An unlikely group of misfits... that's what the Legends are. A group of nine individuals gathered together to defeat an immortal tyrant by the name of Vandal Savage.
Rip Hunter, a Time Master from the future, plucked Xiomara "Xo" Luna out of her tim...
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Pred·a·tor /ˈpredədər/ noun 1. an animal that naturally preys on others. 2. a person or group that ruthlessly exploits others.
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SOMEHOW, THIS TIME FELT WORSE. Like they were testing my limits. It felt like my screams rattled the walls. After a while, I couldn't even muster enough energy to move a finger. I tried to distract myself by counting the growing list of bruised skin and open wounds. Oh, and the burnt flesh.
When they moved me back, I was dragged hanging by my elbows. Even when I did try to fight back, the four burly guards tasked with my transport were too strong. I had managed to get a few good shots in before my arms went numb and a boot was pressed into the center of my back. I was forced to the floor and grabbed again.
The detainment area was hell. They seem to have had their way with Mick, he too looked bloodied and bruised. A new gash decorated his nose, splitting along his bridge. His left eye was swollen quite a bit, purple and yellow splotches adoring the sensitive skin.
He did try and lift his head enough when he heard the door open. His voice was still muffled by the gag placed in his mouth. I could hear the worry in his throaty groans. It was a new color on him... was it genuine concern?
I was hung back up to the shackles. With every breath, I could feel the tenderness of my stomach. The cycle of pain continued, this time in different spots. A nurse monitored my wounds every thirty minutes, watching with tentative eyes for a sign of healing.
As she crewed on the end of her pen, her lips parted in anticipation. The raven-haired girl seemed to like what she saw. With hasty steps, she opened the door and left. A few moments later, Connell entered. He didn't spare any pleasantries. Gloved hands pressed on my abdomen.
The skin had begun to scar over. The wound was healing, but raised tissue decorated my skin. Bumps and uneven clusters not too different than Mick's. An astonished, almost giddy laugh left Connell in disbelief.
"A true sight to behold, my dear. You should be so proud."
Bastard. Proud. Was he being serious? My brain could form the words, but my vocal cords couldn't form the sounds. My own body was being ripped apart for the sake of discovery, their stupid idea of scientific risk.
Looking at Mick, he seemed to chuckle, "Wouldn't want to kill our golden goose now don't we."
Mick began his usual protest. Connell didn't pay him any mind. He simply instructed the assistant, Abby, to draw a few vials of plasma and blood, "Prepare for a transfusion. I will need her—"
Then there was a boom. The entire facility seemed to rumble alive with the familiar sound of gunfire. Bullets and repulser blasts alike. I struggled to clear my head and properly focus my eyes. But the fear on Connell's face was very much present.
