I returned home from a night of relentless drinking with my friends. One of my gal pals had finished her master’s program, so we celebrated as crazy young girls typically do: with a stupid amount of alcohol. Our sober guy friend was generous enough to escort each of us home, thankfully. It must have been at least three in the morning when I got back. My head was pounding, and I could feel my gut throwing a hissy fit.
I fumbled to get my keys out and open the door to my loft, located in the upper east side of Manhattan. The bright blue and red exterior was even more of an eyesore while I was drunk, clashing so poorly with the bland gray and black apartment buildings filling the rest of the block. Once I was finally indoors, I shut and locked the door behind me and stumbled into the kitchen. I was tempted to just walk straight upstairs and get right into bed, but I needed something to help take the edge off. I got a bottle of oxycodone out of the cupboard, cracked it open, and earnestly downed two pills with a tall glass of cold water. I had three more glasses, along with some salty crackers in a pointless effort to sober myself up.
My headache shortly became a splitting one, unfortunately. I tried to shake off the pain, but it was no use. I needed to pass the fuck out on the double. I stumbled to the steps to head up to my bedroom. As I stood at the base of the steps, I heard noises coming from upstairs. I spooked myself into thinking there was an intruder before reminding myself my boyfriend, Brandon, was home. Alcohol truly is a brain cell deterrent.
But as I began to ascend the old wooden stairs, the noises started to become more defined. There was a rhythmic pulsing, and it sounded as if the legs of my bed were scraping the floor. That sense of fear came back, and I could feel every vivid pound of my racing heart. I was praying that it wasn’t true, that I wasn’t about to see what I thought I would see. But, closing in on the door to the room, I knew exactly what was happening.
I heard everything. The moaning, the bed creaking, their bodies slapping together, the screaming. Oh, God, the fucking screaming! She screamed his name loud enough to break a fucking window, and he screamed her name right back.
Those screams broke my heart. I hadn’t even seen anything yet, and I was torn.
I finally reached the door, but I didn’t swing it open in a swift and melodramatic motion. I cracked it open only slightly so I could peek in and not ruin the moment. After hearing everything, seeing it all was hardly surprising. The two of them were in full view, their naked bodies going at it like hormonally hyped-up dogs (emphasis on the dog part, if you catch my drift). I couldn’t see their faces, but I’m sure they were filled with expressions of lust and pleasure. Maybe even love.
I quietly shut the door and sat against the wall, unable to comprehend any of it. Though, as I sat there, I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream inside my head. I just sat there. For a moment, I considered that it wasn’t real; it was just a drunken hallucination, a mirage. It couldn’t be real. But no, it was real. I knew it was real.
Then, all of my pent-up emotions caught up to me at once. I felt nothing but rage, hatred, and disgust. There was a little heartbreak, too, but my anger easily outweighed it. I shook sporadically as I curled up into a ball, trying my hardest not to cry out in anger. I gritted my teeth and started grinding them harshly.
And then, my mind started talking to me.
“Just kill them, Mareena,” the voice told me.
“But… I can’t. I love him. We… we’re meant for each other,” I silently replied to myself.
“If you were meant for each other, he wouldn’t be screwing that broad in there right now! Go downstairs, get Jacob, and kill them.”
“But, that won’t solve anything. In fact, it’ll make things worse.”
“Look, I know it sounds bad, but trust me, killing them will feel good. And you’ve done it plenty of times already in the Army. This’ll hardly be any different. Besides, it’s been a while since you last got a good kill. You deserve this one.”
“I killed because it was my job, and because the people I killed were bad people. This is totally different.”
“You think your cheating, douchebag boyfriend isn’t a bad person after this, that he doesn’t deserve it? You diluted bitch. Why don’t you just shut up and get to work?!” my mind screamed at me.
This was a side of me I had never experienced before. I had served in the Army for about 15 years, and not once had deranged thoughts like these crept into my mind. Yet, oddly enough, I enjoyed it—this darker side of myself. I really enjoyed it. I let it take over, though it wasn’t really by choice. It just sort of happened, but I felt so relieved, so relaxed, so pleased with the idea of what I might do. I rested against the wall and just breathed. I could still hear the two of them screwing in my room, and I just laughed to myself. With what felt like a really evil grin on my face, I decided it was time to get to work.
