#leona könig | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dovithedarklord · 1 year ago

Text

Age of Monsters - Chapter Seventeen

Pairing: OFC x Simon "Ghost" Riley, OFC x König

Tags: Slow Burn, Slow Build, Enemies to Lovers, Alternate Universe, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, POV First Person, Not Beta Read, Medical Inaccuracies, Military Inaccuracies, AFAB OC

Trigger Warning: The story will contain violance, blood and smut in detail. Please, keep that in mind!

⚠️MDNI⚠️

...................................

Author's Note

Leona and the team travel again, and more and more interesting situations arise.

Hello!

I noticed that with all the upheavals in my life, I can safely upload approx. every two weeks, so I'll stick to that! :D

I don't have a separate Trigger Warning for today's chapter!

Have fun! :D

I.M.L. – Infected Mammal Lifeorm I.H.L. – Infected Humanoid Lifeorm

if you're interested you can find the story on AO3: Chapter Seventeen

......................................

The small room is enveloped in motionless semi-darkness, and only the flickering lights of the machines resting next to the bed paint the two figures clinging to each other on the patient's bed into a neon-colored rainbow. And although their faces now finally radiate peaceful calmness, as they rest in the whiteness of the sterile bedding, they look more like plants floating on the edge of death, intertwined with their dry branches as a last refuge. Yet, despite their almost painful weakness, the aura mixed with terror that reigned over them seems to be easing at last, which was ingrained in each of their cells like an ineradicable illness.

And as I look at the crumpled bed on the other side of the room, I can read from the wet stains on the pillow that the boy probably woke up from a bad dream and sought solace from the woman. It's not surprising that he chose close proximity instead of comfort, because, in the many horrors he has experienced so far, his older companion has been his protector. Perhaps she anchored him in reality now as well, when he floated, writhing in tears, on the border between the bitter images of the realm of dreams and this world. And a rather bitter taste invades my tongue when it occurs to me, that it cannot be ruled out that he will suffer in this temporary nightmare for the rest of his life. Stuck in the middle of painful memories and fleeting safety.

Because I'm dead sure that the government won't let two very young Healers, whom they can squeeze out a few more years of service from, go to waste. No leader will let them take early retirement, even if they die while serving the Hunters. This system isn’t kind to anyone, especially not to those who, according to the authorities, were born to serve. And even though it's better for everyone if a Hunter stays sane and doesn't slaughter everyone in their path if they run out of energy, it doesn't change the fact that, as per the current state of the world, there isn't even time for people to mourn their traumas.

And this thought weakens the contentment purring inside me, which I experienced last night with the help of my clever ability. Because my little action seems infinitely futile as I watch them. I treated all their wounds, and all traces of the pain they suffered disappeared from the tissues, but every minute they spent in the dark little hole where they were pushed into lives just as vividly in their minds. And neither my energy, nor that bastard's pitiable death, nor time will cure this. I doubt that any of them will ever recover, and I can only hope with the utmost benevolence that they lose their sanity and wither in a lab for the rest of their lives, high on medication. That would be the slowest but most merciful death that life could give them.

I must be quite deeply immersed in my thoughts, because I only notice that a tall figure casts a dark shadow on me, when he settles next to me in front of the window of the small ward and joins me in my silent observations. I don't need to look at Riley to know the expression on his masked face, because the barely suppressed rage that emanates from him when he glances at the pair hiding in the small, dim room almost stings my skin. And my mind, buried in resignation, has the strength to feel pleasure for a minute at his agitation, for it soothes my soul in a sick way, that, despite the fact that his kind doesn't need to fear such horrors, I still see the glint of anger in the dark eyes of his reflection. This gives me some faint relief from the gnawing doubts that snake into my bones, which have burrowed deeper and deeper since yesterday with such insidious efficiency as worms feasting on corpses. Because I can't get rid of the image of the terrified faces of the two Healers, and in those few passing hours, when I was finally able to close my eyes, I saw myself in the dirty corner instead of them.

"What did Price say?" I speak up suddenly, diverting my thoughts to safer ground, because the further development of our mission seems a much more pleasant topic than discussing the future of the two poor souls shrouded in doubt, or reviving the damned delusions of my brain. And even though I don't look away from the seemingly peaceful scene unfolding before me, I can see him examining me inquisitively, as if he would be searching for something in my expressionless features. And he must have found it, because even though I can bury my emotions expertly, even my persona created for denial cannot hide from his trained senses.

"Laswell looked the thug up." He finally answers, and whatever was going on in that mysterious mind of his, he goes into the game of ignoring my strange behavior without comment. And I'm immensely grateful for the fact that he is able to turn to duty so quickly, because no matter how much my mind is occupied by the miserable fate of my two fellow colligues, our mission is more important. Now only my subconscious and I should be on the same page about this. "We're leavin' tomorrow." He informs me, stating a certain fact, and I just glance at him curiously from the corner of my eye. Laswell works faster than the devil, and it looks like she hasn't let us down now either. Even though we only had a name and a colony in our hands, which could have been too little to be able to move on with our pursuit. But our station chief's nose is much sharper, and she picked up a hot scent again at such a pace that belies the fact that she is just a simple human. And the knowledge that tomorrow I can finally leave this cesspool, and all this dreadful moment will be an unpleasant experience lost in the mist of the past, selfishly calms my mind. Because I don't want to face why I want to leave the two Healers so enthusiastically and forget about what will happen to them.

"Are they coming with us too?" I continue to inquire, raising another important question, which, although less intensively, but with sufficient enthusiasm, strains my skull. Because the two short days I spent in the company of our new teammates helped to plant the seeds of suspicion and foreboding in my mind enough to make me prefer to part ways with them, even if that would mean the loss of their help. There wouldn't even be a problem with Horangi, but König... he's a different story. And I don't just want to keep him away from my friends, because I'm secretly afraid that they work together like a ticking time bomb, and it's only a matter of time before they have a punch-up due to their incompatible personalities with Riley. There is something inherently dangerous about the hooded Hunter that clings to his every cell like a bloodthirsty demonic presence. It was already difficult for me to decipher the masked man, but König is a completely new kind of riddle, and I'm not sure that I want to know what is hidden under the dark textile. I have a gut feeling that if I dip even one toe into this shallow, murky mystery, the monster lurking in the bottomless swamp will grab me and drag me under. But despite my vivid imagination, my rational side is perfectly aware that I need to observe just enough to be able to read him and know what he and his little companion are up to behind the scenes. Because they are most certainly not so willing because of their good heart and conscience.

"Shepherd won't let us go without his dogs." The Hunter notes curtly, and based on his tone it's clear that even without saying it, he understood whom I was aiming at so skillfully. The edge of disdain moves into his deep voice, which has been lurking under the surface ever since we were drawn here by the clues given us by Valeria. And although I know the kind of self-restraint and discipline the man possesses, it's still impressive how effectively he can rein in his temper, even though his colleague's behavior made it a difficult task for him on several occasions. They cooperate with us with perfect professionalism, but they make sure, with small and sly signs, that we know that, thanks to the old shit, we are not in control here. Our little adventure yesterday made this very clear.

"How surprising." I remark dryly, and I don't even try to make the words crawling on my tongue a little less sarcastic, because I know that my cynicism now finds a match in my partner. Shepherd wants to keep us on a short leash through the two Hunters, and I'm pretty sure it would only take one wrong move to make the kindness of our new helpers disappear like a mirage in the desert. But it's even more likely that the old bastard will wait until we smooth this little nuisance out for him, and then he will get rid of us. That would be very clever, and would give a good reason why the two mercenaries are coming with us. In light of this, we not only have to get hold of the serum and be careful with the mutants, but we also have to keep a watchful eye on when they stab us in the back. Wonderful.

"You shouldn't have come to the interrogation room." Riley deviates from the thread of our conversation, and I'd be lying if I said that I didn't expect him to bring up my little incident sooner or later. It's a fact that it would have made a much better impression on our hosts if I hadn't poked my nose into their business, and perhaps if anger hadn't burned inside me like an inferno, I would have been able to think clearly and stay away. Undoubtedly, it would have attracted less attention, and it's also likely that even without my intervention, they would have found the bloody method that would have made that scumbag want to spill every last bit of info he had. The secret of my little abilities would also have remained under wraps, which would still give me a trump card in case one of our hired babysitters decided to help me cross over to the other world. But the icy hatred that closed its teeth around my insides injected a poison into me, causing a red fog to descend on my mind that I was unable to fight against. And to be honest, I didn't want to.

"I'd argue with that." I retort dispassionately, and I still don't meet his gaze, the weight of which now almost suffocates me. Although our relationship has fallen into something quite attractively complicated, I know that when it comes to work, he knows no joke. And it occurs to me that he might want to scold me now because I wasn't able to do what was expected of me again. And I would like to warn him well in advance, before he can even delve into his disciplining, that no one forbade me to interfere even with a fucking word. Horangi's feeble attempt was more of a less-than-enthusiastic warning than an actual command. If he was serious, then he would have easily arranged it so that I could not barge into the interrogation room. Because he could have killed me with one move.

A frightened whine penetrates the noise of the chirping machines in the ward, and as I see the half-asleep boy moving closer to the woman, who just begins to draw soothing circles through the blue material of the hospital nightgown on his bony back, then the terrifying feeling that brought me to the container on swift legs rises again in me. There is no protocol or rule that could have stopped me then, even if my brain now knows that sitting on my pretty ass and waiting for the big boys to take care of the situation would have been the right thing to do. But I'm too stubborn for that.

"It was our task to find out what he knows." The man states the truth flatly, and I only carefully divert my gaze from the Healers hugging on the sick bed to immerse myself in the inscrutable eyes of Riley's reflection. Because from someone who carries out his duties with such rigor and keeps to what is expected of him, I wouldn't exactly expect him to let my newest naughtiness pass without a word. Although I had already managed to avoid the retort that my misbehavior would have deserved once, I had saved his bosom friend by disobeying the order. But now, guided only by my own feelings, I charged into the middle of their party like a bull gone wild. Not that I mind for a minute.

"It took a long time. I sped it up." I offer the most acceptable reason, which I'm sure can soften the condemnation that might be camped in his mind. Because even though he knows that my terrible game was about much more than that, he can't argue with the fact that I forced out the answers that we were after much sooner than they could have achieved by beating him into a bloody pulp. And it's just an insignificant factor that I used specific tools, and the motivating force behind my actions is another completely negligible detail. The point is, that we got what we needed to continue our search for the serum. It's best for him and me if we leave it at that.

"You took revenge." He specifies simply, and even I'm surprised that there is no reprimanding weight behind his words. As if he had merely made a frivolous remark, rather than stating why I had so vehemently stormed in when they worked so diligently on their victim. But if his insight strikes me unexpectedly, my surprise quickly fades, because it's clear that he already knew why I was there when I crossed the threshold of the interrogation room. But instead of feeling ashamed for exposing my not-so-nice motives, the uncomfortable tightness in my stomach that hasn't really gone away since yesterday just flares up again. And as petty as it may be, I was filled with vengeance indeed when I laid my sly little hands on our prisoner, but I'm by no means such a noble soul as to refrain from it. This kind of meanness fits right into my repertoire of personality traits.

"Is it such a big deal?" I turn back to spying on the small room, because it's much easier to study the dark walls than to digest how effortlessly he can see through me. Of course, it's not that I have lost my mystery to him that bothers me, but rather the fact that I feel like a little kid caught doing mischief. Because from his tone it's like I did something completely wrong. Although I know that my approach was truly merciless, that dirtbag deserved every single moment of it. I don't care if what I have done is questionable, because as soon as I saw the desperation on that disgusting face swimming in tears and snot, my mood turned better in an instant. And if there was even a little justice left in the world, then all the wretches like this bastard would receive this punishment. What's wrong with such scum finally getting a taste of their own cruelty?

"No." He breaks the short silence, agreeing with me almost too naturally, which is completely foreign from his mouth. Because this makes me unsure for a minute about why he brought up the whole topic in the first place. If it doesn't bother him that I took control and used my own little incentive, then what is his problem? "But you don't have to get your hands dirtier at all costs." He adds, and I don't like the tone he puts into his voice at all, like he wanted to scold me. Which sounds bad coming from him, because we both know that while I may be a sneaky bastard, he doesn't need to go next door when it comes to brutality. We aren’t different in any way, and he shouldn't point out how unfeminine and not-so-delicate it is when I use these merciless tactics.

"There's enough blood on them anyway. A little more won't make a difference." I remark nonchalantly, keeping my eyes fixed in front of me with all my strength, because I'm afraid that if I look at the Hunter, I will glimpse something that my soul couldn't bear. I don't want to see his contempt or his superiority, because I don’t feel an iota of regret. This cruelty helped me through hardships all my life, I took what I needed to survive. If there was even a little less blood on my hands, I'd be lying there in that fucking bed right now, beaten, starved, raped and used. The only thing that kept me from this was that I immersed myself in the filth as deeply as was necessary, and my selfishness served me quite well. And if I have to drown in this infectious pool, I will.

But the movement comes completely unexpectedly, as one of his big hands finds my shoulder, and as his fingers gently tighten around the tensing muscles, I turn my head towards him with a starled shiver, because the tenderness in his touch reluctantly tears me out of the gloomy monologue going on in my head. And the way those brown eyes glance down at me makes my stomach jump instinctively, because the inscrutable flickers dancing there make the anger raging inside me fade away in a minute. The heat emanating from his palm pleasantly licks at my skin, which has cooled down due to the bitter rage, and brings my attention back to him so decisively from the chaos in my brain, as if he would be my anchor keeping me in reality.

"I know you're cruel. You don't have to prove it." He states, and his voice fades to a grumble, as he takes a small step to close the distance between the two of us. And as he leans down to me and his scent fills my nose like a familiar visitor, every nerve in my body is sharpened to what he has to say. "But you don't have to do it alone anymore." He declares, and with this one sentence, he dispels all the doubts that have nested in the hidden corners of my brain so far. And the realization that this is exactly why I wanted to leave the two Healers behind me tears into my mind. Because I saw in them the fate that could easily have found me too. I could have ended up chained and abused to the extreme, but instead, for all my selfishness and dishonesty, karma has led me to a place where I am treated much better than my background would justify.

And now here is Riley, who knows my worst side, has experienced firsthand the caustic sarcasm I can use to dig into other people's weaknesses with my words, and what evils my hands are capable of when my interests demand it. Yet knowing this, he offers that I don't have to walk this dark road alone, but willingly joins me. He doesn't expect me to leave behind my dubious methods accumulated over the years, he doesn't ask me to wash my hands clean. And because of this, something completely inexplicable awakens inside me, which simultaneously fills me with a pleasant warmth, which is followed by a hot trembling lightness that spreads through all the fibers of my being. And along with that, an icy fear creeps into the pit of my stomach, because the warning flashes in my subconscious almost immediately that I mustn't let this go. I can't waste this opportunity that fate has given me, because I'm not sure I could survive if I lost them.

And as a result of the realization, the invisible fingers of the tears spurred by the rising emotions gnaw into my eyes with almost painful force, but forcing the feelings down my dry throat, I just nod with a faint smile on my face. Because now I can see clearly. It takes shape in my head firmly that I'm willing to cling to the team, and especially to him with every drop of my blood, that this pledge almost burns into my brain.

⃰

The warm rays of the sun caress my naked arm peeking from under my shirt with deceptive peace, and as I leave the cargo deck hand in hand with my companions, and wade into the wild grass, the sweet scent of wildflowers fills my nose, and I allow myself to drink in the picturesque landscape for a minute. As if I had fallen into a dream, the meadow stretches to the edge of the horizon with such unimaginable calmness, where Nik so skilfully put down our plane, the soft noise of which is accompanied by the buzzing of bees and the chirping song of crickets as background noise. And at other times, this huge open space might make me nervous, where we are easy prey for the mutants who are stalking us, but behind the large building not far from us, the abundance of trees stretching to the sky cover us beneficially from at least one side. A real, hidden corner of paradise.

In other circumstances and in another life, this beautiful weather might even tempt me to have a little picnic in this undisturbed clearing that spreads out in front of our temporary accommodation. Of course, this would be a realistic idea if there was no chance that my idyllic pastime would be interrupted by a deformed monster or one of its humanoid friends, who would pay their respects with a slightly different kind of snack in mind. Although based on Price's information, the safe house might be located in the middle of nowhere, but it's just reassuringly close enough to the colony to be at a comfortable distance from any reckless beasts. Of course, the suspicion raging in my brain doesn't ease one bit, because, during my ever-longer mission, I already had the opportunity to experience what kind of horrors can be lurking behind such beautiful landscapes with watchful eyes. And most of the time they don't appear in the form of malformed animals, but take on a much more human face. Naturally, in this filthy place laced with death, we are still each other's greatest enemies.

"Good to see you're still alive!" A familiar voice interrupts my thoughts, and as I turn my head in the direction of its source, my dark little heart leaps with real joy. Because as soon as I see Garrick emerging from behind the battered door of the house, a definite line of a sincere smile crosses my face. And although it's barely been a while since I last had the good fortune to admire the Hunter's good features and even more pleasant aura, yet, in an almost disgusting way, my soul is relieved that amidst all the complicated misery, I finally have a familiar figure near me.

"We need more than that to bite the bullet!" MacTavish exclaims, and he hurries forward grinning, so that when his friend is within arm's reach, he simply pulls him into a brotherly embrace enthusiastically, patting his back with the weights of the unspoken words of happiness in the small movement. It's no wonder that this meeting is so heart-warming, since every single mission is another chance for these happy moments to never happen again. And this is probably not the first party they got involved in, but in light of the fact that we are drowning deeper and deeper into unknown complications, even I can sympathize with the zeal of my two fanboys.

I don't have to wait long for the one person who is still missing from the impromptu celebration to show up, and as I recognize the well-known figure of Price marching out from the dim depths of the house, the fleeting feeling of absence that may have been present in me until now disappears. The man carefully studies us gathered in the field, and when his gaze settles on me after Riley, who is anchored next to me, and his beard-framed mouth curls up in a satisfied little smile, then my stomach jumps with excited joy with such ridiculous speed that it's downright disgusting. Still, it doesn't bother me for a minute that such crippling emotions rear their heads in my little soul, because I would be willing to do anything to never have to live without them.

"I've hoped this would be the case." Price also joins in our greeting, referring back to my Scottish friend's earlier confident statement with his small comment, as he comes close enough to welcome us. And when one of his big hands lands on my shoulder with the greatest naturalness and squeezes it gently, the pleasant warmth, that only the small team was able to revive in me for a very long time, spreads through all of my limbs following his touch. And I swear that an almost paternal pride shines in those bright eyes, as they survey my face, and I have to keep my cheeky superiority in my features with all my strength, because I don't want to get emotional in front of our audience just getting off the plane. "I've heard a lot of good things about you." He adds, and even though his praise is enough to awaken an impossible cheerfulness in me, but as his gaze meaningfully moves to the masked Hunter enveloped in silence, I understand to whom I owe this exceptional treatment. And because of this, I feel that the tremble in my stomach paints surprise on my face despite my will and all my attempts at indifference. I didn't think that it would be Riley who would so enthusiastically praise my performance to the boss, when earlier I had him to thank for the bright idea of my forest trip, due to which I almost got impaled by a mutant piggy. But this is enough for the hope in my head to push me even deeper into the embrace of my complicated feelings for him. Great.

And at that moment, Riley, who was already more wordless than usual, joins in the warm welcoming, and although he remains silent, he greets our leader with a firm nod. Others might not find his curtness particularly striking, but he cannot hide from the captain's eyes either. And I'm sure that Price also realized by reading his companion's body language that his stand-offishness is directed much more to the two mercenaries who approach us with lazy steps. Because it would be impossible not to notice the distant aura he puts on when he has to share the same space with his colleagues. And although this tense atmosphere made our plane ride excruciatingly long, considering the unique show we were treated to during our joint mission, the grumpy mood of the masked man doesn't seem exaggerated one bit.

Even though they close the distance between us with the silence of the predators lying in wait, I don't have to look back to know that our new companions have arrived at our small gathered group, because the tiny little hairs reflexively rise at my back as I feel that unmistakable gaze burning the back of my head. It was enough for me to look into those blue eyes once over the mangled body spread out on the floor of the interrogation room to know that the wisest thing to do was to ignore the existence of the hooded Hunter altogether. For although I don’t know to what, apart from his obvious interest in my kind, I owe that persistent attention with which he honors me every time we come into forced proximity, yet I'm sure that no good would come of entering into this dubious game. Whatever his purpose is by obnoxiously and shamelessly staring at me at every opportunity he gets.

Price is the one who, as a true leader, grasps the noble task of breaking the ice, and turns to the two mercenaries, straightening his back out with confidence. And although there is a diplomatic impassiveness on his face, and I might even detect a faint smile at the corner of his mouth, but my trained eyes catch the troubled wrinkles gathering on his forehead under the cover of the hat just in time before they disappear. It's rather cunning and tactical of the man to show his best face to those who might run to report to their master after his first questionable move, but despite his best efforts, the visible traces of suspicion remain in his gaze, with which he measures his colleagues up.

"Thanks for the help." The captain expresses his gratitude, and if he has doubts about the two men, it doesn't show in his voice for a minute. And although it's quite clear that he did this out of mandatory politeness, but even I'm impressed when he fixes his eyes on the hired Hunters with the keen attention of a hawk, as if he is trying to read even the smallest twitches, assessing every second how trustworthy the newcomers really are.

"We were paid well to do it." Horangi comments with complete calmness, and even though it was evident that the credits made them so willing until now, even I find it bold that he chirps out this little detail so casually. He doesn't even try to deny his motivations, and it can only happen for an infinitely simple reason, which helps my eyebrows furrow. The Korean Hunter and his no less pleasant companion are so carefree because they don't see an iota of threat in us, which would make them think it would be worth behaving more cautiously. Although under normal circumstances the goal would be for our group to be able to work together without stress, but it's quite obvious from the small, nonchalant little movement as the man cocks his head in interest that this isn’t the case. This is at least as humiliatingly belittling as it's irresponsible, and helps to spread the sparks of tension for a minute in the warm air swayed by the spring wind.

But as rapidly as the unpleasant atmosphere arrived, it dissolves as quickly, for MacTavish breaks the silence, loud with the buzzing of the beetles, that has set in, before my masked friend has time to act driven by the spark of irritation in his dark gaze. As he leaves Garrick's side and takes a few hasty steps closer to the captain, all eyes are suddenly on him, beneficially interrupting the storm that was no doubt slowly brewing.

"Did ya find out anythin' interestin'?" The Hunter with the mohawk turns the attention to the mission instead, directing our conversation in a much safer and more important direction. Despite his best efforts, no one moves for a couple of uncertain seconds, and even the blades of grass stand on guard, waiting to see if one of my buddies would like to test their skills against each other instead of working together, but in the end, it's Price who is the first to settle back into his composure with the impeccable nimbleness of years and routine.

"Maybe." The captain answers thoughtfully, and his gaze lingers on the two mercenaries before he nods toward our new shelter, inviting us inside. Whatever Laswell has dug up from the depths of yet another bottomless drawer, it's not a topic to be discussed in the open, and this sufficiently awakens my curiosity. "Let's go inside." And as he sets off towards the entrance of the safe house with quick steps, I'm the first to follow him, not only because instead of the tense atmosphere that slowly fills the peaceful meadow on the wings of the pollen blowing in the breeze, even the vague emptiness beyond the threshold is more inviting, but also because there are much more urgent problems scratching my mind than the struggle for dominance stemming from masculine vanity. The serum is what made us so beautifully wander to almost the other side of the world, and this very dangerous little vial of hell is why we crossed the ocean to visit another continent. The clever trick Shepherd will use to remove us from the uncertain variables is the problem of the future, which won't come if we don't concentrate on the task with all our focus. And it seems that after the fleeting intermezzo, the others come to this conclusion as well, because without further ado everyone heads towards our temporary headquarters too.

And despite the desolation of the building from the outside, as I cross the border of the house and the cool darkness embraces me, I'm greeted by a very well-maintained, almost homely interior. The gaudy stains on the walls preserve the old tasteful pattern of the torn wallpaper, and there is no doubt that a whole series of family photos could have rested on these eerie square patterns, which the residents might have taken with them in a hurry, in order to have a few memories frozen in the past peace, to which they can long to return to. And as I follow Price further into the uninhabited depths of the house, from the worn furniture forgotten behind and the child's toy lying in the corner, and from the curtain submitted to a slow rot I feel like I had trespassed into somewhere, where the faded ghosts of the late inhabitants still haunt, locked in the objects left behind. But I quickly suppress this short-lived unpleasant sensation, because if there is anything remaining here from the previous owners, it can only be a few bones and decaying scraps of clothing left by the victims when the beasts inevitably found them.

"What a nice place you got us." I note pulling the corner of my mouth into a grimace, and although my voice is noticeably laced with irony, considering the circumstances, the captain has managed to find a really impressive den, which is just right for us to hang out in for a few days. And even though my pretty little body is used to the puritanical comfort of the colony, but for once I'm willing to set aside the inconvenience that I might have to share my bed with ghouls.

"The credit is our helper's. The big guy gave us the coordinates." Garrick shares the information quietly as he catches up to me, and it's enough for him to nod behind with his head to let me know who he might be talking about from our new teammates. And the fact that the pleasant shack is thanks to König explains a lot. Up until now, it was obvious, based only on his rather strong German accent and even more German-sounding name, that he was not from an American colony, but the fact that he provided such accurate information about this safe house hidden in the desolate wilderness confirms that he was born somewhere in the area. And it's quite logical that a terrifying butcher like him started his later adventurous journey from one of the largest and world-famous colonies, because the mention of the name of the Hunter training center operating here fills even civilians with sufficient foreboding. And where else could such a burly giant have been trained into such an efficient killing machine than in Purgatory? It wasn't by chance that they gave it this apt nickname, because the miserable little kids who are dragged there endure such sufferings that, although they become "purified warriors", the few years they suffer there, leave a permanent mark on them. Or at least this urban legend is spread by word of mouth. But it's enough to just recall the bloodthirsty pleasure with which the hooded Hunter stomped someone to death, and it immediately becomes clear that there is perhaps a hint of truth in the rumor.

The captain finally ushers us into a spacious dining room, in the middle of which stretches an old table, where a myriad of documents and weapons are spread out, indicating that the man had just felt at home enough to get to work while he waited for us to join them. And although they got here with less than a day's lead, based on the scattered reports and papers, the two Hunters had enough time to review the important pieces of information, and perhaps even work out the beginnings of a plan to celebrate our arrival. If Laswell took swift action, then Price rivals this momentum, because as my eyes discover the map of the colony among the many pages, and the tangled chaos of streets and buildings highlighted on it in bright colors, I quickly understand that our leader wasn't lazy and must have already studied the field.

"Kate had a hard time with this. She managed to find out that the Rat is in the colony indeed and that his organization is involved in several businesses." The bearded man immediately jumps into the middle of the briefing, not wasting a minute, as we all gather around the table, and he skilfully pulls out a file, which he pushes to the center and opens in front of us. And when the picture of an unknown guy richly adorned with tattoos appears, it becomes obvious that our aforementioned criminal is staring back at us from the low-quality photo. "But he hides well, and no one finds him if he doesn't want it." He shares this not-necessarily positive development, and with this, he succeeds in planting an easily recognizable atmosphere of pessimism in the dim little room. Of course, we could guess that this bastard had to earn the nickname somehow, so it wouldn't be easy to get hold of him, but now we can't allow ourselves to start this search with uncertain assumptions. We need to find him quickly, but mostly immediately, because the clock is ticking, and with every minute we are getting closer to that damned poison finding a new owner.

"This doesn't make our job any easier." MacTavish voices some of the doubts in my head, and as his dark eyebrows meet with annoyance in a rather troubled grimace, it becomes quite evident that he had a similar train of thought in his head as I did.

"We have to get him before he sells the serum." Riley joins in as well, and although the seriousness of the situation should require my undivided attention, I can't help but acknowledge with satisfaction that he almost automatically lined up next to me, like a loyal shadow. And even this small detail can ignite excited little sparks under my skin, because his proximity is enough for all my senses to be painfully sharpened. And I have to forcibly divert my concentration back towards our discussion, because no matter how much I want to read every tiny movement of his face covered with a mask, now my useless brain has to deal with the analysis of bigger complications. Pull yourself together, Leona.

"If he doesn't come out on his own, we'll smoke him out." Horangi puts forward the rather radical idea, and leans comfortably on the table with folded hands on the other side, as casually as if we weren’t just trying to find the ever-cooling trail of a drug that leads to certain death. And I find his ease interesting, because I'm pretty sure that fat credits won't be of much use if the army of hybrids and their little minions overrun every corner of the surviving civilization. Because this tiny little suggestion would most certainly lead to that.

"It would be an irresponsible idea." I interject my comment, looking through the file that was probably dug up by Laswell, searching for anything that might narrow down where in this huge, bustling city we should start our search to find our criminal in the shortest possible time. And Price was really not exaggerating, the dude got his hands into almost everything from trading with weapons, to prostitution, to drug and human trafficking, so it's no wonder that his criminal organization weaves through the colony like a spider web full of decay. Because, except for the central sectors, where the centers of the official bodies are concentrated in each colony, areas where he has influence have been circled in bright red almost everywhere else. Fabulous.

"Scum like him is easy to catch. All it takes is force." König chimes in for the first time since our arrival, and as his voice resonates through the barren walls of the building, I also break out of my observations and shift my gaze from the piles of documents to the man with careful deliberation. And from the way he straightens up and stands out from our small group without the slightest uncertainty, it's clear that he sees nothing wrong with his idea full of violence. And although it's already quite obvious from this how they managed to find the weak link leading to the Vultures so amazingly quickly, this approach won't work now. Because it's the least of our problems that everyone is in a foreign land except him, but if our target is such an influential person that he has ears on every corner, then he will know that we are in his heels before we have a chance to touch him with a finger.

"If he finds out he's being targeted by Hunters, he'll take off before we can even get close to him." I explain this non-negligible factor, and as I firmly hold the unpleasant weight of his gaze fixed on me, I know I'm not imagining the curious glint in those ice-blue eyes. "That's why we're here now instead of the colony, I imagine." I add this detail almost as a side note, and I don't try to prevent cynicism from creeping into my voice, because I want this behemoth to know that no matter how menacingly he stares, he won't be able to force me to surrender. Especially not when I know I'm right. If it were so easy to track down that goddamn thug without being noticed, then Price would have been breathing down the dude's neck before our plane even touched the ground.

"She's right." Garrick agrees, his face involuntarily giving way to the helplessness that must have settled in his head, and which helps to plant the faint line of resigned wrinkles on his face. Without a doubt, he would have been the first to bring our target to us wrapped in a pretty bow if he had the chance to lay his deadly little hands on him. But it wasn't a coincidence that they arrived here first and waited for us, because this action requires much more caution than they can organize with their usual bloody techniques.

