The night is a mistress of life. It is the hardest time to be alive for, those silent hours bring forth Melancholic air and scandalous actions. In its prime it feeds off of the secrets, schemes and lies made within it, knowing it was only a matter o...
"Awareness is the enemy of sanity, for once you hear the screaming, it never stops." —Emilie Autumn
New York, New York
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...Six headless bodies were found in the Hudson River, none of which have been identified yet. Sources say these men are of Latino descent and their tattoos suggest that they were gang-affiliated. The bodies have are showing significant amounts of swelling and mutilation, the corners have yet to rule out torture. It has yet to be determined as to whether they were alive during the decapitation. The police are hoping to prevent a gang war in the city and have put out a reward, asking for anyone who can ID these men or any witnesses to come forward.
After this short break, we'll take it to John, reporting at the site where the company Iselin's, chemical warehouse was engulfed in flames just seven hours ago.
Faded unrecognizable voices seep in, rising my consciousness, and anxiety wrecked my body, unsure of anything right now. With caution, my fingers grasped the material I laid on. Discerning the familiar antimicrobial poly-cotton sheets, I slowly opened my eyes, blinking a few times to adjust to the blinding fluorescent lights.
Hospital, I noted, I'm in a hospital.
Closing my eyes again, flashes of yesterday appear, the grim memories start to flood-
"Baka." I heard a low voice grunt from the side of my bed and my eyes snapped open.
Looking towards the source, I forced words to leave my mouth, ignoring the soreness. "Who the fuck are you?"
Lounged in the chair beside my bed, my hoarse voice stole his attention from the television. The man turned it off and his dark monolid eyes roamed my figure before meeting my stare. "How are you feeling?"
I detected an accent, with the way his question rolled off of his tongue and my hand instantly reached for my neck. My touch was light, but it triggered a memory.
Large hands closed around it with the intent of killing me.
I was attacked.
Two men hid inside of my apartment, awaiting my arrival with plans to kill. And as soon as I entered, they attempted to. Those men were trained, and knives were their weapon of choice. Cleavers. The knife that can cut through bone. They wanted it messy but also easy. Perhaps the story they would've told was a home invasion gone wrong— using weapons that could be accessed within a home. But nothing is ever that simple.
My subconscious was aware of the imminent threat before, I was consciously aware and brought forth a version of me I didn't know existed. Yes, I remembered my father taught me kick-boxing— it's how I defended myself when Luca had me abducted.
But recent events tell a different story.
My head throbbed, confused.
I moved as if I had undergone rigorous training in the material arts and fought off both intruders simultaneously. They moved fast and in sync with one another but my movements were precise and deadly.
