Prompt Sauce

carnifice internuntio

He had always seemed like such a nice guy.

And yet, here she was half-carrying half-dragging him across a room, to tie him onto a chair. She used zip ties, as she had never known anyone to escape those without help. Before long, his arms were tied together, and his legs. If she was going to hold him for an extended period of time, maybe she would've invested in some sort of chair connected to the ground, so nobody could tip it over and attempt to escape that way. But as it stands, they were never left alone for long, and after her mission was completed they were gone—one way or another.

She busied herself to setting up multiple cameras around the room, in order to film all angles of him. She had known this man when she was a young child, he helped her escape her abusive home. She hadn't returned to that town in years, and yet, the first person she punished was him? It must've been some sort of test. She sighed, before looking down at her phone. It was five minutes until nine o' clock, until the game got started.

She never spoke to her quarry before, lest she get convinced, or her morals swayed. But.. He deserved this didn't he? She sat up from her perch against a crate, and walked purposefully towards the man slumped over the chair with a black bag over his face. She was in the middle of nowhere, so she wasn't worried about the noise, besides the fact that it was a large warehouse—no one would hear him. Leaning forward she pulled the bag off of his face, expecting him to be asleep, he was not.

"Ah, so you were playing dead?" She asked, though she knew the answer. His only response was to spit in her face. She didn't show any visible reaction, instead opting to wipe her face with her sleeve. She returned to her perch against the crate, before she spoke again.

"I never expected for you to be on this show," she said simply.

She watched him with intensity as he looked around the room and at the various cameras, she could almost hear the gears clinking together in his head.

"You're the sick bastard behind that murder site," he said in disbelief, his eyes staring at her in disgust. She could feel a stirring inside her, that look of disgust.. it was beautiful.

"I prefer the term "gladio"," she replied, a smirk on her face. She continued, "It's latin for sword, a rather apropos term—don't you think?"

"I don't give a shit about your sick game, what do you want from me?" he bit out angrily. She stood up, hand against her chest, feigning indigence.

"I'm hurt at your words, and that you don't recognize me," she said. "But it's to be expected, I doubt anyone knows what I look like."

"What about the name Clara Browning?" She said nonchalantly, though she couldn't wait for his expression. His eyes widened, she could his brows knit, and a flurry of emotions under the surface. He struggled to speak several times, and when he finally did his words were shaky and uncertain.

"It's you?" he asked in disbelief.

"Yes, well," she said, brushing dirt off on her pants, "I haven't used that alias in a very long time," she said, smiling sickly sweet at him. "It was so kind of you, to give me the name of your missing sister, you must've cared about me a lot—huh?"

He didn't answer her, he merely stared, trying she mused, to find some remnant of the "her" he remembered. After a while of his silent searching, she pulled off the mask covering her lower face, and picked out her contacts with relative ease—considering it wasn't easy at all. Now he stared at caramel coloured eyes, and gruesome lip scar spanned from the beginning of her lips to the end of her chin. It didn't age well.