"But we can't just sit around and wait!" MacTavish argues, spreading his hands out passionately, thus effectively voicing the frustration that is probably slowly forming in everyone upon hearing our increasingly hopeless mission. But even though I can understand his powerless rage, we cannot run headlong into the wall, because at this point we risk the complete destruction of humanity with every wrong move.

"I agree with Woods on this. We can't act hastily. We need intel." Price affirms, his eyes scanning our small gathering meaningfully, silently signaling that although he would like to throw himself into the middle of action, even his experience cannot guarantee success right now. "Nik, can you help us?" He suddenly turns towards the entrance of the dining room, and I look back over my shoulder in confusion, because I could swear that we left our pilot at the plane. But as I see the man leaning against the doorframe with complete peace of mind, many questions arise in my mind regarding our friend, who until now was believed to be rather harmless. And judging by the fact that my companions aren't at all surprised that Nik was able to sneak up to us so unobtrusively, I have a very strong feeling that I quite misunderstood the guy. His remarkable ability to follow us without being noticed is only a negligible detail in addition to the fact that the captain turns to him to solve our predicament.

"I have a few contacts in Colony No. 2. I'll see what they know." Nik offers, with such a self-evident simplicity that deepens my suspicion that the man mostly plays pilot as a hobby, and pursues very dubious activities as a full-time job instead. Because there is no other logical explanation as to why he has contacts on another continent who hide deep enough in the underworld to help us. Very interesting.

"All right." Price gives his blessing to the proposed solution, and then immediately turns his determined attention back to our small team. "Until then, we'll wait." He shares our next step, and although I can feel that not everyone is filled with unclouded happiness by this development, he gets a nod of agreement from everyone, even from our mercenary comrades. "Let's rest. The last week has been busy." He adds in conclusion, now with a much softer tone, and the hoarseness of exhaustion settles in his voice, which he has been able to more or less successfully remove from himself so far.

As our two mercenaries take the opportunity without further comment and leave the scene of our meeting with comfortable steps, I have the opportunity to take a closer look at the face of our leader. And although for a fleeting moment, I still feel the scrutinizing gaze of the giant man on the middle of my back, I'm much more occupied by the very pale grayness that I now quite clearly discover appearing on the captain's skin. Up until now, it might have been the excitement of the trip that could divert my attention, but now I see the weariness dominating the features of the bearded Hunter, and in the semi-darkness surrounding the room, the circles under his eyes seem even darker. And as I shift my searching gaze to Garrick, I can make out the small gray veins running along his temple even from the cover of his cap, which can indicate only one thing. And after a quick calculation, my suspicion is confirmed, that I haven't been able to handle them with my clever little hands for weeks, and although they probably didn't have to use their ability extremely, stress can very effectively bring out exhaustion in them. Although my Scottish buddy and his masked bosom friend received a charge not so long ago, at the gate of our important little mission, a little boost won't hurt them either.

"By the way." I speak up suddenly, effectively drawing all eyes on me, and I take advantage of this to get around the table, strolling closer to Garrick, who looks the most worn out, and who only curiously raises one of his dark eyebrows, when I pull off the glove from one of my pretty little hands to hold it out towards him. "It would be time to regenerate you." I note, bringing a mixture of surprise and concern to the man's face.

"Won't it be a bit much?" He asks, his voice full of doubt, and I can't hold back the cheeky little smile that escapes my lips, because the way he peers at Price for help makes him look infinitely boyish. And I also know from this small confused gesture that it's only worry speaking, because there is no doubt that he doesn't want to strain my little body in the least by asking for my aid. But unfortunately, determination works much stronger in me than the dull grip of the slowly awakening hunger in my stomach, and I'm willing to go to painful ends if I can guarantee that the care with which they turn towards me won't disappear. And although this admission fills a part of me with the right amount of disgust and contempt, I just have to think about the fact they mean my safety, and I immediately manage to suppress these unwanted voices. Because thanks to the suffering of the two Healers, the motivation to feed my selfish desires with their attention lives much more vividly in my consciousness, as if I were pouring oil on an already insatiable fire.

"I'll survive it." I comment simply, and although I know that by charging four Hunters I will wake up the torturous hunger gnawing at my insides, this small nuisance seems bearable. Even knowing that it’s uncertain how I will get blood, because I'm sure, even if Price brought me a tasty treat, it won't alleviate my problems permanently. And I can only wildly hope that the power of the mouth-watering dinner given by Riley will last until I maybe manage to catch an unsuspecting fool in the colony to quench my thirst. But no matter how much these troubling thoughts arise in me, as Garrick's damp hand wraps around mine, and the first burst of my energy penetrates his body, then I feel the familiar pull of the demanding force, and I know I have made the right decision. Because my hunger is a negligible inconvenience, if I can guarantee they will be in top shape when it's needed most. Even if every single nerve in me cruelly warns me that this will have consequences.

⃰

The silence in the house echoes in my ears with painful loudness, and the creaking of the old floor under my boots screams in my skull in an almost ear-piercing way, as I drag my legs, which are growing heavier by the minute, toward the room assigned to me. I wasn't wrong in that the charging of my four companions would sufficiently flare up the well-known pangs of hunger twisting my insides, and although it doesn't besiege me nearly as strongly as last time, I feel that it's only a matter of time before the feverish agony hits me. And even though I don't regret for a minute that I was able to solve my team's problem, I have to get some food very soon, if I don't want to be the one who, weakened by hunger, hinders the mission. If I have a little luck, the captain has been kind enough to surprise me with a delicious morsel, which will be just enough to ease my suffering. And as soon as we wander into the colony, I make sure to catch some stupid criminal and refuel with nutrients, because I have a bad feeling in my mind that tells me that our deployment will take turns where it will come in handy if I'm in peak condition.

And as, lost inside the massive building, I finally reach the corridor on the floor where my temporary quarters rest, instead of being relieved, all my limbs fill with tension in a split second, because I discover someone who shouldn't be hiding here in the least. Because Price certainly planned it so that I would be given the one out of the dozen rooms which is farthest from our guests, in case they wanted to use my services. Although I don't think they would openly force me to regenerate them, in this dirty world even less deadly people are capable of horrible things, and it's even better to be careful with someone who can crush another's skull with their bare hands.

Certainly, he had already heard my steps when I was tramping up the rickety stairs, but now, as I approach him, König turns his head in my direction with leisurely calmness, and even this small movement is enough for caution to gain a foothold in my mind. I have already acknowledged the amazing size that genetics has blessed him with, but now, as he is surrounded by the faint light filtering through one of the broken windows, he looks more like a shapeshifting demon than a human being. And even though he's comfortably leaning his back against the worn wall, there's something quite unsettling about the way the fabric of his black uniform strains painfully on his arms, as his folded hands rest on his chest. Because he may seem perfectly harmless to an unsuspecting observer, but my paranoid mind warns that it's only an ephemeral illusion, and that an artificial peace resides in each and every inch of him. But I'm even more interested in why he's here, because I was sure that after our impromptu meeting, he and his friend went off to rest. And even if he has zero navigational skills, he couldn't have accidentally wandered in here, because their room is most definitely on the ground floor.

But no matter how much caution creeps into my limbs, I don't let any of it reach the surface, because it would be a mistake to show him the concerns he can arouse in me. I have just seen enough of his behavior to know that this operation is just as much about polishing his ego as material goods, and what could be a more tempting pastime for such a man, than to frighten a unique little thing like me. I saw the barely concealed fear in the eyes of his men during the mission, and it's quite easy to deduce from this what kind of respect the Hunter desires. The kind that makes the knees of the unfortunate person who stumbles in front of him tremble, and that makes him feel even more powerful. A pathetic but perfectly legitimate goal. After all, instilling fear is at least as effective a control strategy as gaining respect.

His bright eyes follow my every step with unbroken attention, as I walk closer, and from his gaze resting on me, I feel like a mistrustful small animal that approaches a larger predator in the hope that it will be merciful enough not to kill it. And although we are currently playing on the same team, nothing guarantees that this hunch of mine won't come true at some point in the not-so-distant future. Because, unfortunately, my observations and intuitions are very rarely wrong, and now every nerve fiber of mine screams that I'm dealing with a beast in the guise of a man who, if he could, would have wrapped his needle-sharp teeth around my throat a long time ago. And while in the case of Riley, I was sure that he rewarded me with his disdain for my not-so-appealing behavior, in the case of the hooded Hunter, I have no idea what could be causing this outstanding interest.

"Your team is unusual." He breaks the heavy silence that has settled between the desolate walls, and I just stop at a safe distance from him and raise one of my eyebrows curiously, because he starts the first direct conversation we have with a rather interesting remark. And with this one sentence, he succeeds in reminding me that the good life I experienced in the unit is a unique privilege, which normally my kind hardly ever gets. And while in most cases the Healers are kept away from all the nitty-gritty details of the actual deployments because they get more use out of them unharmed, it cannot be denied that the active role that my team so generously gifted me within the ranks of Unit 141 is quite unusual. And although I don't like the fact that he expresses his comments so freely, it's indisputable that as a stranger, and especially as a Hunter in a leading role, the dynamics of my team can be a real curiosity for him.

"If you think it's strange that I dare to speak in their company, then it really is." I answer with an unimpressed tone, trying with every cell to be able to keep my confidence. Although he still doesn't move from the wall, the way he stares at me with an almost abnormal immobility makes the goosebumps prickle on my back. As if every single muscle of his would be stuck in a deliberate frozen state, but my keen senses catch the tiny little movement as his fingers wrap a breath tighter around his biceps. And this simply gives the impression that he is forcing himself, against his nature, into a less threatening position than his instincts would like. Maybe my brain overthinks every little thing, but it's no coincidence that I honed my observational skills over the years. I see that something completely different lurks under the surface than what he lets on.

"This isn't common in many places." He states simply, but his remark doesn't throw me off in the slightest, because I'm also perfectly aware of this fact. That's why I'm so motivated to keep my place. "But Price seems to be a liberal leader." He notes almost only to himself, and his voice is full of fascination, as if he had just made a very profound statement. However, it bothers me much more, and it can suddenly turn my already sharpened mood into a more prickly one, when my clever little ears hear the breath of derision hidden in his tone. Others might not even notice it, or would attribute it to something completely insignificant, something that is not worth pointing out, but I have analyzed just enough people over the years to know that nothing is completely unconscious that is buried behind one's words.

And even I cannot explain the angry flame that kindles within me at the thought that this complete stranger is making such casual comments about the captain. Of course, I'm aware that Price is not an innocent virgin, nor a flawless saint who needs someone to protect his honor, but there is something viscerally infuriating about the way the hooded man turns to him with barely veiled criticism.

But, as the stagnant emptiness in my stomach tightens, I decide that I shouldn't engage in this conversation when my mind is dulled by the pull of hunger slowly coming to life. Nothing good will come of this irritation taking control of my brain, because I might say something that would give him a reason to leave behind his false peace and show what secret temper lies beneath the no less dangerous exterior.

"If you came here to provoke me, then don't waste your time." I sigh tiredly, and as the exhaustion screams in every corner of my body at the same time, I set off with renewed motivation towards the door, behind which the solitude awaits that I yearn for. "It won't work." I add, not even sparing him a last look, my eyes strictly fixed on the worn wood that hides my shelter. And once again, I have to note that he didn't come here by chance, because out of the countless possibilities, he managed to settle down right before the entrance where I'm heading, with almost measured accuracy.

"I didn't mean to insult you." He says plainly, and it's quite disturbing that there is still no obvious emotion in his tone, which makes him seem much less human than my nervous system finds comfortable. His statement doesn't seem like a lie, but my impatience grows with each passing minute, because I can't figure out what the hell is going on here. I could think that he only wanted to forge closer unity between our teams, but then I would have to be much more naive. In that case, he wouldn't have waited to catch me alone and without any witnesses to see whatever he was planning in that mysterious mind of his.

"You want to befriend me, perhaps?" I inquire with a malicious little smile on my face, and the sarcasm that nestles in my voice stings even in my ears. And I know it's not the smartest idea to taunt a guy who can tear me to pieces with his hands, but that didn't stop me even when I was mouthing back to Riley. And my sharp little tongue won't go on vacation when the starved tension working inside me rages in my head. "How nice of you." I sprinkle at the end, considering the whole tense conversation as closed, because no matter what reason he strayed here for, I don't want to talk it out with him now, when we are all too alone. And even though carefree mockery shines from every cell in me, my hands wrap around the doorknob too quickly when I finally arrive before my room. Because he may still not move from the place he has occupied until now, but the threatening aura that emanates from him like some uncontrollable, poisonous gas almost gnaws at my skin.

But before I have the chance to finally disappear into my little cave, so that I can finally be left alone with the suffering clinging to my insides with its nails, the floor behind me creaks and my fingers freeze on the metal as suddenly as if someone had poured a bucket of cold water in my neck. And for a suffocating moment, everything is shrouded in quietness, and there is such a silence between us that the crackling screams of the old house travel through the walls like an ominous melody.

"I liked what you did in the interrogation room." He utters, and it takes me a second to understand what kind of compliment he gave me due to the stress and the agony of the spasm that is slowly closing my intestines in an iron fist. And when the recognition penetrates my brain and I decode his words, I turn back to him with complete confusion, looking up at him with such shocked astonishment on my face that almost certainly paints a cartoon-like shock on my features. Because suddenly I can't find any logical explanation for how the thread of the conversation has led us to this point, and I can't discover any answers as to why he feels so comfortable around me that he can point this out to me so freely. What the hell?

"Excuse me?" The startled question breaks out of me, and I'm unable to hold back the surprise creeping into my voice, doubting for a fleeting moment whether I heard what he said correctly. But as soon as my eyes meet his, and I discover a glimmer resembling admiration in them, I’m completely dumbfounded. Because under other circumstances, my twisted little soul might even be touched by this unusual recognition, but I know all too well who is standing in front of me. And that makes the unexpected turn the situation took seem even more surreal.

"The bloodlust in your eyes was beautiful." He continues his grotesque praise, almost undisturbed, and as he takes a step towards me, I need the combined work of all my nerves in order not to back away from him, because the distrust drills itself into my brain that if I turn my back on him again, it will end very badly. Because I suddenly sense very well how unbelievably huge this man is, and as my troubled eyes reflexively run over him, I become painfully aware that if he attacks me, I won't be able to defend myself. "I doubt your friends could truly appreciate it." He claims, and now some deliberate malice creeps into his voice, which he doesn't even try to hide, thus clearly showing that he has been holding back his real thoughts until now very willingly.

But when my body breaks out of the paralyzed shock, and I get over the fact that he could crush all my bones to dust with a strong hug, then I finally have the brain capacity to understand what he shared with me so carelessly. And from this simple sentence, the alarm disappears from my mind, because it suddenly makes sense why he honored me with his presence. And as my mind realizes that this little discourse is about nothing but the rivalry that has existed since the very first moment our team met, then my little soul calms down in the blink of an eye, because no matter how terrifying the man may seem, according to this, he is driven by just as fallible and transparent motives like everyone else. And although it's very difficult for me to maintain my indifference due to the intrusion of hunger in my stomach, now that I know why he is so persistently interested in me, the doubt of the unknown disappears from my mind.

"Interesting deduction. But I'm afraid I don't care." I respond with utter disinterest, and as the line of a sardonic smile stretches across my lips, I see the first bewildered wrinkles appear around the skin covered with dark paint. And it's painfully obvious that he didn't expect this reaction, but believed that such a big and strong Hunter's kind approach would make me fall at his feet from the pleasure. But he is seriously mistaken if he thinks it's so pathetically easy to sweep me off my feet.

"You’re wasting your talent with them." He laments, and if I were a little more stupid, I would really believe the sympathy in his voice to be authentic, but even if he hadn't blown his disguise so irresponsibly, I would still see through his benevolence. Because I can tell when someone tries to manipulate me, especially if said someone does it half as skillfully as it would take to be a successful strategy against me.

And at other times, I might want to play with him verbally and continue this complicated moment, but when my stomach convulses with the pain tearing into me, then all my patience evaporates like the last sip of water in the desert. Every single one of my nerve cells is stretched to the point of breaking, and this straining ache makes my body braver than it should be, because the sooner I put an end to this extremely bizarre situation, the sooner I can collapse into my bed to finally rest a little in the embrace of the slow ache that spreads to every fiber of me. I quickly cross the distance of a few steps that are remaining between us, and my hand shoots out towards him with the speed of a venomous snake. It seems that he didn't expect my attack, because before he could react, my fingers close around the fabric covering his face, and as I pull him down to me with a movement that is perhaps more forceful than necessary, he obediently leans down to me, stumbling towards me, and I see genuine shock in his eyes.

"It's unnecessary to try to flatter me." I murmur with deceptive kindness, and it seems that I managed to stun him so much with my unexpected act that he even forgets to protest, because he almost dazedly lets me intrude into his personal space to finally have stare off with him without him towering over me. And although it seems that his spine bends in rather uncomfortable positions in order for me to do this, it only makes the contemptuous grin on my face grow wider. "I know this is all about measuring who's dick is bigger. They have something that you don't and it hurts your ego. It's sad, but you'll have to live with it." I curve my mouth downward pitifully, savoring every single emotion that flashes through his eyes. But as soon as I see one of the gloved hands moving in my periphery, I let go of his hood with nonchalant ease and dance away from him in order to return to my door and open it again. "I recommend that you focus more on the mission. A lot of credit is at stake, isn't it?" I throw my last words at him from the threshold, and as I enter the embrace of the darkness of the small room, I have one last chance to catch his gaze stopping on me as he straightens up, and I'm almost relieved when I'm hidden by the thick wood.

Because even though it was only for a few seconds, I saw something very dangerous flash in those bright eyes, and the warning voice waking up in my brain tells me that this is exactly how the predator stares at its slowly cornered prey. With curious hunger. And that makes me realize, even despite the pain that is slowly squeezing my stomach, that I have crossed an invisible border, which sooner or later will bring the trouble that I so enthusiastically sought out for myself. Wonderful.

50 notes · View notes

netflixenespanol-blog · 7 years ago

Text

Un nuevo Post ha sido publicado en Netflix en Español

Un nuevo Post ha sido publicado en http://netflixenespanol.com/2017/10/11/titulos-agregados-recientemente-netflix-america-latina-primera-semana-octubre-2017/

Títulos Agregados Recientemente a Netflix en América Latina: Primera semana de octubre 2017

Te pasamos la lista completa de las 60 Series, Películas y Documentales que ingresaron en la primera semana de octubre 2017 al catálogo de Netflix en América Latina:

2 Alone in Paris Un policía de París está decidido a capturar al ladrón experto que constantemente se le escapa, incluso siendo los dos últimos hombres en la Tierra. 26 Years Veintiséis años después de la masacre de 1980 en Gwangju, Corea del Sur, tres parientes de las víctimas se unen para vengarse del infame culpable.

Alcanzando el Ápex Brad Pitt narra esta crónica de seis de los más rápidos motociclistas de MotoGP mientras compiten en el campeonato mundial.

Amor a segunda vista Después de una noche de decisiones apresuradas, dos amantes ocasionales quedan atrapados en un pequeño departamento mientras se avecina una terrible tormenta de

Beautiful Sunday Un detective quien conspira con una banda de narcotráfico para pagar la cuenta de su mujer en el hospital recibe una visita de alguien que confiesa un asesinato.

Bienvenidos a Dongmakgol En un pueblo remoto de Corea asolado por la guerra, el destino unirá a un piloto de combate estadounidense, a tres soldados norcoreanos y a dos soldados surcoreanos.

Bienvenidos a mi mundo Una mujer con problemas psiquiátricos gana la lotería y usa para crear y protagonizar un loco programa de entrevistas. Y se convierte en una sensación.

Brujerías Una niña se embarca en una misión de rescate cuando una corporación del mal secuestra a su abuela curandera para sacarle sus recetas.

Cart Las trabajadoras de un gran almacén inician una protesta por las pésimas políticas laborales de su empleador después de un despido masivo injustificado.

Designated Survivor (Temporada 2) Kiefer Sutherland En este thriller político, el destino de Estados Unidos está en manos de un funcionario de segunda línea cuando un ataque a Washington diezma al Gobierno.

El juego de Gerald Bruce Greenwood y Carla Gugino El juego sexual de su marido sale mal y Jessie, esposada a la cama en una casa recluida, enfrenta visiones retorcidas, secretos oscuros y una difícil elección.

El verano de sus vidas Morgan Freeman Un autor agotado renueva su pasión y creatividad cuando se muda a Belle Isle y se hace amigo de una mujer soltera y sus tres hijas.

Encuentro subterráneo Una serie de desastres en la gran ciudad levan a un aspirante a profesor a un pueblo donde se enamora de una chica con orígenes misteriosos.

Enemigo a las puertas Jude Law En este drama de suspenso, el francotirador soviético Vassili Zaitsev se enfrenta a su homólogo, el mayor König, en una batalla campal de astucia y precisión.

Equestria Girls: Tales of Canterlot High (Temporada 1) Las ponis se han convertido en chicas en el universo alternativo de Equestria y deben aprender a ser humanas mientras asisten a la escuela Canterlot.

Es por tu bien Tres cuñados unen fuerzas para deshacerse de los novios indeseables de sus hijas: el anarquista Álex, el chico malo Dani y el playboy Ernesto.

Fabuloso vocabulario (Temporada 3) ¡Conoce a los cuatro animalitos bebés que te invitan a su fiesta para que los ayudes a aprender!

Forever the Moment Basado en una historia real, este drama cuenta la historia del equipo femenil de balonmano de Corea y su complicada llegada a las olimpiadas de verano de 2004.

Franca: Chaos and Creation Un documentalista narra la vida de su madre, Franca Sozzani, editora de Vogue Italia y punto de referencia de la moda en el mundo.

Generation Iron 2 La nueva generación de estrellas del fisiculturismo, incluyendo a Rich Piana, Kai Greene y Calum von Moger, comparten sus experiencias en este exigente deporte.

Ghost Patrol Dos jóvenes y su perro empiezan a investigar una vieja casona y pronto se dan cuenta de que es su primer caso de una verdadera casa encantada.

Gravity Falls (Temporada 2) Two kids are disappointed to spend the summer with their crusty old great uncle, but his town in Oregon turns out to be a strange and wondrous place.

Ice Guardians Esta película explora el controvertido papel de los “matones” del hockey sobre hielo y el desgaste físico y mental que implica para los más duros de este deporte.

ID-0 (Temporada 1) Maya Mikuri, estudiante de la academia de la Alianza, hacía un ejercicio con robots en el campo cuando se vio lanzada a una aventura totalmente inesperada.

I’m in Love with a Church Girl Un extraficante de drogas se enamora de una hermosa y devota mujer, y esa atracción los lleva por un sinuoso camino.

Inseparable Li está al borde del suicidio debido a sus problemas personales y laborales, hasta que su vecino extranjero le da un nuevo sentido a su vida.

Instinto Cuba Gooding Jr., Anthony Hopkins y Donald Sutherland Un antropólogo especialista en gorilas asesina a dos cazadores furtivos y queda internado en una institución donde un psiquiatra intentará descifrar su comportamiento.

It Was Fifty Years Ago Today! The Beatles: Sgt. Pepper and Beyond Rockumental sobre la creación de uno de los álbumes de los Beatles más emblemáticos de la historia, con imágenes de archivo exclusivas.

Jackass: Numero Dos Johnny Knoxville y su equipo ponen a prueba su dignidad y enfrentan el peligro en esta secuela donde lo asqueroso predomina.

La Leona Nació con una enfermedad que le hace crecer pelo en todo el cuerpo, pero nunca baja los brazos por ser diferente.

La muerte y la vida de Marsha P. Johnson Mientras enfrenta la ola de violencia contra las mujeres transgénero, la activista Victoria Cruz investiga la sospechosa muerte de su amiga Marsha P. Johnson en 1992.

La pareja perfecta Mientras persigue a un ladrón, el detective Kang recibe, por accidente, una puñalada de la periodista Choi, lo que da inicio una alianza complicada pero formidable.

Leyendas de Oz: El Regreso de Dorothy Dan Aykroyd y Jim Belushi En esta secuela animada, Dorothy regresa a Oz para ayudar al espantapájaros, al hombre de hojalata y al león cobarde a escapar del malvado Jester.

Locos por los votos Dan Aykroyd y Will Ferrell Los trapos sucios se ventilan cuando un contendiente nuevo, respaldado por dos benefactores en contubernio, va contra un congresista experimentado de Carolina del Norte.

Long Shot Lo arrestaron por un asesinato que no cometió. Ahora prepara su defensa basándose en el material sin editar de un popular programa de TV.

Los diez mandamientos Charlton Heston, Anne Baxter y Yul Brynner La historia de Moisés, el príncipe egipcio convertido en el profeta de los judíos, cobra vida en esta épica adaptación del director Cecil B. DeMille.

Los Elegidos Una escapada a un lago se convierte en una lucha por sobrevivir cuando cinco amigos descubren una invasión alienígena y un secuestro en masa.

Maratón Esta película, basada en la vida del surcoreano Bae Hyeong-jin, acompaña a Cho-Won, un joven autista que sueña con correr un maratón.

Marrying the Mafia 2 La Sra. Hong, jefa de una familia mafiosa, le ordena a su hijo que encuentre a una esposa, pero la joven de quien se enamora esconde un gran secreto.

Mátame Tres Veces Un asesino sale a la caza de su blanco en un pequeño pueblo costero, pero el trabajo se le complica conforme se involucra en una historia de venganza.

Mr. Housewife Tras gastar los ahorros de su familia en una estafa, un señor encargado de su casa compite en un programa sobre el trabajo doméstico para ganar dinero.

Mr. Magoo Por un golpe de suerte, el miope Mr. Magoo se encuentra en posesión de una joya invaluable buscada por ladrones y policías.

Navidad con los Cooper Alan Arkin, John Goodman y Diane Keaton Sam y Charlotte Cooper están decididos a regalarle a su familia la Navidad perfecta, pero secretos de toda clase amenazan con apagar los buenos ánimos.

Next Friday El astuto y holgazán Craig Jones aún vive con sus padres en el centro de Los Ángeles cuando descubre que su archienemigo se fugó de prisión.

Office Para atrapar a un gerente de ventas que se fugó tras asesinar a su familia, un detective decide investigar a sus colegas, que parecen estar ocultando algo.

Out of Thin Air Seis personas condenadas por dos extraños asesinatos en Islandia. Cuarenta años después, un inquietante documental prueba que las confesiones no siempre son confiables.

Pasión y baile Tras la muerte de su madre, una bailarina renuncia a su sueño de asistir a Juilliard y acaba en una escuela urbana cuyo ambiente le es completamente extraño.

Peaky Blinders (Temporadas 1 a 3) En 1919, en Inglaterra, una conocida banda de Birmingham es liderada por Thomas Shelby, un jefe del crimen empeñado a avanzar en el mundo sin importar el costo.

Restless Creature: Wendy Whelan Después de 30 años con el ballet de Nueva York, la reconocida bailarina Wendy Whelan se redefine como artista en una nueva etapa de su vida.

Rodney Carrington: Here Comes the Truth El comediante Rodney Carrington bromea y canta sobre la vida en los cuarenta, subir de peso, el sexo y las relaciones.

Running Turtle Un policía se lanza a la cacería del fugitivo que le robó las ganancias de sus apuestas como último recurso para no perder a su familia, su empleo… ni su dignidad.

Running Wild Un fiscal que cumple las reglas se une con un detective que las rompe para atrapar a un poderoso gánster con conexiones mortales.

Security Un exmarine toma un empleo como guardia de un centro comercial y debe proteger a una niña perseguida por un grupo de mercenarios armados hasta los dientes.

Skylanders Academy (Temporada 2) Serie animada sobre un desparejo grupo de héroes recién graduados que se aventuran en el vasto universo para proteger al mundo del mal.

Suburra: Sangre sobre Roma En 2008, la lucha por un pueblo costero cercano a Roma se transforma en una batalla campal entre el crimen organizado, políticos corruptos y el Vaticano.

The Story of Diana Conoce la impresionante trayectoria de vida y las batallas privadas de la princesa Diana a través de entrevistas con su hermano y otras personas cercanas a ella.

Terminator: Génesis Arnold Schwarzenegger Treinta años después del día del juicio, John Connor envía a un amigo al pasado para salvar a su madre y detener el gran incendio, pero no sabe que las cosas cambiaron.

The Bounce Back Un famoso gurú de relaciones y una terapeuta con posturas opuestas cruzan sus caminos en una gira promocional y, de pronto, al verse, ya no se sienten tan lejos…

The President’s Barber El barbero personal del presidente, al igual que su esposa y su único hijo, quedan atrapados en el escándalo político que envolvió a Corea del Sur a fines de los noventa.

The Scarlet Letter Después de que asignan a un detective a un nuevo caso de homicidio, su vida profesional y sus amoríos secretos chocan peligrosamente.

Una aventura con mi ex Pierce Brosnan y Emma Thompson Una pareja divorciada se alía para dar un golpe en la Costa Azul y así vengarse del financiero que hizo evaporar sus planes de retiro.

Verónica Una solitaria psicóloga acepta tratar a una paciente en su remota cabaña. Allí ambas pondrán a prueba los límites de la otra.

Ver también:

Maratones en Netflix!

Estrenos de Netflix en América Latina para Octubre 2017

Estrenos de Netflix en Estados Unidos para Octubre 2017

#Documentales #Estrenos Mensuales #Netflix #Películas #Series

0 notes

symbianosgames · 8 years ago

Link

Kehrt Arthas als Lich König zu World of WarCraft zurück? Das behauptet zumindest ein Spieler, das Gerücht klingt aber wenig glaubwürdig.

Zum Thema World of Warcraft ab 1,56 € bei Amazon.de Es war der Zenit von World of Warcraft, zumindest in Bezug auf den Spielerhöchststand: Wrath of the Lich King dürften viele Spieler in bester Erinnerung haben. Und während das beliebte Addon Burning Crusade in Legion stark referenziert wird, hoffen einige Fans bei der nächsten Erweiterung auf Rückbezüge und Ähnlichkeiten zu Wrath of the Lich King.

Nach der Geschichte eines Spielers dürfte dieser Wunsch bald wahr werden: Das nächste Addon soll angeblich »Return of the Lich King« heißen und sich rund um den eisigen Kontinent Nordend drehen. Allerdings ist das Gerücht bereits vom Start weg mit der heißen Nadel gestrickt und tauchte vor einer Veröffentlichung im WoW-Forum zunächst im Forum von MMO-Champion auf, wobei dort auf Reddit verwiesen wird. Und die Reddit-Quelle sei bereits gelöscht worden.

