Of Monsters And Men | Discontinued |

Episode Two - Apprehensive

Evren is careful as she steps into the lobby.

Guards stand in each corner, other people in the organization speaking to each other, impatiently awaiting their turn to yell at the man at the desk. He nods to her, and she tilts her chin back. The secretary deals with their problems, unless they're big enough that Fisk has to. She drops her gun with one of the guards, one she could call a friend, albeit one she isn't close to. She's going on a break, she doesn't need it, not really. Within this city, even with the gangs and drugs, she's isn't a target. Nearly all of the 'bad' people of the city recognize her- from her jacket, her stance, her smoldering glare. The junkies flee from her, used to her telling them that their time is up and they need to pay Madame Gao or Fisk, or they'll send men after them.

Her dayjob, her daytime her, is a polar opposite of how she is during the night. She's quiet and meek during the day, following orders perfectly, quietly, keeping her head down and keeping herself small. She doesn't have friends, just people at work who gossip with her. Evren sighs, running a hand through her hair before pushing it up into a bun, securing it with a band she left around her wrist from the day before. She stretches, popping her back as she walks. Her apartment is quite far, yet she doesn't mind. She likes the walk.

Times seems to go far too fast, and then she's climbing her steps, unlocking the door and shutting it behind her. Evren doesn't like her apartment. This aura she's created isn't her. It's the woman during the day, the Evren that's too quiet and lets everyone walk all over her. Just an image, perfectly crafted for her to fall into if anything happens to the job she actually cares about and likes.

She enjoys hunting people down, connecting the dots, bringing them back to Fisk within hours, if not days. They leave so many tracks behind in their panic. She hates being a secretary; talking to people who yell at her and have no respect, scampering across city blocks to get coffees from four different shops just so her superiors are pleased. It isn't as back-breaking as it is boring. She repeats the same days over and over, during the day, at least. But night always bring something new, something she looks forward to, even if she's exhausted to the bone.

She slips onto her bed, plugging in her phone once more before tipping her shoes off with her toes. She lays beneath the blankets, staring at the ceiling as headlights flash across them. Evren doesn't fall asleep easily, yet she never has a hard time waking up, either. It's a trade-off she's thankful for. She'd rather take an hour to fall asleep than take an hour to wake up. Her jobs don't allow that.

She wakes up to her alarm chiming, cheesy bells ringing, only serving as a reminder that she can't be herself during the day. She sighs, rubbing her eyes as she sits up. The blankets slip around from her as she turns the alarm off, rising in her freezing apartment and pulling a pale blouse and a pencil skirt out of her dresser, dragging herself towards her bathroom.

A black bruise blossoms across her ribs and shoulders, sickly purple and blue blending together. She hesitantly twists around, only to stop after twisting just a few inches. She's lost mobility because of the bruise, which isn't good for the job. Thankfully, Fisk is letting her have a break. She'll take advantage of that- heal up and try and find new sources that can tell her more about the man in the mask.

She makes do without eating, rather getting to her office sooner than later.

On her way, wearing short heels that scrape against her tendon, she stops by the shops and orders the coffees, nine in total, forcing on a weary smile as she enters the last one. The rest of the paper cups are in a cooler at her side. Her arms tremor just with the weight, her ribs protesting the movement as she pulls it into her arms.

"Hey, Ev." She nearly rolls her eyes at the nickname, but instead cheerily smiles. The man behind the counter grins at her. "Regular order?" Evren glances at the metal piece pinned to his chest, just for a split second, before smoothly transitioning her eyes over to the muffins. David B.

"You know it, David." She responds, forcing herself to sound chipper, leaning against the counter, pulling the money from her wallet-- the dark money that she gets from her employer and anyone else that needs to pay. "Today's going to be a good day." She adds, paying, before taking the box in her arms and leaving, a blond in a suit holding the door open as she walks out, his friend awkwardly standing behind him. His head tilts slightly as she passes, and he frowns behind red glasses. "Thank you." She calls over her shoulder, carefully turning so she doesn't make the throbbing in her back even worse. She doesn't pay attention to his reply, just continuing onwards. She hopes that the fake Evren was telling the truth when she said that today is going to go good.

The day, in fact, is not going well. Evren gave everyone their coffees, but then tripped on a cord on the way to her desk, spilling her own down the front of her shirt and drenching a good part of her hair and skirt. She runs back to her apartment, quickly picking out another shirt before heading back in a cab. A meeting is starting when she arrives, including her trying to sneak in, only to receive glares. She tries to laugh it off, explaining the situation, but the glares only intensify, and she shuts her trap, just like the daytime Evren should.

She also loses her desk to another secretary, younger and far too stupid to be handling the front, while she's sent further up, handling the 7th floor visitors, the ones for the big meetings. She liked the front desk. It was easy to handle. Now she's stuck welcoming everyone, signing everyone in, logging the time, and replying to every single email that's sent to her superiors within the floor. Evren does their work for them, and she hates it.

The only good thing about her day is that James calls her during her lunch, promising to take her to a good dinner the next day, when Fisk releases him. It makes it easier to be chipper around people she loathes, looking forward to her date as she wonders what to wear.

At the end of the day, she's happy to return to her apartment, even if she detests it. She'll be able to catch at least five hours of sleep before she can emerge from her shell and be herself. Sometimes James is there, with a bottle of wine and dinner that he made himself or picked up from a restaurant, and she'll make desert, of course getting distracted by him simply watching her with soft eyes. Those nights are her favorites. But tomorrow, just tomorrow, James will show up with a flower, putting her ring back on her finger where it belongs as he effortlessly sweeps her off of her feet.

The roads are dark and oddly empty. This part of the city always has a few druggies around, but when she looks at their regular places, beside the small convenience store and on the steps of the small library, they aren't there. Even the few tents and carts of homeless people seem to be missing. It creates an odd feeling that spreads up her spine until the hair on the back of her neck raises, and her steps quicken. She's just going back to her crappy apartment, ready for another dinner of ramen and passing out on her uncomfortable bed. There's nothing for her to be apprehensive of, yet Evren finds herself glancing around, never letting her gaze stay one one place. She shrugs farther into her olive green jacket.

Evren doesn't get the chance to scream when she's dragged into an alleyway, short heels digging against the ground and slipping, bringing both her and the person dragging her to the ground as she bites the fingers clamped over her mouth. She struggles and screams, but the hand clamped around her mouth tightens and another presses against her throat, tightly, until Evren can't move her heavy limbs and she can't breathe. Her phone clatters against the ground, sliding from her view. Evren needs James. James would help her. James would find the family of the man taking her and order them to be murdered. Hames would protect her. She's a messenger, Mr. Fisks messenger. No one should go after her; no one should be stupid enough. Something stabs her neck, pinching her skin and making her whine desperately, trying to struggle even as she's pinned to the ground. She finds herself wishing to call for J- for someone beneath the gloved hand, begging for help.

Who was she calling for?

And, suddenly, she can't even remember her own name. The world collapses from around her in a haze of blurry black spots, replaced with a void of black that swims around her.

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