[Evelyn Winters]

She bit her lower lip as she stared intensely into the tiny, rusted mirror hanging above the sink in her trailer and brought her eye close as she intently smeared the pale foundation over her scars. She had trouble finding the right shade, much less finding one without getting recognized. Her skin had always been unnaturally pale, something she and her brother had always taken great pride in. Before the incident, her appearance was something she always took pride in. She never even thought about touching makeup, although Axel did play with it from time to time. Even after she acquired her scars, she didn’t want to cover them up, although she did think about it. She wondered if covering them up would somehow heal her, at least mentally, but she was scared that she would try and fail and would know once and for all that nothing could ever fix her, so she avoided it.

Putting on the finishing touches, she stepped back. This was her third try, and, being the incredibly fast learner she was, she would have to say she succeeded. If one looked close, they could see the faint outline of twisted flesh, but it would take a conscious effort to notice. She cocked her head to the side and once again brought her eye close to the mirror, examining herself closely. Did she feel any more whole? That would have to be a disheartening and resounding no. No, she didn’t feel any different. She could still feel the scars, she could still tell they were there. In fact, the makeup made her feel even worse. She felt like she was lying, not just to the world but to herself, and she always felt uncomfortable lying. She let out a curt, reserved sigh. Unfortunately, she would have to wear it until things died down. The price of fame.

She grabbed the colored contact lense and slipped it into her right eye, covering up the gold. It was a slightly lighter shade of brown than her left eye, but it would have to do. This was a practice she was quite familiar with. She and Axel did it all the time when they had to blend in. Axel did it far more than she did, but she was still accustomed to it. She blinked a few times, letting the contact set in, and stared at herself again. She looked so...normal. It was weird. But at least all her identifying features were covered. It would take a close eye and a huge Sunny Slater fan to recognize her.

She walked out into what could liberally be called the living room of her trailer. Cat was lying curled up on the floor. He was almost completely healed now, healed enough to take care of himself. The wounds had turned into scar tissue, a huge patch on his back half was completely hairless, just twisted, pink flesh. All that was left of his tail was a tiny little nub, it wasn’t healed enough to implement the prosthetic. Plus, she hadn’t finished building it yet. It hurt her to see him so disfigured, it reminded her so much of herself. But she still loved him.

She kneeled down and ran her hand down his back. He lifted his head up and looked at her, blinking a few times. ”So, what do you think?” She asked, smiling. He ran his rough tongue across her hand, then set his head back down with a grunt. She laughed, ”Yeah, I’d have to agree.” She stood back up and picked up her mostly-packed duffle bag, then went into the bathroom and scooped the large pile of makeup into the opening. She went back into the living room and pulled on her black jacket and a pair of gloves. Every ounce of her disfigurement was completely covered. She knelt back down by Cat and gave him a kiss on the forehead. ”Be back in a couple days.” She said. He licked his lips in return. And like that, she was out the door.

Why go the San Francisco? Well, there was the obvious answer. Everyone would be looking for her in New York. She would be much safer elsewhere, it would take so much less effort to hide. But San Francisco seemed like such a bad choice of hiding place. It was a huge, populated area, full of people to recognize her, and so full of metahumans. Well, she wanted to see the sights, and by see the sights she meant see exactly what metahumans San Francisco held. She felt like she had experienced the array of what New York had to offer, and now that she had such a high profile, running into a metahuman to fight would be so much easier. Hopefully, they’d be much more competent than Sunny Slater.

As she walked into the city, she smiled politely at everyone she passed, she put on a different face, one much softer, less threatening, more normal. She was like a completely different person. She held this persona as she walked into the airport. She’d gotten a couple double takes so far, but nothing substantial. She hadn’t been noticed.