Das soll drinstecken

Eine Feature-Übersicht des angeblichen Expansion Packs:

Maximalstufe: 120

Neue Heldenklasse: Totenbeschwörer (Tank: Boneweaver, Heiler: Soulstealer, Schaden: Torment)

Neue Rassen: Vrykule und Oger

Nordend kriegt eine komplette Überarbeitung, sieben neue Zonen wie Nazjatar (Hauptstadt der Naga) und Azjol-Nerub warten

Fliegen sei in allen alten Zonen ab Start möglich, für die neuen Gebiete muss die Flugfähigkeit aber erst freigespielt werden

Die alten Nordend-Zonen sollen von Level 70 bis 120 skalieren und damit die Erweiterungsgebiete von Catacylsm, Pandaria, Warlords of Draenor und Legion obsolet machen

Dalaran bleibt die Hauptstadt, Ordenshallen bleiben erhalten und die Artefaktwaffen werden ausgebaut

Die Nordend-Instanz Ulduar kriegt, wie Karazhan in Legion, eine Überarbeitung als 5-Mann-Instanz

Zehn Instanzen soll es geben, als Raids bestätigt der User The Black Forest (mit dem Endboss N'Zoth) und Xalramas (mit dem Endboss Leonas Menethil, der Arthas Neffe sein soll)

Cinematic

Der angebliche Leak umfasst auch noch eine Beschreibung des angeblichen Renderfilms zu Return of the Lich King. Der Totenbeschwörer Kel'Thuzad ist zurück in Nordend und löscht den aktuellen Lichkönig Bolvar aus, um die Krone auf den mitgebrachten Leichnam von Arthas zu platzieren. Der soll dann in der letzten Einstellung dramatisch die Augen aufreißen.

Zu diesen wirklich umfangreichen Leak kommt eine angebliche Namenssicherung von Return of the Lich King hinzu. Allerdings fragen sich auch unsere Kollegen von Buffed, ob es wirklich einen solchen Antrag gibt.

Hier die Antwort: Nein. Weder beim US-Patentamt, noch vor dem hiesigen EUIPO hat sich Blizzard die Rechte gesichert. Die Geschichte geht ebenfalls auf einen angeblichen Leak auf Reddit zurück, der auf das Forum von MMO-Champions verlinkt, welches wiederum auf Reddit zurück verlinkt. Eine Originalquelle der Behauptung gibt es nicht, die Geschichte dreht sich im Kreis.

Blizzard halt die Rechte an Marken wie Overwatch und einzelnen Begriffen wie »Compete«, aber nicht an »Return of the Lich King«.

Wenig glaubhaft

Deswegen dürfte das Gerücht wohl nicht viel mehr als der Fantasie eines Fans mit viel Freizeit entsprungen sein. Neben der außergewöhnlichen Menge an geleakten Informationen zwischen verschiedenen Blizzard-Sparten, die wohl kaum ein einzelner Mitarbeiter alle kennen wird, liest sich der Inhalt stark nach Wunschdenken.

Eine völlige Entwertung aller bisherigen Addon-Inhalte (bis auf Burning Crusade und Nordend) durch die Skalierung der Inhalte zwischen 70 und 120 klingt ebenso wenig glaubhaft. Genauso verhält es sich mit der schieren Menge an Content: Neue Rassen, eine Klasse und eine Nordend-Überarbeitung zusammen mit komplett neuen Gebieten ist deutlich mehr, als Blizzard üblicherweise in ihre Erweiterungspakete steckt.

Auch Story-Details wie die Existenz eines angeblichen Leonas Menethil wirken unglaubwürdig. Es ist bisher nicht bekannt, dass Arthas Schwester Calia (die in der Priesterordenshalle herumsteht) einen Sohn haben soll, der als Untoter an der Seite von Arthas dient.

Und: Blizzard würde das Versprechen brechen, dass Artefaktwaffen ein exklusives Legion-Feature bleiben und im nächsten Addon nicht mehr auftauchen. Unter dem Strich ist das Gerücht also mit mehr als nur Vorsicht zu genießen, einige Punkte sind schwer nachvollziehbar. Außerdem gibt es wiederum kein einziges Argument, dass dieser Leak in irgendeiner Form echt sein könnte - bis auf die unbestrittene Popularität von Arthas bei den WoW-Fans.

Bild 1 von 13

« zurück | weiter »

#IFTTT #Blogger

0 notes

dovithedarklord · 1 year ago

Text

Age of Mosters - Chapter Sixteen

Pairing: OFC x Simon "Ghost" Riley, OFC x König

Trigger Warning: The story will contain violance, blood and smut in detail. Please, keep that in mind!

⚠️MDNI⚠️

...................................

Author's Note

The small team uncovers interesting clues, and Leona has the opportunity to get to know the new helpers during action.

Hello! :D

I apologize for disappearing, but I was forced to move and the last few weeks weren't exactly easy because of that:') But now I returned and I'm back to posting more regularly!

I have a lot of trigger warnings for today's chapter, please take it seriously! TW: Blood and gore, death, violence, mentions of rape, mentions of abuse, mentions of violence against minors, torture, body horror.

All this brutality has a purpose, but we have to suffer it through first to be able to see it!

Have fun!

I.M.L. - Infected mammalian lifeform. I.H.L. - Infected humanoid lifeform.

if you're interested you can find the story on AO3: Chapter Sixteen

......................................

Stormy wind blows the cool raindrops falling from the dark clouds in my face, and I'm only fleetingly aware of how the bony fingers of the dry branches sticking out of the wild vegetation dig into the straps of my uniform, as I cautiously advance towards the target despite the increasingly hostile siege of the weather. Once there was a vineyard of poetic beauty here, where people retreated from all the hustle and bustle of everyday life, and could immerse themselves in comfortable relaxation and enjoy every expensive drop of the wine sold at a price of gold, away from the big cities. However, fifty years of desolation have left nothing but an overgrown jungle of vines and an endless sea of weeds that envelop them in a suffocating embrace. But this abandoned garden still serves a good purpose, because it benevolently hides all the members of our small team heading towards the huge building resting in the middle of the large estate. And we need all the kind help of nature, because even this can hardly cover the two huge men at the head of our group.

It can't be denied that after our little trio arrived at the scene of our latest adventure, the matters started moving surprisingly quickly, after the Hunter, König, shared with us all the juicy information that he so sweetly extracted from the unfortunate gang member, who they seemingly pulled out of nowhere. After explaining the coordinates, he offered the plan at least at such a fast pace, putting the whole action together with the kind of practicality that can be expected from a member of a KorTac-like, well-oiled machine. And although the fast progression of events meant only positive news for us, but I know that I wasn't the only one who had mixed feelings and came to the rather suspicion-filled realization about what financial motivation lies behind our new team's enthusiasm.

And despite the professionalism with which my two companions move together with our new helpers and their hardworking soldiers, even through the curtain of the pouring rain, I can easily make out the tension that sits in the jacket-covered shoulders of MacTavish, who strides in front of me. Maybe I would think him crazy if he wouldn't be in a flap regarding the success of our mission, since the peace of our already fragile life depends on it, but I have the sneaking suspicion that for once it's not just our operation, twisting into increasingly complicated subplots, that is responsible for the uneasiness that lingers in him and his masked bosom friend.

My bright eyes are inevitably drawn to the huge figure, who cuts through the tangled cavalcade of overgrown plant life as if it were nothing more to him than a few unruly blades of grass, breaking down the army of twigs in front of him with a few careless movements of his long hands, as he moves forward with the purposefulness of a bulldozer. It’s not an exaggeration to say that the man with a rather German-sounding name and dressed in a strange hood successfully planted the sounds of caution in my mind from the very first moment, because even though he is now an ally to us, it wasn't by chance that Shepherd hired another SSS-class fighter to play babysitter on our mission overflowing with sensitive information. The old bastard wanted to play safe by giving Riley a playmate from his own weight group, and if there is even an iota of truth to my intuition that the two mercenaries will also include a very open ear for us along with their helping hand, then in addition to finding the serum we also have to make sure that they don't stab us in the back and inform the old man about every breath we take. Because that would be the logical step if the leader of the colony wanted complete discretion. That he silences us, who know an embarrassing amount about his rather criminal dealings. And who else would be more suitable for this chore than two killers abundantly loaded with credits, who present just the right challenge to my partners.

It's enough for me to glance at the masked Hunter, who is lurking not far behind the guy who resembles a smaller yeti, and his hand clenched on his weapon says enough about how comfortable he feels in the newly established set-up. Of course, those who are in deep shit shouldn't be picky when fate takes pity on them, but I can understand why this terrifying man is still troubled by the fact that the big boss has given us friends who would be able to give him a hard time too. I know that these thoughts have crossed his mind as well, and that is precisely why he remains in his colleague's heels like an ineradicable shadow. Because he wants to be the first to cut his throat if he tries anything even remotely suspicious.

During the raging storm, the few minutes seem like decades until we reach the end of the rows of grapes, and the line of a beaten stone fence appears in the wind-torn, knee-high grass. I obediently follow the Scottish Hunter, who kneels behind the low wall on the muddy ground, and almost immediately takes a closer look at the remains of the hotel stretching out in front of us, that once served as the site of expensive vacations. I have to admit that the bastard who leads the separatist group has pretty good taste, because even though all that's left of the once-luxurious comfort is a battered, empty skeleton, it's still just inviting enough to be suitable for hiding. But what’s perhaps even more remarkable is that, according to König, these people chose the imposing hideout not only because of the nostalgia that reminds them of the prosperity of the old days, but also because even though this den is located right in the middle of the red zone, yet it’s conveniently far from any well-known nest. Of course, this mystery could easily be explained by the fact that such a wandering troupe gains a lot of useful experience when roaming in the wilderness, but they have avoided danger too skillfully so far for it to be a mere lucky coincidence. At the head of this gang is someone who, like Valeria, has just enough experience to avoid the watchful eyes of the authorities and the sharp claws of mutants. Terribly interesting.

"That's the back door. We'll enter there." I hear the voice thick with an accent on the radio that breaks through the rustle of the wind, and I only peer at our hooded tour guide from the corner of my eye. And I'm once again reminded of the sheer size of the hired Hunter, because even though he shrunk himself down to the smallest possible size to the best of his capabilities, his broad shoulders still peek out spectacularly from the cover of the fence. And unlike Riley, whose enticingly massive measurements fill me mostly with excitement, König's stature plants dozens of sinister thoughts in my skull. My masked companion has also been blessed by nature and the kind genes of his species with a figure that commands authority, but our new mate surpasses even that. And I can't shake the suspicion that he uses this magnificent physique with the efficiency of a living weapon, which I have no problem with as long as he doesn't want to test his unparalleled skills against us. I warmly advise him not to do this, because due to the sea of crap that I experienced in these last few weeks, my stimulus threshold has decreased just enough to kill him after the first bad movement. Even if I have to be smart about it.

"It's not that heavely protected." Comes the curt observation from Riley, and now I direct my eyes toward the target in front of us instead of studying our new teammate, because it would be timely for me to dedicate my brain capacity to the mission as well. And at first glance, the whole place exudes a deceptive desertedness, but I dont let the apparent immobility mislead me. Because I immediately understand what the masked man saw so keenly. It's enough to observe the dark figures appearing through the cracks of the boarded-up windows to know that, although the vagaries of the weather are in our favor and there are no more guards than necessary, but inside it’s not certain that we will be so lucky. The task is made even more difficult by the fact that we have to catch the main bastard, because based on the information forced out from the weakest link, none of his subordinates was sufficiently informed about the group's business affairs to be able to spill wherever our stolen serum may be.

"Let's go." König immediately takes the initiative, and even before he would wait for his idea to be acknowledged, he springs up and jumps over the stone wall with such ease, as if our improvised hiding place, which is at least waist-high for me, would be nothing more than a small inconvenience that can easily be crossed.

However, there is no time to hesitate, because as soon as the man, burning with the fever of readiness to get into action, takes the first few meters on the quite open field covered with overgrown grass, he is almost immediately followed by Horangi and his stern-eyed men, leaving us no chance to wait around either. And all I need is a quick glance at the masked Hunter swinging over the wall to know, that the leadership role that his new colleague arbitrarily seized for himself is not really to his taste. Because although he doesn't voice his displeasure with a single word, I have observed him just enough to recognize the tension in his heavy steps. He has enough sense of duty to endure frustration for the sake of our goal, but I know that this charming patience won't last forever. And I have a feeling that this whole impossible situation is getting on his nerves enough to lure his less diplomatic self out of him. He will work together as long as he has to, but not for a minute longer. What a rosy outlook.

Just as MacTavish moves next to me, suppressing a tired sigh under his breath, and nimbly leaps over the fence after his bosom friend, then I finally pull myself together and throw my weapon on my back to swing myself to the other side, following the Scotsman. We cross the few narrow meters that separate us from the building at lightning speed, and I thank the increasingly fierce storm, because we would otherwise be embarrassingly easy targets even in this short distance. And the fact that the surrounding area of the structure is so easy to keep an eye on raises the suspicion in me again, that it could only have been designated as a temporary accommodation by someone who had enough experience to know what difficulty the long grassy wasteland poses for a curious wanderer trying to get close to it. And this makes me more and more curious as to who might be at the head of the separatists, because all their actions so far indicate that they aren't just a simple criminal.

In front of the beat-down entrance, the soldiers wait for the instructions of their leader, who, when he is sure that we have arrived successfully, opens the door without a second of delay and charges forward with decisiveness, raising his weapon in front of him, closely followed by his Korean comrade, who lets us know with just a wave that we'd better follow their example, if we don't want to fail prematurely by waiting around in the doorstep. Although I'm not particularly impressed by the behavior of the two men, but based on the expression on the faces of my two friends, I can be sure that they do not share my lack of interest. This may not be the first time they have had to work with strangers, and maybe it wouldn't hurt their egos to not be in control of the whole operation, but it's all the more likely that they will be at least as comfortable tolerating this treatment from Shepherd's men as if someone were pulling their teeth out. And I strongly hope, praying to any higher authority listening, that this whole circus doesn't turn into a dick-measuring contest in the middle of a world-shattering event, because even Riley, who keeps his cool very skillfully, won't tolerate it without saying a word.

My boots land on the worn marble floor with a wet thump, when, at the end of the line, I cross the threshold into the embrace of the dark little corridor, and my nose is hit almost immediately by the musty smell of mold spreading on the damp walls. Despite the late spring weather, the whole place radiates an unfriendly coldness, and as the intrusive caress of the breeze blowing through the vacant building penetrates my soaked clothes, goosebumps erupt on my back instinctively. The huge house looks lifeless enough to fool the less experienced travelers, but my eyes aren’t the only ones who notice the mud-covered footprints on the dirty stone, which spread along the hallway shrouded in darkness. According to this, these bastards are tough enough to kill civilians, but they prefer to hide from a small thunderstorm within the four walls, even if they voluntarily let the attackers into their dwelling by doing it. I wasn't wrong about these thieves being cruel, but far more stupid than it would first appear.

We start silently towards the depths of the hotel, and the hooded man leading the way guides us to the source of the dull light coming from a distance, dictating a slow but all the more determined pace, with such a soundless softness compared to his height, like a predator scouting for prey. And his caution soon pays off, because as soon as he reaches the end of the passageway, a guy dressed in ragged combat gear appears in the small room before us, who notices the danger coming towards him too late. Because when he breaks away from his deep conversation on the radio and glances towards us, König ia already in front of him with impossible speed, crossing the distance between him and his victim with three wide steps with his long legs. And before the bandit could react, and would be able to open his mouth and alarm his companions, by then, a huge hand already lands on his face, and swallowing the startled shock, which crawls there with instinctive speed when he realizes that he has fallen into the grasp of a giant. But he doesn't even have time to understand what is happening, because with the momentum with which he galloped towards him, the Hunter rams the criminal, frozen in stunned terror, against the nearest wall just as easily. And even if he wanted to, he wouldn't be able to do anything about the attack, because as suddenly as it came, his attacker ends his life as quickly. The crack with which the helpless man's skull splits open when it meets the concrete is stomach-churning, and the once cream-colored plaster is turned into a grotesque painting by the bloody pieces of brain tissue bursting from the shattered bones. And I have to forcefully fight the stomach acid gathering in my throat, when an eyeball appears for a moment from between the gloved fingers, staring blankly at me before falling to the ground with the lifeless body, as it's released by its killer. But perhaps it enhances the discomfort in me even more when our new teammate turns towards us with such cold calmness, shaking off the shattered pieces of slimy meat stuck to his glove, as if he had not just crushed a person's head with his bare hands, but had just swatted a naughty fly.

And even though I know how powerful Hunters are, I can only drive away the surprise mixed with disgust on my face with great concentration, because this ruthlessness surpasses everything that my dark little mind has thought possible until now. It was definitely a successful way to silence someone, but even I can see that it wasn't about efficiency. Because, when he fixes his gaze on his men emerging from the corridor, and takes in the respect and fear that appears on their faces, even I can see the satisfaction with which his back straightens. And I don't need to know this brutal man to understand, that he eased the hunger of his own self-confidence with this gruesome but spectacular stunt.

And when I, behind Riley and MacTavish, wander into the small hall leading to what may be the staff passageways, I have the opportunity to observe the grim expression slowly taking shape on their faces as well. Perhaps they also feel that this presentation didn't only take place so that the soldiers know their place, but also carries an unspoken threat, with which their colleague lets them know that it would be advisable for them to behave well, because someone has joined their company who will be able to cause them problems even without activating his ability. Shepherd… you dirty fucker. You want us to remember that help can disappear quickly if we don't play by the rules. How awfully smart.

"We split up here. One team goes upstairs, the others search through the ground floor." König turns to our small group, still maintaining the noble task of managing the mission, gesturing with one hand to the stairs opening from the back of the place, and then to the corridors on both sides, facing each other. With his tall figure, he easily stands out from among us, as he quickly scans his men, looking for any brave volunteer who would not agree with his proposal. And when he only receives a curt but obedient nod, he turns towards us to find our trio, and his eyes settles on me inexplicably quickly, zeroing in on me with embarrassing speed. And this isn't the first time since our not-so-distant meeting that he has found me so enthusiastically. Ever since he stepped out of that cramped container used for interrogation, he discovers me from time to time again, as if there would be a fucking magnet stuck on my pretty little body, drawing his attention to me as soon as I'm within range.

And although every single one of my facial muscles melts into the determined mask of expressionlessness, as his gaze sinks into mine, a visceral uneasiness awakens in my stomach. Because although I knew from the first minute that we had to be on guard, since probably at the end of Shepherd's leash made of money they are only allies for us until their master orders them otherwise, but he slowly makes it very clear that both his demonstration of strength and his behavior serves as a warning. And it doesn't make me happy at all when I come to the painful realization that, unlike my two companions, I would have a harder time defending myself if our cooperation took a rough turn. I know that he can't harm me right now, since the success of the mission is too important for that, but the little voice in my brain tells me that I'd better watch out for him, because it doesn't mean anything good that he is keeping an eye on me so readily. I could chalk it up to the fact that, being a good Hunter, he is just afraid of the physical integrity of a valuable Extreme, if I'm so exotic, but I can't get rid of the small fleeting intuition that this is about something else. And I don't like the curious glimmer in those sky-blue eyes when I stubbornly raise my head. No matter how big you are, you will need a lot more than that to scare me.

"You're goin' upstairs with Soap." Riley suddenly speaks, thus breaking me out of the tense stare-down duel that I'm unconsciously engaging with the behemoth man, and I turn with the greatest joy to the masked Hunter, who lingers on his colleague for a dangerous moment, before turning his hard gaze on me. "Stay alert." He leans closer, covering us from the audience with his back, and even this small act speaks quite eloquently of how much trust he has for our new teammates. And I can't blame him for that, because even though we need all the help, none of us lost our minds from gratitude. Especially not him, who runs circles in his head similar to my paranoid brain, probably because he has too many bitter experiences behind him to be naive. He knows too, how sensitive this alliance is.

I only hold his gaze for a heartbeat longer, and that's enough to see the weariness lurking in his dark eyes, next to which my trained little senses recognize the tiny little light that seems quite concerned even to my mind struggling with colorful imagination. And after the busy events of the past few days, I don't necessarily feel delusional anymore when it occurs to me, that he will be worried not only about his bff, but also about my safety, when he starts his lonely journey in this ex-resort that has become a crime den. And this lures a faint, but still naughty little curve to my lips, with which I silently tell him that it will take a lot more than a couple of lowlife thieves to make me bite the dust. Unfortunately, no one gets rid of my mean little person that easily. Although I have a feeling that this caution is not for the criminals who roam the walls…

But even before I could come up with a particularly witty answer for him, a hand lands on my shoulder and directs my thoughts, which have strayed into inappropriate side tracks, to their owner. And as my Scottish friend bursts into my field of vision, clutching his gun, he motions with his head towards the stairs leading upstairs, showing quite obviously that it's time for us to get to work before the gang realizes what surprise is being prepared for them in secret.

"Come on, lassie. There are bastards we need to put some holes into." He reminds me, and the serious expression, that has been stubbornly clinging to his features since the beginning of our current outing, softens from the tiny line of the cheeky smile that moves to his stubble-framed mouth. And although it's possible that the circumstances of our alliance have made him more cautious, I know that he has by no means forgotten the many horrors, some of which he owes to the outlaws who loiter here. Even if our adventure in the city is not their making, the bloodshed caused in the research institute is, and I know the man well enough to know that the possibility of paying off some of the many painful promises is responsible for his enthusiasm. And I won't stand in his way for a minute.

"After you." I gesture with one of my hands towards the path leading up, thus handing over the stage to the Hunter to let him turn into the tour guide, if he is already buzzing with such energy. And he immediately seizes the opportunity, raising his assault rifle in front of him, to bid farewell to his masked bosom friend with a last meaningful nod, and head towards the stairs. And I obediently close up behind him with my weapon pointed forward ready to attack, glancing back at Riley once more before disappearing into the maze of spiraling steps. And perhaps it means nothing to an outside observer, as he raises his head and follows the progress of our little duo with unbroken persistence, but my senses, which are desperately quick to notice every small twitch of his, quickly discover the small wrinkles that appear around the painted skin around his eyes. And I can understand from this, that he is parting from us with an anxious heart, but he is much calmer when he can put a safe distance between us and our helpers who are slowly organizing themselves into smaller groups. He would rather be alone among the wolves than expose us to the same danger. And the unpleasant nervousness awakening in my stomach only hopes that the two mercenaries won’t feel like turning against us right now.

But before long, the small gathering disappears from my vision, as the steps continue to turn towards the upper floor, and we are swallowed up by the narrow staircase. The sound of our soaked boots is blessedly absorbed by the worn velvet carpet that runs along the stairs, thus enveloping our silently sneaking pair in a dangerous silence. And the higher we get, the stronger the suspicion gets in my head, because we get to the top floor too easily and undisturbed, as if no one had taken up residence within the walls of the abandoned facility. And although the massive building offers plenty of hiding places, these wretched vermins don't know they have guests, and this silence is far more ominous than what my paranoid mind can bear. That's why my fingers instinctively tighten around the grip of my gun, preparing to pump the very first suspicious shadow full of ammunition.

MacTavish pauses only for a moment at the end of the staircase to cautiously peer out from behind the wall looking for the enemy. And when he is certain it's safe to proceed and no unsuspecting gang members have appeared to attack, he gestures forward with his gloved hand, and I understand his silent request even from the small gesture and follow him as he steps out into the wide corridor framed by carved wood. Once upon a time, it was probably a fortune to pack this tasteful covering here, but now the thin cracks run along them like a spiderweb from the moisture and the iron teeth of time, replacing the former luxury with a ghostly atmosphere. However, it attracts my attention much more, and it also makes my Scottish friend wonder, where to go on the dark road, because each of the two paths opening towards the wings of the building has the same chance of hiding valuable targets.

But I don't have to think too much about where we should head next, for the man precedes me in discovery, and I merely raise one of my eyebrows in interest, when he closes his eyes and sniffs the stale air, like a hunting dog looking after the wounded prey. Although there is already a sassy comment on the tip of my tongue about his methods, he turns his head to the side surprisingly quickly, staring with such intensity at the dark corridor opening on the right, as if he really would be hot on the scent. His super-senses probably recognized the stench of the gangsters lurking between the walls quite accurately, because after flashing his blue eyes at me meaningfully, he sets off across the worn carpet with such determination as if he had actually found his prey.

And it soon becomes clear how effectively his abilities developed by nature detect the enemy, because as we get further into the narrow pathway, the faint noise of our steps is accompanied by the characteristic, soft murmur of human speech, which although doesn't uncovers the topic of the discourse, but reveals that there is more than one person waiting for us on the other side. A gloomy, gray light greets us as soon as we reach the end of the corridor, and following the Hunter's example, I lean against the cool wall, listening to the fragments of words drifting in our way. One of the members is probably wandering closer to us, because the conversation he is having with his friends is gradually becoming more audible, and although I don't know the context, I don't like what I can finally understand from it in the least.

"Take the bitch to the boss in two hours. Until then, do something to wake her up. She must be awake." Murmurs the deep male voice, and the disdain in his tone fills me with disgust without even knowing who he could be talking about so kindly. It's not only the tone that helps plant frustration in my brain, but also the fact that there are civilians here, probably not of their own volition, because it only makes our task more difficult. Because the whole mission quickly progresses from the initial capture of the main scum to hostage rescue. And it's clear from the muffled cursing coming out of MacTavish's mouth that he isn't particularly excited by this unexpected development, and if I have to judge only by the clenched curve of his jaw, then his already not-so-rosy mood is only getting worse.

Based on his steps, the guy barking out his instructions gets closer to us, and when he comes into view at the mouth of the corridor, he stares at the two of us in puzzlement. But, when he could reach for the pistol resting on his belt, my friend with the mohawk springs into action, and cuts the throat of the man with a knife taken from his vest with deadly precision, before the guy would have the chance to alert what a pleasant new company his gang has got in our person. Like a waterfall set free, the blood gushes out of the wound, and with wide-open eyes, desperately gaping, he tries to press his palms to the slit, but the crimson liquid escapes unstoppably between his fingers, and my stomach tightens from the metallic smell. But it's more of a reflexive response than true hunger, and my eyes instinctively fixate on the delicacy that slowly drenches the man's jacket, then draws a dark puddle around him as he sprawls on the ground with one last choked gasp. And luckily for this wretch, because of my self-control and Riley's surprisingly nutritious blood, I don't feel the insatiable urge to crank up his agony with a nice little snacking.

"We're goin' in. On me." MacTavish says, gesturing towards the room with his head, and I nod, adjusting my finger on the trigger, giving him the kick-start to push forward with the determination of a true professional. And when he steps into the spacious room bathed in light, then, without hesitation, he aims at the scumbags that are hanging out there, immediately putting a bullet in the head of one of them, as soon as he jumps up to honor the surprise that we give them.

And emerging from behind his strong figure, I launch myself into the attack, and thanks to the many hours spent with suffering on the shooting range, it's much easier for me to shoot the big guy standing guard in front of the double doors on the other side of the hall, who, thanks to my clever little ambush, falls down to the pale blue tile with a pained scream. However, there is no time to pat myself on the back for my magnificent performance, because much sooner than that, another volunteer charges at me, swinging his knife at me to try to reshape my face. But the lack of coordination in his movements gives me enough time, and my body acts much faster. I bend down to get out of the way of the blade, and taking advantage of his surprise, I point the barrel of my gun at his stomach, so that I can reorganize his internal organs with my bullets at friendly close range. Warm blood splashes on my face, but it doesn't affect me one bit, because it gives me much more satisfaction to see him stagger backwards, with genuine shock on his face, like a wounded animal. I don't feel an iota of guilt, because they didn't show a shred of compassion when they were playing hide ans seek with the defenseless staff in the research institute. Fate gives everyone what they deserve. And I don't even want to deny that it fills me with great pleasure to be able to contribute to its vendetta.

It's all but a few minutes, and all the stray sounds of our incipient fight die down, leaving nothing but the angry pattering of the rain on windows stretching up to the ceiling on the side of the room. The Scottish Hunter finishes off the last bandit as I straighten up and turn around to see how many enemies he has left me. He effortlessly pulls out the knife from the head of a bald man, which he could have sunk into his skull up to the hilt with an impossible force, and then, wiping the blade with a careless movement, steps back, allowing the lifeless body to fall into the empty pool in the middle of the room. And as it lands with a dull thud, it kicks up decades old dirt that has gathered in dirty stains on the dried, mosaic-like tiles.

"There is something behind the door that was worth being protected." I conclude as I take a look at the unmoving criminals spread out on the floor, quickly counting all eight that have got together so intimately in this cozy little hall. And since I suspect that they didn't gather among the remains of the indoor swimming pool because of nostalgia for the past, therefore they could only try to hide something very interesting behind that door, in front of which now lies the still corpse of the humongous gang member I shot.

"Probably the hostages." MacTavish notes walking beside me, his blue eyes fixed on the tastefully crafted solid wood entrance, slowly sliding his knife back into its pouch resting on his shoulder strap. And there is no mistake in his assumption, because it has already come to light that at least one person is being held captive in this magnificent shithole. But even if a dozen defenseless civilians were locked up here, far fewer armed guards would have been enough to keep them in check, especially if they were so weakened that life had to be breathed into them by force. They were trying to protect something else with such fearful concern here.

"Fewer people would have been enough for that. There is something else there." I cast my significant gaze on my friend, and he turns his head to me with his eyebrows furrowed. But as our eyes meet, he understands without words what I'm getting at. If something very important, say a super-secret chemical created by the government, is buried on the other side, then it's very reasonable for a bunch of guards to stand by, vigilantly waiting to see if someone comes to retrieve it.

"Let's go." The Hunter sets off with renewed motivation, and I follow him with no less vigor, because the knowledge that the end of this fucking parade overflowing with chaos can be within arms reach makes my steps much more faster. We cross the room briskly, so that when we reach the threshold of our next goal, I step over the bloodied man lying there and smooth my hand on the doorknob, glancing expectantly at the Hunter. And when he pulls himself together with his assault rifle raised and nods towards me, ready to attack, I push the door open with a decisive movement and let MacTavish charge forward, who rushes past me immediately.

But as I enter as well, and the spacious suite is revealed to me, I'm greeted by nothing but silence and a multitude of unknown crates, which are piled next to each other in rough irregularity, covering the space of a room that was once worth a fortune. And I don't have to tear any of them open to know what's in them, because the smell of gunpowder permeates the air like a disease. Lowering his weapon, the man with the mohawk ventures further into the room, opening one of the large boxes with bewilderment, and when I catch a glimpse of the metallic shine of the almost untouched rifles in it, I'm overcome with confusion similar to my friend's. I expected to find a couple of questionable, but all the more valuable items, but the absence of the hostages, and especially the lack of the serum, raises a series of dangerous questions in my head. Why was it necessary to protect stolen firearms so enthusiastically? Of course, I understand that goods have to be protected, but they can't just walk away, can they?

