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┌── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┐
•Speak of the devil•
TW : Violence, Weapons, Profanity
└── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┘
The two serial killers stood into the eery and empty apartment as they silently looked around in search of the infamous Mysterio.
A muffled huff escaping the masked brunette's mouth as he seemed ticked off that the one they were searching for wasn't home, after all the effort it took them to sneak past the cops on patrol to get to their target's apartment without getting spotted.
"She's not here, Tim.." Brian told him as he walked out of the empty bedroom, stepping over various trash on the floor along the way. The apartment looked trashed as if it belonged to a depressed individual.
"No shit sherlock." Tim muttered as he lifted his mask up, lighting a cigarette in his mouth with a scowl, puffing out the smoke before turning to Brian whom remained unbothered by his snappy mood.
"Did you find anything in her room that may hint where she could have gone?.." Tim asked Brian as he responded with a shake of his head.
Tim scoffed as he puffed his cigarette once again and walked towards the kitchen aisle, opening the fridge only to be confused at the rotting smell inside and the only food item being inside was imported cheese.
"The fuck?.." Brian muttered under his breath a s he peeked over Tim's shoulder. Tim glanced at him with a deadpan before he closed the fridge.
The two killers only stood in silence as they fell deep into their own thoughts. The silence was disturbed when a click of the door sounded at the entrance of the apartment.
They both flinched as they didn't bother to look at each other and each found places to hide in.
You stumbled into the messy apartment as you took of your trenchcoat and unbuttoned two buttons near the collar of your button up shirt. Kicking off your shoes and sighed as you collapsed on top of your couch with an exhausted sigh.
"Fuckin 'ell.." you muttered to yourself, your voice muffled due to your face being buried on the couch. You reached out your hand to the coffee table, tapping around to try and find the remote without raising your head but only feeling a small rounch object in your hand.
You turned your head to look a t what was in your hand to see your stressball, huffing with a deadpan as you buried your face on the couch once again and threw the ball towards the kitchen aisle.
