see or hear anything at first, but then I catch sight of a human figure standing before us in the darkness. My heart nearly stops from the shock and the unexpected spike of fear that rises up within me. I had told myself I wasn't nervous- but who am I kidding?
"Is someone there?" The figure barks in a surprisingly feminine voice. It's not Taylor's- it sounds too harsh and loud.
Bloodhound and I share a glance in the darkness. I can barely see a thing, save for the light coming in through the glass doors from outside. This room that we're in has no distinguishing features about it. There's no furnishings or machinery or anything that you'd expect in a factory. The room is empty and cavernous and filled with shadows. Just the way Ivory likes it, I suppose.
The figure moves and blends into the darkness. When I catch sight of it again, it's standing right before us, eyes gleaming. Bloodhound takes a step back, tipping his head forward and letting his hood fall over his face. I turn slightly and quickly conjure an illusion over my attire: thin black half-mask that covers my mouth and nose, black hoodie, short black hair. I figure black wouldn't be so conspicuous among a group of villains.
"Who are you two?" the stranger asks, voice hostile. From what I can see, she is unarmed, but knowing Ivory and Reggie and their tendency to "collect" supers, I have no doubt that she has something up her sleeve to depend on if necessary.
"Reggie's. He wants us to check up on the kid and his mother," I say flatly. I see Bloodhound send me a desperate glance, his eyes trying to convey a message I can't decipher in the darkness. The stranger shifts in hesitation; what I can see of her face is scrunched up with suspicion. I can make out her severely short hair and drab fatigues that make her look like she just escaped from a war zone.
"We'll see about that," she snaps. Within the blink of an eye, she's at our sides and has a vise-like grip on both of our arms. Super-speed. Brilliant.
"Let go of me," Bloodhound hisses. "Do you know who I am?" He wrenches his arm from her grip in disgust.
"We have an illusionist on the loose," the woman replies, voice unfazed. "We have to take necessary precautions." She turns to me now. "Who are you, exactly?" I can almost see the gears turning in her head. Shit.
"She won't speak to you. Adi's mute," Bloodhound explains with the perfect amount of exasperation in his voice. "She had her tongue cut out after spending time in Dever," he explains. The woman's eyes light with interest. Dever... Dever was known for being a bloodbath. Years ago, before I became a villain myself, there were essential dungeons created specifically for powered individuals- villains. They were run by a group of militant "superheroes" who weren't so much as focused on saving people as punishing those who caused harm to society. They were unrelenting in their hunt to capture super-villains, and when they did they would basically torture them into either insanity or death. These people who started these dungeons, they called themselves the "Sweepers," which was a really terrible name- but they garnered support from civilians, and became what many called a cult. Not many escaped Dever alive, and those who did were irreparably damaged. Eventually some actual superheroes got tired of all this gruesome and inhumane murder and took the Sweepers down, but not before villains were starting to become an endangered species. Many were forced into hiding, and it took a while for the city to get balanced out in the ratio of good vs evil. Now, being a villain that survived Dever basically makes you the equivalent of a war hero.
"Show me," the woman demands, her voice high with awe. Bloodhound exchanges a glance with me. Dude, no. Just because I know what a severed tongue looks like doesn't mean I want to recreate that image in my mind again.
Before either of us can say anything in reply to her bizarre request, her cold hands are prying open my mouth. With a flurry of panic, I manage to reduce my tongue to a stump blunted with scar tissue. Not pretty.
"Wow," the woman murmurs with kid-like excitement. Her hands leave my face and I grit my teeth together immediately, losing the illusion with much relief. She stands in front of me, eyeing me up and down. "But you look a little too young to have been in Dever," she accuses.
"Jesus, lady. Stop interrogating her. Adi's an age laggard. Just show us the freaking kid before Reggie does something drastic. You know he doesn't like to wait." I have to admire his acting abilities. His voice doesn't betray his worry or nerves.
The woman sniffs haughtily and turns on one heel, charging through the darkness with no other acknowledgment of Bloodhound's words. We hurry to follow her, not wanting to get lost in the blackness lest we stumble upon another one of Ivory's men who isn't as gullible.