But when a disapproving grunt-like voice erupts from my Scottish companion, I quickly understand what could have needed such an awful lot of protection besides the rifles. As soon as the first bag full of white powder is found in another opened box, it becomes very obvious that these bandits got their hands on everything that could be used to bring in even the smallest amount of credits. So it's not so surprising that they were willing to cross the wilderness teeming with mutants and slaughter a whole group of unsuspecting researchers for the sake of profit. Of course, that still leaves one question open. Where are the civilians?

But I don't have time to dwell on that, because a roaring bang shakes the building out of nowhere, sending fine plaster dust from the ceiling into my rain-drenched hair. I smooth the damp dirt from my face with the back of my hand, smearing the drops of blood there, only glancing questioningly at MacTavish, on whose face suddenly the apparent gloom deepens, as if he knows that this noise can only mean trouble. And without a doubt, it does, because when he rushes to one of the boarded-up windows and peeks through the gap, he reaches for his radio in the middle of cussing.

"Ghost! What the hell is goin' on there?" He shouts into the device, and his deep voice is filled with such tension that I'm becoming more and more curious as to what his clever eyes could have seen in the yard that caused such concern on his face. But, as I walk towards him, a small, tormented whimper pierces through the chaos that has arisen, which reminds me more of the cry of a tortured animal than of a human being. And that instantly distracts me from the man and the troubling goings-on outside, as the uncomfortable pull in my stomach automatically directs my eyes to the single door on the side of the room.

"We found the target. It's a Hunter and he resists." Riley's hoarse baritone sounds in my ears, but the weight of the information doesn't reach my consciousness due to the noise of the alarm bells going off in my brain. I don't even register as the Hunter, hearing the new information, bursts out in colorful insults, because my legs instinctively take me towards my discovery, and with each step, the soft, muffled sobs become louder, which another voice tries to shush to silence.

"Woods, we have to go!" My partner suddenly calls out after me, but I don't even listen to his urging, because I'm already in front of the unknown entrance, and before he can inquire further about what the hell I'm doing, instead of rushing to the aid of our team with him, I already lock my fingers onto the doorknob and turn it without thinking, opening the wooden panel with a sudden movement.

And the blood freezes in my veins when I see what awaits me beyond the doorway. The light coming from behind me eerily paints the dim little bathroom, and licks at the figure of two strangers clinging to each other, backed into one of the corners. The boy, whose dirt-darkened face is smeared with lines of fresh tears, can't be more than fifteen, but a thousand years of pain and fear are concentrated in his eyes widening in alarm, as he curls up shivering in the embrace of protectively intertwined arms. The bony hands clenched around him bear the angry contours of several old wounds and dozens of seemingly new bruises, and even in spite of this, the woman, trembling, but all the more determined, pulls her protégé's body, weak from malnutrition, to her chest, saying with every cell that she will protect the poor kid even with her last breath. And as my eyes slide down to her ankles, where the thick shackles have rubbed spots blooming in black and purple, and then my gaze moves up and takes in the brownish scales of dried blood on the inside of her thighs, my stomach is clenched with such force by desperate rage that I can only forcefully hold back the scream that threatens to burst out of my throat. Because it doesn't take much logic to deduce who is held here in such high esteem when a Hunter is the leader of the whole fucking group.

"What the hell..." Comes the shocked question from MacTavish as he suddenly appears next to me, both of them flinching in fear at the man's voice. The boy starts to cry with renewed force, and the horrified sob that escapes from his chapped lips squeezes my insides as if someone had hit me in the stomach full force with a hammer. And this instinctively makes my hand reach back and motion to the Hunter to back away, and without taking my eyes off the pair I crouch down, laying my weapon on the ground with such caution as if with each movement I risked them disappearing into the shadows stretching behind them. And without a doubt, they would most likely want to do that, because the utterly distrustful look with which they follow me the entire time reveals that there is nothing else in this world that they wouldn't expect to hurt them, for they have already experienced so much misery.

"It's okay, you have nothing to fear. I'm a Healer too." I point to myself, and I try with every fiber of my being to move tenderness into my voice, which is difficult not because I rarely had to practice it, but because of the rage screaming in my brain, since I would rather gut the bastard who was capable of doing this. "I want to help. Don't be afraid."

And although the terror eases for a bit, with which they press themselves into the musty walls, but as the boy timidly pulls away from the woman a little, his bare legs emerge from under his outstretched T-shirt, and thus every desperate inch of his nakedness is revealed, then something quite terrifying, hot feeling flares up inside me. Because when I see the hand-like marks on his narrow, bony hips, the sure knowledge that the sick bastard who brought them here hasn’t spared any of them settles into my mind with a cruel force. And when my gaze, darkened by recognition, meets the woman's silent, distraught eyes, I can read from them that the horror that unfolded before me is only the tip of the iceberg. Fuck.

⃰

My legs take me almost automatically through the labyrinth of the unknown base, and even I'm surprised by how quickly I rush out into the yard, finding the familiar hangar and continuing my journey there. But my brain is too busy to have the energy to praise myself for my excellent orientation skills. Because every single nerve cell of mine is woven through with that icy rage that has nested itself in all the corners of my body like an infectious disease. And even if I wanted to, I wouldn't be able to overcome the destructive storm raging under the surface, because I still vividly remember what kind of injuries I discovered on the bodies of the two Healers when I finally treated them after we returned to the KorTac base with the separatist leader in our hands. The mission ended with a rapid success after the minor complication, and the knowledge that we are one step closer to finding the serum should cheer me up, but I felt their trembling under my own hands when I supported them out of that damned cesspool. And it isn't difficult to imagine what kind of treatment they received, if the boy was already clinging to me with fear when MacTavish tried to give him a coat. I saw in my mind's eye every single bone that had just been fused together, every single scar and bruise, and also the wounds that one can only suffer when a beast cannot command its fucking dick and stucks it into everything, it doesn't matter if the hole it found, what or who it belongs to.

I stare straight ahead as I enter the vast space of the hangar, and I'm only vaguely aware of how readily the soldiers passing by move out of my way when they see the frozen expression on my face. At other times, it might fill me with morbid joy to see what effect I can have on my environment, but now only one goal guides and directs me towards the container resting in the corner. I want to show that fucking sadistic bastard with my own hands, what kind of torture can drive a man to the point of begging for death.

But when I get close enough to the large metal cage, a strong figure appears in front of me almost out of nowhere, and it takes me a second to realize who is standing before me through the fog of fury raging in my head. The Korean man holds out one of his camo-clad hands in front of me, causing me to halt and take a deep breath, trying to muster every last spark of my self-control before I would jump on him with an inarticulate yell and help him stand aside.

"You can't go in, there's an interrogation going on." Horangi declares firmly, and even though I can't see his face, I can sense from his accent that he is very serious about his statement intended as an instruction. And maybe it's not customary for them to allow simple Healers to interfere in the busy work of the Hunters, but right now I don't care in the least what traditions and rules they keep here. Because my patience is hanging on by a thread, and every single obstacle that stands between me and my victim dangerously stretches my tolerance to the point of snapping.

"If you don't get out of my way, I'll kill you." I inform him without a flinch, and I flash my eyes at him with such a significant warning that even a brainless idiot would be able to understand that I'm one step away from sending him to the other world. And in any other case, maybe with my sharp tongue and brilliant mind, I would come up with a good little ploy to trick and manipulate him, but this isn't the point where I feel like wasting my precious time on such things.

He examines me silently for a moment, and I can almost hear the battle of arguments in his head, with which he considers how much it pays off for him to stand in my way now. He also knows that if he wanted to, he could easily overpower me, but I know that the murderous temper in my eyes promises him enough trouble if he insists on following the protocols. And it seems that my aura has become sinister enough to make him come around, because he steps aside with a staged sigh and folds his hands in front of his chest, turning his attention back to guarding instead.

"They don't pay enough for this." He grumbles almost to himself, shaking his head in resignation, but apart from the sounds of his complaining, does nothing to keep me back in my little action. And I only give him one last fleeting glance, and then without any further hesitation, I tear open the door perhaps more violently than necessary, because the anger pulsating in my muscles removes all caution from my limbs.

As the small room opens up in front of me, all eyes are fixed on me almost at the same time, my presence interrupting the important conversation spiced with violence that they are currently having. My senses catch the grimness with which Riley turns towards me, and if I were a little calmer, I would stop to analyze the force with which his fingers tighten around the knife clutched in his hand, as he studies the motionless look on my face more closely. But even though the Hunter attracts my attention, I can only focus on one person now, and he sits in the middle of the room on a battered chair with such superiority, as if he weren't surrounded by three mountain-sized men trained to kill. And even though König slowly grasps a hammer in his hands, which can mean nothing but pain to him, he has the strength to put a cocky grin on his face. And suddenly it becomes quite obvious that, in spite of the beating they gave this scumbag, they still haven't managed to get him to talk. Never mind. I'll handle this.

"Woods!" MacTavish turns to me, and from the concern in his voice, I can sense quite simply that now he doesn't want me to witness all this bloody fun in the least. And certainly not because he wants to spare my sensitive psyche from watching someone being tortured for information, but because he saw exactly the effect it had on me when I had the opportunity to admire the handiwork of this separatist bastard on his two victims.

Without a sound, I close the door of the interrogation room behind me, and it seems that our prisoner is slowly realizing that a new guest has arrived at the party organized in his honor. And as his eyes glide over me, and I discover in them the disgusting hunger with which such sick fucks usually ogle at their prey, then the anger pulsing inside me spreads to my limbs like lava. Because the first reflexive thought that pops into my mind is the body of the two Healers shaking with terror as this pair of filthy eyes stares at them from the threshold of their prison.

"You finally brought a hottie here!" Exclaims the bandit cheerfully, not even noticing how the masked Hunter takes a threatening step towards him because of this small remark, perhaps hoping that this will be enough to shut this idiot up. But it seems that although he is running a race with wisdom, unfortunately, it's still faster than him. Because if he had any sense, he wouldn't raise his head like an alpha male, and he would know what a tight spot he was in. "This is an Extreme! I've never fucked one before... Come here baby, let's talk!" He whistles to me, as if he was just trying to lure a dog to him, and there is no doubt that he doesn't regard my kind as more than pretty, useful little animals.

"Shut the fuck up!" MacTavish gets angry on my behalf, and shakes the leader of the separatists with such anger that the chair cries out with wild creak. And other times, I would feel the warmth rising in my stomach at my friend with the mohawk trying to protect me and my honor, but this turn of events awakens such a worrying joy in me that even I get scared for a minute. And I can clearly perceive the confusion on the face of the Scottish Hunter, when a seductive smile appears on my face suddenly in place of the icy anger, as I stroll closer to the stage with comfortable steps, where I will show the performance of my life.

"It's all right, Soap." I carelessly wave to the aforementioned person, and I can tell from the arch of his worriedly furrowing eyebrows, how much my mood, which took a one hundred and eighty turn, fills him with doubts. But soon he will understand what's going on, he doesn't have to be afraid. "You want to talk to me? You're in luck because I've been waiting for this opportunity. And now that you're sitting here all tied up like a gift... It all feels like a fucking miracle." I note, slowly running my hands along the line of my breasts hidden in my T-shirt, and the gaze of the captured criminal follows the path of my mischievous little fingers with such diligence, as if he were hypnotized. And it's likely the case, because it doesn't even register to him how unnatural is the carefree airiness with which I bypass a grim Riley, and with which I push König away with a soft touch, who, despite our brief acquaintance, backs up to the wall of the container without question.

"You have good taste, baby." The man grins with satisfaction, and it's easy to read from the superiority prevailing on his features that he really believes this to be true. He thinks he is a real jackpot, and I fell in love at first sight and danced in front of him, perhaps in the hope that such a big and strong Hunter boy would finally grace me with his attention. Because it's ridiculously obvious that according to his beliefs, a Healer is born only to serve. How cute.

However, when I arrive in front of him and lean forward, my hands slide onto his thighs, and my fingers sensually squeeze the flesh under the blood-stained fabric, then I see uncertainty run through his mind for a second. But that little spark that would prompt suspicion doesn't last long, because as I kneel between his legs tied to the chair, the two little brain cells that might still be functioning in his head go silent with alarming speed. His pupils dilate almost magically, and it's pathetic how his mouth hangs open as I slowly start massaging the tortured muscles with my palm. How terribly stupid.

"Why don't we play a little, hmm?" I ask softly, giving him a lustful look from under my eyelashes, conveying innocent longing to him with every cell, as if I had no greater desire in this world than to play with him. And it's true. It's an insignificant detail, that he and I are thinking of different kind of fun.

"Now?" The first recognizable wrinkles of doubt appear on his forehead, when reality suddenly penetrates the sensual images dancing in his fantasy. And I have to forcefully suppress the laughter that rises in my throat when he fixes his gaze almost shamefully on the Hunters who have retreated to be the audience. As if the sense of embarrassment had revived in him for a moment, and he would be disturbed by the witnesses, before whom he acted so confident a minute ago. But I don't allow him to sink into this wandering fear, because as one of my fingers travels up to his face and redirects his concentration back to me, I press closer to him, making sure that every inviting inch and curve of my body comes into contact with him.

"Don't pay attention to them. I'm a little shy, but I'll make an exception for you." I purr sweetly, smearing the blood that escaped from the cut across his face with my thumb, as I stroke the damaged skin almost soothingly. I can hear the air getting stuck in his throat as I slowly raise my crimson-painted finger to my lips and clean the delicious liquid with my tongue. How awfully simple.

"You're a little whore, aren't you?" That disgustingly amused grin returns to his face, simultaneously throwing aside any sanity that might have lurked in his head. But I don't blame him for being frivolous, because I know exactly what qualities genetics has blessed me with, and I've managed to sweep my victims off their feet many times with this and my perfectly honed manipulation. After all, what kind of predator would I be if I couldn't lull the vigilance of my prey?

I capture his gaze with unceasing enthusiasm, as I pull away from him to sit on my heels, and the disappointed moan that escapes from his mouth is pitiful. But I won't leave him anxious for long, because I grab his tattered shirt and release it from the grip of his pants with a firm movement, so that my nimble little hands can find their way to every unprotected inch of his stomach. And as my palm smooths over the hot skin, I feel how willingly it shivers under my gentle touch, like a real bewitched idiot.

"You like that, hmm?" I hum sensually, and when my curious energy slowly creeps into him through my fingers, goosebumps rise up under my hand as he closes his eyes accompanied by a sigh full of pleasure. And this is the number one mistake that a smart person would never make. They would not lose sight of their enemy, who, although approaches him with nice words and even kinder gestures, still wants his fall. But one learns the most from the lessons they suffer on their own skin. And now I will teach him wisdom that he will never forget.

In my mind, the intricate network of blood vessels weaving through his body appears, and my practiced little skill doesn't need more than a few seconds to find those extremely interesting little veins and arteries that will now play such an important role in pleasing this big boy. And as the slow wave of my energy causes the blood to start flowing out of the sensitive body part, I direct my eyes with the keen attention of a snake in ambush on the man caught in my claws. I don't have to be disappointed, because even I can feel in my fingertips how the typical tingle that is so characteristic of malfunctioning circulation appears in his muscles. And this disturbs his self-absorbed intoxication just enough, because his eyebrows meet with such incomprehension, as if he had just woken up from a deep sleep.

"What…. what's happening?” The disoriented question breaks out of him, and he fixes his gaze on me suspiciously, as if he would already start to suspect that he didn't quite get the entertainment he signed up for. And I no longer feel the need to continue my masterful performance, which he has so stupidly fallen victim to so far. And when the seductive mask slips off, and a cruel smile crosses my face in its place, I can almost see foreboding flashing into that weak mind of his.

"You may start to feel weird down here because I'm directing the blood out from your little friend." I note simply, as if I were stating a completely self-evident fact, and the stupid expression that appears on his face was worth all the pretense I had to show. His eyes widen almost comically, as he stares at his lap with such shocked dismay, as if he would hope that this moment will dissolve into the bizarre image of a terrible nightmare. But no. The mouth-watering feeling is very real, as after the blood slowly trickles away under my blessed ability, a numbness mixed with pain awakens in that tiny little tool of which he is so fucking proud.

"What the hell are you talking about?" He blurts out, and although he still wants to look very stern, I can hear his voice cracking with recognition. Now he can start to notice this unpleasant spasmodic feeling quite sharply, which arises as a result of my vile little activity, and which causes a dull ache to creep into his groin. And there is no more charming sight in the world than this stupid meathead sinking into despair. "Stop it, you sick bitch!" He snarls at me, emphasizing all his threatening aggression, but unfortunately, he doesn't seem dangerous as he begins to strain wildly against his unbreakable shackles. Because although he may be a Hunter, and he has increased strength and endurance, the chains prepared by my friends were invented for bad boys like him.

"Oh, what's wrong? I thought you wanted me to play with your dick..." I pout with fake sadness, cooing to him with such contemptuous disdain, as if I were just trying to reason with a hysterical child. And from the small tantrum he throws, which causes him to try to tear his hands out of the thick handcuffs amidst loud grunting, he seems no more than a overgrown baby. "Oh, my bad. I forgot to tell you that I like it rough." I spit, putting an edge imbued with caustic sarcasm in my voice, and there is nothing charming in that grin that flashes all my teeth, which I twist on my mouth.

He would try to speak, and maybe he would swear at me with some very macho harshness, but as I speed up the adventurous migration of blood from his cock with another burst of energy, a tortured moan erupts from his throat from the sharp pain that surely penetrates him by now. Small drops of cold sweat surface on his forehead, and I almost feel sorry for him from the look of terror on his face. But that's not enough. Because although he's slowly realizing what a sadistic little game I've lured him into, I still don't see the despair I'm looking for.

"Maybe I should make blood clots in your veins. You know what happens when a part of your body doesn't get blood, right? No nutrients, no oxygen..." I dwell on the endless possibilities, tilting my head curiously, and even he, with his small brain capacity, can understand what the consequences are when the tissues are left without blood supply. And, as he comprehends that neither his physical strength nor his ability to intimidate will get him out of this situation, then dread glides through his features with such a spectacular fastness that it's a joy to watch.

"Please don't..." He begins to plead, and the hoarseness that moves to his voice from the panic bubbling up in his throat is music to my ears. And when I see the first glistening pearls of tears in his eyes, the hatred burning in my stomach swells with contented joy, because the visceral desperation that takes shape on his face is quite wonderful. And the sugary-sweet smile that curls up the corners of my mouth at the sight of his misery may even seem sick, but this bastard deserves every moment of suffering, because there is so much pain stuck to his hands that no amount of shame and agony can wash away. And I'm not afraid to become ruthless and mean to help him taste what it's like to be truly defenseless and helpless.

"Oh, no, no, no! Don't cry! This is fun! It's like an experiment!" I lean closer to him, caressing his belly with mocking tenderness, and he jerks under my hand with reflexive speed from the delicate gesture. Shuddering, he tries to pull away from me, as if he wanted to merge with the back of the chair, but it's futile to think that he will be able to escape from this difficult situation. I enjoy it too much. "If we wait long enough, it will fall off! Or even start to rot! But don't worry, you'll still be able to get laid! Maybe you'll be able to fuck yourself with your own dick!" I continue my musing with unhinged glee, watching as his teeth clench with painful force, as his sanity and self-respect clash for dominance. And when a choking sound escapes from him, with which he tries to stifle the silent sobs shaking his chest, then I know I've broken him.

"Please, please... I'll do anything, just don't..." He whimpers, and a thick vein on his neck pops out from the effort he uses to force these pathetic words out of himself. I know he'd rather bite his own tongue for stooping so low, but he is just the kind of cretin that can be led on by a trick like that. He gets rid of every ounce of self-esteem in an instant with his plea, no doubt hoping that a pretty woman like me might have enough compassion to take pity on him. But he picked a fight with the wrong person. Because the circle of those who can create such tender feelings in me is very narrow. And of course, nasty pests are not among them.

"If you want me to stop, then start talking." I willingly offer him the obvious solution, and when he looks at me wild with desperation, I can see the long series of thoughts going through his head, with which he tries to process what I'm asking of him. And there can definitely be important information in that ugly little head of his, if even when he is up to his neck in a stinking pile of shit, he vacillates about whether to share it with us. "Because the clock is ticking." I remind him, imitating the rhythmic clicking of the hands of the clock with my index finger, and I can feel him twitch with increasing tension under my hands with each small tap. A suffocating minute passes as I stare unblinkingly at him and drum with unbroken enthusiasm on his bruised stomach, sending the blood further and further away from his jewels with each movement. And now the tears are starting to flow in rich streams on his face, which is almost purple in color, mixing with the sweat, which is slowly covering every inch of his skin from the pain caused by my little game.

"I don't have the serum!" He finally surrenders, almost shouting his confession, as his mouth opens wide with a tortured whimper, when I continue my treacherous little activity just to be sure. "I sold it to a guy named Rat! He has his network in Colony No. 2, he said he'll hand it over to his customer there!" He spills the info eagerly, and even though every word is raspy with the aching pulsing with even force in his lap, the obedience with which he surrenders to my will is music to my ears. And suddenly I'm filled with intense pride from the knowledge that I could be of such great help to my friends who are shrouded in eerie silence leaning against the wall, and that I got the information out of this asshole that had become our prey, which they didn't manage to beat out of him. Each vermin requires a different approach, it seems. And I'm lucky that not a prouder and smarter person is the head of Vultures, because it wouldn't have been possible to back anyone other than him into a corner so easily by threatening to make his junk fall off.

"There you go! It wasn't that hard, was it?" I pull my hands out from under the sweat-soaked textile, patting his thigh with such belittling tenderness, as if I wanted to praise a dog that performed a clever trick. And the relieved sigh with which he finally calms down a bit is quite sweet, and as soon as a breath of his confidence returns him, and he fixes his eyes on me expectantly, then I simply push myself away from him to stand up, turning my back on him to head for the interrogator's door without any further discussion. And now, for the first time, my undivided attention is diverted from my prey long enough for me to catch the expression on my companions' faces, and from the way MacTavish's brows furrow in bewilderment and dread, I have to forcefully suppress the outline of a cheeky smile that wants to curve at the corner of my mouth. I forgot that even though I had already entertained Riley with my slyness, the Scotsman hadn't yet had the chance to witness my questionable tactics.

"Hey! What are you doing? You said you would stop!" The leader of the separatists finally comes to his senses, and I just glance at him over my shoulder. And although I know that the trauma of the two Healers won't be nullified by my little revenge, it cannot be denied that the stunned distress with which he gapes at me, dispels the anger gnawing at my insides. And I wish that the two of them could see how deep a hole such a freak can crawl into, if sufficient methods are used to help him back to the edge of the abyss. But maybe it will give them a little joy to know that the bastard, who so indulgently laid his filthy hands on them in every way imaginable, will be forced to live out the rest of his pathetic life with his dick rotting away like a useless leather hose in his pants.

"It's a shame that I'm a filthy liar." I shrug my shoulders with noble simplicity, telling him with every inch of me that this is no longer my problem. And from my periphery, I can clearly see how my masked companion coks his head to the side in interest, and as our eyes meet, I see the dark little sparks in them when he realizes how freely I used the strategy that he presented to me so kindly during Valeria's interrogation. I've learned from the best.

"You dirty little bitch! Once I get my hands on you, I'll gut you! Do you hear me?!" The criminal indulges in his scary threats, and every muscle in his face tenses with rage as he spits his curses at me. And when I only raise my head with a pitying look, he loses himself in his rampage with such vigor that the chair he was enslaved to begins to shake amidst wild creaking. But no matter how hard he struggles, no matter how hard he tries to tear his hands from the chains, a D-class fool is unable to perform the same magic tricks my friends can do. Because my Scottish friend and his bosom friend would have already folded bows out of the metal by now. How utterly sad.

However, it seems that our new helper gets bored much sooner with this ridiculous interlude, in which our prisoner sinks more and more violently by the minute, because König appears in front of him so quickly, and grabs the separatist leader's throat without any warning, that every sound of his angry protest boils in his throat in a second. And he doesn't even have time to react, for the Hunter lifts the guy up by the neck along with the chair to then throw him to the ground, and as he lands on the floor of the container, the chair breaks into pieces with a tortured crash. And even before the outlaw could collect the thoughts of opposition in his brain, dulled by surprise and pain, his attacker makes sure that he stays where he had so kindly laid him down.

König's foot chruses on his victim's chest like a press, and an interesting hissing sound leaves the throat of the man lying among the pieces of broken furniture, as his mouth slowly opens to shout, but only a forced groan comes out. And although from the hooded Hunter's perspective, it all seems nothing more than when someone methodically tramples on a bug, I know how much strength it takes to coax this sick sound out of someone. The morbid sight lasts just a second longer than it should, just long enough for the halfwit writhing on the ground to feel how fleeting and senseless end his life has came to. And it occurs to me that there is no hesitation in this, only pure cruel pleasure, because as the protective wall of our prisoner's ribcage gives way with a sudden crackle under the heavy boot, even though his face is covered by the loose fabric, I see the satisfaction flash in the cold blue eyes, with which he watches the foamy path of the blood gushing from the lips of his prey stretched out in the dirt.

And I know that I'm not imagining those cheerful little wrinkles that appear around the skin covered in dark paint, as he turns towards me, towering above the now motionless dead body, and our gaze intertwines. And because of this, the restless voice in my head warns me to be careful in a tenth of a second, because I can't think of a good explanation for why I discover the invisible line of a smile around his eyes emerging from under the textile. What the hell?

32 notes · View notes

dovithedarklord · 1 year ago

Text

Age of Monsters

Pairing: OFC x Simon "Ghost" Riley, OFC x König

Trigger Warning: The story will contain violance, blood and smut in detail. Please, keep that in mind!

⚠️MDNI⚠️

...............................................................................................

Summary:

50 years ago, the world was turned upside down by the appearance of a virus, and monsters destroyed most of the known civilization. For safety, humanity has retreated to colonies all around the world, where life is lived according to strict rules and in fear of monsters. Fortunately, the virus caused something other than just the emergence of mutant monsters, it also awakened the Hunters, who have been heroically protecting the colonies ever since. Leona Woods spends her days in Colony 17 hiding from her duties as a Healer, but her carefree life soon ends when one of her evenings doesn't go as planned. And when karma finally catches up, she is forced to join Liquidation Unit 141 to fulfill her duties.

Life in Unit 141 isn't nearly all sunshine and rainbows, especially when a certain masked Hunter tries to make it even harder. However, the excitement only increases when a new danger appears, which threatens not only the life of the unit but the safety of the entire world. And Leona must decide whether to choose her own interests or the survival of her new team and the world.

The world in the story is inspired by the Guideverse.

.....................................................................

Authors note:

Leona ends up in a nice mess after eating her dinner too carelessly. She has no idea how quickly fate will catch up with her.

The story moves quite slowly, so please be patient! 141 boys won't appear in the first chapter just yet, but they will;) I have pretty much covered all the characters in the tags, but the list could expand in the future. (I proofread myself before posting, so sorry if there are mistakes! I write the story in my language first, and I translate it after. English is not my first language, so help is welcomed! Just be nice, please! )

I'll post more chapters, but if you're interested you can find the story on AO3: Chapter One

................................................................................................................

I lazily stir my cocktail with the small wooden stick in it, as an absentminded distraction, my eyes run through the room enveloped in a flood of colorful, flashing lights. The bass of the music vibrates through my every muscle and bone, and I can almost feel the rhythm in my stomach, sending pleasant shivers through me. This is the thrill of the hunt, to be exact.

The people crammed into the small hall are pressed together like herrings, and the air smells of sweat, cheap perfume, and alcohol. My gaze wanders through the blissfully ignorant dancers from the force of habit, since I've done this a thousand times, I know exactly what I'm looking for. I’m searching for an exact type, a fool who seems lively enough to have just enough energy for a busy weeknight fun, and just as easily swayed by a seductive smile. I'm lucky because it seems like everyone wants to celebrate today, and that might be the reason behind today’s unusual crowd in this club, which is located in a hidden corner of the city. Usually, I would have to choose from a much smaller selection, but today on The Day of the Great Escape, everyone felt the need to paint the town red. Even if someone doesn’t give a damn about the important holiday, this day is still one of the few occasions when even those doing the most menial jobs are given a day off to be able to honor the memory of the first great Hunters who appeared fifty years ago. What an idiotic habit. If they knew the easy lives of those publicly funded mercenaries and executioners… they wouldn't be so grateful that they occasionally venture outside the green zone to kill a mutant monster or two.

Raising my glass to my mouth, I take a generous sip of my sweet cocktail and enjoy the way the alcohol sold at the price of gold pleasantly burns my throat. Like any other luxury item, alcohol is also a treasure, of course, only if you don't want to go blind from the crap concocted at someone’s shady basement. I feel my frustration awaken in the back of my head when I think about the near fortune I spent on the cocktail, but I push the annoying thought away, thinking that in worst case scenario I will not only get my usual snack from tonight's victim, but also the content of their wallet. If I'm lucky, the unfortunate bastard will have a few credits on them. Almost on cue, I catch a glimpse of a guy on the edge of the dance floor who stands out from the ring of people around him like a scarecrow on a cornfield. Judging by his movements, he's not the least bit thirsty, and as I watch him almost tripping over his own feet during his clumsy dance moves, a satisfied grin crosses my lips. Got you.

I down the last remnants of my nauseating drink, and I jump off the bar stool with light movements and throw myself into the crowd of dancers. I make my way toward the cutie I've chosen, not taking my eyes off of him for even a moment, and I feel my heart beating excitedly as I get closer and closer. As the adrenaline spreads through my body, all my senses sharpen, like a wild animal waiting to pounce on its victim. Tonight I'm bubbling with anticipation and impatience more than usual because it's been a week and a half since I caught the last sweet little boy for some private fun… and my appetite is coming back fast. With dull, but steady force.

As I finally arrive behind the boy, my fingers twine on his arms with a butterfly-light touch and travel sensually up to his shoulders. Despite his apparent drunkenness, the guy visibly flinches in fright, and this one tiny movement makes my mouth dry with anticipation. He looks puzzled and surprised as he turns towards me, and as he glances down at me, all my nerves and senses are attuned to him. And as the inviting warmth of his body travels from his hot skin through my fingertips, I can already see the intricate network that weaves through his body in my mind's eye, with his pulsing heart in the middle beating to a fierce rhythm. I don't need to use my ability to know that I don’t have to try hard, because as soon as the first shock wears off in a fraction of a second, he arranges his features on his sweet boyish face and pulls his mouth into a lazy grin. Bingo.

