Wildest

The Epitome of Lone Wolf

"Stay still you twat." The liquid in the wide needle snarls at the potential new member of the Lupita conspiracy. So does Ashton. They were located in the room recalling the past riot, he was in the same chair as Theme, with slightly more ropes. Induction was always the most difficult step to joining the terrorist cult. The shot contained the wolf curse, enhancing the members by turning half of their genetics to a wolf's. Ashton tightens the yellow band around the arm and feels the swollen vein with her fingers. "Close your eyes and count to ten." she instructs, but just watches them squirm further and further as he got closer to ten, simply feeling up and down the vein. Then, taking no further chances, she pierces through the skin like a knife does to butter, droplets of blood sprinkle around the needle, on the count of eleven. The scream had nothing to ricochet against the ever empty warehouse; P.C. Fullman crafted their headquarters with meticulous architecture tailored to more efficient torture. Ashton smacks her new slab of clay across his face, and pulls the needle out as if it were stuck. "Wake up." she gave him a disgusted look, "untie him. And get his mask. Do I have to do everything around here myself? You better get your act together or I'll tell daddy about new suicide bomber recruits." she pulls her thigh-high boots back over her knees and makes her navy cloak wave a trail in her path of her way out of the warehouse. Once her feet hit the doorstep she turned around sharply to the shivering new bloke and points her finger at his brand new wound triggering a small spark on his arm, followed by a burning sensation. She cackles like fire, then teeters off, calling herself the industrial elevator to her father's office.

The Lupita conspiracy were especially busy at this time of year, having discovered a new method for creating homemade bombs that perfected the radiation effect of the human microwave that blew Theme to smithereens from the inside out. For the first time in forever, P.C. Fullman could predict the taste of world domination. Or so he thought. The door of the office was crowded with people.

"Excuse me? What is this supposed to be about, now?" Ashton stood as close to the door as she could and waited to be noticed before she spoke. "Can you let me the fuck through already!" she clenches her fist and burns her way through the crowd. There was something different about her father's office. It still smelled of his cigar. It still had the sickening white light blazing away from his desk, his file cabinets and bookshelves arranged in such a meticulous fashion one would call him a psychopath. What Ashton was not accustomed to was the red. Puddles and ponds of red were spilled on floor, smeared on the walls, and dripped from his desk like a tap that was barely left on and forgotten about. She bends down over the puddle in awe, and tests it with her finger. It was warm. Her father's tuft of red hair lay in another puddle on his desk, his body hunched over it in exhaust. Ashton refused to recognize the feeling blubbering inside her inner cauldron. She refused to shake as she lifted the messiest of murders off of her father's head. His eyes were still open, and they looked more gentle than usual. The two stared at each other until Ashton realized she cannot communicate telepathically to a corpse. She drops her father's head down and dodges the splatter. She turns to the crowd watching her from the door. "Get out. All of you." her voice fell heavy like the weight of the head. "Now!" she sends a fiery gust of wind to the door to slam it shut. Ashton twirls her vision with uncertainty around the room, but is fixated on the blackening blood smeared on the walls. It was some sort of t-chart scoreboard written in surprisingly neat calligraphy. One side said Fullman, one side said Cide. The single tally mark under Fullman was not scrawled in at all; simply a finger of Pirece's tacked to the wall by a large pair of pointed scissors. Janine was as clear as possible in her execution. Sadly, her clarity failed to equate her cleanliness.

"I'm sorry it had to end like this, Ashton. I truly am." the voice sounded like it came from the nearby cupboard or the back of her head, "well, not really. It's quite helpful actually. What do you say, will you help mommy narrow her options down?"

"You'll know what being dead truly is when I get done with you." Ashton retorts, "you sick whore."

"That's no way to speak to your mother. Or to anyone for the matter. Who taught you that tone?" Janine laughs from somewhere, sending a pulsating earthquake that sweeps the inexistent rug from underneath Ashton's feet, sending her toppling backwards. The back of her head hits the side of the desk. She rubs the bump back down.

"Are you trying to make me fear you?" Ashton laughs in disbelief, "You've been absent my whole life, visibly betraying me. How the hell can I fear you if I don't even know you? You think one attempt to get to know me better worked? You just slithered your way in and out of my life with your sappy stories that are supposed to make me empathetic, just so typical you, Janine."

"You don't want to do this the hard way, dear, trust me. But since you're so willing to, I'll change my trajectory path to prove how special you are to me."

"Do you even listen to yourself? What are you talking about?"

"Your father was first, then came my other husband..." her voice turned more hollow and metallic when it was thoughtful.

"You didn't have to kill him, you know." Ashton grunts, shaking her head slightly, "he had lung cancer savoring bits of him every day as if he were a soggy biscuit. He finally got close to carrying out one of his biggest dreams. Oh, I almost forgot." Ashton clenches her fists again, igniting them into flames. She lets her heels click their way to the cupboard, "They were your dreams to begin with." with that she rams her flaming fist into the cabinet but misses the target in her mind, melting away the doors and setting the files in side gently alight. Retreating her fist, she clasped her hand around it, her eyes searched the room again. She could hear Janine laugh.

"I did him a favor. I merely put him out of his misery. Besides, he never specified that he wanted to live to see his dreams come true..."

"Why are you doing this?" given up, Ashton leans against her desk.

"The correct question is 'why haven't you done this already?'." Ashton felt an invisible hand clamped over her mouth. It wasn't only hindering her speech, but her breathing too. "Stop agreeing to disagree, Ashton," the pressure of the hand tightened, "being evil for the sake of being evil is the same notion as being different for the sake of being different. You never were anything special. You kept looking to your potential for promises it could never fulfill. You're alone. And most importantly, you couldn't merely try to wager me to stop." the hand pulls her forward and back onto the ground, she lets her gloves soak in the puddle to break her fall. The chilling atmosphere in the room seemed to lighten with Janine's unusually undramatic exit.

"Shit." Ashton cursed under her breath once she catches it. She retreats from her father's blood and lands her eyes on the wall's scoreboard. The way to stop Janine was simple. She gulped and then shook her gulp off. There was no way Ashton, in her right mind as right as it can get, would pursue it. Though her at stake again shattered her desensitized soul, as much as she loathed tearing up about the thought. "If only I was truly alone, mother...if only." she sighed, grabbing a map from her father's desk.