"Geez, Everett. You take improv classes back home?" I whisper in his ear as we speed-walk along. He flashes me an annoyed look, but some part of me imagines that I see pride in his eyes at our successful escape. The other part is wondering why he had Dever so readily available as an alibi for my "muteness." Pretty dark thoughts for the guy cosplaying as Robin Hood.
"Lionel!" the woman brays as we approach a single closed door along one of the bare walls with light leaking from the bottom. After a few beats of silence, the doorknob turns and a chubby face pops out at us. When he sees Bloodhound, his jaw drops and the door slides open further, revealing more light.
"Bloodhound! I have your trading card!" the chubby guy gushes, opening the door all the way and standing before the uncomfortable armor-clad man with his arms pumping like a kid hyped up on Five-Hour Energy. Dear God. It's like someone decided to smash Sebastian and Ollie together to make one giant desperate, evil, fanboy.
"For God's sake, Lionel," the woman hisses through gritted teeth. "They're just here to see the kid. They're on Reggie's errand. Try not to screw this up, ok?" With that she disappears back into the shadows from whence we came.
"Sorry. Talia can be grumpy sometimes," Lionel apologizes and opens the door to let us through. My eyes blink rapidly before adjusting to the light. "I embarrass her because I'm her brother so I'm automatically supposed to be this big bad tough guy like she is. I mean, she's a girl, but you get what I mean," he rambles. Bloodhound buries his face in one hand like Please no. I stifle a smile and investigate my surroundings instead.
We're walking down some decrepit blank hallway, bare lightbulbs revealing only plain white walls stretching ahead. There is nothing else. This place is eerily empty. Shouldn't there be more guards? Ivory strikes me as more of the overkill kind of guy, if previous incidents are anything to go by.
"Something's not right," Bloodhound murmurs under his breath, placing a gloved hand on my arm and slowing me. His eyes shift back and forth uneasily.
"You're telling me now?" I snap irritably, worry flaring up into my stomach. "We're literally this close." Lionel's head turns as he notices our pace slowing, and I quickly force a grimace onto my face.
"They're not here anymore," he hisses in my ear. "Ivory must've taken them away. They're onto us," he adds, licking his lips nervously. "Let's get out of here." Just as he says that, I bump right into Lionel as he abruptly comes to a stop. I stumble but regain my balance, glaring up at the overweight man. He no longer sports a happy, puppy-dog expression on his puffy face.
"Well? Take us to the kid," Bloodhound demands. He's still trying to keep this facade up when it's obvious that Lionel is not just a naive fanboy- he's onto us.
"I knew the moment you walked in," Lionel says softly. "You thought you were being so stealthy. You know what my superpower is? Hearing. It comes almost completely useless in battle, and most of my life I've been considered a useless reject in Reggie's little army while my sister gets all of the attention because she can run fast. But when I was assigned guard here, I finally got my chance to shine. Imagine my delight when you two came clomping in here like a pair of stupid, stupid rhinos, whispering all about your plans to take back the kid and his mother." He flicks his ear with an index finger. He has a single black diamond earring in. "This is a recording device. That's right- I've been telling the very man you plan to overthrow all about your secret plans." His face is twisted in delight. He's a monologuing psycho. Get us out of here, I want to scream to Bloodhound. But he's not moving. He's not- beside me anymore.
"I can cut out your tongue for you if you really want me to. It'd be much more believable than faking it," Talia says pleasantly as she holds Bloodhound by the throat, a silver knife pressed against his tan skin and glinting under the lights. No. No freaking way. I made a promise to Dave. I'm going to get out of this crap alive.
"Let him go, or in approximately ten seconds I will rip your spinal cord out through your eye sockets in the slowest and most painful way possible," I tell her calmly.
"Big words coming from such a tiny girl," Talia taunts. She presses the blade deeper into Bloodhound's neck, causing a tiny scarlet drop to leak from his skin and dribble down into his armor. "But it looks like I have the upper hand."