"Hi. " I shout over the music blaring around us, and I conjure up the flirtatious smile that I have perfected over the years, which I know will immediately sweep such simple-minded fools off their feet. Obviously, it also helps a lot that even if the higher powers that supposedly exist have already cursed me with my fucking abilities, they at least put conventionally attractive features on me. It would be foolish to deny that I am charming, and I am neither modest nor delusional enough to try to lie to myself about it. It would certainly be a more attractive quality to blush and protest against such facts in order to score good points in the eyes of other people, but if there is one thing I have learned it is that in this new order, you won’t get far with modesty and goodness. That fair world has been gone since the first mutant monsters slaughtered an entire city, or maybe it never even existed.

"Hello... " The guy greets me too, and as he turns towards me welcomingly, ready to flirt, my hands clasp around his neck with a swift movement, and I snuggle up to him with my whole body, promising salacious adventures. It doesn't escape my attention how his pupils dilate almost on command, as my breasts press against his chest and my nails run through the back of his neck teasingly. I can almost feel it in my mouth how the heat of his desire starts to build and a tingle fueled by lust travels through him. It's ridiculously easy for me to turn him on, but he’s exactly the type of easy target I usually hunt for. He's just drunk enough to not be able to think clearly but be up for action when a pretty girl approaches him. He's just healthy enough to withstand my snacking but weak enough to not be able to resist. Not that he'd stand a chance against me.

I’m not wasting time on talking anymore, because I can tell from his heated gaze and his fast-beating heart that I could climb on him even here if I wanted to. But I was always shy when it came to my private life. I like it better when we enjoy these intimate moments together without any pesky interruptions.

I remove the presence of my naughty little body from the guy, and as his dark eyes fill with disappointment, I hold back the laughter that threatens to burst out of me with all my might. I grab him by the arm, and I just give him a teasing smile over my shoulder as I point towards to the exit with my head, and his quick to understand what I’m implying. He follows me without a question as I lead him out of the dance floor with purposeful steps towards the back entrance of the club. He stumbles along like the fool he is, with a distinct look of puppy-like longing spread on his face. And I send tiny sparks of my energy into his body through his skin, which boosts the already present alcoholic stupor in him even more, because I never leave anything up for luck. We should look like just a simple, carefree young couple who after finding each other in the heat of the night, are heading somewhere, anywhere, to relieve their needs. Which is true. But I suspect that this little cutie and I are not thinking about the same needs as we are galloping towards the exit.

And as the back door opens and the cool fresh air of the night hits me, the all too known impatience that usually comes at this time takes over me. I've been feeling that painful tension in my stomach for days now, which indicates that I can't wait any longer and I have to find someone to help my little problem. I hate the feeling when I squirm in bed with a heated body, trying to fall asleep, but every part of me aches and pleads for me to just finally satisfy my hunger.

As the guy finally exits the club behind me the door closes behind us with a loud bang. The dim light filtering in from the street only vaguely paints his features, but I can make out enough to know that by now my machinations got him ready for the finale. I don't like what I am, but I love my abilities. If the members of my species weren’t treated like objects or animals for slaughter, I wouldn't be frustrated by all of this shit.

I drag the now completely dazed guy towards one of the corners filled with cardboard boxes, forcing him to back up against the hard concrete, trapping him with my arms over his shoulders. The sight could look quite comical, a girl who is at least half a head shorter, pinning a grown man to the wall with a gesture taken from a romantic movie, but I know that out of the two of us, I am not the prey. But he is.

"I like girls who take initiative. " He says, his words smeared by alcohol and from my little tricks echo in the darkness of the alley. I pull a lazy little smile on my face as I kneel down in front of him, and I’m quick to unfasten his belt and unbutton his pants with my hands. I can almost hear how the air catches in his throat, and when I look up at him and see the stunned look that blooms on his face, I release my laughter. My God. It gets me every time.

"Then it's your lucky day. " I answer, and I feel my voice deepen and get filled with the longing caused by my hunger. He swallows his Adam's apple bobbing as my hands start to pull down the rough fabric of his pants from his narrow hips with excruciating slowness. Goosebumps rise on his skin when I grip the lean muscles of his thighs and I involuntarily lick my lips as the pulsating veins appear before my eyes. I nudge his legs apart and he obediently spreads them wider, and I lean forward to smooth my lips on his now-exposed skin. A shiver runs through him as I follow the line of blood vessels branching under his skin with my tongue, and I mark the place where I plan to eat my meal with a small seductive kiss. I give him another boost with my energy so that he gets even more stunned, and he tilts his head back with his eyes closed, his breathing speeds up desperately, and all the while he doesn't even notice how I make a small incision on his thigh with the small blade I dug out of my pocket. The first drops of blood emerge from under the pale skin, and I, like a thirsty pilgrim left in the desert, throw myself on the small pearls that surface. I press my mouth tightly to the wound, and my teeth tingle painfully as I swallow the first sips, but I know, that even if a stupid bastard like him would discover a bite mark, he could easily put the pieces together and get me caught. So I’m momentarily satisfied with the way the metallic taste of blood fills my taste buds, and my whole body trembles as the familiar heat sweeps along my spine. I sigh with relief, as the hunger gnawing at my insides begins to ease, and the torturous feeling that has been twisting my stomach for days is replaced by the euphoria, which is hard to put into words, that rears its head in my body with each meal. My energy begins to throb excitedly in my veins, and my head is taken over by a daze similar to alcoholic intoxication, which makes my limbs quite light and weightless. Despite this, my fingers grip the thighs of my victim even harder, who stiffens under my hands, groaning in confusion. It must not be a pleasant feeling, but none of them have died yet from the tiny little blood loss I caused. The next day, they are as good as new, and they easily mistake the minute sickness that I cause for the evil aftereffect of a hangover. After all, who doesn't feel like shit after drinking through the night before?

I get lost in my meal, and the intoxicating taste of blood obscures my senses and leads me to a fleeting state of ecstasy, and I know that it is almost time to stop because there is a level of blood loss that can’t be attributed to the fatigue of a hangover. However, before the thought can ripen in my foggy mind, searing pain shoots through my scalp, and I hiss as the unknown force grabs my hair and pulls me away from the subject of my feast. My brain can't get out of its stupor right away, so it is not particularly difficult for me to lose my balance. I arrive on the damp concrete of the alley with a loud thump, and I blink wide-eyed at my assailant from the sudden surprise. The unknown man walks over to the guy slumped on the floor with a worried look, who just as all my victims do, passed out after my little dinner.

"Roy! Roy!" Tries the stranger as he talks to the knocked-out guy, and I pull myself up to my feet. I wipe my mouth glistening with blood with the back of my hand as I watch the potential friend of my dinner trying to breathe some life into the poor kid. When he doesn't succeed, he turns towards me and steps in front of me menacingly, grabbing the collar of my sweater. "What the fuck did you do to him, you bitch?"

"We played a little." I declare easily, and as my eyes focus on the boy sprawled out on the dirty ground, an evil little grin curls on my lips. "And it seems I literally blew his mind with my professional technique."

"Don’t fuck with me! " The guy snarls at me dangerously and shakes me by my clothes, which makes my funny mood disappear almost immediately. Based on how his face gets contorted in anger, it becomes clear that my lip service won’t get me out of this situation, and I'm cursing to myself as I assess the possibilities. Although there are no cameras in this alley, I can guarantee that this bastard will be able to give an accurate description of me if I just let him slip out of here. If I don't do something now, he's going to call the enforcers, which is a literal death sentence for me. Because, even if I lie that I indulged in little more perverted pleasures than necessary, they will immediately suspect that something is wrong. And if they find out what I am... that can't happen.

But before I could create a concrete plan in my mind, the guy loses his patience and raises his hand, preparing to put some sense in me. However, before he could hit me, I target his knee with a firm kick causing it to dislocate with a loud crack, and as he loses his balance, his grip on my clothes loosens too. The roar that erupts from the guy is muffled by my hand fast on his mouth, and taking advantage of the situation, I throw myself at him and knock him off his feet. His head hits the ground with a sickening sound, but that’s not nearly enough to make him unable to attack. It seems that the adrenaline is starting to work in him too, because his hands suddenly slam down on my neck and wrap around it with a vise-like grip. A stifled cough breaks out of me as the pressure of his fingers slowly squeezes my trachea, and then it becomes completely clear what I have to do to get out of the hot water I got myself into.

I press my hands firmly on his head and, while struggling with shortness of breath, I concentrate the energy bubbling in me towards the man. Tears well up in my eyes from the effort, but I can still feel the blood vessels in his brain, and I clench my teeth as I begin to increase the pressure in them. I almost see the image of the tiny, spider web-like system swelling up and getting dangerously close to bursting like an overinflated balloon. The man's grip around my neck loosens, he grabs my wrists now and tries to pry my hands off of him, but he has no chance. Pure desperation takes over his features, his eyes widen and his body begins to jerk wildly underneath me, but that doesn't deter me from finishing what I started. Because if I show even an ounce of mercy, I'll get the short end of the stick. If I don't kill him, I'll be exposed and dragged off to be used like fucking battery for the rest of my life. I’ll lose everything I have, but most of all, my freedom. If I don't end it now, I'll suffer the same fate as the other Healers and I’ll be used by some Hunter until I die. I can't let that happen. I WON’T let it happen.

Rage and anger fill my consciousness, and suddenly a red mist swallows everything in my sight, which makes me focus only on the suffering of the man below me fighting for his life. My fingers claw into his skin, and for a moment the thought runs through my mind about how it would feel to crack his skull and see his bones break under my grip. A painful snoring sound leaves the man's mouth, his mouth fills with bloody foam, red liquid begins to flow from the corner of his eyes drawing vivid lines on his deathly pale skin, and I tensely observe his death throe. A few minutes stretch into an eternity as I watch the last sparks of life disappear from his eyes, and the vague emptiness of death takes their place. Suddenly the man freezes, his limbs going limp under me in surrender, and as a last soft gurgling moan leaves his lips, I know it's over. The frantic rush of his blood ceases under my fingers, and his heart, which until now was hammering restlessly under his ribs, is now silent.

I kneel over the dead body below me panting, and I pause for a moment to look at my "creation". I'm not surprised that I don't feel any remorse, because I left the guilt and shame behind me a long time ago, in that dark little corner of my mind, where there might still be a drop of tenderness left. I can still vaguely remember the panic that came over me the first time I accidentally killed someone. I will never forget the young guy’s face, the freckles dotting his nose, which shone almost sickeningly dark on his skin pale from blood loss. The frightened whimper that left those lips that slowly turned blue forever embedded itself in the tangled webs of my memory. But everyone else who stood in my way looms as vague, unrecognizable spots in the depths of my brain, and it doesn't bother me one bit. A normal person might be affected by so many lives lost in vain, but I learned a long time ago that these are all luxuries that the likes of me cannot afford. That's why I still feel nothing but pure frustration and anger for making such a simple mistake. I didn't pay attention to the friends. You should never target a victim with friends, because after a while they always show up worried. It's understandable, of course, but it's just an unnecessary problem for me.

A strained sigh leaves my lips as I stand up, dusting off my clothes, and I step over the body lying motionless on the ground. My night didn't turn out exactly as I wanted, and as a sharp, migraine-like pain rips through my head, I'm already sure that my dinner tonight was wasted. Small snacks like this are just enough to satiate my hunger, but not enough to pump me up enough to stop me from being cranky after using my powers to such an extent. I should have eaten a lot more for this. Fuck. In a few days, I'll be able to play this whole little charade again to find a fool to drink from. And I can throw away a bunch of credits again to go to one of the clubs and have an alibi drink.

I pull the corner of my mouth in distaste as I remember the poor state of my wallet, and if possible my mood becomes even more gloomy as I realize that unfortunately robbing my victims will not be an option tonight. That way, if I'm lucky, enforcers will see this as nothing more than a tragic consequence of a night out where one of the unfortunate dudes had fun with the wrong stuff, and the other drank just a little bit too much. But if I take their credits now, then robbery and murder will also enter the picture, which would be true, but I have no need for any unnecessary excitement.

So I take one last look at the two guys, straightening my sweater, and I head towards the exit of the alley to enter the street swimming in flickering lights, making my way home. Every muscle in my body screams for sleep, and as the knife-like pain in my head increases, I want nothing more than to rest and forget this miserable night.

⃰

My fingers drum nervously on the table, adding a fast and restless rhythm to the background noise of the machines humming softly in the lab, the whole thing resulting in a symphony that slowly drives me crazy. My eyes are fixed on the radio lying on the counter next to me, and although now the monotonous female voice from the other side is talking about general news affecting the entire colony, I still keep replaying a scrap of information that barely reached two minutes over and over again, as if an old and broke record player had stuck in my head, on which the needle keeps jumping on the same tune.

The previous night, I threw myself into bed with the firm belief that everything was fine and that I had no reason to worry about anyone paying enough attention to the deaths of two insignificant civilians in a party district. One would think that the enforcers have their hands full with monitoring smugglers and petty criminals selling illegal drugs, or supervising food distribution units, but no. Of course, in a city where it is common for someone to disappear or die, where the law-keeping organizations are struggling with a shortage of people, the biggest news is that two random young dudes were found in an alley under questionable circumstances. Out of thousands of similar cases, the wretched news providers just had to pick this one, which was described exactly as desperate and terrifying as it should be to get some clout. But it couldn’t be further from the truth. Similar atrocities happen daily, it's enough if someone doesn't buy from a good dealer and stuffs themself with goods made from all kinds of crap in a basement. Or it's enough if someone has more food stamps than the others, and if someone feels even a tad bit jealous of this, then the unlucky fool will be found on the street the next day knocked out because of those few pieces of paper. And I make one mistake and these hyenas immediately feel the need to overanalyze it under a magnifying glass.

A thousand thoughts run through my head, and in every one of them, I try to figure out why the officials believe that this case is different from the others they encountered until now. Why did the interviewed spokesman emphasize the fact that this case shows such an unusual pattern that they are forced to carry out a thorough investigation? I can theorize a thousand possible mistakes, and I could find a solution to all of them almost immediately, but the doubt that crawls into my brain just can’t seem to leave and I can’t help but feel that this time I really was careless.

There were no cameras in the alley, nor in that shithole of a club, so there was nothing that could have recorded my face. Due to the holiday, there were too many people in the club to give a good personal description of any of us. And my dinner last night was far too drunk and dazed to remember anything substantial about me. They won’t go far with the information that a pretty little girl dragged him away. There are thousands of cases like that in this cursed city. They could have found my DNA or my fingerprints on one of the bodies, and they can find me based on that, but I can bluff that I just wanted a nice little threesome with the guys, and when they offered me some weird substance, I walked away. There is no way to prove that this is the case, nor is there any evidence to the contrary. And they can't bring me in without solid proof. And anyway. Who would believe that a short, weak young woman could knock out two grown men?

Almost instinctively, my tongue wanders to the line of my teeth, and as it runs along the plastic, I clench my fists nervously. They can't possibly suspect anything about who I am. There's no way in hell they'll find out I'm an Extreme. They won't test DNA because it's an expensive procedure, and they won't do any further research for a simple murder case where NOTHING points to an Extreme. They won’t be able to reveal my identity, even if they end up linking me to the case somehow.

I have been hiding my identity since I was thirteen years old, and no one has a chance to see through my disguise, which I have perfected over the years. Although an Extreme would be easy to recognize, because who the hell wouldn't be able to see when a person has vertical pupils and razor-sharp canines? But I have this under control. Cheap contact lenses, and even cheaper removable veneers, and the problem is solved. And the scent of my energy could only be smelled by a professional, high-ranking Hunter, especially what is left of it now. Everything seems ideal, the realistic part of me knows that the chances of me being exposed are small, but the stress hormones working inside me plant the doubt that small enough is still not zero. It will never be zero.

The sudden window that pops up on the computer screen jolts me out of my thoughts, which were moving strongly towards gloomy suspicion and tense fixation, and for the first time in my life, I turn quickly toward a finished result. It's not like I'm careless in my work, after all, to maintain a normal life, you have to be thorough and a good worker bee. But suddenly anything seems like a good distraction, and I honestly thank the fact that I still have six hours of work left, because it may distract me from the chaos raging in my head.

I take one last anxious glance at the radio, which is already playing some melodious song by an unknown band, and then I turn to my computer instead. I don't have to worry. Like all sensations, this will pass in no time. Everything will be fine. Nothing will happen. NOTHING.

⃰

But when I get home a few days later, two strange men are waiting in front of the door of my small apartment, and I already know that nothing will be fine. I quickly assess the two figures, and it immediately becomes obvious that although they are not wearing uniforms, they are clearly enforcers. They turn their heads towards me in unison, and the neon light of the lamp on the ceiling paints the dark expression gliding across their faces in an eery glow. Only two words flash in my mind; They know.

Still, I force a mask of honest surprise on myself, and as I move towards them with slow and deliberate steps, I try to take on the role of a meek, defenseless, and more importantly naive young woman with every movement. It's ridiculously easy because I've been forced to play it all my life, but now I'm analyzing almost every fiber of myself with tense attention, as the two men silently size me up.

"Leona Woods?" Says one of the enforcers, and his hoarse voice echoes hauntingly off the dirty walls. "We hoped we were in the right place."

At first glance, it may seem like the situation about to unfold is completely harmless, but as the taller man pulls his hands out of his pockets, but it does not escape my attention how a metallic glint appears for a fleeting moment under his jacket. They came with weapons, and from that, I can immediately conclude that they did not show up for a simple chit-chat. They won’t be playing a pleasant game of question-and-answer with me as witnesses, but as a suspect, and the recognition creates an unpleasant pressure in my stomach. Calm down. Take it easy. They may be suspicious, but they don't have anything in their hands.

"What can I help you with?" I ask innocently, and I mix just enough incomprehension into my voice to make my little play look authentic. I arrive in front of them with a faint little smile on my lips, every cell radiating I am indeed just a simple civilian. Someone who may have been involved in a very sad misunderstanding, but is in no way capable of killing or even injuring someone.

"We’d like to ask you a few questions." Says one of the men, and as he flashes his official ID card, my eyebrows rise in feigned surprise. "If possible, we'd rather not talk to you here. Could you let us in?" My new guest points towards my front door with his head, and I fish out my keys from my bag accompanied by a cooperative nod. I concentrate on keeping my fingers from shaking with every fiber of my being, as I insert the key into the lock because nothing would give me away faster than them seeing me upset. And it's a difficult task, because with every second the tension raging inside me increases.

"After you." I open the door, and as soon as I turn on the light, the two men march into my small apartment after a quiet "thank you". I hesitate for a minute, but finally, the door closes behind me with a soft click, and after slowly kicking off my shoes, I follow the two enforcers into my modest little living room. The faces of the two strangers do not reveal anything, as they peer into the living room and take a quick, but rather detailed look at the room. And I follow their every movement, like a startled stray dog surrounded by dogcatchers. What an apt analogy.

"Take a seat." I gesture towards the thousand-year-old sofa in the middle of the room, and after giving one last look at the furniture of my modest apartment in search of some kind of clue, they silently take the seat offered to them. I follow their example with measured calmness, and I try to sit down in the armchair opposite them as carelessly as possible, smoothing out the creases in my pants with my hands, so that at least I can reduce the growing restlessness inside me. "What did you want to ask me about? " I ask with sincere curiosity, and I consciously try to banish any doubt, anger, or malice from my voice. It is quite obvious that these two men are not simple enforcement officers, because they behaved like two hounds on a hot scent just waiting for the opportunity to pounce from the get-go.

"Three days ago, two men were found in one of the nightclubs in sector H. Thankfully, one of them only lost consciousness, but unfortunately the other victim was already dead by the time they were found." Begins one of the enforcers, who seems to be the older of the two with his graying hair and crow's feet around his eyes. "We have reason to assume that you might be able to provide us with useful information." He states pointedly, and before I can even think about opening my mouth to speak, his companion pulls out a couple of black and white pictures from his jacket’s pocket.

My gaze lingers on the older man for a moment, so it doesn't become clear to them that I want to look at those pictures so much that every muscle in me goes rigid with desperation. And when I finally turn my eyes to the photos resting on the table, I feel my blood run cold. Until now, I was sure that there is no chance of them connecting me to the case, but even I don't have any ridiculous objections to the way I recognize myself in those goddamn pictures. While there may not have been a security camera in the alley, I must have forgotten that the fucking motel across the street must have one installed for the safety of its clients. And this camera isn't the kind that captures people as blurry, smudged blobs. No, this fucking camera recorded me pulling my pretty little ass out of that dark hole in such sharp detail that it occurs to me for a moment that this coincidence could only have happened in my honor.

"I was there on that night." I confirm the facts shown in the prints, it would be completely unnecessary to deny what is in the photos lying on the worn surface of the table because it's clear as day that I’m the one unlucky idiot on them. "But I'm afraid I can't help you with anything more." I smile faintly, just enough to not seem obviously unfriendly, despite the fact that a burning lump is forming in my throat and the gears in my head are immediately starting to turn, wondering what chances I have to get out of the shit in which I seem to be sinking up to my neck.

"I'm not so sure about that, unfortunately. " Answers the older enforcer, and fishes out his communicator from the pocket inside of his jacket, on which a very interesting hologram image appears after he presses a few buttons. I recognize almost immediately what is written on the investigation document, and I have to hold back the small disgusting smile that wishes to appear on my face with all my might. As I expected, they apparently found my DNA on one of the victims, and thanks to that the lab result which proves the sample found matches my DNA is staring at me in a faint blue light. Calm down, you expected this.

"I met a handsome boy that night, but flirting and having sex is hardly illegal." I remark innocently, and as my eyes fall on the two men, I allow a small, light superiority to creep onto my face. But as the man flicks the hologram lightly with his finger, all my joy disappears like a speck of dust in the wind and is replaced by shock, and I can no longer control my face where genuine terror settles in.

"It isn't, indeed. But hiding a Healer, or rather an Extreme Healer status, and killing people are." The enforcer gets to the point, and his eyebrows furrow grimly on his forehead, as his gaze wanders meaningfully from the hologram to me. A nerve-racking silence settles in the room for a moment, as I try to comprehend the data presented to me, and every brain cell fights against the denial of reality. Because the inscription "Status: EXTREME" appearing in all capital letters on the last page of the lab result cannot be a figment of the imagination. Because all of this would have to be a nightmare, and this situation is clearly real, because my pulse pounding in my ears, the gnawing, visceral dread creeping into my stomach can't just be the work of a dream. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to come with us to the headquarters."

This one sentence is enough to make the future immediately appear in my head. They’ll drag me, brand me, and put me on the market like a horse so that whoever is the fastest can take me. I will join some unit with Hunters, and every single day I will charge and heal a different stupid bastard each time until one day I inevitably become useless and they get rid of me. And then, if I'm lucky, I won't vegetate as a houseplant in a research institute, but maybe someone will take me in and turn me into a whore. This is the fate that awaits most Healers, and I am not so delusional as to believe that I will be lucky enough to be one of those rare cases where the Hunter will not treat me like an object. Especially as an Extreme. I'll be the real gourmet meal. They will be able to use me for a long time. If they don't take away my blood supply, like the opportunity to recharge from ordinary Healers, they will be able to leech off me for years and decades. No fucking way.

As if I had suddenly found enlightenment, the fear of death disappears from my face with disturbing speed, and I nod with a careful movement. Standing up, I obediently walk toward them, raising my hands in front of me, and it doesn't escape my attention as their eyes glide over my figure cautiously. It doesn't matter that they are suspicious, they are not prepared for what comes next.

The older man orders his companion with just a silent gesture, and I patiently wait for the guy to stand up and step in front of me with the handcuffs unfastened from his belt. But before my new trendy bracelet could snap on me, I grab the man's arm emerging from under his jacket and send a significant amount of energy into his body, causing him to suddenly sprawl on the carpet with widened eyes and a loud thump. It takes the other enforcer a moment to realize what's happening, but he reaches for his gun too late, because I'm already there in front of him, and my nails are digging into his skin with force as I press my palm into his face, causing his head to drop back, and his body to fall on the cream-colored fabric of the sofa unconsciously.

I don't waste any time, I tear open the door of my apartment and I bolt out almost immediately in desperation. I run along the corridor with the agility of a chased wild animal, and when I reach the staircase, I take the steps two at a time. There's only one thing in my head, that I don't care how, but I'm going to escape from here because there's no way I let myself get caught. I'll break out of this fucking city myself if I have to, and wind my way through the monster-infested red zone until I get to the nearest colony. They won't catch me. NEVER.

The small shards of glass scattered on the pavement sink painfully into my bare feet, as I throw myself onto the street and continue running without any consideration. The pain appears only as a distant, dull pang in the hidden corner of my brain, because now even I have bigger problems at hand than how much damage I'm doing to my leg. The biting night air burns my lungs as I sprint breathlessly through the unusually desolate neighborhood, but I don't waste precious energy trying to figure out why the street is so empty on a weekday evening.

And I don't even have time to think about this any longer, because before I can turn into the side street behind one of the blocks, a sharp, shooting pain rips through my back, and whatever hit me, the force of the impact is enough to make me stagger with a startled squeal, and I fall to the ground like a rag doll. My hands ache excruciatingly as they get stuck under me in an attempt to cushion my landing, and my nose is hit by the familiar smell of blood as the concrete scrapes the skin from my palms. Despite the burning sensation, the narrow object sticking out of my back worries me more as I touch it. It dawns on me that it might be some kind of tranquilizer dart, but by the time I can congratulate myself on my foresight, I can already feel my limbs turning heavy like stones. The image of the street swimming in colorful lights blurs in front of my eyes, and no matter how hard I struggle, I can only whimper softly, as I try to fight with my last strength against the temptation of the darkness that falls on me.

"Forgive me, sweetheart. But you're not goin’ anywhere from here." Someone speaks up not far from me, but I hear the voice muffled as if my head has been submerged under water, and it only travels to my ears as dull and distorted fragments. Halfway to losing consciousness, I catch the sight of booted feet swimming into my field of vision. I want to come up with some kind of witty remark, but before even a sound can leave my mouth, the darkness engulfs me. Fuck.

43 notes · View notes

dovithedarklord · 10 months ago

Text

Age of Monsters - Chapter Nineteen

Pairing: OFC x Simon "Ghost" Riley, OFC x König

Trigger Warning: The story will contain violance, blood and smut in detail. Please, keep that in mind!

⚠️MDNI⚠️

...................................

Author's Note

Leona goes to a party and receives love from someone that she is not prepared for.

Hello!

I'm sorry that it took so long to post the new chapter, but unfortunately, my personal life was a total mess (work, I was sick, I was struck by electricity - but that's good because now I can at least describe what it feels like from experience, if necessary:D), but I'm here again! :D

For today's chapter, I don't have many Trigger Warnings: Violence, some blood.

Have fun! :D

I.M.L. – Infected Mammalian Lifeorm I.H.L. – Infected Humanoid Lifeorm

if you're interested you can find the story on AO3: Chapter Nineteen

.....................................

The chirping of birds that filter through the cracks of the broken windows is almost idyllic, as I slowly make my way to the place of our next meeting, and the dazzling weather outside could almost distract me from the throbbing of unsatisfied desire in my muscles. After I left my favorite Hunter alone to process the remnants of pleasure caused by my skillful little hands, and with nimble steps, I marched back to the protective solitude of my room, then the heat blooming between my legs finally had time to reach my consciousness. Because as long as my nervous system was occupied with the fascinating suffering of Riley's body, the onslaught of the flames burning in my veins seemed quite bearable, but as soon as the heady scent of the man cleared from my nose and my brain was finally able to process the events, then the effect of my little action avenged itself with such force, that for the rest of the night, I trembled quite merrily from the agony. And although I could have relieved my torment myself, and without a doubt I would have had many enticing examples to choose from among the images that surged into my memories, but thanks to the masochism that had moved into my head, I managed to keep my hand from traveling to my panties, all night thinking of Riley's dark eyes swimming in lust and the tantalizing taste of him on my tongue. Because I know that later, when he finally catches me, his revenge will be even sweeter. And maybe the fact that no one has ever managed to elicit feelings like this from me should scare me, but it bothers me less and less what new things the Hunter helps me discover about myself.

And as my feet finally lead me to the dining room, my eyes immediately find the small group of people gathered around the table, who, although they are deeply preoccupied with studying the map spread out there, raise their heads almost as soon as I cross the threshold of the neat room. The speed with which my eyes connect with the masked Hunter's is quite amusing, and I can't resist the cheeky smile that crosses my face as I discover the almost invisible movement with which he clenches his jaw for a fleeting moment. And this single action is enough for me to know that I’m not the only one who feels the smoldering longing under my skin, but that the experience that I so generously bestowed upon him flashes in his head with perfect sharpness as well. Although it's obvious that professionalism has a priority over the emotions that are raging inside him at the moment, but no matter how experienced he is, I pay attention to his smallest movements with the sharp senses of a hawk about to strike. And it doesn't take more than a wandering glance and I can see how tension passes over the arch of his broad shoulders. Would you look at that…

And from the man's reaction, hundreds of devilish thoughts form in my mind once again, and despite the warning voice in my head, I give in to their temptation, and lifting my chin high, planting a playful sway in my hips, I stroll closer to the small bunch, enjoying how Riley's eyes narrow slowly but surely with danger from my obvious, naughty little ploy. And it seems that he is not the only one who becomes aware of my good mood, because my two fanboys also notice how suspicious and satanic the curve of the widening grin on my face is, with which I stride next to them.

"Someone is in a very good mood!" Garrick comments, and the sincere interest with which he tries to decipher why life has returned to me with such vigor after yesterday's exhausting exercise is quite sweet. And I'd be lying if I said that I didn't enjoy the concentrated confusion, caused by the little scene unfolding in front of them, emanating from my two friends. But unfortunately for them, this dirty little secret is only Riley's and my business for now.

"She's almost glowin'..." MacTavish notes, sharing his apt observations as well, and it would be impossible not to hear the suspicion in his voice, the weight of which accompanies me as I walk around the table with slow but springy steps. And it would be futile to deny that my pretty little body is almost bursting with a healthy glow caused by satiety and the excited buzz of my energy, but it's also a fact that my dessert was just as effective in getting me in this crazy good mood. And the dirty thought enters my mind, that maybe I should use the services of Riley's mouth-watering body more often as part of my beauty routine, if I can achieve such a spectacular result with it.

"My late-night snack helped a lot." I hint innocently, and the meaningful look with which my eyes glide over the masked man as I take my place next to him is completely intentional. And my tiny little remark just deepens the lines of wariness that appear on the faces of MacTavish and Garrick with clear outlines, and as their eyebrows rise almost in unison to meet in a worried grimace in the middle of their forehead, I bite the inside of my cheek to stifle the smug laughter that wants to bubble up in my throat.