She’d booked her flight using a false identity - Kylie Booker. The ID was flawless, she’d had it for years, before her incident, making small changes along the way as needed. Thus her ID, like her current face, was scarless. The only problem she had was the metal detector, but that had a simple solution. She approached the detector with a heavy limp, and as soon as the detector went off, she rolled up her pant leg to show them the metal leg in place of a flesh one. State of the art technology, she said. Everyone was very impressed and they let her go without a pat down. No one would dare question the poor, helpless amputee.

She got a seat in the back corner of the plane, and the ride went without a hitch. She buried her face in a book - a nonfiction piece on evolutionary psychology - and went completely unnoticed for the four and a half hour ride.

Once they landed, she took her time on the way to the hotel, walking slowly, taking in the city. She’d rarely been outside New York, but it was just like they said, every city had a different feeling, a different soul, and she wanted to take it all in.

The hotel was nice, four stars. She wasn’t one for luxury, but she wanted plenty of space in her room. She didn’t have any plans to stop inventing while she was away and she needed enough space to to build things and weld materials.

First things first though, she wanted to take in the city. She stepped outside the hotel and began wandering aimlessly, making a map in her head as she walked, head swinging back and forth, taking in the sights. She dropped her normal persona and returned to her blank expression, although she checked several times to make sure her makeup was still on right. She wanted to attract a metahuman, but she didn’t want a militia.

[Deleted]

live fast, die young

Wearing / Mask

746w

Anyone without context would've assumed the mass of lifeless woman lying sprawled out like an effortless starfish on the skinny mattress was dead. If it weren't for the very occasional light snore, that is. Her back curved backwards, head hanging upside down just a few inches from the floor that the pallets beneath the mattress provided. An arm draped over her nose and across herself while the other remained stretched out at her side. Nugget, the ever-faithfully-also-sleeping-adorable-rodent had elongated himself as long as absolutely possible from the center of her chest to her belly button on his back.

The factory room was shit - concrete floors, walls, no water pressure, no heating or cooling - but it was uncontested territory (especially the top floors). No one cared about it, no one explored it. Privacy; ideal in her situation. Clothes lied scattered about the floor in duffel bags or plastic bins, her laptop was closed in the corner, and a few boxes of cheap cereal were stacked beside the foot of the bed. Her cellphone had been on the edge of the mattress by her head until it began to ring and vibrate, causing it to fall to the stone floor and rage even louder against the hard surface. "Ahhh, f-..." she woke, immediately keeping her arm over her eyes from the incoming sunlight that blinded her through the cracks of the boarded window, and reached for the device without caring to look at the caller. "Nnnn... hullo?"

"Cory, I've got another job for you, someone who needs to be put in their place." Ah, Jack. Jack tracked people of interest. These days those people of interest were frequently metahumans, but there were normal humans who were just as, or sometimes even more dangerous. Evelyn Winters was one of those individuals. Quite brilliant, for a human, she no doubt would have appeared on Jack's radar whether she was a criminal or not. Flying had been a mistake, as had booking the hotel. Even fake credit cards had a trail that could be followed if you knew where to look. It wasn't long before Cory responded. Jack was paying her bills, after all... She sat up, the ferret remaining asleep and rolling off of her as dead weight. "What kind of someone?"

She heard a few keys tap and she groaned, knowing to get up and gather up her visor. She fumbled it on, half-crawling across the mattress to pull the face mask into place and waiting for her eyes to adjust until she could see the pictures clearly. It was a few days old now, but it had been big news when it happened. Gravity Girl getting her ass handed to her by a lithe, scarred woman. "That's her." Cory watched the clip with furrowed brows and eventually an audible, hissed wince when the knife pierced the young girl's stomach. "As far as I can tell she's not a metahuman, but she's obviously very skilled, and very dangerous." With a deep breath to wake herself up, Cory stood from the bed and began searching around the room for gear; appropriate clothing, running shoes, gloves, et cetera. "I'll be ready in ten. I'll head over, show me more."