I got up and quietly returned downstairs, heading to my small office. I walked over to the brown, wooden desk and opened the bottom drawer where I stored my gun. From my good old Army days, I kept my trusty sidearm, a standard issue Beretta M9. I named it Jacob; it was the name I’d hoped I could name a son one day. I felt that dream die the moment I brushed my fingers against the cold metal of the gun.
Holding Jacob once again after so long felt odd, at first. It was almost foreign. And at the same time, the weight and feel were also immediately familiar. My days of serving in the military seemed so far behind me. Yet, now, they suddenly came rushing back to me. I had killed a lot of people in those days, but it was never enjoyable or fun. It was my duty. I killed to protect the world.
Now, I had found a new reason to kill. This new, cantankerous side of me was filling my head with sick and twisted thoughts of murder and death. And I was enjoying it. Thinking about my boyfriend being dead was an endearing thought. I couldn’t place exactly why these thoughts were so euphoric, but just thinking about it gave me goosebumps. So, finally, I loaded my gun, cocked it, and headed back upstairs.
Again, I advanced quietly, moving as lightly as a feather. I approached the door once more, listening to the two meat sacks still going at it. I rolled my eyes and slammed the door open, making a banal, dramatic entrance. The two bodies immediately ceased fucking and turned to face me. They tried to quickly cover themselves up and stared at me in shock.
“Hello, Brandon,” I said to him. I turned my head to the bitch sitting beside him. “Hello, whoever you are.”
“M-Mareena,” he said, staring at me with a blank, guilty expression, “I can explain.”
“I’m sure you can, honey,” I said monotonously. “But as much as I’d love to hear your piss-poor excuses, you and your little skank here just broke my heart. So now, I’m going to break you.” I raised my gun in my left hand, causing both of them to jump in shock and fear. They tried covering themselves protectively with the comforter, sheets, and pillows around them, but nothing was going to save them from the hell I was about to unleash.
“Wait, Mareena! Let’s just talk about this, please! You don’t have to do this!” he pleaded. I didn’t listen. I just stood there for a moment, my hand shaking violently. A sudden sense of uneasiness slithered through my bones. It felt as if something was clawing away at my sanity. My mind pulsated, locked in the thick entrapments of my skull. The anxiety was scratching at my irritable trigger finger. I felt a tear roll down my cheek.
“Do it,” my mind whispered to me.
And I snapped. With a deep, sharp breath, and let go. Away the bullets flew. First, I killed the slut sitting to his right, filling her with half of the magazine. Then, I turned to him and did the same, unloading the remaining rounds into his body.
I didn’t even register the loud banging of the gun as I fired it. Even after I was finished, I kept pulling the trigger, hoping more bullets would fly through the air. All I received was the scent of gunpowder, the clicking of the empty gun, and the sight of two lifeless bodies in my bed. I then looked at my arm. It was jerking backwards, as if the gun were still firing. I focused on that—that kick, that… recoil. It was heaven. It was orgasmic. It was beautiful. It made it all worth it.
I dropped the gun to the floor and walked out of the room. My mind was spinning in circles. I was getting unbearably dizzy. I leaned against the wall for a moment and stared blankly into space. Feeling like I might hurl, I rushed down the hall to the bathroom, resting my head over the sink. After a few moments, nothing happened. As I looked up at myself in the mirror, that voice came back to me.
“There, now, don’t you feel better?” it asked me. A devilish grin spread across my face. I nodded my head. It really did feel good. Everything about what I had done felt right. I felt chills coursing throughout my body. I was so happy; I was ready to run back into the bedroom and dance around in triumph. That was, until I heard the sound of sirens.
I let out an agitated groan, rolling my eyes at myself. I knew there was no getting out of there. The police would soon be at my doorstep. So, I decided not to fight the inevitable. I went back downstairs, walked into the kitchen, grabbed a Corona out of the fridge, and sat down at the table. I happily drank my beer as I waited. Within minutes, the cops were at my door.
“NYPD! Open the door!”
I continued drinking.
Eventually, the cops kicked the door in. They all had their guns up and at the ready.
“Evening, officers,” I greeted them, taking another sip.
“Ma’am, we’ve received reports of gunfire coming from this building. Care to explain?” one officer asked me.
“Yep. I killed my boyfriend- excuse me, ex-boyfriend, and his whore. They’re upstairs, if you want to see. And yes, I’m being serious. Dead serious.” Letting out a slight giggle, I finished my drink, set the bottle down, then held out my hands. “You gonna arrest me or what?”