"Not really." I seize Lionel's arm before he can do anything and manage to wrangle him into a chokehold before me. He doesn't even bother to struggle, just grunts a little. "I'm stronger than I look." She laughs.
"You think I care if you kill him? Please. You'd be doing me a favor. He's a liability. He's served his purpose." Her eyes dance under the light of the bare bulbs overhead. I feel Lionel starting to panic and squirm as soon as he registers the fact that his sister isn't going to save him after all.
"I'm going to take pleasure in killing you," I tell her pleasantly. She beams back at me in that trademark psycho way. I feel a dull kind of rage starting to seep up through my bones.
"Same," she replies cheerily. As soon as the word leaves her mouth, I drop her brother to the ground and lunge forward, fist flying toward her face.
My knuckles connect with the cement wall behind her. I yelp in pain as the bones in my fingers crunch upon impact, stumbling backwards in shock. Talia stands there smugly next to me, still holding Bloodhound. His icy eyes are wide with panic.
"You'll have to be faster than that," she laughs. I cradle my hand to my chest and glare balefully up at her through the white-hot pain.
"It's not worth it. Get out of here. Go home to Dave and Ollie," Bloodhound insists, suddenly looking tired.
"I can't just leave you. You're my ride," I struggle to smile, despite the fact that this situation I'm in is what anyone would call an impasse. Bloodhound sighs impatiently.
"Fine. Be right back," he says. I open my mouth to question his mental stability, but before I can both he and Talia have disappeared.
"Shit!" I curse. I turn to where Lionel is sitting dully on the ground from where I had previously dumped him. His eyes are unblinking, his mouth gaped open slightly. He's in shock. "I am going to-" I stop and glare back down at him until he meets my eyes with a haunted look.
"You should've just killed me," he rasps. A single tear leaks down his fat cheeks. Oh, come on. Enough with all of this suicidal crap. Can we not?
"I am giving you the count of three to get out of my sight before I follow through on that request," I inform him brightly. Once he realizes that I'm being dead serious, he scrambles to his feet and surges down the hallway, slamming the door behind him. I'm alone in the hallway. If Bloodhound doesn't come back and I'm stuck here, I swear I will do something drastic.
I glance down at my hand, which has already swollen to twice its normal size. It's throbbing angrily along with my pounding heartbeat, and when I try to move my fingers I see spots before my eyes. Lovely. Seriously. This is so wonderful. I like sitting and waiting for people and not being able to do a damn thing about it. I love being helpless. It's my favorite thing in the world.
I am going to go insane if he doesn't come back within the next minute. I'm going to create my own Dever and get my own effing information...
"Hey." He's standing before me, drenched in what I really hope isn't blood but smells exactly like it. Speak of the devil.
"Oh God. What did you do? Run her through a wood chipper? Judging by the amount of blood-"
"Please. I have more class than that. And I didn't kill her. This isn't her blood," he scoffs importantly. At my raised eyebrow, he shrugs mysteriously. "The Bloodhound doesn't reveal his ways," he informs me.
"The Bloodhound better get us the hell out of here before I punch another wall and break my other hand," I say. "How exactly did you escape from where you were being held at knifepoint by a woman possessing super-speed anyway?" I smirk a little because that sounds incredibly ridiculous.
"Like I said..." he gives me a crooked smile, which just makes him look terrifying considering he's still drenched in blood and it's painted onto his face like he's some serial killer who makes finger-paint out of his victim's blood. (Don't judge me. Horror movies have ruined me.)
"Right. You don't reveal your ways and yada yada. Whatever, Everett. If I wanted to, I bet I could figure you out. But for now I'd just like to go home and grab an ice pack and come to the realization that we literally could've just died."
"I have a feeling we both come to that realization a lot," Bloodhound adds conversationally. We both start walking down the hallway once more, Bloodhound leaving behind a trail of bloody footprints in our wake.
YOU ARE READING
Super?
Adventure"Stop pretending to be an idiot, idiot." Ouch. It burns. "You're starting to sound like a dear old friend of mine," she adds, her tone implying that her "friend" isn't so much of a "friend" as a mortal enemy who she probably also dragged into an all...