The images she saw, the clips she watched, the incidents she'd spoken about with Jack... Bodies strewn about, people cut into pieces? Miss Winters had a handful of crimes Jack suspected she was linked to, all fitting the same pattern. She was a monster, and now she was going after heroes in public. Cory might've been a justice-bringer, but she wasn't always on the right side of the law. Waiting til dark was the best option - and until then they simply kept an eye on her. But now? Now Cory stood a handful of floors over her, standing on the thin railing of a fire escape with oddly perfect balance, and looked down at the woman that walked with such sickening confidence that made her stomach twist into knots. "Get lost halfway across the country?" the mask relayed her voice at a normal volume, muffling non-existent. This was it for her. There was no way she could outrun Cory, no way she could overpower her, so she figured giving her her last words was in order. Selfish as it was, she really just wanted to hear how a monster tried to defend themselves. "This coast doesn't belong to you."

Evelyn Winters
You made a mistake.

[Evelyn Winters]

The new environment was soothing. It was nice to get away from her past. As far as she knew her torturer only operated on the east coast. It was like a weight was lifted off her shoulders. She felt less paranoid, the feeling of an enemy lurking around every corner had diminished greatly. This may also be a side effect of her recently boosted ego. She felt invincible. Every enemy she’d come across since her incident she’d defeated with relative ease. She was a predator, the world was her prey, and she felt more than prepared for the big game.

She wandered the city for several hours. Again, she got a couple looks, but nothing serious. Her hood hid most of her face, and what one could see was barely recognizable without the scars. It was somewhat disappointing. She wanted some attention. She wanted people to know how powerful she was. She wanted everyone to know their inferiority. Still, she knew if she revealed herself, she’d probably get the attention of the police before a metahuman, and she didn’t want that. Police were small game; hardly worth her time.

Just as she was getting bored, she heard a voice call out from above. Her inner brow furrowed as she looked up to see a masked individual perched with superhuman balance on a railing. She knew Heroes dressed up, it looks like this metahuman did too. She assumed she was a metahuman as non-powered individuals didn’t often go around wearing masks and standing on precarious railings, and not many would confront a highly dangerous individuals such as herself. That was admittedly faster than she expected. And it sounded like she already had a good grasp on who Evelyn was, or at least where she was from, as evidenced by her ridiculous grandstanding. Looks like word got around fast. She felt her ego grow even more.

“Lost? No, it looks like I'm right where I need to be.” She smiled inwardly, wide and with confidence, put down her hood, and pulled out a long, lithe throwing knife. “Here to challenge me?” She twirled the knife in her fingers. ”I’ll be generous, you can make the first move.” Her eyes glimmered with anticipation. Hopefully this would be the fight she was looking for.

[Deleted]

live fast, die young

Wearing / Mask

407w

If ever there was a sickening source of fearlessness in all the wrong ways, it was how the murderer looked up at her. Such indifference, such apathy, such underestimation. "Lost? No, it looks like I'm right where I need to be." Cory felt her hands flex, leather gloves making stretching and sticking sounds against themselves as her fists loosened only to tighten back up again. She could already feel her temper rising like a bubble of boiling water rising from her stomach to the center of her chest. Anna's words and advice on her emotions kept it at bay. She was passionate; a blessing and a curse (the latter specifically in terms of concentrated combat).

When the knife came out and hit the glinting light of distant street lamps, she steeled herself and felt a spring coiling up in her muscles to prepare for anything getting thrown. But it didn't. In fact, she didn't do a damn thing with it. Instead, she did her best to hide the disgusting smirk that would've appeared on her face - though her tone was drenched in it - and bade the vigilante down with an invitation. "Here to challenge me?" "Here to take out the trash," she was quick to correct. The knife spun comfortably around the woman's fingers, as easy as Anna handled them, but it did little to frighten her.