In seconds, I had cuffs around my wrists, an officer shouting my rights at me, and was being taken out of my place and shoved into a cop car. And, given the clean-cut nature of what went down, it didn’t take long for me to be charged and 100% convicted of the murder. Hell, I pleaded guilty and provided a very nice confession just to speed up the process. The trial took one measly day. With all the bullshit said and done, I was sent off to serve a life sentence in a very special prison.
Maximum Asylum. The island super prison just off the coast of Manhattan. It had only been operating for about five years when I arrived, so it was still relatively new, but it had quickly built a reputation for being the most obscenely secure prison in the history of prisons. Within its first three years, several breakouts had been attempted. All of them were shut down practically before they even began. It was also where they sent the baddest of the bad; serial rapists and murderers, thieves, and straight up psycho and sociopaths.
And then there’s the staff. The guards, while not necessarily cruel, are stringent to the point of absurdity. If you fall out of line, they’ll put you on your ass. They have a zero-tolerance policy for bullshit of any kind. The doctors are pretty good. Mine was a complete tool, and extremely creepy, but he wasn’t such a bad guy… mostly. And, of course, there’s Warden McGuire. The guy plays himself off as a kind and caring saint, but he’s a royal cunt. If he had it his way, he’d have the guards kill inmates for blinking funny. Thankfully, the NYPD and other state legislation help keep the fucker in check.
The moment I entered the Asylum, I was skeeved out. It was anything but a safe place. Sure, there were guards, but frankly, they felt a bit more threatening than some of the inmates at times. And the inmates were certainly the baddest of the bad. They were right where they belonged. I’m not so sure I belonged there, though. I mean, what I did was bad, but I’m willing to bet that most of the inmates at the Asylum had gladly done worse than me.
And there were more of them than there were of me. I was alone. All I had to keep me safe were my wits and fighting skills. I felt naked without Jacob. I felt vulnerable, which wasn’t something I particularly enjoyed. Most people don’t like feeling vulnerable, but I really hate it. And in this place, that’s all I could really feel. So, going into this, I wasn’t very hopeful.
As I understood it, the female block was actually worse than the male block. The bitches in the Asylum were grizzled and hardened by their undoubtedly unpleasant stay there. My first day in, I was greeted by scarred faces, strong bodies, and unnerving sneers and growls. And after a few days there, I learned there were more than just a few girls looking to get a hold of me. And when I say get that, I mean in the… well, whatever sense you care to imagine. Bottom line was that I had to be on my guard pretty much at all times.
It didn’t take long for any interested parties to make their move. Three of my neighbors in the female block, Lucy, Jade, and Emily, started harassing me very early on. Lucy and Emily would shake me down for what few personal items I managed to keep, and Jade had a thing for me; she’d always get up close and grope me. Luckily, she was a fucking dumbass, and I could usually fend her off, but if I was up against Lucy or Emily, then there wasn’t much I could do. They were brutally molded by the Asylum, and tough as I was, I couldn’t help but be intimidated by them.
After about a month of this, however, they sort of just left me alone. In fact, I started looking to hang around with them. And they allowed it, which I’m very thankful for. They helped toughen me up to survive the rest of my time in the Asylum. They couldn’t teach me much about fighting; I already knew way more than they did. But when we had free time away from the guards, we’d spar. I learned how to really take a blow and make it mean nothing. I learned how to turn pain into fuel. I learned to embrace the voice in my head that told me to kill Brandon. I embraced the darker side of me. It turned me into something better.
I have the girls to thank for that.
When I wasn’t doing anything “meaningful” with my time, I was forced to go to therapy sessions. Again, my doctor was a fucking tool. His name was Dr. Larry. He’d always ramble on about some imagined condition he thought I had and scold me for committing such a heinous crime. He was always concerned with how easy I made it out to be, and incessantly went on about trying to find “the light within the darkness of my soul” (I shit you not, those were his exact words). He thought it had something to do with my childhood and early adult life. It didn’t.
Growing up, life wasn’t half bad, actually. My parents weren’t the greatest, but they were far from the worst. They supported me as well as they could. We weren’t particularly well off, so sometimes life was difficult. Dad had a short stint of alcoholism, but Mom and I helped break him out of that. And when I decided to join the Army, they were both really supportive of my decision.
