Sept 29, 2018 23:27:19 GMT
Post by Evelyn Winters on Sept 29, 2018 23:27:19 GMT
It was three in the morning and Evelyn was taking a walk in the city. She needed to clear her head. She’d had a nightmare. Again. But this one was a bad one. She was back there. Again. She could feel as the chainsaw ripped through her skin. Again. As it tore through her muscle. Again. The sound as it hit her bone. Again. It went on for eternity. The pain was immeasurable. And it never stopped. It never made its way through the other side of her flesh. It just kept going and going and going as if her leg went on forever. In her dream, she’d wanted to die.
She’d awoken from that dream eight hours ago. Eight hours she’d been roaming the city, trying to clear her head. It was working. Kind of. Slowly. She’d stopped by her trailer a couple times to check on Cat, feed him wild game she’d hunted herself, raw. It was all he’d eat. He was pissed he couldn’t hunt it himself, and there was no way he’d eat cat food, so this seemed a fair compromise. He was getting better. His breathing wasn’t as labored and she could tell his legs were healing, but he still couldn’t walk yet. She had to pick him up and guide him along so his other two legs wouldn’t atrophy too much while he was recovering. While the presence of Cat was usually calming, his injured state reminded her too much of her past, and she couldn’t bare to be cooped up inside, so she’d been roaming the city for eight hours.
She was wearing her typical black pants, t-shirt, and jacket, hood up. She didn’t want to draw too much attention to herself, and at the moment, she couldn’t bare to have people looking at her scars.
She was in a rather run-down part of the city. Well, run-down was a bit of an understatement. There were rows and rows of abandoned, boarded up buildings, covered in lewd graffiti, the wood overtaken by mold. Litter patterned the sidewalk and she was certain she’d seen at least three used condoms as she was walking. Homeless people huddled in alleys and crackheads roamed the street.
Yet, despite the undeniable sketchiness of the area, she wasn’t scared. Why would she be? There was no one she couldn’t defeat. She was too smart to be defeated, even by a metahuman. In fact, part of her wanted to be assaulted, just so she could have something to cut up. Of course, part of her just wanted to continue this peaceful walk, soothe the buzzing in her head.
That part of her vanished when she heard voices from down an alley, voices discussing purity and milligrams. “Nice doing business with you.” One of the voices said as she peaked around the corner. A thin, hollow-eyed person scuttled out of the alley, stuffing a bag of white powder in his pocket.
The decision was already made for her. She walked down the alley, hands in her pockets, shuffling through the knives in her artificial leg, trying to decide which would be the most appropriate for the situation.
The three men looked at her, amused. She could see the firearms in their belt. They were carrying some heavy equipment, but it was nothing she couldn’t handle. Not by a long shot. They were all men and all black, so highly unlikely to be part of Glasgowman’s gang. As she got closer, their amusement turned to confused interest. “Fuck’s wrong with your face?” One of them asked.
“Lookin’ to buy?” Asked another.
She pulled out her largest throwing knife. ”No.” She tossed it at one of the men. It lodged itself in his hip, right where his leg met his torso, where there were a whole bundle of nerves. Evelyn wasn’t going for the kill. She wanted to make this last. He howled in pain and clutched the wound. The other two pulled out their guns. She ran at them and, just as they were about to fire, slid, knocking one off his feet. She pulled out another knife - this one much larger, a hunting knife - rolled over, and lodged it into the small of his back. He yelled out in pain too, and started cursing very, very loudly. The third, well, Evelyn’s brain was buzzing, she hadn’t taken into account that the third would be so quick. He fired a shot. It managed to take a decent chunk out of her shoulder, but the man underneath fared far worse. He screamed again, but it was hoarser, more final.
“Oh god.” The third one gasped, “I’m sorry.” But he didn’t take the gun off of Evelyn, even as she jumped to her feet and turned the knife on him. His finger was about to pull the trigger.
She’d awoken from that dream eight hours ago. Eight hours she’d been roaming the city, trying to clear her head. It was working. Kind of. Slowly. She’d stopped by her trailer a couple times to check on Cat, feed him wild game she’d hunted herself, raw. It was all he’d eat. He was pissed he couldn’t hunt it himself, and there was no way he’d eat cat food, so this seemed a fair compromise. He was getting better. His breathing wasn’t as labored and she could tell his legs were healing, but he still couldn’t walk yet. She had to pick him up and guide him along so his other two legs wouldn’t atrophy too much while he was recovering. While the presence of Cat was usually calming, his injured state reminded her too much of her past, and she couldn’t bare to be cooped up inside, so she’d been roaming the city for eight hours.
She was wearing her typical black pants, t-shirt, and jacket, hood up. She didn’t want to draw too much attention to herself, and at the moment, she couldn’t bare to have people looking at her scars.
She was in a rather run-down part of the city. Well, run-down was a bit of an understatement. There were rows and rows of abandoned, boarded up buildings, covered in lewd graffiti, the wood overtaken by mold. Litter patterned the sidewalk and she was certain she’d seen at least three used condoms as she was walking. Homeless people huddled in alleys and crackheads roamed the street.
Yet, despite the undeniable sketchiness of the area, she wasn’t scared. Why would she be? There was no one she couldn’t defeat. She was too smart to be defeated, even by a metahuman. In fact, part of her wanted to be assaulted, just so she could have something to cut up. Of course, part of her just wanted to continue this peaceful walk, soothe the buzzing in her head.
That part of her vanished when she heard voices from down an alley, voices discussing purity and milligrams. “Nice doing business with you.” One of the voices said as she peaked around the corner. A thin, hollow-eyed person scuttled out of the alley, stuffing a bag of white powder in his pocket.
The decision was already made for her. She walked down the alley, hands in her pockets, shuffling through the knives in her artificial leg, trying to decide which would be the most appropriate for the situation.
The three men looked at her, amused. She could see the firearms in their belt. They were carrying some heavy equipment, but it was nothing she couldn’t handle. Not by a long shot. They were all men and all black, so highly unlikely to be part of Glasgowman’s gang. As she got closer, their amusement turned to confused interest. “Fuck’s wrong with your face?” One of them asked.
“Lookin’ to buy?” Asked another.
She pulled out her largest throwing knife. ”No.” She tossed it at one of the men. It lodged itself in his hip, right where his leg met his torso, where there were a whole bundle of nerves. Evelyn wasn’t going for the kill. She wanted to make this last. He howled in pain and clutched the wound. The other two pulled out their guns. She ran at them and, just as they were about to fire, slid, knocking one off his feet. She pulled out another knife - this one much larger, a hunting knife - rolled over, and lodged it into the small of his back. He yelled out in pain too, and started cursing very, very loudly. The third, well, Evelyn’s brain was buzzing, she hadn’t taken into account that the third would be so quick. He fired a shot. It managed to take a decent chunk out of her shoulder, but the man underneath fared far worse. He screamed again, but it was hoarser, more final.
“Oh god.” The third one gasped, “I’m sorry.” But he didn’t take the gun off of Evelyn, even as she jumped to her feet and turned the knife on him. His finger was about to pull the trigger.