All of Jack's warnings of danger and all of Anna's advice were slightly muted behind a curtain of just-fueled anger. "I’ll be generous, you can make the first move." Generous? Was that what she thought of herself? It had a humorless, single laugh coming from the masked girl that stood above her. A leg stepped forward and she let herself very simply drop to the ground. Her knees slightly bent upon landing but she showed no sign of effort or discomfort in the drop that now put her a handful of yards in front of the murderer on street level. "I could put you down faster than you could call "uncle". The only reason you're still standing is because, quite frankly, someone needs to beat the hell out of your smug, soulless face. That's first on the agenda," her foot slid back slightly, arms raising with half-open hands for the blocks she'd need to start throwing. "You better take your chance. It's the last one you're ever gonna get."

Evelyn Winters
Hit me with your best shot.

[Evelyn Winters]

Take out the trash? Of all the cliche heroisms she could’ve chosen, she had to pick that one. Evelyn’s face remained blank, but her eyes rolled deep into her head. So far, this wasn’t looking to be a particularly challenging fight. Intellect is the most important part of combat, and if ‘take out the trash’ was the most inventive thing this woman’s pitiful intellect could come up with, it didn’t bode well.

Evelyn stared blankly at the woman as she delivered her little ostentatious speech. She was boastful, with an overbearing attitude. And was that anger she detected in her voice? Emotional and unintelligent. Not very good signs at all. Oh well, she could function as practice. Her landing served to display her might; she seemed lithe and strong, and power was very much a significant part of battle, even if it wasn't as important as certain other factors.

”How can I be both smug and soulless?” She asked blankly, letting her hood down and her hair go free, displaying very well how she could be both smug and soulless, though of course on paper the two very much contradicted. She loved making other people feel stupid. It served very well to heighten her own perceived (and on some level very real) intellect.

She heard her hallucination of a brother let out a breath between his cheeks “This is boring!” He stressed. “Less talk, more action. Even if what she says is comically ridiculous.” He grinned pointing at the woman.

Evelyn would have to agree, her combat muscles were getting itchy, and since the woman wouldn’t go first, she shrugged, ”Fine. Have it your way.” And in one fluid motion pulled out another, much larger knife and slashed it at the woman’s masked face, quickly adopting her own combative stance. Immediately afterwards, she slid backwards and tossed the throwing knife at the woman’s shoulder, aiming to disable the use of her arm.

“Now this is what I’m talking about!” Axel grinned. “Finally some action around here.”

”What are you talking about? We’ve had plenty of action lately.” Evelyn said in Axevian - the twins’ secret language - as she pulled out another knife (this one could function thrown or in close combat melee) and tossed it into her other hand.

“I know, but that plane ride was boring.”

Evelyn snickered as she drew out a large melee knife and stood, ready for battle.

[Deleted]

live fast, die young

Wearing / Mask

516w

She was trying to tug her strings, use her dumb anger that she'd let show through. Yeah yeah, so Anna and Jack were right, she was passionate. They saw it as a weakness, but it didn't always have to be. Right now though it was a bit difficult to control; especially after all of those clips and headlines Jack had sent her on the way here. This wasn't a woman, it was a monster.

Cory was still no good at finding out how to defuse with responses - never knowing what words to pick and how to say them - so the best she'd come up with lately to keep her cool and not give an opponent any leeway was to just stay quiet. The glossy, reflective visor stared back at Evelyn as her only reply. In the final seconds before the murderer had made her first move, the only thing that existed was the drumming drone of her own heartbeat pounding blood behind her ears and through her veins, pulsing in a bit more anticipation than usually befitted a do-good vigilante catching a criminal.

She wasn't going to just catch her. She was going to distribute justice. Broken bones healed. A small string inside of Cory that'd been strained since her run-in with Paladin had finally snapped; making it a mission to ensure this would be a night the killer would never forget. The first dodge was easy with the woman's slow and expected swing of the larger knife, hopping back only to see the shine of metal thrown her way. Anna had taught her to catch them, but this had proved a bit too fast and she still wasn't exactly an expert like the ex-KGB. Instead, she had to opt for ducking harshly out of the way. It skidded across the street a decent distance behind her, discarded but not forgotten.