Shortly after I joined and headed off for boot camp, though, Mom fell into a really deep depression. Not having me around ruined her. Dad didn’t really know what to do, either. Thankfully, he stayed away from the booze, but he stopped being supportive of Mom; he emotionally shut down. Things between them started falling apart without me home. And before I could get back, Mom killed herself. Just like that. We knew she was bad, but we didn’t think she was that bad. Then again, that’s what everyone thinks about depressed people they know, isn’t it?
Dad and I tried to stick together, but without Mom, he was a complete wreck. I did what I could, but it was never really enough. We fell out of touch. We didn’t disown each other as family, but what love we had from my childhood was… gone. It was nearly impossible for us to maintain the relationship we had when I was a kid. Soon enough, I just started focusing on my friends and my responsibilities to the Army. Dad fell off my radar. To this day, I don’t know if he’s still kicking or bit a bullet just like Mom. When I last saw him, he looked like he was ready to do just that. I’d like to see him again… I think. I don’t know. I’d at least like to know what happened to him after we said that one last goodbye.
Now, I get it, this all doesn’t sound too good, but things were never honestly that bad for the Wilson family. While we lasted, we stuck together, helped each other out, and loved each other very much. Only towards the end did things get shitty and rough. I guess I have myself to blame for that.
Believe me when I say my family history wasn’t the problem. Really. Yet, no matter how much I insisted this, Dr. Larry continually hounded me for answers based around this suspicion. It took three months for me to make him move on to something else. Surprisingly, he only briefly delved into my military history. He didn’t think my problem was PTSD related, which was pretty baffling, because even I thought that was a valid answer for a while. But it wasn’t. The answer eluded both Dr. Larry and myself for the longest time.
After about two years of living in Maximum Asylum, I found out I was going to be moved to a psychiatric facility. When I was first told this, I thought the guard telling me was brain-dead. But it was true; Dr. Larry put in the paperwork to have me moved in the interest of having me studied more closely. Of course, some other snob would be working with me, but I’m sure Dr. Larry would be in close contact with my new doctor. I didn’t like it, but I had no choice in the matter. I was leaving Maximum Asylum. I was kinda glad to be leaving, but a part of me was going to miss it.
The Asylum changed me. For the better, I should point out. Between my time spent with the girls, my sessions with Dr. Larry, and my free time either working or just having to be in the same space as the other scumbags in the place, I learned a lot. I learned how truly disgusting mankind is; that we are, at our basest state, vain and cruel beings, and that we deserve nothing but the graves we all end up in. I learned a lot about myself, too. I learned that I didn’t need to be afraid of anything, and how to turn my fears into something dangerous to others. And I learned the only person you can really trust is yourself. Trusting others is a pointless effort. I learned that the night the girls decided to turn on me. They thought it’d be fun to try and gangbang me in the middle of the night. I repaid them by breaking their arms and legs.
Yeah, the Asylum and its patrons taught me a lot. They changed me, and I’m very, very thankful for that.
But before I was moved, Dr. Larry wanted to have one last meeting with me. He just couldn’t let me go. He had to have one last shot at trying to redeem my lost soul, lest he allow someone else to do it. I had no patience for anymore of his bullshit, but it was out of my hands.
The guards escorted me to his tacky office. I remember rolling my eyes at his bookshelves lined with old books psychology, sociology, and linguistics books. The cheap knick-knacks and junk didn’t help either. For most of my sessions, I would enter the room to find Dr. Larry fawning over his shitty Darth Vader helmet replica or dusting off his cheap bust of Sigmund Freud. He would then turn to me with a toothy grin, adjust his obnoxiously nerdy glasses, and run a hand over his shiny fucking head, as if he had hair to fix.
For our last meeting, though, Dr. Larry was just sitting at his desk, waiting for me. He was oddly stroking his bright, yellow tie, which clashed horribly with his plain, black outfit. As I entered the room, he gave me a quizzical look. It was as if he were studying me for the first time all over again. It was creepy, but there wasn’t much I could do about it. Not yet, at least. I just had to wait for the guard to leave. And when Dr. Larry gestured said guard to leave the two of us alone, my heart soared.
“So, why am I here again?” I asked him, having had enough of his perverted staring.
“I just wanted to say goodbye, Mareena,” he replied.
“Oh…” I muttered. He gestured for me to take a seat. As I did, he kept staring at me. Neither of us said anything. I shrugged. “Alright, let’s get this over with, then.”
