"You wanted a bad guy? Fine, I'll be the bad guy."
Continuing on her vigilante career, Charlie's had a decent two years, that it until it gets interrupted by evil titans, old mentors, theatrical lairs, and her growing feelings for her now-friend Pet...
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Night inked the sky black; demons were out to play. Monsters were going bump in the night waiting for their prey, little did they know they were being hunted too.
The air felt cool as it wrapped under her hoodie. Her gloved fingertips touched the roof she was underneath, feeling the snag of the fabric. Inhaling in the dirt of the city, Charlie breathed out. It was familiar yet intoxicating. Not as intoxicating as what came after, though.
Born and bred in crime and sin, she welcomed the darkness with open arms.
On the tips of her toes, she let gravity take her down. A snake in the concrete jungle, she weaved through the streets till she became one with the wind. The thrill of the run drove her faster, and her body thanked her for the stretch. Like an old friend, the city greeted her. But, she was different, not a warrior or a soldier of justice and honor; instead, she was a fighter. Discretely, she moved past the pictures of her plastered on the wall with slurs and insults because she was not here as Charlie either.
Once she landed on the house with the blue door, she pressed her palms flat against the brick and took a breath. Focus. A flash of the house's electrical system played on her eyelids, and she could trace out the security system. With a snap of her neck, she pulled on the cords of light, and they fizzled out.
***
Jackson Williams was leaning over his computer, browsing through the internet. He was supposed to be in bed, but an argument between him and his wife left him annoyed and slightly restless. He sipped his water; he was sure to be exceptionally quiet as he pulled the lotion out of his desk drawer. With the rest of the house sleeping silently, he wanted to make sure they would not wake up and interrupt him.
But they knew better than to come into his office. His oasis. Perfectly curated to his liking, the deep oak wood desk and the built-in shelves of pictures and trophies behind him. Then there were the plush seats for business; he liked the leather and felt like a god when he pulled the cigars out of his top drawer right before he broke a deal. One of the many pleasures of life. As he pulled up a new private tab, he strained his ear to check if anyone had woken up. A rustle greeted him, and he glanced around the dark empty room. Probably, just the air conditioner; the room was soundproof (better for certain business deals). Still, he waited a few seconds before putting on his earphones and typing in his favorite site.
In the blink of an eye, Jackson had a knife pressed against his throat.
He gasped, but the voice in his ear turned him silent. "Shhhh, let's not stain the carpet."
His hands were splayed out in front of him, the URL still typed in, making him more paranoid. He could feel their legs propped over his shoulders, probably sitting on his thousand-dollar shelves. "All my money is in the bank. Jewelry's in the other room."
"Liar."
"I'm not lying, I swear." Nothing but the anxious quiet filled his ears, and he tried to see the person behind him through the reflection of his computer screen. It all looked like shadows. Shit. Shit. Shit. "Please, don't kill me."