Was this woman even meta? Or did she just target the ones she knew she could take down? So far, Cory hadn't seen or felt anything that made her so special. She knew how to fight - damn well, too - but Punk's reflexes made up enough for that. After the strange, jibbering nonsense and another pair of knives showed themselves, she scoffed behind the mask and cracked her neck to the side. "That it?"

"Slow as hell!" All it took was a second. She'd charged towards her in a flash and ended up at her side, throwing an fist towards her kidney and swooping her heel behind the killer's own to lock their ankles. Cory pulled her heel back quickly and harshly, trying to scoop the woman's leg from underneath her. She'd always pulled her punches... it was second-nature to be more careful after years of being raised to hold back. But she didn't tonight. Anna was gradually teaching her to let a bit loose, and as far as she was concerned, this woman was the face of all the screwed-up, unfair violence and fear that'd been shoved into the lives of innocent underdogs that couldn't protect themselves. 

Evelyn Winters
Getting a little passionate.

[Evelyn Winters]

Something seemed to be going through that woman’s head behind her visor. She was silent, but Evelyn could tell from her stance and her breathing that anger was coming off of her in waves. It was satisfying, knowing she could elicit such a response from someone she didn’t even know. Evelyn was in control of this woman’s emotions. Evelyn was in control. There was always a rush from having power over another; a rush she’d always felt, but one she craved more and more after her incident. This was going to be fun.

The woman was fast, she’d give her that. Superhumanly so. It was like Evelyn was moving in slow motion compared to her. She felt a pang of annoyance as her knife flew over the woman’s head. She felt a much larger pang as her throwing knife missed her and skid across the pavement. She always hated when they missed. She prided herself on the speed and accuracy of her throwing knives - she’d built them herself after all - and to see one fail felt like a personal attack.

Suddenly, she felt the woman’s fist connect with her kidney. And she had to admit, she wasn’t prepared for it, and it hurt. She’d been through far worse pain, though. Far worse. Compared to her time under Glasgowman’s control, any pain she felt seemed minimal, like the prick of a needle, and she was always able to recover from it incredibly quickly. She supposed she had Glasgowman to thank for that (though she shuddered at the idea of having to thank him for anything), because of him, she’d learned how to cope with pain.

She’d learned many things in combat with her brother. One of those things was to always think three steps ahead of yourself, and five steps ahead of your opponent. In combat with a metahuman, those numbers were doubled. What would be the next possible moves this woman could make after punching her in the kidney? She calculated all the possibilities, and prepared herself for the most likely ones.

Ah, she was trying to unbalance her.

“She’s trying to sweep you off your feet.” Axel grinned.

A classic move. Typical really. She’d practiced countering moves like this since she was eight. Before the woman could pull her leg back, she slipped out of her hold, slashing at the woman’s head with one knife, slashing at her body with the other in the opposite direction. Meanwhile, she unleashed the knife at the toe of her prosthetic leg, swung a kick, and prepared for a spinning back slash incase she tried to dart backward, leaving her no place to dodge.

Thinking six steps ahead.

Coryelle Wilde

[Deleted]

live fast, die young

Wearing / Mask

289w

The leg she meant to trip up and over was gone. The sweep failed and the hairs on the back of her neck rose as she caught the glint of the murderer's blade in her peripheral vision. Thankfully her body thought for her in its heightened sense of awareness, sucking in her stomach to curve her back and lean outwards. The knife thankfully missed her stomach but she hadn't been so lucky with the one towards her face since it had gotten even closer to her on accident as a result of the dodge.

The hard plastic and rubber on the side of her mask carved out easily in the knife's path. It continued further, slicing the right side of her glass visor and obscuring a minor part of her vision. What was worse was the lack of visual aid the device was now able to offer her. The night vision fizzled out and she was left with the streetlights; a thin slit actually exposed to the air that the blade had cut straight through.

