[url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1AOp9c5DRzc]
[b][u]
"If I Ever Leave This World Alive"[/u][/b]

[b][i]Eleven Days Ago...[/i][/b][/url]

[url=https://media.giphy.com/media/120mccMiY1waEo/200.gif]The roguishly handsome form of The Infamous D'ren Connor McDonnell[/url] shimmered into visibility on a bar stool beside his ex-girlfriend, a blond with telekinetic powers. He took the glass of whiskey she slid his way. Kassandra Stirling didn't even look at him, but he never took his eyes off her as he sipped the beverage.

"I've been livin' in caves and sewers for months," the Irishman groused, "and when I come out into the open, ya can't even look at me?" He set down the half empty glass, a look that resembled a mixture of resentment and lust.

Kassandra turned to him and stoically stated, "I don't owe you anything, Daren. What do you want? Why are you here?" Her tone was Oklahoman.

The resentment pushed aside the lust and he leaned forward, cocking his head to the side. "I didn't feckin' ask ye fer shite. I just came to warn ye the Skats are comin'..."

At first Kassandra was unsure of what he meant, but since she knew that often attributed slurs to people and things he didn't particularly like, it didn't take long for her to realize he meant Skits. She swiftly stood, her seat nearly knocked over.

"When?" she asked fearfully, raising her hands slightly in a defensive posture as she glanced nervously over her shoulder at the entrance.

"Oh don't worry," said The Infamous as he stood up, drawing one of his [url=https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/6f/a1/95/6fa195796b04804ccb8585ff22ffd77c.jpg]dual Colt .45 handguns.[/url] "I won't let 'em take ya."

It wasn't that she couldn't have prevented him from shooting her in the chest three times; it was simply that she didn't actually think he'd do it. After all, he could easily make her invisible...

Kassandra collapsed on the scuffed wooden floor, and the bartender and few patrons in the bar bolted for the exit. Left alone in the bar, D'ren set his pistol on the counter and returned to his drink. Kassandra was sputtering and choking on her own blood, pathetically reaching up toward her former lover as tears rolled down her pained face. He glanced down at her and sighed, hearing the Skits coming for the door. D'ren placed the gun behind the counter.

"Sorry love," D'ren said as he once again stood up, this time unceremoniously stepping over her as she took her last few breaths, "but ye're not me girl no more." 

Casually strolling over to the coat rack by the front door, D'ren grabbed his black leather duster and put it on. He'd confiscated the coat off a dead British officer, one he'd killed personally. The duster came to just past his knees, and looked rugged from combat and time. D'ren walked over to the back of the bar and turned on some music before he drew both his other sidearm and a K-bar combat knife. Then he just waited for them to come...

[b][i]Present[/i][/b]

Unlike most of the prisoners, D'ren was completely fine with being left isolated for several days. In fact, he'd hoped to be left in the cell for a lot longer; contemplation, reflection, and simply enjoying his fantasies was a lot more interesting than anything in this world, pre- or post-apocalypse. 

So when Portal teleported in and started talking to everyone, he groaned and sat down on the floor at the back of his cage. Dressed in practically prison rags, D'ren leaned his disheveled dark hair against the wall behind him and propped his arms over his raised knees. 

When Portal came to his cell last, D'ren just glowered at her murderously. "I don't touch people...unless I'm doin' 'em." He grinned. "And by 'doin',' I mean killin'...usually. I'm sure we can make an exception for ya, hot stuff."

He glanced to the right and left conspiratorially before whispering, "Ye do know half of us are super-villains right?"