"whatever doesn't kill me had better start running."
there is an urban legend about summoning bloody mary. with this one, you need not say her name.
she will come and find you.
she will hunt you down.
and she will consume you.
with her, the urban l...
¡Ay! Esta imagen no sigue nuestras pautas de contenido. Para continuar la publicación, intente quitarla o subir otra.
―――
MARY HAD LOST COUNT OF THE DAYS SHE'D BEEN IN THIS PLACE OF BLOOD-SPILLING AND WEAPON-MAKING. She had to rely on Grant's timely expertise. According to him, it was her ninth year here. She was sixteen years old.
It was his eleventh. He was seventeen.
For both of them, it felt more like home than home ever had.
She thought of this as she laid down to sleep, her hands curled around a pair of ragged long ears.
―――
"Up you come, sunshine."
Madelyn Maverick wrapped her hands around her daughter and lifted her into the air, smiling and laughing.
Matthew placed Mr. Softie in the hands of his daughter, promising her she could always rely on the stuffed bunny to keep her safe.
Memories of this mixed with memories of learning how to take apart and reassemble almost any type of firearm within however many seconds or minutes. Memories of this mixed with memories of learning how to throw the perfect punch or kick, of how to place the right bullet or knife, the right type of poison to mix with which drink or food, the right tactical strategy in this scenario or that one.
All of this logic, this tactic, this physical training―it was to prepare them to be better.
But why would they need to be better when they were already great?
"There's always room for improvement, Mary Mae." Who had said that? Steve. Steve―Rogers.
"Aww, you're just the sweetest, Mary." That was a boy named James.
"Mary, you look so good with your hair like that!" And a girl. Her name was Andrea.
"Hey there, Triple M." Josiah―no, Josh, he preferred Josh, for some reason.
Their voices were thrown together in a cocoon, becoming a hurricane of sounds, of screams and gunshots and quiet lullabies winding through chaos and destruction.
Something was coming. Something big. She didn't quite know what.
―――
Mary woke with her heart pounding against her ribcage. She glanced at the antiquated clock in her bedside, one of the only accessories in her rather Spartan room. The walls were an unidentifiable metal, the bed-frame titanium, the ground covered in a thin rug made for function rather than appearance. There was a steel dresser full of plain military clothes, a rack of weapons on the wall. And a ragged stuffed bunny thrown onto the floor next to her with her blanket and pillow.
She tiptoed out of the room, past the two sentries stationed at her door.
"Where are you going?" one of them asked sharply. She held up her hands.
