Black Market Villains

Chapter 4 - Tank

Grenade, Zero, and I had split up in our search for the guards.  I wandered through the mazes of boxes, watching for any signs of movement.  After a couple of minutes of wandering, I caught sight of bloody smears staining the concrete.  It was a lot of blood - too much.

I fought the urge to gag.

Against my better judgement, I followed the trail of gore.  Upon closer inspection, it seemed that someone had dragged themselves across the ground, having lost too much blood to stand.  The trail rounds a corner.  I stop for a second, hiding behind the corner of a crate.

My footsteps having ceased, I listen for whoever's around the corner.  I hear harsh wheezing and quiet... speaking?  Confused, I peer around the corner.

I shouldn't have done that.

Only feet in front of me stood Zero, gun in hand, pushing the muzzle into a fallen guard's chest. Blood was pouring out of him, coating the ground around him and coloring his clothes a deep crimson. The man, obviously in pain, whimpers and pleads for mercy. But Zero, not knowing the definition, only presses the gun down harder, a wicked smile slowly spreading across her face.

Why the fuck is she doing that?

A second later, the man had blood spilling from the corner of his mouth and down his cheek. His eyes were wide open and his mouth was contorted in an almost humorous expression. He was dead.

Though my stomach isn't too weak, I could feel it doing summersaults, begging me to puke. I haven't eaten anything today so the most that I would do is dry heave.  Nonetheless, I'm just a few drops of blood away from throwing up.

Zero, the closest thing to Satan that I knew at the moment, pulled her gun from the man, smile still present on her lips. She then wiped the muzzle of her gun on the side of a crate and switched it into a pistol to put into the holster on her belt. I couldn't help myself.  

I gagged. Zero turned, smile disappearing for only a second before returning with a delighted shimmer. "What?" She asked.        

I hear footsteps approach from behind me.  Zero spins around, pistol aimed defensively at the sound.  Her face has reverted to the predatory rage it held while the murdered that guard.  Grenade rounds the corner, backing away as she sees Zero's gun - and expression.  She automatically throws her hands up in surrender, but it does little to alleviate her expression.  Grenade shoots me a desperate look.

I walk up to Zero, careful not to step in front of her gun's muzzle.  I gently push her gun away from her no-doubt perfect target on Zero's heart.  Her expression shifts, melting back into her bitchy smirk as her attention is distracted.  I look back at Grenade.

It seems Grenade's seen the body.  Her breathing is visibly shallower, and her face slightly pallid.  Once she catches me looking at her, she swallows her disgust.

She looked at me and asked "You good?" I quicky retained my posture as I swallowed the urge to throw up.

"I should be asking you that," she counters.  She gestures to my knuckles.  They're white from how tightly I've been clenching my fists.  When I open my hands, I wince as my fingernails unhook themselves from their furrows in my palms.  I sigh.  Sometimes even unnatural strength has its downfalls.

"We need to keep moving," Zero orders, stepping in front of our view of the body.  Though I was still slightly traumatized, we have bigger problems.

We file out and begin walking down a dimly lit stretch of hallway.  I can hear Grenade humming "Let the Good Times Roll", footsteps uneven as she swings to the beat.