It had her wobbling a bit in her stance, still not one-hundred percent natural at remaining steady; nowhere near Anna's talent. At least she still reacted quick enough to block the shin of the woman's kick with both of her forearms. Wait... what kind of bone was that? She could feel the strange half-hollow sensation of the leg on impact and instead of dodging back to rethink her approach, she lifted an arm to shove an elbow harshly down on top of the side of the killer's thigh to see how high up the prosthetic went while she had easy access to the outstretched leg. 

Evelyn Winters
What r dis?

[Evelyn Winters]

Evelyn hummed in disappointment as her blade skimmed across glass instead of flesh. She was looking for blood. That metallic, crimson liquid was always so satisfying to see. It meant she’d hurt her enemy, that she’d wounded them, that they were feeling pain. Still, it seemed her slice had at least disabled her enemy. That visor looked fairly high tec. She supposed it had to be doing something other than obscuring her face. She could see her eye through the slit, and boy did she look angry. That gave Evelyn at least some satisfaction, that she was able to elicit such an emotion in this absolute stranger.

She hummed again as the woman blocked her kick. On the bright side, she used both her forearms and didn’t bother trying to dodge back. Sloppy. Very, very sloppy. It left her wide open to an attack on the other side of her body. Before she could set her leg down for a spinning back slash, the woman brought her elbow down on Evelyn’s thigh. She didn’t feel it, of course, as it hit the prosthetic, but this woman would no doubt feel it. In a fight against metal and flesh, metal would always win. It would be like slamming your elbow into a steel wall. But why would she do this? Ah, she must’ve clued into Evelyn’s prosthetic leg. She was testing her. To what end, Evelyn didn’t know. Luckily, her test left her extremely vulnerable.

Setting her leg down, she put her arm out and twisted back harshly with her feet and her body. The blade came swinging toward the unprotected side of her body at lightning speed. Just in case she happened to dodge the spinning back slash, she aimed to complete her spin by bending her knees and slashing at the woman’s legs, aiming for the tendons. She needed to see blood.

Coryelle Wilde

[Deleted]

live fast, die young

Wearing / Mask

515w

The prosthetic went up... all the way? Geez, a jointed prosthetic leg and she was still swinging around like this? Who the hell was this woman? Punk felt her elbow already starting to bruise, but thankfully the enhanced density of her bones had it aching far less than it should've. Her skin wasn't as lucky in reaping the benefits of her DNA. Far more focused than she should've been on the leg, the swing took the vigilante by surprise and she hadn't thought to move until after feeling an intense, hot sting at her side. Finally her senses kicked back into gear and her reflexes had her legs bending before the next hit could finish, jumping and flipping backwards away from the woman.

Her side was even warmer now. Actually, it hurt a lot more now too. In a split second of confusion, she reached down to touch it only to stain her glove with a deep, sticky red. Adrenaline was keeping the feeling of the damage at bay. For now. Was she really this distracted, really this off of her game? A grunt of both pain and disapproval left quietly from her mask and the small seeds of doubt began to grow in the back of her head. This woman was trained, Cory was not - at least not a lot. But she was normal - plain, old, weak normal - even handicapped for that matter. Then, a flash of light flickered into her visor, causing her eyes to shift from outside the mask to within for the brief moment. The video stuttered, shorting out with the workings of the visor and showing a small window of time from one of Jack's pieces of evidence.

A picture of the same woman as a suspect, standing before her now, alongside an interview to a crying, elderly mother on a news station. The slide of her daughter covered the screen. Then the bags of her dismantled remains...

Her side didn't hurt anymore. Nothing did. The hairs on her neck and arms stood on-end and a surge of energy tightened the strands through her muscles. The visible eye through the broken glass shifted again, locking back onto her target, and the doubt was gone. This entire fight she'd spent overthinking, grasping to what training she could remember and second-guessing herself. Punk ignored her own greatest strength; natural response, her ability to react in the blink of an eye. It only took two, long, sprinting strides to close the distance between them before the meta speed and strength within her legs sent her leaping up and over the woman, landing behind her, and going straight for the leg with both hands at the knee and thigh. "You bitch!" Cory pulled the prosthetic backwards before sucking in a breath, leaning back, and kicking her boot harshly against the woman's spine to forcefully yank the leg away past its straps and locks. Hopefully it sent her face to the ground, but at the very least it wouldn't be hard to get her there from now on.