He nodded. “Yes, yes, I’m sure you’ll be glad to be rid of me. I just thought I’d take one last crack at that thick skull of yours before someone else gets their chance.”
I was slightly taken aback. He’d never been quite so blunt with me. “Gotta say, I’m impressed with this sudden tough-guy attitude, Doc. Have I really been that frustrating for you?”
“Mareena, you’ve tantalized me like no patient I’ve worked with before ever has. I’ve been stationed here in Maximum since its beginning days. I’ve worked with countless criminals and crooks. At the core of every one of them was some mantra or pathological method to their madness. The work was smooth. It was natural. Diagnosing and working with these men and women, dangerous as it has potentially been, has always been a rewarding experience. I’ve had the privilege of learning so much from all of them. But you…” He pauses and points a finger at me.
“Oh, do go on,” I say.
“Truly, I have learned more from you, Mareena, then all the others put together.”
“Oh?”
“Why, of course! You’ve taught me that not everything needs to make sense. That not everything needs a reason for being as it is. That life is… sporadic and frivolous.” I sigh quite exaggeratively. His gleeful expression morphs into a scowl. “But then again, you’ve also been quite difficult. Working with you has been a sincere and, at times, egregious process. For as much progress as I made with you, you caused nearly twice as many delays in my work. Truly, Mareena, there is no other human being quite like you.”
“Okay, I get it, Doc, it’s been a real fucking treat for you to work with me. Are you finished? I’d like to go to sleep now.” It seemed like my frustration was finally getting across to him. He looked at me eagerly, with a very eerie grin. I moved back in my seat.
“I find that, now, at the end of our time together, Mareena, I’ve grown extremely blunt. I’ve grown tired of your… let’s call it nuance, and the day-to-day talks of ours. I’m sick of trying to get somewhere with you, only to get nowhere at all. You may have taught me much, Mareena, but the truth still eludes me. Indeed, not everything must have proper reasoning, and not everything makes sense, but that is not the case with you. There is a method to your insatiable madness, and I will know what it is! You must be the one to tell me! I’ll not wait for a poorly written report by some half-witted doctor with little to no brain cells to his or her name! So, I will ask you outright, one final time.” He stands up from his chair and leans over the desk. “Why. Do. You. Do. It?”
Moments passed with nothing but silence. We just stared at each other. His scowl was almost haunting. It was the first time I’d ever felt intimidated by Dr. Larry. He was an absolute hack, and a lousy doctor, but in that moment, I felt a glimmer of respect for the man.
Just a glimmer. Which died out almost immediately. I giggled at him.
“And what’s so funny, huh?” he practically shouted.
“Well, it’s like you said, Doc. It’s what I ‘taught’ you. It’s the same answer I’ve given you these past few months. There is no reason behind what I do. I just do it because I can. Because I have power. And it feels good to have power. The people I hurt have no power. Just like you, Doc. You don’t have power. So, at long last, I’m gonna hurt you.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, I lunged forward, grabbed his stupid tie, and slammed his head against the desk. I followed that up with a strong left hook to his face. “You really shouldn’t have had the guard leave,” I said. Dr. Larry reeled over onto the floor in pain. He held his head and wailed out. But before he could get too loud, I hopped over the desk and smothered his cries. “Shhh. Wouldn’t want any unwanted attention, now would we?”
I wrapped my hands around his throat. You’d better believe I took sincere pleasure in choking the life out of him. I’d been waiting to get my hands on the little prick since our very first meeting. All his pointless banter, all his useless prattling, all his obnoxious quirks. Oh, how I loathed this pitiable man! And how I enjoyed every second of hurting him.
I took one hand off his throat and started punching and beating him with all my strength. I couldn’t help but laugh at his misery. Unfortunately, only a few moments after the fun began, it ended rather abruptly. The door crashed open, and in rushed three guards. Two of them quickly pulled me off Dr. Larry, while the third pulled out a baton. He started beating me left and right across the face. I saw my blood splash across the floor, felt my head pounding, heard the tirade of curses the guards threw at me.
As the one guard pulled his arm back for one last whack, which probably would have put me to sleep for good, a voice spoke from the doorway. It was soft and feminine, yet there was a sharpness to it as well. Her words were nuanced in an almost unsettling way, yet I quickly found comfort in the voice. “Now, boys, this is hardly any way to treat a lady. I’ll give you this one chance to let her go, or I can’t be held responsible for what I’ll have to do next.”
