𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗥𝗘𝗧𝗨𝗥𝗡 𝗢𝗙 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗧𝗥𝗜𝗞𝗘𝗥 | the boys 2

𝘪𝘪) 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐀𝐍 𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃

She stood, paralysed, in the wake of all four corpses, dressed only in the medical shirt and her own underwear. The green heel was lodged slightly off-centre of the forehead of one of the younger men, the others with some damage to their throat, one way or another. Breath loosing such intensity, Rowan caught sight of a dark red peeking out from amongst the notes on their subject - but it was a different shade from the smears of blood on the wall forming the Vought logo. She carefully knelt and tore the pages filled with her information away, eyes widening at her name partially hidden by a large stamp in capital letters, screaming at her that she was supposed to be dead.

Brushing over the 'DECEASED' note, she grazed over her name, birthday, death day and description, sliding a photo out from beneath a paperclip on the first page. It showed her, as a seven year old, rested in a body bag - stick thin. When she squinted, Rowan could make out a lock of red hair to the left of the picture, letting on a small smile,"Mama." Her fingers smoothed over the paper, drifting over a bump at the bottom caused by something in the plastic wallet in the back. Cold to her soaked hands, the silver plastic rested in her palm, fractures of the glass facing her obscuring the wild animal's features. To remain a feisty little animal.

____________________

Limbs dead. Eyes blurry to everything around her. Her clammy palms rested on the cold tiles, spine bent forwards and aches swelling in the back of her craned neck. The sensation of hands clamping around her wrists and lifting her arms above her head hardly even registered in her brain. All she could feel was the band aid stinging against her skin and a drowsy cloud hiding her thoughts. Her coat had been taken when the wheels beneath them were rolling, taking them to the same place where the same people had kept Kimiko under control around 24 hours ago.

An icy breeze suddenly passed her bare stomach and back, tempting a small fit of shivers to take hold of her body. There was no weight on her shoulders now. None at all. Before she could react in a string of slurs, her ankles were clasped and nails were grating at the skin on her waist, the material under her being awkwardly dragged off her legs. Almost simultaneously, a small snipping noise pierced her ears due to it's proximity, but it still failed to keep her eyes open properly.

Suddenly, it was raining. Just on her. Coarse sponges were harshly rubbing her skin raw, large hands massaging suds into her scalp and ceasing to bother avoiding her eyes or injuries.
"Ah... AH, THAT STINGS!" She coughed, blinking to extract the shampoo from her eyes. "Stop it... STOP IT! PLEASE..." She screamed, words growing weaker when the band aid was ripped off and another sharp jab to her arm came. Just like that, she couldn't feel it anymore.

Why did she always manage to slip out of their grasp? Rowan listened to her stomach gurgling as she stumbled through the night, her stolen lab coat snagging on the fence outside the facility. She was so deep in thought about how the fuck Vought managed to smuggle her file out of the FBI, she landed right on her butt when the flares caught, fraying at the sharp chicken wire.

"No, no, no!" She sighed, impatiently yanking the coat as an alarm sounded in the distance. They were coming for her. "You bitch!" Rowan snarled, pulling one last time at the coat with the rest of her strength.

"We've got eyes on her!" Male voices barked through the mild air and white lights illuminated her pasty skin.

A hiccup escaped her throat as she was forced to hurriedly shrug off the only appropriate clothing she adorned and limp into the dark before the unit could catch up with their heavy armour and weapons. Afraid of the weak chain breaking around her neck, Rowan snapped the necklace and kept the amulet balled in her fist as her speed picked up, legs wobbling underneath her.