And I have enough evilness in me to add to the confusion created by my words, and I know that my favorite Hunter doesn't miss that tiny touch, lasting only for a tenth of a second, with which my fingers run along his arm as I lazily lean against the table to take a closer look at the map, which is now interwoven with not only the captain's but also Riley's diligent little notes. Although the drawing of the winding streets of the colony, filled with keen observations, has nothing new to offer me, but I can feel the chocolate brown eyes almost burning a hole in the sensitive skin of my face, they fixate on me with such heat, and I'm mad enough to withhold my attention from him, even after I have so vilely reminded him of the power he has placed in my hands under the cover of night. Although it would seem like nothing more than just an overheated affair to anyone else, where he alleviated my misery and I, in return, helped his suffering, but much more took place between the walls shrouded in lust. Because this terrifying man, who could kill even the most bloodthirsty mutants with a single move, and who could grind every pitiful bone of mine to dust with his bare hands, gave me control over his body and his passion to play with as I pleased. And this rekindles the drunken joy in my head, because I strongly doubt that many people have had this privilege before. And although I know that his retribution will be a thousand times more painful, I would be lying if I said that I'm not filled with joy knowing that now only the presence of our audience prevents him from taking back the reins from me, which he actually gave me voluntarily himself.

But despite how keenly my senses are sharpened for every small and invisible move of Riley, even this concentration is penetrated by the probing stare, under the intrusion of which foreboding settles in my stomach like the first unpleasant spasm of an incipient illness. And I'm not so stupid as not to pay attention to this, because the experience of our exchange is still too fresh in my head to allow myself to ignore it. With careful slowness, I divert my gaze from the handwriting on the map, and the speed with which I meet the blue eyes watching me tells me that he has been studying the little performance caused by my good mood since I set foot in the dining room. And I don't like the cold interest that shines in those piercing, icy irises at all, because I have to maintain the eye contact by force, despite the fear, that the blood in my veins could turn into poison in the wake of his watchful attention. Because even though, like the night before, König leans his broad back against the wall with perfect calmness and disturbingly collected indifference, as if he would be doing a favor by gracing us with his presence on this briefing, I see the dark outlines of the thoughts in his head, reflected in the bottomless depths of his eyes. As if he were examining excitedly moving ants under a magnifying glass, wondering when the time would come to let the sun's hot rays break through the lens. And this only strengthens the scratching of the questions appearing in my head, which all demand an answer to the doubt as to when their help will turn into something less friendly. Because it would be quite foolish to think that that moment won't come.

And all I have to do is catch the tiny little movement in my periphery with which Riley takes a step forward, and I know that I'm not the only one who noticed the rather interesting behavior of the mercenary hiding by the wall. Maybe it's luck, maybe it's the benevolent hand of fate, but Price and Nik appear in time at the gaping mouth of the dining room to interrupt the situation reminiscent of a barrel of gunpowder, for the ignition of which sooner or later, but the spark will arrive, we just have to give it time. And I'm just wildly hoping it happens after we finally don't have to be stressed about whether that fucking serum is going to help unleash another apocalypse or not.

And although the wind of the forming storm is dying down, instead of relief washing away the growing gloom dominating our little team, the furrows on the captain's forehead reassure us that we don't have to worry that we will finally have a bit of easiness in our mission. And at this point, maybe I shouldn't be surprised that fate, while we float in the middle of the sea of shit, will push us down again under the putrid waves, because it would be unusually nice if we finally got some damn good news.

"Tell me you have good news, Nik!" Garrick calls out to our pilot, and although the hope, that the buddies of our Russian friend hiding in the colony might help us track down the Rat, is mixed in his voice, but from the faint lines of doubt appearing on the Hunter’s face, it is clear that thanks to the grim expression of our leader, he also sees pitifully little chance of this happening.

"I have news." Nik gives the not-so-eloquent answer, and from the way he curves his mouth into a rather sour smile, as he and the bearded Hunter walk closer to our small gathering lined up around the table, the suspicion forms in me, that even his connections of dubious origin were not able to bring us close enough to our criminal. And this can be a detour that we cannot afford in our race with time, which we already started from a disadvantage, unless we want to party with dozens of degenerate hybrid monsters in the not-so-distant future. And I suspect that this is the awareness that helps to dispel the last sparks of the previous conflict from everyone in a instant, because the tension fills the worn walls of the spacious hall with an almost unexpected suddenness.

"That doesn't sound very promising." Garrick shares his thoughts, which aren’t the least rosy, and although he manages to put the foreboding into words that the shadow of which settles between his arched eyebrows, but from the small movement with which his dark eyes search for the captain with uncertainity, I can tell exactly how strongly this bad feeling spreads its roots in his mind with each minute, because it begins to crawl at the hidden corners of my skull with fantastic enthusiasm for me as well.

"According to Nik's contact, there is a club in sector F, which the Rat uses as his headquarters. He deals with business there almost every day." Price shares the first important piece of information with us, pointing to the small square on the spread-out map of the colony with his gloved hand, which presumably marks our thug's favorite cave. And although, based on the content of his announcement, there would be reason for us to be at least a little bit happy, but from the presence of the cheerless edge resonating in his deep voice, I soon realize that there must be some very sinister twist in this promising news. And my infallible intuitions tell me very kindly, that we are about to l have another chance to get involved in some unneeded excitement again. Great.

"That's good news, isn't it?" MacTavish asks in confusion, searching the tangled network of streets stretching between the buildings resting on the ragged map, no doubt already thinking about which road would be the most suitable to lead him to the Rat unnoticed, so that he could finally get his hands, itching from the repressed aggression of the last few weeks, on the bastard's neck. And although I'm sure they are buzzing with the motivation to finally make a nice bow from the asshole's guts in the most creative ways possible, but as I notice the dark clouds passing over Nik's eyes, I begin to suspect that he will soon blurt out the critical detail that will ruin my Scottish friend's bloodthirsty ideas.

"His people are around every corner. It's impossible to get close to him without him knowing about it." Our pilot shakes his head resignedly, presenting the same problem that has kept us on our asses so far and prevented my brutal friends from digging their sharp little teeth into their victim. And according to this, even though we have become richer with a location, the situation hasn't changed, and the sharp ears and watchful eyes of our target are still waiting in every nook and cranny for someone to turn up to hunt him down. Because I'm pretty sure he is smart enough to know that his little transaction won't go unnoticed for long if clever enough bloodhounds pick up the scent at the end of the blood-soaked trails. And he is also aware of what valuable trinket he has laid his hands on, and that sooner or later the original owner will be looking for where his destructive toy has disappeared.

"We can be quiet." Garrick declares firmly, and there is no doubt that his statement is true, because if it only depended on their imperceptibility, then our target, with the help of their chosen torture methods, would have spilled where to find the serum long ago. But unfortunately, even their remarkable abilities cannot solve this situation any faster. "Especially Ghost." He adds, when his gaze settles on the masked Hunter, who stands motionlessly in silence next to me and just nods in agreement with his teammate's very apt remark. And although I have already experienced countless times what Riley is capable of, when the goal is conceived in his mind filled with merciless ideas, now we are not going to get anywhere with sheer force. Because we need the Rat alive, and this is a complication that severely limits the repertoire of their bloodthirsty tactics.

"Not quiet enough." Nik objects, nipping Garrick's positivity in the bud, which makes me almost feel sorry for the Hunter, as I see how annoyed he purses his pursed lips. But no matter his irritation, the Russian is right, if we screw up now, we are never going to be able to find the seller or the product again. "There is an extensive underground tunnel system under Colony No. 2, he uses that, and he can escape at any time. He got his name from this." The man explains, thereby revealing a difficulty that only adds another shovelful of potential complications to the pile of rotting misery and misfortune, which slowly closes us in its hot embrace. Because what are the chances that such tricky little pathways are hidden in the very colony where we are about to play a cat-and-mouse game with a seasoned criminal who probably knows these hidden passages like the back of his fucking hand. Fabulous. "He can smell the Hunters from afar." He adds this non-negligible addition to the end, confirming the hunch that has been buzzing in the winding furrows of my brain until now.

And as unfortunate as this development is for us, it's not even a bit surprising that an outlaw with dangerous business dealings has developed a sixth sense to know when his natural predator is targeting him. It's true that the main task of the Hunters is the methodical slaughter of mutants, but everyone is aware that enough criminals drift under their brutal little hands to know how unlucky it is to spot one of the colonies' faithful dogs. And although perhaps a lower-class Hunter would still be able to blend into the herd of unsuspecting civilians, as I run my eyes over my small team, it becomes painfully obvious that neither their imposing physical attributes nor their threatening aura make them ideal for getting close enough to catch the Rat before he takes off in one of his mouseholes. Because it's also quite evident that such an important gangster surrounds himself with a dozen lapdogs, and if a speck of dust falls suspiciously on the ground, he will hightail it out of there.

"But we need the information." Horangi finally joins the conversation, reminding us of the urgent fact that, even without his intervention, enthusiastically turns the atmosphere around us more pregnant by the minute. "I still think we should smoke him out." He says easily, leaning against the wall in the shadow of his overgrown companion as if he still wouldn't understand what the problem is with his otherwise undoubtedly bomb-proof approach. At other times, I might even present him with a sarcastic comment, to enjoy his reaction with my harsh little soul, I might even analyze what kind of weakness he reveals with it, but now my brain capacity is far too preoccupied with the problem, which is enriched with more and more details the deeper we dive into its exploration.

"It wouldn't do any good. He doesn't have that thing with him, that's for sure." Nik continues, adding to the previous obstacles, and he doesn't need to spell out why it's a complication for us that the fucker is not roaming the streets with our little potentially-world-ending chemical in his pocket. Because as the slurred mumble of a colorful curse leaves MacTavish's mouth, I know everyone suddenly realizes that we are now trying to reach into an anthill in which we have no chance of finding the queen by chance.

"So we don't know where the serum is." Riley summarizes, putting into words the very apparent difficulty that makes the whole situation just tad bit disastrous. Because, up until now, we have entered the new chapter of our complicated adventure with the assumption that the Rat, in fear of his product suddenly vanishing into thin air, will rather keep it close to himself for his peace of mind. And while it wouldn't have been far-fetched to think that he wouldn't even trust his own mother enough to let her guard such a valuable thing, but in light of the fact that there is a whole network of tunnels that he knows more intimately than his own dick, its more likely that he will hide there the goods that he acquired during such great efforts.

"No." Price confirms our fears, and this one word rolls off his tongue so grimly that it quickly becomes clear how happy he is about this turn of events. And I only need to observe how the little muscle on his jaw jumps to know, that it's only the self-control he has practiced over the years that prevents him from shredding the equipment into confetti to show off the frustration raging inside him right now. "He's a sly bastard, he knows it's not worth taking any risks until the deal is sealed." He explains, running his palm along his beard with a weary movement, giving way to an irritated sigh rising in his throat, in which the power of rage flowing from his pores is concentrated.

"Fuck." MacTavish pushes himself away from the table furiously, and drags his hands along the line of dark hair running on his head with such angry momentum that it seems for a minute as if he wants to tear out the short locks tangled between his fingers. "We're runnin' out of time." He names the most pressing problem of the whole case, and his tone is mixed with the restrained rage that tells me just how much the obstacles popping up in front of us bring him dangerously close to losing the last fragile crumbs of his patience.

And suddenly, a heavy silence sweeps through the room, settling into the cracks that spread like old, gangrenous wounds on the worn walls, and in this terrible quietness, nothing but the taunting of the cheerful chirping of birds that filters in from outside echoes. For it seems that karma, on the welcoming lap of nature wrapped in spring, is having fun with the corner it forces us into with each passing day, because there is no explanation as to why fate throws us more and more hurdles that we have to climb over with sweat and blood. But it must be said that this move is quite brilliant, because now that the solution to this absurd mess, full of mutants and death, is finally within our reach, we are forced to be at a standstill like a bunch of helpless idiots.

We might be able to use some clever trick to get close to our asshat, and I suspect it would take Riley approximately two minutes to pull this feat off if it was enough to gut the bastard. But we need him alive, or the chance of finding out where the serum is will be obliterated with his spilled brain marrow. And although it would be better for everyone if that wretched chemical rotted in the endless maze of tunnels, I have the sneaking feeling that such an interesting thing wouldn't stay buried forever. Because if the master rat were to die, there would definitely be some sharp-eyed minion who could find a way to satisfy the market demand, since in such organizations there is always someone who knows just enough to take advantage of the opportunity when it's presented on a silver platter along with the severed head of their boss. So the Rat must be alive, and most of all unsuspecting, because if Nik's information is only half-credible, then in the event of a raid, he will cut and run before my friends have a chance to work on him. And without the Rat, we will never find the our prize in that labyrinth.

But this one observation is enough to finally free me from my perplexity, and like a bolt of lightning, my brain is enlightened in a flash, and I suddenly feel incredibly stupid for ignoring the obvious answer that was right in front of my nose all this time. After all, there is someone in our little team who spent half her life perfecting that vile invisibility, with which she happily hid from the watchful eyes of the authorities, like a pretty, cunning little snake. Oh, Leona… you forgot about your wonderful past pretty quickly, didn't you?

"What if he leads us to the serum?" I present the introduction of my sly idea, effectively breaking the tense atmosphere. And this one question is enough for all eyes to be fixed on me in an instant, and I don't need to say a word for the captain to realize with his honed senses, from the first glint of malice that moves into my eyes, that something very interesting was taking shape in my little head. Because his eyes narrow suspiciously, like a tired parent who already knows that whatever leaves the mouth of his child, nothing good will come out of it for him.

"What do you mean?" Price inquires, and a layman might believe that only the caution of paternal worry sits in his tone, but I already know the man better than that, and I'm aware that the hoarseness that paints his voice with curiosity comes more from an incipient disagreement than from concern. However, my little plan will be the only thing that can pull us out of that screwed-up hole, from which we wouldn't be able to get out even with tooth and nails any other way.

"I'll solve your problems." I announce easely, waving towards the map with such an elegant gesture, as if I wasn't offering them my services that I had refined over the years. Although it takes a fleeting second for the spark to light up in each of their brains, and they understand what I'm trying to convey, even through the noise of the devilish thoughts raging in my head, I see how forcefully surprise mixed with outrage takes over the facial expressions of my little team. And I can pinpoint the exact moment when they realize what I'm offering, because the lines of genuine astonishment stretch through Garrick's face, turning his handsome features into something quite comical.

"Out of the question." Riley snaps almost without hesitation, and his objection is so unexpected that I'm forced to reward it with a bewildered look. And if the definite depth of his voice wasn't interesting enough, then the fiery light flashing in the dark irises ruffles my enthusiasm for my brilliant plan. Because it's rather difficult for me to understand why the pent-up anger moves into his muscles when we both know that we are floundering in the middle of a party for which this will be the quickest and surest solution. And the nasty little voice in my head whispers its nonsensical message in my ear, that this isn't the first time I see the faint lines of disapproval appearing on the skin coated in black paint, and maybe in his own way he is telling me that he is afraid of my little body being wrecked by someone else. But this sudden thought reminds me that this is exactly the reaction I need to do this tricky little venture. Because I'm willing to risk life and limb, so that I can feel how the hot displeasure emanating from his gaze burns my face for many years to come.

"Ghost is right. You're tryin’ to walk into the wolf den alone, lassie." The Scottish Hunter shares his doubts as well, and I have the opportunity to admire the firm lines of opposition on his face, because they arrange his features into a dark expression with such enthusiasm that it is quite sweet. And although the worry flashing in his bright eyes warms up my cruel little heart, his behavior gives me just one more reason to know that I came up with the right concept.

"I appreciate your concern, but you forget how I got into the team." I note this detail, effectively reviving the unfortunate slip-up committed not so long ago that ended my secret little hiding career. And although today I'm mostly grateful to fate for helping me move into the new phase of my life with such a merciless slap in the face, luckily it didn't turn me into a saint, so my experiences live on in me very vividly. And in light of that, ensnaring a damned criminal doesn't seem like a difficult task in the least, because over the years I've managed to make stupid bastards like him lose their minds and walk unsuspectingly into my waiting hands. And since muscle and sheer violence won't help us out in this case, it's time to use my feminine skills, because, with the honey of my charming little body, it will be much easier to lure in this disgusting fly.

"This is going to be real now. You won't have a weapon and you won't be able to call for help." Price warns, placing his large palms on the table, and as he leans forward, his shoulders tense and his gaze fills with something quite hard, which makes me understand that, although his not over the moon in the least, he is forced to agree to my reckless proposal, because, at the moment, out of the countless difficult roads, this is the least impossible.

"I don't need anything but my hands, do I?" I lift one of my pretty little hands, allowing only a fleeting moment for the energy pooling in her fingertips to heat up excitedly at the promise of a delicious prey. And they should also know that no matter how harmless I may seem, it's precisely this sneaky and mean ability that makes me such an effective predator. And we don't need more than that right now. "I'll go in, trick him, and wire him up. And he leads us to the serum."

"And what do you do with these?" Garrick names the only obvious problem, pointing his hand towards my eyes and sweet little canines, eliciting a nod of agreement from the Hunter with the mohawk, who merely raises one of his dark eyebrows with his hands laced into his tactical vest, curiously waiting to see what kind of answer I will give to this small unpleasant detail. "He'll find out that you're Extreme." The man adds to his doubts, curling the corner of his mouth down with sincere doubt, as if he had really shared a reason that could make my diabolical idea fail. And his naivety is quite amusing, because neither my unusual pupils nor my small teeth will be a problem, I just have to choose the right approach. And I'm pretty good at that.

"Don't worry." I utter lightly, and I see the worry on the faces of my kind friends when I spread my lips in a grin similar to that of a demon from hell. "I'll make sure he's not going to be able to focus on that."

⃰

Although it's already the end of spring, the night breeze that travels through the walls of worn buildings caresses my bare arms with chilly fingers, but I don't care that goosebumps prickle on every square centimeter of my skin following its attack. Because it just helps my attire for tonight to become even more efficient, and I can be almost certain that my nipples peeking under the thin material of my rather risque dress will beneficially distract attention from the dubious intentions with what I stroll into a nightclub in the middle of the street, loud with blaring music.

After our small discussion, I almost immediately stepped into the field of action, and thanks to Nik's rather extensive connections, he smuggled me through the walls of the colony so unnoticed that it once again raised the question of how did the man acquire such important friends. But considering how we managed to slip through the tight check with the help of some very questionable looking guys, I decided that some answers were better off buried, so I accepted that he got me close enough to the finish line to figure out the rest of my own like a smart girl I am. And it wasn't difficult for my nasty hands to find someone in the hustle and bustle of the nightlife who seemed unsuspecting and pretty enough to be worth stealing her fun outfit of the night. Perhaps, if I had been a little bit more compassionate, I wouldn't have had the heart to knock out an innocent civilian and strip her of the clothes, bought with great effort and presumably with a lot of credit, but necessity is a much greater force than niceness, so I only had exactly enough kindness to haphazardly hang my own clothes on her and drag her behind a container, so that she can have her well-deserved beauty sleep, with which I so generously gifted her.

Although even before the departure, they were full of worry and doubt as they set me up for my trip, now as I walk along the street bathed in flickering neon lights, I only hope that my friends, who have retreated into the shadows, will also see what kind of disguise I have put together for this exciting little occasion, because their little souls will immediately be freed from the pressure of the fear of my downfall. And the knowledge that my favorite Hunter is probably following my little action from the top of one of the buildings with prying eyes, only makes the swaying of my hips even more seductive, because, in my mind's eye, I see his jaw clenching under the mask as the idea slowly forms in his head of how he will teach me a lesson because of my obvious misbehavior. Because although I will do everything only for the sake of the success of the mission, the fact is that there is also a slight, malicious intent in me, with which I would like to finally push the man to the edge of the abyss of his patience. And even though I don't have the opportunity to ask him how he likes my dress that fits me like a second skin, I have a feeling that my audacity won’t go unanswered. Until then, however, he will be forced to watch as a spectator, because I was quite serious when I told them so innocently that I would find a way to make sure that no one would be able to pay attention to the little nothings that betray my kind. But it wouldn't be a problem even if that happened, because perhaps I would seem an even tastier snack to that dipshit thug.

There is no need for me to recall the road leading to the Rat's hideout, because the club stands out from the gray concrete blocks with such ostentatious splendor, as if it wanted to lead uninvited guests to itself with a deliberate intention. Maintaining the signs in all the colors of the rainbow must be a small fortune, and even if this wouldn't give it away, then the row of cars parked next to the sidewalk, perhaps salvaged before the outbreak of the virus, can be enough of a warning sign that it's not the simple everyday-people who have strayed here to let out the tired steam. Such a carefully guarded machine would supply half a colony with food stamps, and this kind of bragging is just another fine proof that our criminal feels safe enough to dare to allow himself such a show. And even without super-senses, I can feel the searching eyes fixed on me from the dirty depths of the hidden alleys, as I march closer to the building, noisy with the pounding of the bass. There is a vermin around every corner, vigilantly waiting to alert the boss. How fucking smart.

It seems that the sea of dubious figures may have gathered in honor of an even bigger occasion than usual, because the people crowding in front of the entrance are pushing and shoving almost impatiently to get into the party, but the sizable tough guys stationed in front of the door stand like an impenetrable wall in front of the mass. And maybe it should worry me that, falling in the middle of an unknown important event, there might be more dangerous thugs standing between me and my target, but the bigger the commotion, the less attention will be focused on a hot but silly little girl like me. Only one person needs to spot me, and I could easily make that happen even if I were woken up from my sleep.

Perhaps I should thank fate for luring so many idiots here today, because I mingle with a group of girls heading for the entrance with such imperceptible charm as I finally reach the wretched club, like I had always been one of them. With the greatest naturalness in the world, I link my arms with one of the girls laughing drunkenly, and when she just curiously raises her alcohol-foggy eyes at me, I send a jolt of my energy into her defenseless body with a cheerful laugh, just enough to make her focus more on not ending up on the ground from the sudden dizziness, rather than what kind of unknown stranger joined her in the fun. And I don't have to be disappointed, because the stars that must have appeared in front of her eyes make her feet, hidden in stilettos, suddenly buckle, and she distracts one of the big gorillas just enough to make him not want to examine us more thoroughly, while he lets us in ahead of the gathered herd into the pit mocked as a nightclub. I don't mind the series of disdainful glances piercing my back when I pass between the two security men with my small group of decorative ladies, because no matter the appearance of the mutants, the world hasn't changed so much that pretty, fuckable fresh meat doesn't have priority when it comes to partying. But this is exactly the little detail that will benefit me so generously today.

And as soon as I'm swallowed up by the corridor leading to the club, I move on with my new companions, accompanied by the shadows painted on the wall by the flashing lights, and I'm almost overcome with nostalgia, as the pulsation of the music resonates through my bones. The excited anticipation, that reared its head in my subconscious every time I drifted into a cesspool like this to look for dinner, moves into my muscles. And maybe the fact that I got richer with a delicious bite at the end of each evening developed a real reflex in me, because hearing the unrecognizable booming tunes, my mind almost automatically focuses on the hunt, as we arrive into the huge room full of people. When we reach the edge of the crowd writhing in a daze, I unobservedly separate myself from the bunch of girls to lean against one of the walls and spy on the field. According to the plan, I should spend here as little time as possible, because the shorter the time they see me, the smaller the chance that someone can notice what kind of delicacy has been thrown here in my person. And the success of my disguise and operation depends quite a lot on how sneaky I can be, so I have to be on the lookout.

I was not mistaken in that the Rat didn't spare the credit for furnishing his sanctuary with enough frippery, because the garish luxury emanates from every corner of the spacious hall with such violence that it's quite nauseating. Gilded tendrils run along the marble columns stretching up to the ceiling at the edge of the dance floor, and I can tell without much expertise that, despite the glitz, all the expensive-looking decorations are at least as fake as the stench of cheap booze in the air. And although the lights flickering rhythmically from the many lamps may distract attention from the tasteless mosaic of a lion's head on the floor, which the dancers are obliviously tramping on, it cannot be denied that this den belongs to a figure who considers fake splendor important enough to pack it into every nook and cranny. Perfect. He will be the exact target that my seductive little curves will be able to keep off his feet long enough to walk into my clutches, because it's enough to charm the eyes of such stupid idiots to turn off their brains.

I catch the thug I'm looking for with almost ridiculous speed, because the platform in the far corner of the dance floor stands out with an egoism worthy of him, on which he sprawls with such comfort as a self-proclaimed king. He leans back on the couch covered in cheap silk with almost grandiose confidence, gesticulating with such ferocity towards the grim-faced gangsters sitting on the other side of the glass table, as if he were sharing some truly valuable wisdom with them. And if he wasn't wearing sunglasses in the middle of the night, I would even believe that he has some brain cells in his head, but the whole picture looks like a pathetic show, which is usually performed by tough men like him to compensate for their small size. The thought occurs to me with quite a bit of glee, that karma could not have chosen a better target for me, because this kind of prey has such a pleasant aftertaste that is hard to beat. Because when they become aware of what it feels like to endure my attack so defenselessly, the rage and fear that fills them between my claws makes their blood taste quite spicy, like mature wine.

I only hesitate for a fleeting moment, then I let the power of habit take control of my body, and I push myself from my previous hiding place with such airy elegance that it fills every fiber of me with the lustful energy that I know will be able to draw my victim's attention to me. Keeping my eyes on my chosen target, I cut through the crowd of people united by rhythmic movements, and with the graceful steps of a cat about to pounce, I avoid the entangled bodies drifting in my path, almost intoxicated by the smell of nauseatingly strong perfume and sweat floating in the air. And although I haven't been lucky enough to practice the techniques I have learned through hard work for months, my hips start to sway almost unconsciously when I reach the perfect spot and begin my little performance. I let the power of the bass emanating from the huge speakers creep into my limbs and guide my every heated movement with invisible hands, and I allow myself to be immersed in my lonely dance, because the more intoxicated I appear, the easier it will be to convince my target that I am nothing more than a desperate, thirsty whore.

And even though I'm anchored far enough that those pesky little details that could later identify me cannot be spotted, I'm just close enough to attract interest, and when I feel the hot gaze burning my skin even through my closed eyelids, I forcefully tame the sarcastic grin that wishes to climb on my face into a seductive smile. The laziness with which I slide my hand along the line of my throat is intentional, as I throw my head back and focus all my bewitching charms into every small movement of my body, and there is nothing accidental in the way my eyes flutter open, as my fingers stop on their journey, lingering at the bold cleavage of my dress. And for a few fleeting moments, I pretend to be just jolted awake from the intoxication of the music, and then almost immediately I find the hungry leer of my chosen thug, who drinks in every corner of my enticing figure with such intense intrusion, as if I had really succeeded in hypnotizing him.

It's pathetically easy to pinpoint when he decides he likes me enough to want to taste me, because he even ditches those stupid glasses to adequately revel in my one-of-a-kind show. And although I know that I test luck with my braveness, but as my eyes are intertwined with his, my curious tongue glides over my lips with just a sensual movement, and when, for a moment, my fingers teasingly wander under the hem of my dress, snug against my thighs, then I know that I have won the game. Because that disgusting grin that spreads across his mouth is a painfully clear sign that all the blood has flowed from his brain to his dick, and from now on he is letting that tiny little organ guide his actions. How predictable…

But like someone who is quite innocently unaware of the deep impression I made on this idiot, I continue my inviting activity, because I know for a fact that it's only a matter of time before he invites me to himself. It's almost comical when, a few minutes later, a rough hand lands on my shoulder, pulling me out of my soft rocking, and I look back at the mustachioed gentleman, who presumably came to pick me up for his boss's cock warmer for the night.

"You got lucky, little girl." He says without hesitation, shouting over the loud music with his hoarse voice, and I don't need to be particularly well-informed about underworld affairs to understand what he wants to convey with his careless nod of his head and his words, because it's a universal signal that is the same everywhere in the world for ripe girls like me. And as I peek over the burly man's cheap, gaudy shirt-clad shoulder and spot the Rat, I have to suppress the laughter that rises in my throat, because even though he may be shining in his mind like a real jackpot, as he stands up smugly beckoning towards him with his fingers, it's painfully obvious that how easy it will be for me to hunt him down. Because it doesn't even occur in his stupid little head who he is inviting to private fun in my pretty little person. But it's not his fault, because the prey is never aware of when it is being stalked.

And it seems that the criminal leader sees the matter settled with this little instruction, because after a last little joking comment, he comfortably sets off towards the small, well-hidden door opening at the side of the room, and then his subordinate sees that the time has arrived to deliver the delicious package to his boss. The big hand of the gorilla firmly begins to guide me towards the edge of the partying mass, and I obediently let him expertly direct me towards my new destination, occasionally sneaking a little drunken uncertainty into my steps to make my already award-winning performance as authentic as possible. The easier victim I look, the less they will suspect what a nasty little plan I'm up to, and the easier it will be for me to disappear into the darkness of the memories of unknown girls. And from the contemptuous, dirty look with which the asslickers participating in the previous meeting examine my desirable little body, I can be quite sure that this is not the first time they have seen this scene unfold. And when one of the guys with a face disfigured by scars blows me a mocking kiss with an obscene but no less pitiful gesture, it also quickly becomes clear that their leader is generous enough to share his used toys with them when he is done with them. And because of this, the spark of mercy, which might have been hidden in the depths of my dark little soul, evaporates like the imagination of an oasis rising before a dying pilgrim in the desert. Not that I'm ever going to have any sympathy for my snacks, but this scumbag just makes my job easier by acting like the nastiest louse the world has ever seen. Wonderful.

My escort pushes me over the threshold of the door perhaps more forcefully than necessary, as if he is afraid that I will change my mind after seeing the narrow corridor bathed in red neon, and from the way his fingers tighten on my shoulder, I conclude that it wouldn’t be the first time that the courage of the ladies who wandered here disappeared. But he doesn't have to be afraid, because I continue to cooperate with the naivety of a silly bitch, and I let him nudge me towards one of the countless windowless doors, so that when, after a rough knock, the entrance opens, then he, without further ado, can usher me into the tiny room. And as the only way of escape closes behind me with a loud bang, the game, for what I dragged my sexy ass here in the first place, starts.

The over-decorated tastelessness has found its way into the crimson walls of the small room a well, and the smell of cheap cologne spreads like a disgusting disease from every corner, but I don't have to look long for the source that was able to plant this god-awful stench here. Because my criminal has already taken his place, and all my cells are filled with disgust and malice, as I see his hungry eyes sliding along the lines of my bare legs, and I don't have to think much about whether he likes my outfit for tonight, because between his spread legs, straining under the material of the tight trousers, there is the clearly visible proof of his opinion. And his enthusiasm might even be flattering, if he didn't make my work almost painfully easy.