The guards all turned to her. One of them still stood in front of me, so I couldn’t see this woman just yet. All I knew was that someone was apparently there to save me, and I wasn’t about to deny her help.
“Heh, yeah, sure. Jerry, show her who’s boss,” one of the guards spoke.
The guard in front of me stepped forward, chuckling. “Okay, sweetheart. Why don’t I take you out of here and-”
His words were cut off by a swift slashing sound. There was a gurgle as Jerry collapsed to the floor. I saw a pool of blood start to trickle from his throat. Just as quickly, the woman cut down the other two guards with what looked like a shortsword. She moved so swiftly and struck with incredible power. When she finished her work and stood before me, it was like I was staring up at an evil angel, and I had been made to bow before her. Oddly enough, I was completely okay with that.
This woman was dressed in a flowing maroon dress. It was long enough to reach the floor, hanging from her shoulders by thin, red straps, with what looked like the softest fur trim on the bottom. She seemed to have no problem showing off her body, because her cleavage was in full view (it was very nice, I gotta say). A blood drop was tattooed just above her right breast. Her long, bright red hair flowed just as freely as her dress, and her dark blue eyes contrasted the rest of her appearance in the most beautiful of ways. She held in her right hand a gleaming rapier, which at this point was soaked with the blood of the guards.
I had no words.
“Hello, Ms. Wilson. Or, would you prefer Mareena?” she spoke. Again, her words were soft and feminine, yet sharp and piercing.
“Uh… Mareena’s fine,” I replied nervously.
She extended a hand to me. “Then, Mareena, I implore you to get up. We haven’t much time to get out of here.”
“Wait, get out of here?” I questioned, taking her hand. She helped me to my feet. “This is Maximum Asylum. There is no getting out of here.” The woman grinned at me. “Okay, maybe you can get out. But there’s no way I’m getting out. Not like this. Who are you, anyway? Why would you break into this place just to break me out?”
She giggled and stepped out into the hallway. She came back in with a large case, which looked way too heavy for her to lift as easily as she did. She placed it down in front of me and opened it. Inside was a suit of body armor, along with several different guns, including Jacob. I looked up at her in confusion, but couldn’t help grinning just a bit. She smiled softly at me. “I am a friend. A visionary. A leader. I’m in need of someone like you—someone with your… particular skill set. My name is Amy, but you will call me True Blood.” She gestured towards the case. “I recommend you suit up quickly. Time grows short.”
I was befuddled, bewildered, and beside myself. I had no idea what this True Blood would make me do, or what she’d expect of me. But frankly, I wasn’t in a position to care. This was my way out. And I was being offered some very nice toys to boot. I couldn’t exactly put my finger on it, but it was safe to bet this lady was out to cause some trouble. At first, something was tugging at my mind, telling me to refuse. Maybe it was my conscience, the good part of me still fighting to survive.
That feeling quickly subsided. I reminded myself of how good it felt to hold dominion over someone. It’s twisted. It’s most definitely sick. And like I told the good Doctor, it feels so fucking good. Doing this would probably mean sacrificing everything I used to be. A good soldier. A good person. And somehow, I was very, very okay with that.
In fact, the thought made me weak in the knees.
I got to work putting on the body suit and armor pieces. The armor was a metallic, dark blue color, with purple accents all over. Some of the pieces had spaces and slots that could be used to hold different guns and extra ammunition. It was stylish and practical. On the back of my waist was a tactical knife. The helmet was my favorite part; while the left eye was a simple lens, the right one was decked out with crazy tech. It was basically a bionic scope eye.
Once I finished putting on all of the gear, I put the two different rifles on my back. I couldn’t stop to gawk and examine exactly what they were; I’d have plenty of time for that later. But I always had time for Jacob. I ran a hand across my pistol, caressing it ever-so gently. My helmet then notified me of another moving body in the room. I turned around to see Dr. Larry crawling away from me and True Blood.
“Well, Mareena, shall we depart?” she asked me.
I chuckled. “Please, True Blood,” I started, cocking my pistol, “call me Recoil.”
I let loose an entire magazine’s worth of bullets, turning Dr. Larry into a bloody corpse. The sensation of the recoil was euphoric; I couldn’t help but shake in glee as I stood there. It was a feeling I never wanted to let go.
True Blood smiled as I finished. “Okay, Recoil. Off we go, then...”
And with that, I was christened the first Blood Sister.