Chrysalis | s. reid

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞

Of all the things Michaela Prentiss aspired to be, a victim was certainly not one of them.

Yet, here she was, tied up to an old iron radiator in a dingy apartment that she had never seen before.

"Please," she begged, her voice barely audible as it passed through her dry lips. "I'll do whatever you want. Anything. Just let me go and I'll convince them not to hurt you, I swear."

The dark haired man turned to her, his gun still aimed at the door. He knew what the future held for him; he knew exactly who was waiting for him on the other side. An idea struck him when he saw the pleading look on Michaela's face.

He walked towards Michaela tauntingly slow, making her heart rate skyrocket. He bent down to look her in the eye, his gun pressed against her temple now.

Suddenly, Michaela couldn't breathe. Her lungs were betraying her, filling with anxiety instead of oxygen. Her bottom lip began to quiver in fear, and she sucked it in between her teeth to try and stop herself from crying—to avoid giving him that satisfaction.

"You wanna know why you're here?" He questioned with a sense of urgency in his voice.

"Because you're a psychopa—!"

The man wrapped his free hand around Michaela's throat and squeezed. The impact sent her head slamming against the wall. "Shut up," he spat. His breath was hot against her face. "You're the ticket. This is how I get out alive. You're worth nothing more than that!"

Michaela struggled against his grip, thrashing her legs in an attempt to break free. Black circles plagued her optics and she could hear a deafening ring in her ears. This was it. This was how Michaela Prentiss would die.

She wondered what awaited her after death. Angels? Demons? God? Rebirth?

Nothing?

A single gunshot echoed through the dorm room just as Michaela's vision went black.