"I liked your dance." He notes, and the hoarseness of desire settles into his voice as his gaze wanders to the delicate mounds of my breasts hidden under my dress, and this is exactly the reaction I need. Oh, you stupid fool. "Come here." He tries to lure me closer, but due to the impatience in his tone, his request sounds more like an order, but his rudeness doesn't bother me. Because even though he stretches out on the leather couch as the all-powerful lord of his little empire steeped in violence and crime, and a sticky aura of superiority emanates from every cell of him, he is no more than prey. Not even if he doesn't know who he's been left alone with.

"If you liked it, maybe I should give you an encore." I suggest coquettishly as I wander closer to him, and the seductive hum I put in my voice is quite intentional. And even without his affirmation, I know how much he likes my idea, because he slurps up the golden contents of the glass resting in one of his tattooed hands so hastily, as if he would regret every drop of attention it's taking away from me. How cute.

"Go on. Show what you’ve got and maybe you can entertain me some more later too!" He offers generously, and from the wide grin that crosses his clean-shaven face, I know that he truly thinks that he is giving me a real honor. And though my tongue is stung by the sardonic remark that takes hold in my mind like poison, I let him lull himself into this vain fantasy, because until then he doesn't wonder why his company tonight has become so willing. For even though I don't have the keen senses of my dangerous friends, I can still smell the sweaty stench of the gorilla's body wafting from the door, and this fool wouldn't have to stand guard if his boss's human sex dolls didn't want to run off so often.

But I don't even give that idiot time for suspicion to appear in his sparse brain cells, because I continue my lustful little dance much sooner than his pathetic neural pathways can start to work. And the tempting heat that weaves through my every move is conscious, as I slowly settle between his comfortably spread thighs, and the mesmerized expression with which he follows the erotic movements of my hips is quite charming. I make sure that lustful desire moves to every fiber of me, and as Riley's gaze, dark with pleasure, flashes before my mind's eye, I feel that the tingle moving under my skin only makes my seduction even more believable. The longer my show goes on, the stronger the weight of hunger in his eyes becomes, and I feel almost honored by how obviously I impress him. And as my single-minded thug wets his dry lips in fascination, I know it's time to get to the point.

The moment comes pretty soon when he loses his patience and feels just the sight isn't enough anymore, and then he leans forward with almost desperate speed to smooth his big palms on my waist. There's nothing gentle about the way he grips me, and I'm pretty sure if my little body wasn't amped up by my genes, bruises would stain my skin purple under his touch. As his fingers tighten and dig into me with hungry desire to stop the sensual swaying of my hips, and his gaze finally lifts to my face for the first time during our little acquaintance, then I let that taunting grin spread across my lips, flashing my pretty little teeth at him. I see the faint light of confusion slip through his lust-clouded eyes, but by the time he can understand why vertical pupils are looking back at him, one of my clever hands has already started on its dangerous little journey, and it's too late. My palm clasps to his bald head with such speed that he doesn't have time to come to his senses, and by the time his brain can understand what is happening, my energy has already reached his defenseless little body. His eyes roll back into his skull with an almost spasmodic force, as my ability pushes him towards unconsciousness, and as soon as the first wave of my power sweeps through him, he willingly slumps back on the couch.

And although I would love to continue to admire how pathetic he looks, as he lies on the cheap sofa with the grace of a rag doll, but unfortunately I have much more important things to do than enjoying these small pleasures. That's why I get to work instead, because it's only a matter of time before someone shows up after hearing the suspicious silence and wants to check up on our dear Rat. With a firm move, I position the man's heavy body, and with no less violence, I yank his shirt out of the confines of his pants, and as soon as his upper body, interwoven with blurred patterns, is revealed, my crafty little hands wander under my clothes to search for the tiny cloth pouch in which all the necessary supplies for my outing tonight were sneakily hidden until now. With nimble movements, I release the small package from the trap of the strap of my underwear to fish out the flat piece of plastic with which this half-wit will lead us to the goods that we are so eager about. And my expert eyes immediately start searching for the ideal place where the small device can find a new home on the surface soaked in black ink. And when I settle and find the perfect target on the supple skin of his steadily rising belly, I pull out the carefully wrapped blade that Riley had so carefully bestowed upon me. Although the small tool is no bigger than a few centimeters, the masked Hunter assured me that, despite all my doubts, the edge belies its size. And indeed, as I peel my tiny weapon from its protective holster, it pierces through the tissues, soft with fat, slicing the unconscious man's stomach with flawless ease, like a hot knife cuts through butter.

My nose is hit by the appetizing scent of the fat drops of dripping blood, and although my mouth instinctively salivates from the whiff of the metallic aroma, I have more pressing matters to take care of rather than indulge in a quick snack. And before I let the wandering thoughts in my head tempt me to be naughty, I activate the tracker and push it into the exposed wound with a not-so-subtle movement, just deep enough so that my unsuspecting victim doesn't have a chance to realize what a twisted little gift I have given him. Once I'm satisfied with the way the tiny device fits into the embrace of wet flesh, with the caress of the energy flowing into my fingertips, I help the injury heal as if nothing had happened. And I quickly wipe away the stray drops that try to roll down on the undamaged skin, treating myself to a small munch.

To ensure the success of the party, my cunning little hands search for the communicator hiding in the pocket of the criminal sleeping like a baby, so that the last guest of honor of the evening can also appear in the image of that small chip, which, thanks to Garrick, will function as our ears when our illegal businessman plunges into managing his affairs again. Following the Hunter's instructions, I pop open the back of the device and slip the tricky little piece of metal in among the sea of small components, so that I can then, with the same speed, remove the traces of my sneaky little activity and sink the gadget back into the depths of the guy's tight pocket.

And as quickly as I completed the finale of my mission, I decided so urgently that it's time to hop the stick and clear out, because according to the plan, my taxi will arrive after activating the chip, which is the end of this dangerous little fun. I only take one last look at the unfortunate fool, who is peacefully dozing on the couch, and he seems so vulnerable that an absolutely brilliant idea is conceived in the grim little corners of my mind, and guided by this, I snatch up his wallet that has wandered onto the leather cover and rob it from its contents, let him believe for the sake of appearances, that a thieving bitch knocked him out and that is why his private fun was so exciting.

Hiding my small blade in the depth of the narrow gap on the sofa cover and wedging the stolen credits into the strap of my panties, I put on the disguise I need for my leave. I walk to the door while ruffling my hair, conjuring the shame of a humiliated and exploited little girl on my face, and I know that my portrayal is authentic, because as soon as the dim corridor is revealed again and I come face to face with the tough guy guarding outside, I see the unmistakable sparks of contempt flash in his eyes, with which he accompanies my hasty escape. As if this disdain would drive despair into me, I hurry towards the nightclub, sneaking a sad sniff or two into my artistic show. And when the blast of deafening melodies engulfs me again, and the corridor leading to the sex cave disappears behind me, I drop my mask and throw myself into the crowd of dancers with determined urgency, counting down the seconds in my head until the babysitter finally realizes what happened to his boss, and decides to follow me in the hope of a friendly interrogation.

And my intuition doesn't let me down now either, because I'm just about to reach the middle of the dance floor when I catch the commotion on the other side of the crowded room in my peripheral vision. The door of the corridor hiding the windowless rooms slams open with such force that even the boom of the bass is penetrated by the crash with which the thick wooden board smashes against the wall. And the angry temper with which the tough guy bursts out, who so beautifully defended his boss's lustful entertainment, doesn't promise anything good, because I suspect that he will soon turn this fierce enthusiasm to my search. And although for the time being the cover of the herd of bodies hides me from the prying eyes, I know that my minutes are numbered, and the sooner I set sail, the less chance there will be that I will have to use the useful tricks learned in my training. Therefore, putting aside all subtleties, I push through the surging mass, and when I reach the edge of the herring party, I charge towards the exit, only passingly aware of how a dozen guards band together to avenge their leader's ugly grievances.

Even I'm surprised with how quickly I reach the entrance of the club, and for once I thank biology that it missed a few centimeters when planning my height, because it's the only reason that I'm able to slip through the tight protection of the humongous lackeys, blending in among the partygoers pouring out. And for a few narrow meters, I try to stick to a smaller group, because I see the hawk-like attention with which the dangerous-looking guys begin to scan the people loitering in the darkness of the street after they receive the order to find the Rat's vile attacker through the radio in their ears. The urge to escape fills every part of my body, but I don't give in to the pressure that moves to my stomach and tries to encourage me to run, because that would put the target on my back. Therefore, imitating drunken carelessness, I continue to hang out with the unsuspecting fools who function as my disguise, and all my nerves are strained in the minutes that seem like millennia that I spend in this feigned uncertainty.

And for a passing moment it looks like my luck will hold until I'm far enough, but as soon as I hear the inarticulate yelling of one of the security men calling my cover group to a halt, I know I have run out of fortune and I'd better take a powder. I don't wait for the thug's henchmen to catch up with us, but hastily kick off the stolen high heels from my feet, and breaking away from the unknowing, drunkenly carefree civilians, I start running at such frantic speed, like a gazelle running from a lion. And I have no doubt that if I don't manage to vanish quickly enough, they will gut me with the greatest joy for hurting their employer. This sufficiently injects the power of adrenaline into my muscles, which helps me increase my already hasty sprint, and excludes all distractions from my mind, except the thought of running away.

Accompanied by the rumble of heavy footsteps behind me and the sound of my shallow breaths, I race further and further away from the welcoming proximity of the deafening music and colorful lights, and I'm only vaguely aware that I should now reach the rendezvous point, as the previously lively neighborhood turns into gray desolation. And I'm just startled enough by the stinging pain of the bullet that grazes my shoulder to not notice the huge hand that emerges like a blurred shadow from the depths of one of the alleys, past which I run at such a rushed pace. And before my mind, blinded by stress, can even comprehend what is happening, the unknown force grabs me and pulls me into the stomach of the dirty side street as easily as if I were nothing more than a helpless rag doll.

The scream that creeps up my throat is reflexive, but before the evidence of the terror tearing into me can even pass my lips, a large palm clamps to my mouth, and the rough material of the glove absorbs my desperate whimper. And instinctively, the power to fight for survival awakens in me, and I try to trash against my attacker like a rabid cat, but despite the fact that a deadly amount of power flows into my fingertips, which could instantly bring anyone close to a stroke, I can't touch anything but the fabric of the black uniform. However, when an arm wraps around my waist, and I feel the power hidden in the muscles that press against a giant body, I freeze with the shock of a frightened animal caught in a trap.

And it seems that this fills the unknown assailant with sufficient satisfaction, because the strength of the shackles holding me in check eases a bit, and although I'm no longer afraid that the stranger will crack my spine or tear off my jaw with a random movement, it still takes a few torturous seconds, before the oxygen reaches my brain through the air inhaled through my nose, and quiets my alarmed thoughts so much that I can understand what is happening. And when I'm able to pay attention, the sound of shoes echoing in the street reaches my ears, and I only catch it out of the corner of my eyes as the group of minions sent after me storms past us amid angry curses. Only one guy spares a cursory glance at the inhospitable darkness where the stranger and I hide, but he has no chance of discovering us, for we are pressed up too tightly against the damp brick wall for a mere mortal to notice. As the noise of my pursuers slowly fades away, the furious pounding of my heart subsides, and as my nerve cells break free from fear, I have the opportunity to recognize who my new savior might be.

Although at first the scent that crept into my nose, reminiscent of pine after rain, seemed unfamiliar, now the smell of blood and gunpowder is too strong for the fleeting memory not to flash in my mind, which helps to identify who this unique aroma belongs to. And as I become aware of who has come to free me from my lonely mission, hot embers of anger glow up in my chest, spreading the fury like liquid lava in all my tense cells. While in other cases I would be able to take the man down with dripping scorn, the pull of ire bubbling up in my veins takes away all the will that would help me to hide my emotions. Because this bastard knows exactly that there could have been a thousand and one ways to end my operation effectively, but more pleasantly, yet he chose the method that would elicit the most entertaining reaction from me.

When my captivity, which lasts unreasoned seconds longer, ends, and the grip of the arms that enslave me like thick ropes loosens, I tear myself out of his hands with such momentum as if I had been burned by living flames. And I see how the cruel curiosity shines in the bright eyes staring down at me. Like a shield of ice that clings over a lake during the cold of winter, under which the lifeless bodies caught in an eternal trap rise like mementos of frozen, tortured souls. The kind of deceptive beauty that thirsts for blood and devours you if you give the icy hands a chance to take you away. And the Hunter has proven more than once what kind of ruthlessness lies beneath the motionless surface.

"The fuck is wrong with you?" I snap at him, filtering the enraged words between my teeth, and I feel how the fiery poison surging under my skin settles sparks of hostility into my eyes. I don't even try to force indifference on myself, because I see the morbid, merry light dancing in his eyes emerging from under the hood, from which I know that my chance to maintain my dignity has long since been lost. Because I'm sure that not one of my frightened trembles escaped his attention, and he felt the drumming of my terrified racing pulse all too well to now find the false mask of my apathy credible.

"I helped you." König states simply, and from the artificial innocence hidden in his accent, along with my skyrocketing blood pressure, my brain is filled with the forerunner of the red fog that, in a mean voice, tries to persuade me to wipe off the grin on his face, the wrinkles of which cheerfully gather around the black-painted skin. "That was the plan, wasn't it?" He inquires, putting a deceptive tone of confusion in his voice, which can make the hurt with which he cocks his head to the side seem sincere to anyone. Like he is a fucking martyr who can't understand why his heroic actions fall on deaf ears and violent rejection when he is so selflessly risking everything for a good cause. But he doesn't deceive me. Because even through my agitation, I can see how excited is that invisible movement, with which he pushes himself away from the dirty wall and takes a small, almost imperceptible step toward me.

"Yeah..." I agree, but even I can feel the unfriendly emptiness of the couple of sounds that roll off my tongue, as if I'm trying to drive the aftertaste of bitter medicine from my mouth. "Your only luck is that your uniform caught my gratitude." I retort, and even though I know how petty it is to let the acidic sting of malice cling to my words, I want him to know that his great idea could easily have ended with the phenomenal sight of his cold corpse without his gorgeous outfit. Because I hate to admit that even for a minute he had the fragile thread of my life in his hands, and it depended only on his deceptive benevolence whether he would kill me or not. Of course, it's obvious that he is still standing by us as a friend in our little mission, but I have no illusions that he would be able to make it look like an unfortunate accident, if he managed to be more powerful with his help.

"I felt it." He utters, almost without thinking, and there is something quite unsettling in the joy with which he declares this. Although I'm pretty sure if there was enough power in my attack that he felt its sting so strongly through the thick fabric of his clothes, it was anything but uplifting. "It was wonderful." He adds to his testimony, and for a moment I'm unable to decide whether the elated hum that resonates throughout his words is real, or whether the slowly subsiding roar of the storm stirred up inside me is the one deceiving my ears.

And for a few agonizing seconds, nothing else fills the silence between us, other than the soft buzzing of the street lamps, as I quietly stare into the eyes studying me, trying to decipher what is going on in his head. It's obvious that he is trying to provoke me in his own sick way, because this whole nerve-wracking intermezzo has no doubt something to do with how much I hurt his little soul by refusing his generous approach. Although my exotic little power can tempt the Hunters and stir up the pull of raw power surging through their veins, I doubt that he wants to indulge in this fleeting, lovely experience right now. And the angry noise in my head is effectively silenced when I realize how easily I allow him to take out his childish revenge on me. This moment is about nothing else but the mending of his broken ego. This helps to turn my previous fury into fatigue, and induces that exhausted sigh with which I finally turn my gaze towards the street on the other side of the alley. And my sharp little eyes discover the metallic shine of the body of the car cleverly hidden there, which is parked too deliberately for its position to be a mere coincidence.

"Let's go." I end the whole pointless situation with these few words, and without waiting for his answer, I set off towards the car, which is probably waiting for us, concealed in the blackness of the night, to ensure our escape. Although at first only the soft tap of my bare feet echoes in the embrace of the musty brick walls, I only take a few steps on the damp concrete before I'm joined by the heavy pounding of the Hunter's boots. And I try with all my efforts to tune him out, as he tails after me cautiously, but still, he follows me in intrusive proximity, like a damned dog that longs for the attention of its master, to see if they will throw it a crumb of a word of praise. But, unfortunately, he won't have this satisfaction.

"You did a nice job." He speaks up suddenly, and even if his words of appreciation come as a surprise, I don't give any indication that his message has reached me at all, because no matter how hard he tries to cover his intentions in sugary sweetness, I know what the game he tries to play. And I'd have to be terribly stupid to once again fall for the transparent tactic with which he tries to find out along which defenseless point he can catch me. Therefore, I turn all the capacity of my feverishly working nerves towards the pain that pulses in my shoulder like the stab of tiny needles, enjoying how the ache radiates through the skin torn by the bullet along with my heartbeat, beneficially clearing up the upheaval in my skull.

"It was brave of you to take on this task." The hooded Hunter shares his observations with me again, and for a moment, even in my resignation, I recognize how amusing it is as he continues his attempts, even though he can see that he has found a suitable challenge in me with his sneaky methods. "Your teammates will surely appreciate it." He continues his train of thought, not caring about the adamant indifference with which I stride forward, slowly reaching the end of the alley. As if he only wants to amuse himself with this unnecessary chatter, and I have no doubt that he enjoys the obvious determination with which I ignore him. Because no matter how hard I try to deprive the reaction he craves so eagerly, my speechlessness is just enough of an answer for him to feel it's worth experimenting further.

"But how long will this last?" He asks with sincere curiosity, and as soon as I realize what a stomach-turningly vile question he has asked, I'm unable to command my body in time, and I halt at the threshold of the uninhabited street as suddenly as if a bucket of cold water had been poured down on my neck.

And as I look back at the Hunter with a measured coldness, considering every small twitch, all my doubts disappear that he is only probing for my weaknesses by indulging in random guesses. Because the victory-drunk spark that comes to life in those blue eyes tells me exactly, that he deliberately saved this comment for the very end of his monologue. And it occurs to me how smart this merciless man can be to find that hair-thin, vulnerable little crack in my unbreakable armor so quickly, the existence of which even I was barely aware of.

"I think we've already established once that it's futile for you to play this game." I remind him in a toneless voice, and I consciously drive away all stray traces of the slowly simmering anger that was just dormant, and now he is trying to breathe life into it again. Because I can feel all too clearly how intently he studies the telltale signs of emotions passing over my face, just watching for an opportunity to strike. Like a vulture circling over the dying body of a wounded wild animal, waiting for its victim to finally breathe its last and tear the still warm, tempting flesh from its bones.

"I'm just trying to care about you." He apologizes, but his voice is still imbued with feigned compassion, which almost instinctively makes my stomach turn. There is no good intention in the way he towers over me, enveloping me into the all consuming shadow of his strong body, as if he is trying with every cell to plant the disgusting plague of fear and distrust in me. But no matter how deceitful and cunning he is, he needs much more than that to touch my soul. Because even though I find it hard to admit how closely he strays to the painful doubts that have arisen in my soul, I won't give him the pleasure of seeing the battle of feelings that are raging in my head.

"How fucking nice." I spit the words dripping with mockery, and it takes a conscious effort to keep the fury, that flares up inside me, from moving into my voice. Because a battle unfolds under the cover of the flickering light of the lamps, where my opponent is at least as foul as I am. And maybe some other time I would enjoy that I'm finally able to release the evil comments that form on my sharp tongue, but right now I feel all too well how the sharp claws of a predator are trying to close around my defenseless neck.

There is something viscerally unsettling about the way he comfortably ambles closer to me, like a big cat playing with its prey, generously allowing its victim to believe that it won't tear open the border of soft flesh covering its belly with razor-sharp teeth. It takes a torturous moment before I recognize the condescending kindness creeping into the icy eyes as he glances down at me, like he knows a secret that my feeble mind is not yet aware of. And as he finally stops in front of me with a few narrow, uncomfortable steps away, I have to forcefully steel every part of me, because the wild desire to escape rips into me so reflexively that my muscles almost ache with the effort I try to keep myself motionless.

"One day they will realize that you have to be tamed." He notes with unflinching calmness, and there is such conviction in his tone that makes his statement seem more like a fact than an uncertain prediction. As if he already knows that this horror is going to happen and regrets in advance that I will have to suffer the pain that arises from the infectious soil of disappointment. And if I were a little more naive, then I would believe that there is real concern in his voice. "Because if you're too dangerous, you won't be of any use to them."

And I feel how this one sentence sinks into my consciousness like a poison-soaked knife that stealthily pumps away the deadly disease sitting on the blade with every centimeter it spends immersed in the throbbing tissues. The image that flashes on the canvas of my memories is involuntary, as the insidious meaning traveling in his voice crawls into my mind, because it almost immediately sends me back to the neon-lit hole of the interrogating room. And now that the vehemence of my revenge has not settled in my head like a suffocating fog, I can recall the startled look on MacTavish's face when he saw how willingly cruelty spills out of me. And the realistic side of my brain tries to reassure me that they were aware of all the horrible details of my evil when fate first threw me in front of them, yet it takes agonizing seconds before the screams of rationalism can drown out the doubts. Because I'm also well aware of what I have to do to enjoy the warm care of my team, and I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty for it, since it fits in with the blood that sticks to me. And no matter how sharp-eyed this terrible man is, he doesn't know nearly enough about my deadly little friends and me for his words to be heard as real truth instead of provocation. This is still the “whose dick is bigger” competition, and like a real asshole, he wants to take revenge on someone who attracted his unwanted attention with her charming skills, but he was unable to bring her under his spell. How fucking sad.

"You have quite a lot of concern towards a stranger." I taunt, deliberately letting the cynical edge, which is trying to burst out of my mouth with such maddened enthusiasm, into my voice. This one small mistake appears as a glaring error with his intentions, wrapped in innocence. As much as he tries to play the bleeding-heart saint, we both know that his empathy stands on shaky ground when he has to direct it toward a wild stranger. Because I know that this man doesn't have an iota of compassion in him, which would make his concern real, since I saw with my own eyes the kind of bloodlust that hides in his eyes when he has the opportunity to take the reins from his restrained instincts. He is a monster like me, and beasts recognize their kind, no matter what form they take.

But no matter how much I manage to regain control over my coolness, I'm unprepared for the intimate movement with which he smooths his large hand on my bare shoulder for a fleeting moment. And I feel the menacing, volatile tenderness with which his long fingers release the strands of hair stuck in the dried blood that emerged from my wound, because the rough material of his glove presses against the sensitive skin just a breath harder for me to know what unspoken warning is hidden in the seemingly innocent gesture. And now, for the first time, I see something horrible flicker in his eyes, which makes me stare up at him, frozen in immobility, because I'm overcome by unconscious fear. Like when one looks into a bottomless pit, from whose endless mouth escapes nothing but the stench of death and decay.

"Because I'm mesmerized by danger." He murmurs softly, and I press my lips together to try to suppress the quivering that moves into them, because I feel what kind of terrible promise is sitting in the hum of his voice. And I don't want to give him a reason to make it come true. "And I want to be the one to take you in when you're discarded."

And as suddenly as he came, his thumb circling over the throbbing wound disappears as quickly, as he steps away from me to march out of the alley into the darkness of the night street with a carefree calm, and I wish he had dipped his claws into the gaping flesh, because that would have been a more bearable pain than the doubt that opens like a festering wound inside me. And although the liquid fire of rage seething under the surface breaks through my astonishment in the next moment, even the anger spreading in my veins cannot silence the barely audible whisper that is born in my skull. No matter how much my mind convinces me again, that this is nothing more than just a bastard with complexes trying to rile me up, I can't shake the nagging question of what if he is right?

And the thought that I might lose the warmth to which my starving heart has just begun to get used to, squeezes my insides with such agony, as if a cruel iron fist were trying to tear me in two. But I know what I have to do. And no matter what the cost is, I won't let that happen because that would kill me.

22 notes · View notes

dovithedarklord · 11 months ago

Text

Age of Monsters - Chapter Eighteen

Pairing: OFC x Simon "Ghost" Riley, OFC x König

Trigger Warning: The story will contain violance, blood and smut in detail. Please, keep that in mind!

⚠️MDNI⚠️

...................................

Author's Note

Leona finds dinner for the night and a very unexpected dessert joins in.

Hello! :D

I have a trigger warning for this chapter: Detailed description of sexual situations, smut, and male anatomy.

Have fun! :D

I.M.L. – Infected Mammal Lifeform

I.H.L. – Infected Humanoid Lifeform

if you're interested you can find the story on AO3: Chapter Eighteen

.....................................

The silvery light of the moon draws the unfriendly darkness of the corridor into its pale embrace, and although there is nothing else to help me on my way except this translucent curtain, my eyes guide me across the floor as keenly as a predator on its prey, and the wood cries out with a low creak under my footsteps. And I do feel as if I had gone on a hunting trip, because the hunger that is slowly tearing my insides apart with sharp claws fills my nerves with impatience. And this restless feeling hangs only one goal in my mind, to get something as soon as possible that will quench the pain that clings to me like a poison, that pushes me minute by minute closer to the furious suffering that I wanted to avoid, but I happily earned for myself.

I wasn't wrong about that I pushed myself towards the limit again by acting all tough and rough in the last few weeks, but I strongly miscalculated how long it would take for my body to delight me with the first signs of its revenge. For although I was working with optimistic estimates, I thought I could manage to hold out with dignity at least until morning, and then I could go find Price in the hope of a nutritious meal. But it seems that stress didn’t only wear down my friends, but me as well, because even though I had dedicated many years to experiencing the limits of my own body with almost painful thoroughness, in the absence of experiences similar to my current adventurous lifestyle, I couldn't have possibly expected that the pain would arrive much sooner than I thought. Therefore, when the first dull spasm roused me from my slumber, I knew no matter the late hours, I needed to eat now before my condition worsened. And my pride couldn't bear that, especially since I was in the crosshairs of a completely new dangerous element who, God forbid, would want to take advantage of my delirium blinded by agony. Because he would, I'm sure.

So, in the middle of the night, I rushed to Price's room, but there was no answer to either my gentle or angry knocking, and when, emboldened by this, I entered the captain's private lair, I was greeted only by silence and eerily untouched emptiness. And after the first desperate shock, I decided that the smartest thing would be to visit the person who could be the closest to able to tell me where the hell the bearded Hunter might have disappeared in the dead of the night, because just a few more hours and the fever will arrive to crown my misery, and then I'm afraid that anyone who wanders in my way will become a tasty snack in a heartbeat. And now, as the door finally appears in front of me, for which I dragged myself through the depths of the house, then for a minute I doubt whether it's really necessary for me to go up to him, but the cramp twisting my guts quickly reminds me that I don't have all that many options left to be picky. And this makes my steps quicken, and I rush to the battered threshold of my favorite Hunter with such determined fervor that it's both pitiful and remarkable at the same time.

Blurry beams of dim light shine from under the door, and a small smile tugs at my lips involuntarily as I realize that it seems Price and I aren't the only ones who couldn't rest in this haunted house. Because although the building is in surprisingly good condition, the frozen coldness that sits in every plank and brick fills the walls with the smell of corpses, and even those who have been wading in the blood of monsters since childhood cannot rest in this gutted coffin. Of course, it's also a fact that if I hadn't pushed myself with my sudden conscientiousness to the mouth of the very steep abyss of hunger, then I would have leaned into the rough arms of the soap-smelling bedsheets with the greatest peace of mind. But now I'm here, and the ache gripping my stomach in an iron fist soon turns me back to the direction of my goal, and as I gently knock on the rickety wooden board with my hand, the muffled sound echoes like a melodious song in the concert of the noises of the night.

And it doesn't surprise me in the slightest when the door opens a few seconds later, because I'm sure he heard the sneaking tap of my boots when I stepped out of the solitude of my homey quarters. Because Riley looks down at me exactly as if he had already expected me to pay my respects in front of his humble abode, and even if this isn't, it certainly gets me thinking that there is neither annoyance nor disapproval in his gaze as his dark eyes slowly glide over me. As if he knew exactly why I had embarked on such a daring nocturnal lurking, and if I just take into consideration what an awfully good observer he is, then I have to admit that he probably already guessed that sooner or later I would end up here when I recharged the small team so kindly. And I have the sneaking suspicion in my head that since he has such turbulent feelings connected to the evening of my last feeding, he is perfectly aware of when was the last time I could fill my stomach with my favorite snack, and with a little math he was able to calculate how close I could be to that state. And as the sweet memory of the incomparable taste of his blood creeps up on my taste buds, my mouth starts to water almost instinctively, and I have to forcefully push away the intrusive thoughts that urge me to put something much fresher on the menu today instead of Price's deep-frozen food.

"Where is Price?" The question escapes my mouth, because my suddenly sharpened senses don't allow me to even consider small talk and subtlety, because I fear that with every wasted word the desire to sink my canines, which ache with cruel pain, into one of the inviting slivers of the tanned skin that peeks out from under his t-shirt grows stronger. But even though the pull of instinct awakens in me, I'm still able to keep my consciousness together with my self-respect and straighten myself out with just enough determination before my longing becomes too obvious.

"He’s reporting to Laswell." Comes the rather objective answer, and with that, he gives me exactly the kind of information I was most afraid of. Once the captain starts a deep conversation with the woman, it's difficult and mostly risky to break him out of it, mainly because then it would definitely become clear how deeply I was immersed in the complications I had created for myself. "It'll take a while." He adds, and from the way he presses these few words, I understand the unspoken message, which confirms my guess that I shouldn't expect Price to get away from his exciting evening consultation anytime soon. And when I think about it, it's in the interest of all of us to immerse himself in this discourse, to see if Laswell has dug up something interesting from one of the endless pits full of super-secret documents she is so suspiciously familiar with.

"Great." I pull my mouth into a cynical grimace, and a sigh full of the world's pain escapes from my mouth, from which anyone could deduce how much this news fills me with joy. And I suspect that even without it, the masked man would have very easily been able to read the cause of my sorrow from the small tremors rolling through my body, because as he leans against the doorframe with comfortable carelessness and folds his arms in front of his broad chest, I understand from this gesture alone that I have revealed myself to him in a ridiculously simple way.

"You're at your limit again." He points out the obvious fact without an ounce of hesitation, and although his words sound like a statement of fact, there is something inquisitive in his tone, as if he is just starting to guess how creatively I will solve this situation. Because we both know what it will lead to if I let this initial torment drag on. The steamy moments that took place in the dimness of the infirmary are projected too vividly on the canvas of my mind, and as my eyes inevitably stray for a moment to his forearm, and I catch a glimpse of the tiny white mementos of my teeth on him in the sea of scars, I could swear I could taste the salty aroma of his skin on the tip of my tongue again. Shit…

"Maybe." I put all my carefree lightness into my voice, directing my attention to his face again, and I'm unable to hide the curve of the naughty smile creeping on my lips when I see the disapproval appear in his eyes. How sweet... "You're worried, perhaps?" I ask teasingly, raising one of my arched eyebrows, taking a bold step towards him, despite the fact that the dull pain in every fiber of my body slowly begins to pulse steadily, as if every heartbeat wanted to remind me how starved my energy is. But for some reason, the closer I get to this dangerous man's inviting proximity, the less I can think clearly, as if some invisible force is guiding me, like a helpless marionette being pulled on a string. And unfortunately, the problem is that I don't even try to resist.

