#PHEW BOY HOWDY THIS WAS A LOT LONGER THAN I EXPECTED IT TO BE))

[smilingmxsk]

∗ 34﹕ sender  is  found  by  receiver  somewhere  they  shouldn’t  be .

100 Nonverbal Prompts| Accepting!

This job was simple. Find the guy who made off with more than his share of the deal, cap 'im, and return the goods. The problem, as usual, is that the fucking coward brought friends. So Margaret had to deal with six different thugs shooting at her at the same time while she hid her bruised, cut-up body looking for a way to navigate around them. Luckily, that part didn't take her long.

Given that these thugs knew nothing about what she was capable of, she had the upper hand from where they were standing. The idiots stood just at the mouth of one of the many alleyways in this city with no firey orange tungsten light to illuminate their escape path. Pure darkness, i.e. Margaret's prime element of advantage. Out of their sight, Margaret reforms from the shadows behind the firing line, wasting no time to swing her shining aluminum right to the brain of the closest goon. The thugs take notice of the sudden ping and meaty thud of a crumpling body, only to have another body join the other on the ground the moment they turn to confront her.

There was no questioning how she got there or the force behind her swings that turned their men's heads into watermelons on contact. There wasn't any time for it. The remaining men ditched their guns for their fists or knives, yet Margaret was all too eager to engage. The third man downed received a bat to the knee, bringing him down to the Fixer's height to have his head properly smashed. The fourth had his face smashed into the nearest metal barrel before having his knife-holding arm twisted off, and the fifth gutted by the knife she borrowed. This left only the sixth man, the one behind the failed deal.

He'd long since dropped his gun, trembling, clutching the sealed briefcase with both arms.

"I won this fair n' square!" Shouted the man, frail in physique as opposed to his late brutish posse. "Y-you can't do dis ta me! Duncan agreed ta his part ov' that deal! There ain't no reason fo' him sendin' someone afta m-me!"

"Shame," Came Margaret's reply, flat and apathetic. "I got called here for a job, an' I'm here t' carry dat out."

"I-I could pay you more than he evah could!" Pled the man. "I got cash, y' see? Loads of it! J-jus' let me go an' I'll... I'll hire you myself! I can pay you, I promise— Hrk!"

The man's pleas are cut short by the clawed hand that shot out and gripped his throat.

"I ain't got time ta hear 'bout what you could do an' whateva th' fuck you're flappin' your gums about. Y' jus' wastin' my time. 'Sides. 'S bad business practice t' go recruitin' anotha man's employee."

She could've crushed this man's windpipe right here. She could dig the claw of her thumb right through it, in fact, listening to him struggle for painful breaths while she carved him a new breathing hole. But she doesn't. Something else has caught the woman's attention from the corner of her eye: pink, sparkling, and oozing with a rebellious spirit. She'd recognize them anywhere.

"...Byan?..."