Evelyn Winters
Turning the tables.

[Evelyn Winters]

An inner smile spread across her face and she felt her blade slice through flesh, blood flying from the wound, the blade tinged with red, the crimson liquid soaking the woman’s clothes as it quickly spread from the gash in her side. The feeling was euphoric. Evelyn always had a thing for blood. It’s one of the many reasons she preferred knives to other weapons. Yeah, you maybe get a couple scrapes with blunt force, and you can get a pretty big hole with a bullet, but the single purpose of a blade is to split someone’s flesh. With a blade, blood is guaranteed, and the wound will almost certainly be large, painful, and up close and personal. Close enough to smell that crimson liquid as it spilled out of the of the tear in their flesh, as she was smelling now.

Evelyn now felt she had the upper hand. She’d downed one metahuman, she couldn’t wait to get another under her belt. And it seemed this one had at least a modicum of skill. She somewhat regretted letting Sunny get away. At least then she’d have another number on her kill count, but her life seemed almost too pathetic to take. She decided she would end this one. Perhaps take her head, mount it on her wall. Human taxidermy was difficult, but nothing she couldn’t manage. She’d take time with this one too. Her first metahuman kill, that had to be special.

Her attention divided, caught up in her own inner gloating, she didn’t react in time to the woman’s sudden, renewed, anger-fueled vigor as she ran toward her and leapt over her head, landing right behind her. Evelyn moved to twist her body, aiming to slice at the woman, perhaps hit something more fatal, an artery or perhaps sink a blade into her eye. Thus far, she’d just been playing with the meta, but she had other plans she wanted to get to in San Francisco. It was time to end this. She was about to twist her leg when the woman suddenly grabbed it.

Was it luck? Skill? Emotion? A combination of the three? Evelyn couldn’t say, but she felt her prosthetic limb - which had been attached to her so long, it felt more flesh than metal - disconnect from her nerves, the complex series of pinpricks at the end of the prosthetic slid straight out of her flesh. The intricate strap keeping the metal leg securely attached to her body snapped in just the right (or wrong?) places. Her leg, her arsenal, her sanity after her torture at the hands of the Glasgowman, was gone.

She couldn’t say this had ever happened to her before.

And she didn’t know what to do.

She fell. Her face slid against the concrete, wiping clean some of the makeup, revealing her scars, dislodging her colored contact, scraping her flesh. She managed to hold onto the throwing knife, but the large melee knife scattered out of her hand, out of reach. She grit her teeth, pulling the contact out of her eye, revealing her amber iris. No, she was not going to be defeated. It wouldn’t end. Not like this. She quickly rolled over on her back and threw the knife at the woman. She threw it hard and fast, aiming for the neck. She was desperate, adrenaline pumping through her veins. This adrenaline strengthened her throw, but the desperation made her sloppy. She threw forcefully, but the blade ended up flying more toward the woman’s chest than neck. A larger target, yes - it made her knife much harder to avoid, but far less fatal.

She would not lose.

Not again.

Never again.

Coryelle Wilde

[Deleted]

live fast, die young

Wearing / Mask

394w

It ripped. It tore. It practically felt like a piece of the woman rather than an extension. An everyday-Cory would've been disgusted by the sensation, but Punk - a focused, currently vengeful vigilante - ignored the bits of red at the end of it and tossed it to the ground far behind herself. The murderer fell to the concrete and she felt a swell of pride in her chest. There was a new median that she'd found now between passion and focus. Her meta reflexes with Anna's training finally seemed to click.

