chapter three

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"And I oop."

"

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Three things to never do in life (as stated by Takeo Hoshiko)

Number one: don't talk to strangers.

Number two: don't interact with said stranger as if you're good old buddy pals.

Number three: when Mr. Stranger forces you to stand up in the middle of your friend's garden with your arms spread out T pose style, you should immediately pull a hero move and smack his ass or run away and NOT induldge in his monstriosities.

"So your quirk is something with raising the dead right?"

He nods.

"Like Nico Di Angelo?"

Now he looks lost. I have never felt more disgusted in my entire life.

"Seriously, you don't know who Nico Di Angelo is? What kind of uncultured fool are you? You know, the Percy Jackson series? The demi-god gay kid of Hades? Ring any bells?"

Stop staring at me like that you insolent fool!

"Dude, we SERIOUSLY need to get you a couple of the books from the series. Trust me, they are AMAZING and I kid you not, I would fight Percy for Annabeth's hand in marriage at any da- ow!"

He stabs a needle in my hand. Disgusting.

"That better be sanitary."

"It is," Mr. Strangers say. He sounds offended, tapping the syringe where he has now stored all of my precious blood. "I'll have you know that I'm always clean with my tools. I'm a bad guy, not a fucking germ."

"Still, needles? I dunno man, sounds kinda gross."

"Yeah well," he sighs. "I used to use knives, but my last victim was kind of. . ." he makes a face as he drops to his knees. "Kinky."

Did I forget to mention there's a pentagram on the ground? Because there's a pentagram on the grass now and it looks like he's gonna use my blood for it.

"What kind of kinky? Like fanfiction level kind of kinky or baby soft kind of kinky?"

"Fanfiction level. God you have NO idea how weird it was. This person straight up DEMANDED I cut them up for the sake of being. Chotto matte." He stops talking and stares at me with the deadest look I've ever seen since I came out to my parents. "Aren't you like. . .13 or something?"

How dare he.

"I'm 15!" I protested. My arms are hurting. "What, you some sort of perv or some shit?"

"No," he scoffs. "I'm evil, I'll kill people sure, but kid, I've got priorities!" He stands up, but his hands and the grass is stained with my blood. I'm shocked. "Professionals have standards," he says solemnly, and steps away from the pentagram. "Now kindly stand inside here please. You can put your arm down now. No, not your left, my left. Little more, perfect."

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