But instead of engaging in a verbal sparring match with me, which already flows between us as effortlessly as breathing, I just watch in bewilderment as he steps aside and reveals the entrance to his room to me, almost inviting me in. And this small act seems so impossible that I only gape at him, blinking with skeptical confusion, because the realist side of my brain sees a trap behind this as well. Because what other logical reason could there be for him to voluntarily allow me into his den?

"Come in." He motions with his head towards the small room covered in the yellow light of the broken lamp, and it sounds more like he is giving a command, but it still sits in my ears like an irresponsible invite to a reckless dance. I'm sure he knows what he is conveying to me, because I realized a long time ago that there is not a twitch that he does by accident. And in light of this, he is very brave to let a hungry predator into his lair, even if I'm not a real threat to him. Although he could easily break my spine like a toothpick, we both know that it's not so easy to resist my mean little bite, which led us to interesting situations the last time as well. Although it may not have been against his will, but a dutiful man like him doesn't need a distraction like that on a mission.

"Unless you have a bag of blood, it's not the best idea." I warn him, aptly reminding him that we both know that a little heart-to-heart talk won't help with this problem, and I strongly doubt that he secretly indulges in the same sinful eating habits that I do. But he doesn't seem the least bit moved by my remark, as he continues to stare down at me with unflinching persistence, not wasting a word trying to argue his offer. And from the way his eyes are fixed on me wordlessly, I quickly understand that he shared his idea with me not as an option, but rather as an introduction to a ready fact. Because he already decided when he saw me on his doorstep that it would be best for me to stick with him in his solitude. Terribly interesting. "Okay." I finally give in, and even though there is a breath of staged resistance in my emphasis, I'm much more curious about what his purpose is with letting a wild animal ready to attack into his cave. Because although he is the apex predator of the two of us, I'm the one who is slowly becoming more and more desperate, and in this position, necessity drives a person to do many reckless and foolish things.

Although with every movement the stabbing pain that is growing stronger rips through my body, as if a thousand tiny needles were being twisted in me, I slip past him with all the lightness I can muster, and as the mouth-watering, spicy scent emanating from him hits my nose, then the violent hand of hunger twists my insides with almost unbearable agony. Because even this half-second of closeness is enough to make me dizzy from the inviting pulsation of his blood under the tight confines of his skin, and the desire to taste him again rushes into my mind with such force that it makes every inch of my body ache with cruel force. And that urges me to move deeper into his quarters, sneaking past him in such a hurry that it's almost pathetic, because I'm afraid that if I stay closer to him longer than necessary, I won't be able to stop the scratching voice in my head that screams to sink my teeth into him, because that's exactly why he led me here.

And the seduction of the treacherous thoughts echoing in my skull is louder than it should be, so I decide it's better to divert my attention to something else, because aimlessly peeking around seems like a much safer pastime than giving in to this miserable little voice. As I look around the barren interior of a half-empty room similar to mine, I discover the table resting at the other end and the pile of papers spread out in the mess that has unfolded on it, and my legs almost automatically carry me to the piece of furniture. And the closer I get, the clearer the reason for Riley's late-night fun becomes, because as soon as I arrive at the thick stack of files, I recognize in them every single piece of the documents that Price has so willingly provided for us with. It seems that he was at least as disturbed by the mystery of finding the Rat as his boss, because the complexity of the quickly scrawled notes rivals the work of the bearded Hunter, and reveals that the masked man has been crouching above these pages in his intimate alone time ever since the captain ordered our enforced rest. While it doesn't surprise me that Riley can't take a break and spends every waking minute working, it still sparks concern even in my ugly little soul when I see such obvious signs that he is driving himself to the brink of exhaustion. I know that the hyperstrong body of the Hunters can withstand a lot of stress, but I doubt that it will tolerate being drained and pushed for performance without rest and, above all, without sleep. Undoubtedly, thanks to the regenerating, he may now feel like someone who has had a liter of caffeinated liquid poured down his throat, which actually comes from coffee beans, but this momentum is quite finite.

The soft sound of the closing door pulls me back to reality, and as the promise of a way out disappears, I become aware that I have fallen into a not-so-terrible, but very sure trap of his company. And even though I feel the weight of the man's searching gaze on my back, I continue to feign carefree curiosity and concentrate on studying his work so far, because suddenly my sense of smell sharpens and detects the scent lingering between the battered walls, which casts the red mist of longing on my brain with almost elemental force. Because with each breath, his essence fills my nose, into which the bitter sting of tobacco smoke mingles, but despite this, alongside the empty pain throbbing in my stomach, it is able to stir up the demanding tension that I know only encourages reckless ideas.

"What's the plan now?" I ask the obvious question that hangs invisibly in the silence between the two of us, and I run my fingers through a small stack of papers with nonchalant interest, scanning through the notes scribbled in neatly curved letters. And even a fleeting glance is enough to realize what sharp observations he made about the unknown terrain in such a short time based on the laughable bit of information at our disposal, and I already have a fitting little compliment on my tongue, with which I would like to address his enthusiasm. But that's not why we are here now, and I'm much more interested in what could have gone on in that mysterious mind of his when he thought it would be worthwhile to share his undisturbed peace with me.

"I have what you need." Comes the completely unexpected answer, and when my brain, which is not necessarily working at peak speed, understands what he has shared with me, I turn to him with cautious surprise, because I have to check whether I'm hallucinating from the lack of blood. But when I see him standing as still as a statue with unwavering confidence in front of the closed door, I don't think I detect either amusement or uncertainty in him. And that makes me question for a minute whether he really knows what sinful temptations he offers me so carelessly.

"Would you look at that." The first small reaction of my surprise bursts out of me, and I lean against the edge of the table with my arms entwined comfortably in front of me, because this conversation is slowly straying into a very unusual side track. Although it would be a shame to deny that it beneficially diverts my attention from my ever-increasing suffering. "Don't tell me that you're secretly into blood and hiding a few bags." I remark with halfhearted disbelief, sneaking the blunt edge of boldness into my words, because even though there was already an example of me snacking from him, it was the unexpected end product of a series of very complicated circumstances. But it's different now. And even though I would have to drag myself to Price, slipping and falling in my own fever and sweat, I could probably last until dawn if I really had to, and he probably knows that well. Yet he almost ordered me here, knowing for sure that he wouldn't help any of us by doing so. What's on your mind, Riley?

And instead of cheering me up with some clever answer, he gives up his peaceful loitering and starts towards me with slow steps, and I eagerly follow his every move to see if he shows me what he is up to. The thumping of his heavy boots reverberates dully from the walls of the room, and I watch almost mesmerized as his strong figure stalks towards me with the elegance of a big cat, leaving only a few tantalizing inches between us as he settles in front of me, which makes my heart skip a beat with desperate speed. Because, although not with words, but with this simple act, he lets me know quite clearly why I'm here. And this raises some very risky questions in my mischievous little brain.

"Are you offering yourself up to me now, Riley?" I tilt my head to the side curiously, letting a cheeky smile to curve on my lips, because this is such an unexpected turn of events which even in my wildest dreams I would have only dared to imagine as an improbable joke. Now, however, he looks down at me with an almost surreal seriousness, and as my eyes meet his, I can read nothing but determination in his dark eyes, and in a fraction of a second, a pleasant tingle flares up under my skin in addition to the stabbing pain. And as every sinful wave of the seductive heat emanating from him reaches my sharpened senses, my fingers only bite harder into my upper arms, because I'm afraid that otherwise I would be enthusiastic enough to explore every inch of his luscious body.

"This is the most practical solution." He states with an almost objective indifference, but it doesn't escape my attention as amused wrinkles gather around his eyes, as if the line of a playful half-smile would be hidden under the dark fabric. And because of this, he gives me the impression of someone who is deliberately trying to provoke me, just to see if I do something completely thoughtless. And it occurs to me that perhaps this is precisely his goal, since he clearly let my delusional brain know that he wouldn't mind at all if he was on the receiving end of my cunning little practices. But such recklessness would be irresponsible even from a man as terrifying as him, because he doesn't know the dirty ways I can play once I put enough energy into it. And from the way the caress of his gaze warms my skin, I become quite motivated to fulfill my earlier promise and see what limits I have to push in order to see him let loose.

"I have a bit of a deja vu." I muse with feigned nostalgia in my voice, because my mind doesn't have to work long to recall what it was like the last time he so selflessly offered himself to me as a delicious morsel. Because the taste has been living in my memories ever since, as if it had bought a season ticket between my neurons. And just from the idea that I can sink my teeth into him again, to feel the rapid beating of his pulse under my tongue and hear the deep murmur of his breathing in my ears, I almost get lightheaded. "But now I've run out of wishes. Will you still let me drink from you?" I inquire, referring back to the little fact that led to our whole overheated little night out, which he seems quite eager to return to. And this gives me the stray thought that maybe he really doesn't want to sacrifice himself on the altar of camaraderie, but that my small stunt left such a deep mark on him that he would gladly ask for another round.

"I'm makin' an exception now." He elaborates, sharing the noble reason with me why he so candidly offers himself to be my late dinner, and I'm unable to get rid of the mean little expression climbing onto my face, because it seems that he gladly walks into my open claws with the greatest joy. And I'm neither so good-natured nor so crazy as to say no to a gourmet meal when he puts his throat so eagerly between my teeth.

"How generous of you..." I note, and let the hum of impatient craving crawl into my voice, because at this point it no longer makes sense, and from the pull of the hunger rampaging inside me, I wouldn't be able to hide the cruel force with which he draws me to himself. And this is what makes my eyes go on a lazy tour around all the desirable corners of his tall figure towering over me, because hundreds of ideas storm my mind, wild from his indulgence, debating where I should taste him. "Even if I'm the one choosing where I will bite you?" I challenge daringly, and now I finally let the itch in my fingertips invite me to a curious adventure, because it would be a sin not to take advantage of the opportunity when it presents itself so kindly and foolishly.

My hands free themselves from their forced shackles almost too excitedly, and I can feel the slow rhythmic beating of his heart as one of my palms rests on his chest. With a deliberate touch, I map the bulging curve of the muscles dancing under my touch, and as I slither up to his shoulder with the measured slowness of a snake, I hook my fingers around the neckline of his shirt and pull the soft textile aside, revealing the seductive little valley where the inviting vein and the delicious red liquid pulsate under the hard flesh. And I almost desperately swallow the pitiful moan that rises in my throat, because even though the sun-kissed skin is woven with bright tendrils of scars here too, and I see a rough-edged mark that was once licked by flames climbing from his back with a dull purple color, yet I'm sure I've never seen a more enticing sight.

But as he suddenly moves and breaks me out from my mesmerized concentration, his hands find support next to me and close around me from both sides, trapping me into the prison of his hulking body. And I almost confusedly turn my attention back to his face, tearing my gaze away from the enchanting area I had just discovered, but I don't regret for a minute that I can immerse myself in those dark eyes again. Because now I can clearly see the dangerous flickers that light up in them, which promise such fleeting pleasures that make my stomach tremble with excitement, and I hardly even register the tension, tamed into a numb ache, caused by the hungry demand of my energy. The idea of burning the hot mark of my lips into every inch of him with my mouth awakens much more strongly in my body, so that he remembers in every waking minute what desperate desire he was able to bring to life in me.

"Go on." He leans down to me, and I can almost feel how the heat of the power radiating from him soaks into my cells, causing a shiver of anticipation to travel down my spine, slowly drawing a heady fog over my brain with his proximity. "Those little teeth don't do much damage." He claims, and his tone is filled with something quite playful, as if he just wants to tempt me to refute this impudent comment of his.

And as he glances at my mouth, which opens in shock, and my tongue almost reflexively runs along the grooves of my teeth, finding one of my aching canines, then I see how the brown irises slowly narrow into a thin ring as they follow this unconscious movement. And the realization that this man wants me to bite him hits me like a bolt of lightning. He demands that I tear open his skin and plunge deep into his flesh, because he wants to feel what he experienced in the infirmary. Which moved hoarseness in his throat and restrained tension in his limbs, and which caused a hardness in his lap, born of desire. He wants to bathe in the guilty feeling I caused him intoxicated by his blood, and suddenly I crave nothing more than to give him what he so nicely asks of me. Because every nerve fiber of mine is begging me to lure him into that shallow trap, in the smoldering foams of which I'm drowning more and more surely.

"Remember this later, too." I make this one last comment, and in this short sentence lies the warning, with which I let him know that he has entered into a game the outcome of which I will vouch for, but all its responsibility will rest on his shoulders if he brags so boldly that my teeth cannot seriously harm him. Since with this, he quite deliberately incites the need to prove myself, and urges me to show him how wrong he is. Because the storming thoughts in my head tell me that I can bring him to his knees, I just have to try meanly enough. And maybe that's exactly what he needs. Someone to finally teach him a lesson and take the control out of his hands, so that he could taste what it's like to be at the mercy of someone else with the fate of the burning desire awakening in his body. So be it…

And just enough motivation is born in my consciousness to finally push my body towards action, so I drag him down to me with my hand resting on his shoulder, and he fulfills my silent request with almost ready obedience. As I reach up to the base of his neck to trace the curve of the tight muscle with my lips, the heavy scent emanating from him fills my nose, and I close my eyes trembling, as the overwhelming torment of hunger ripples through me, dragging behind the blazing sparks that ignite every frail inch of my body like a wildfire. And now I'm unable to hold back the impatient pull that besieges my insides, which makes my mouth lach to his skin like a hungry leech, and as my teeth penetrate the supple boundaries of the tissues, then the intoxicating taste of his blood floods my tongue again and with that, every tiny thread that ties me to sobriety is torn. And it elicits nothing but a relieved sigh from me when the emptiness that tortures my stomach is finally replaced by a pleasant warmth. But even though my brain is covered by the veil of daze, my ears still keenly catch the hoarse moan, the force of which resonates throughout his chest, and rushes through my ear canals like a rousing melody, feeding the insatiable flame that licks at my belly, almost burning me alive.

The first greedy sip of red liquid rolls down my throat, and along with it, the electrifying sparkles settle in my limbs, and my mind, which is slowly sinking into a drunken stupor, does not try to stop the reckless thoughts that are stirring in it. My free hand departs with imperceptible insidiousness on his left arm resting on the table, dancing with a feather-light touch along his forearm webbed with thick fibers, and it fills me with a ridiculous amount of satisfaction when I feel them tighten under my fingertips. And although this small sign should serve as a signal to my blinded consciousness, I'm buried too heavily under the intoxicating sensation of his blood for me to be able to appreciate what a risky little fun I have started into. Although I'm aware of the horrors he is capable of with the power hidden within him, I still know that he holds the reins of his self-control with an iron fist, and I want to experience what it's like when he has to hold on to this control with gritted teeth. Because the damned little voice that lives deep in my skull tells me that if this terrible man lets his strict mask slip and the self-restraint that resides in him crack, then I will have an experience that I will never be lucky enough to witness again.

Excited by this, I trace the round line of his biceps, and as his broad shoulders twitch, when my mischievous little fingers reach there on their brave journey, I teasingly caress the battered skin with my tongue, and perhaps the subtle tremors that run through him are involuntary, but they accelerate the rhythmic drumming of his pulse under my mouth. And in my clouded brain, the thought arises quite boldly, whether he would tremble more wildly if I were to repeat the same small movement somewhere completely different. Because of this, the sharp teeth of want squeeze my insides with such desperate vehemence, that for a minute my consciousness, swimming in a blood-tipsy daze, drifts to the edge of fainting, and my blunt nails dig into him from the force I grip his shoulders with. But he doesn't protest, he just lets out a sigh heavy with desire, and as I feel his hot breath break through the fabric of his mask, I already know that I will do anything to see him falling apart.

I'm unable to stop, and my fingers continue to wander from his shoulder to the mounds of firm muscles swelling on his chest, and as my palm reaches his stomach, I feel the hard ridges ripple under the soft fabric, when I suck the wounds inflicted by my teeth perhaps a little harder than necessary. And I'm not quite sure that it's just the heavenly taste of his blood that's responsible for the warmth that boils in the pit of my stomach, because the raspy groan that erupts from his throat sounds more like the growl of a caged beast than the voice of a human being.

He invades every single one of my senses, and this heady buzz slowly enters my head, as if I wanted to quench the insatiable, sweet misery raging inside me with alcohol. Although the power of the hunger that tormented me has long since eased and the razor-sharp claws of pain have disappeared from my muscles, now something completely different fills every part of my being with restless energy. And when this feeling starts to feel a bit too much, and my mind would tip over into the pleasant unconsciousness of euphoria, I tear my mouth away from my victim's neck and with consoling kisses, I clean up the crimson droplets emerging from the small cuts of my teeth. And I know that I'm not imagining the way he jolts with each touch, and the sculpted muscles contract fiercely under the caress of my lips, like he would have to force himself to stay still. And the haunting voice in my head tells me that this is only the beginning, and just a small taste of the deep bottomless pit that I need to push him into.

Now that my mind is not dominated by fear of my actions, but by curiosity, I draw away from him with a lazy calmness to examine my work. And for a moment my breath is taken away by what I meet with when my bright eyes run over his figure leaning over me. There is something quite desperate in the way he stares down at me from under the tent of his blonde eyelashes, because I can see the hunger in his eyes that has also taken root in my body. A pleasant shiver sweeps over me when he follows my tongue, almost mesmerized, which cleans the rest of my dinner from the corner of my mouth. And my throat goes dry as I see his curved lips part under the dark material of his mask, and suddenly I want nothing more than to remove the damn fabric and feel what his mouth tastes like when he loses control. Because although I can't see his face, the smoldering waves of aching roll down his body with such ferocity that I can almost feel the roaring power emanating from him, as if I were embraced by living flames. But I don't care one bit if the fire that's coming to life in him sclads me, because every cell in me is begging me to burn myself with it.

However, I'm not satisfied with just recognizing the fierce thirst hidden in his eyes, and as I travel to his chest, rising wildly from his deep breaths, I'm filled with excited anticipation, because I want to see with what force my small teeth have effected him. Because I know that, contrary to his big words, I injected a poison into his body that planted a tension ready to jump in his every pore. And as my gaze slides down and rests on his crotch, a small grin spreads on my lips, because I see his hardness straining against the rough material of his pants, the clear sign of how much my sneaky little temptation was able to arouse sinful desires in him. And this finally breaks through all the barriers that kept my greed in check, which was already alive in my subconscious even in the infirmary, but now I'm not afraid to face it. Because I want to destroy this man, so that he can never forget my touch, and every time he closes his eyes, he replays these minutes behind his eyelids.

"You said last time that I started something I shouldn't have." I mutter softly, my eyes finding his again, and as I identify those mouth-watering, waiting glints to dance in the pools of his dilated pupils, I no longer have any desire to chase away the evil expression climbing to my face. Because I see in them the promise that could set the whole world on fire if I danced back from my vile little game. But he is lucky, because I'd die if I had to let him go. "Now I'll finish it." I declare firmly, and my hand resting on his stomach finds the belt attached to his pants to hook into the cold material. But I won't give him time to comment on my suggestion, because I'm not sharing an offer with him, but a dead-certain fact, and I'm going to make sure he can't think clearly enough to object.

My sly little hands immediately get to work and quickly unfasten the buckle of his belt, and as it surrenders with a soft clatter, I hear how sharply he inhales, as if he just wants to keep his composure in place. I know that he is still clinging to his sanity, and his stubbornness is sowing the seeds of a thousand diabolical ideas in my head, and guided by the bubbling excitement in my stomach, I decide that it is about time to obey one of them. With almost agonizing slowness, I loosen the small button that still holds his trousers on his hip, so that when I find the flies, I enjoy every second of the suffering that appears in his eyes when I finally start to pull down that wretched zipper. Because it's obvious with what persistence he has to hold himself back when my brave hand starts on its reckless path and traces the line of his erection hidden under his underwear. The line of his prominent jaw must be clenched with an almost painful force, as my fingers trail the throbbing curve of the thick vein running on his length, and the aching tremble moves into every fiber of me, as I find the wet spot that broke through the soft cotton in the wake of his excitement. And it's desperate how much pride fills me when it dawns on me that I'm responsible for how every single muscle of his is straining to the point of a snapping, and perhaps only a few thin threads separate him from throwing away his restraint.

But I want more than that, and this is the insatiability that leads my hand to sink under the fine fabric quite unexpectedly, so that I can finally release him from the suffocating captivity in which the poor thing has had to languish until now. And as the soft skin smooths under my palm, as my fingers wrap around his cock, I bite my lips to hold back the desperate moan that would want to break out of me, because I can clearly feel him twitching in my grip as I finally touch him. Now I have to look down, and I watch, almost spellbound, as his hard member emerges from under the dark textile. Thanks to the hypnotized trance taking over my mind, I can only follow silently as my fingers slowly trace along his length, and when my thumb smooths a white, pearly little drop from its head, then his whole body shakes from this small movement, and I fix my eyes on his face with the speed of a starving predator. And heat rises between my thighs, as I see the violent, barely controlled lust that radiates from his gaze, an excruciating desire coming to life in every corner of my body under its weight, which makes me want to cling to him asking him to bury himself into me. But now I have a different objective.

This is the determination that makes me able to swallow the pleading words rising in my throat, and instead let the crippling thoughts in my head take control of me. Without warning, my hand locks around his cock, and it's cruel even for me, the way my hand starts slide along his length, bringing out such muffled sounds from the man with each movement, which only further helps the flames raging in my consciousness become blazing hot. And I stare in amazement as his broad shoulders shake, when my fingers gather the wetness collected on his leaking tip, and the chuckle is brave even to my ears, that escapes my lips as his mouth opens in a rasped moan, as my thumb caresses that tiny little slit, from which the pre-cum gush out in thick drops. And although the determination in my head helps me stay on my goal, all my senses are focused on him, and with each passing minute, the veil of passion that descends on my brain grows thicker and thicker. An infectious heat emanates from every inch of his strong body, and the tingle under my skin boils hungrily, which pleads for his large palms to soothe the impatient energy that pulsates desperately in my veins. And the longer my hand strokes his heavy shaft, the stronger the salty scent emanating from him becomes, and it fills my nose and creeps further into my head, pushing all my nerves towards a drunken bliss.

Still, it's a much bigger reward as I see the battle of feelings passing through the dark eyes, and even my slowed mind recognizes that he is deciding how long he will let me continue with my naughty little game. And I don't have to wait long for the answer, because I catch on my periphery how the strong muscles dance as his arm rises, but before he can gather himself and leave his post on the table, I suddenly grasp his cock, and his whole body shakes from my meanness. My fingers gently tighten around the silky flesh, and even this small warning is enough to make him abandon his plan in an instant, whatever he was going to do, and instead, fix his fierce eyes on me, grunting like a wild animal that was pulled back by its chain just as it could have sunk its teeth into its victim. But he needs to know that the leash is in my hands right now.

"No, no..." I shake my head with playful scorn in my voice, and he leers down at me with such an angry temper that I know I'm well on the way to him giving up the self-control he's honed over the years. "Be a good boy, Riley. Keep your hand on the table, or I'll stop..." I share my silly little threat, and it doesn't escape my attention how quickly his jaw tenses as I scold him. And from the way he puts his body weight back on his hands and leans closer to me, I know that although he certainly doesn't like me instructing him in such a treacherous way, he is very happy to join this fight. Because I saw the excited lust in his eyes when I called him a good boy.

"You're playin' with fire..." He warns, and the passion puts a hoarseness in his voice, with which he addresses his frivolous little words to me. He doesn't need to remind me of that, because I know he could take what he wants in a heartbeat. But instead, he remains motionless, and his hips jerk almost demandingly, as my nimble little hand begins to pump him again, moving lazily up and down his thick length. And for a moment I almost take pity on him when I see how his strong shoulders stiffen as he tries to fulfill my request, like a well-trained beast that wants to please its owner despite its instincts. That's why my free hand goes on a torturous journey, and he snaps his eyes on my fingers running along the graceful curve of my neck so willingly that it's quite sweet.

"Is that how you wanted to touch me?" I ask quietly, and he follows with unflinching attention as I caress one of the supple mounds of my breast, and even under the material of my shirt I can feel one of my nipples visibly hardening under the onslaught of my feather-light touch. And although I'm also torturing myself with this, because the pressure of the hot ache in my belly is becoming more and more intense, it gives me much more satisfaction to see his throat move, as he swallows the tormented sigh that nevertheless escapes from his mouth as a muffled growl. Because I know that I will slowly break his tough mask by simultaneously giving him pleasure and fueling his hunger with the little show that I present to him. When my shameless trip ends on my stomach, and my fingers playfully dance along the edge of my pants, submerging under the rough fabric for a moment, then I hear how forcefully the air gets trapped in his chest from restrained anticipation. But I'm more evil than that, and I enjoy this disgraceful game much more than to give him what he so strongly craves.

I finish my performance just as quickly as I started it, and finding the nape of his neck, I tug him down to me, leaning closer to him with every alluring inch of my body, smoothing my lips against his face through the dark textile. Because I want him to hear clearly what the price is for me to stop torturing him, and he can finally get the sweet release, for which every part of him screams so much for.

"You don't deserve that just yet." I state simply, and the softness as I caress the line of his ear with my mouth is quite intentional, and I can feel how he freezes, as it reaches his brain, what kind of diabolical comment I made to him. "First I want to hear you moan my name..." I whisper my bold order to him, and an excited shiver runs through my body when I hear how the hard surface of the table cries out, as it cracks under the grip of his big hands. And the knowledge that he could easily throw me on the table and help both of us with our ravenous hunger, but instead obeys me despite the wild desire pulsing from him, awakens such a satisfied warmth in my stomach that makes me decide that it's time to reach the finale.

Letting go of his thick neck, I lean away from him because I want to see him fall apart by my hands, and I grab his shoulders with excited terror as my eyes connect with his. Like the raging sea in a night storm, in which the destructive waves collide and bury the ships drifting under them, dragging their helpless victims into the deadly foam. There swirls the heat in his eyes that could consume me alive, and under the intensity of which a painful tremble moves into each and every corner of my body. And the movement is quite instinctive, as my thighs tightly press together to try to calm the feverish, wet pulsing between my legs. I can only thank the fact that I don't start begging him to bury in me his throbbing hardness between my fingers, that I can feel his hips jerking forward, thrusting himself deeper into my grasp. I know he is close to the end, because I can feel his breathing speeding up, and this is enough of a signal for me to pick up the pace of the torturous work of my hands, and it's quite mesmerizing how his chest rises while panting, as the pleasure slowly washes over him.

"Fuck… Woods!" He moans, and I can almost hear him squeezing my name out between his clenched teeth, but I'm sure I have never heard a more beautiful sound in my life. It vibrates along his chest like a big cat purring, and it puts such a guilty edge in those few syllables, that I have to bite into my lips to hold back the tortured whimper that climbs up my trachea.

I can name exactly which is the point when the string of lust breaks inside him and his body falls into the burning arms of pleasure, because his whole body tenses up at the same time, like a drawn bow. He closes his eyes, and there is something insanely beautiful in the way his head is thrown back and the characteristic curve of his throat bulges out, and I would like to trace the moving tip of his Adam's apple with my tongue, but the sight is too paralyzing for that. And I only perceive it as a dull crackling as the wood of the table finally gives in, because it blurs my mind too quickly, as his hot release spills on the back of my hand, and I help him through the violent tremors of his orgasm.

And as the heat that has traveled through his body seems to subside, and the burning tension contracting his muscles seems to ease, then I watch with fascination as the droplet of sweat appears from under the material of his mask, to crawl down and mix with the crimson pearls appearing through the teeth marks I left on him. And this reminds me that it would be time to taste the dessert that I served myself with such tireless work. I let his cock slip out of my grasp, and he, gasping for air, follows me from under his half-closed eyelids as I raise my hand to my mouth. It doesn't escape my attention that his mesmerized gaze settles on my protruding tongue, which cleans the pearly white streams of his cum from my skin with a comfortable slowness. And I see the unbridled temper flaring up again, as I consume my snack to the last drop with a mischievous little smile, and release the soft moan that wants to break out of me from the salty taste spreading in my mouth. But it seems that he is still under the influence of my game, because he cannot react in time as I reach up and place a small kiss on his lips pressed together under the dark fabric, enjoying the warm moisture that the sighs trapped in the textile planted there.

"Thanks for the dinner." I thank him with a biting cheekiness in my voice, and something quite dangerous flashes in his eyes, which makes me think that maybe it's time to finally take my leave. Because I'm afraid that if I stay even a minute longer, I will let him seize control and take revenge for having amused myself with his sweet suffering in such a nasty way. That's why, taking advantage of his pleasure-induced slowness, I nimbly duck under his strong arm and retreat from his charming proximity before he has a chance to catch up with me. And the irritation with which he turns around is quite amusing, because he looks like a dog on a chain, in front of whom the cat danced just enough to make him want to bite its thin little throat.

"Woods... " He grunts, and I sense the edge of his unspoken threat, and although I hear my name escape his mouth for the second time during the night, and despite the fact that now a series of dark promises are mixed in his emphasis, he instills a morbid excitement in my limbs as he adjusts his tattered clothes and straightens up, glancing down at me. "This isn't over yet." He claims firmly, and there is not an iota of uncertainty or hesitation in his statement. But if it scares me, it dulls into a distant worry in my skull, for his blood and the wondrous sight he presented me with fill my mind with too much careless courage.

"Punish me if you can." I shrug my shoulders lightly, walking to the door with a spring in my steps, only to turn back to him one last time before leaving the room overheated by the heady smell of his body. "I'll look forward to it." I add this little remark to the end, putting a defiant grin on my face. As I see the recognition appear in his gaze, which makes his eyes narrow dangerously, then I know that he remembers that not so long ago he challenged my cunning tactics against himself with these exact same words. And he can only blame himself for believing that I wouldn't make use of his irresponsibility.

Although I step out into the moonlit hallway with the knowledge that I can cash in on the fact that Riley will pounce on me, perhaps when I least expect it, the threat is unable to make the satisfaction that nestles in my head disappear. And it may be true that every single cell of mine is crying out demanding that I turn around and let the man ease the burning need stretching my insides, but even that can't break my good mood. Because I was able to force him to surrender, and I showed him what vile tricks I have up my sleeve, which can make even a determined, powerful Hunter like him hand over the reins to someone else. And that sweetens the anticipation that I will be subjected to. Come on, Riley, show me you can be a mean bastard like me. I can't wait…

28 notes · View notes