Cory's eyes looked to the flashing metal that caught the light; the larger knife scattering out of the woman's hand far further than she could reach it. But another shine caused her body to tense and the small hairs along her arms to stand. The thrown blade sung towards her and her muscles sprang to react, half-spinning at lightning speed to narrowly avoid it only for the small thing to worthlessly hit the brick wall yards away. From surprise to anger, the revealed eye thinned over to the now-handicapped attacker. "You thought that was it?"

Her side burned, it stung, it ached with every step, but still she marched over and stepped harshly down on one of the woman's wrists to pin it in place as she loomed over her. "That you could be good with fancy knives, catch one blondie kid hero off-guard, and get on top of the food chain?" She stepped over her, leaning down and grabbing underneath the free arm to forcefully pull her up to stand on her single leg. Still one-handed, Cory walked her backwards without a care of any stumbling difficulties she had until she forced her shoulder blades against a wall. Hard.

The hand that'd lifted her moved to press at the base of her neck and top of her collar bones in order to keep her in place. "And you've done way more than that, haven't you-?" Her free fist coiled back before rocking against the newly exposed face of the murderer with more-than-human swiftness and strength, ensuring to keep her upright with the hand at her upper chest. "Haven't you!" The fist reared back again as a threat. "How many!?"

Evelyn Winters
Justice.

[Evelyn Winters]

Evelyn let out a growl as her knife flew past the woman. This wasn’t normal for her. Typically, she was emotionless, a blank slate. This defeat was getting to her. No. Not defeat. She wouldn’t be defeated. She wouldn’t. She was just getting emotional. This situation was reminding her of her past. But that was all it was, a reminder. History would not repeat itself. She would not be defeated again. She could still win. She just had to rid herself of these emotions.

She wanted Axel.

But he wasn’t there.

Ever since she’d started losing (she wasn’t losing, she wasn’t losing), he’d been absent. She yearned for his snark, for his confidence and light-heartedness to alleviate the situation. But no matter how much she wished it, he didn’t appear. Her leg was gone and so was her brother. It was like she was there all over again. The sound of the blowtorch rang in her ears. She could practically smell her burning flesh.

She barely held her composure as the woman stepped on her wrist. She flashed back to the leather straps and it made her want to scream. The sleeve of her jacket had rolled up a bit, showing the scars left by the restraints on her wrist. Could the woman see them? Would she care? She seemed blinded by rage, she doubted she could see anything but red.

The woman, with surprising strength, yanked Evelyn to her remaining foot. She was shaking now; visibly, violently shaking. She remembered the barbed wire being wrapped around her armed. The snip as he cut off her finger with a garden shear. She tried desperately clawing at the woman with the knives unsheathed from her prosthetic fingers, but to little effect. They just barely scraped her skin, and she didn’t seem to mind it anyway. Evelyn doubted she even felt it.

She slid on her foot as the woman dragged her against the alley wall, tripping and falling, but the woman’s grip kept her upright. She grunted slightly as the woman slammed her into the bricks, her lips curled back in a snarl. Her mind was a mess of emotion. Anger, fear, and something else, something deep and primal that just screamed over and over: NOT AGAIN NOT AGAIN NOT AGAIN NOT AGAIN

She barely comprehended her words, her mind the mess that it was. That punch brought her somewhat back to her senses. She felt her teeth break and shatter (they were implants, so it didn’t hurt as much, but still), her cheekbone splinter, her skin split and started leaking blood. She hadn’t felt a punch like that since...since him. It was a harsh to remember what it was like to get hurt.

She clenched her hands around the woman’s wrist - the woman’s neck out of reach - digging the blades on her prosthetic fingers into her skin. She spit out her teeth and took as subtle a deep breath as she could in this situation, her face returning to its mostly blank state - though her lip was raised just a bit in a miniature snarl. “Do you really want to know? I’m not sure you do.” Her voice shook ever so slightly, but she mostly managed to maintain her monotone. ”I don’t think I can give you an answer, though. I’ve lost count.”

Coryelle Wilde