[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/Gqxz6pv.jpeg[/img]

[sup][img]https://i.imgur.com/9qIY4OK.jpeg[/img]
[color=962929][b]#962929[/b][/color] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c].....[/color] [color=808080][b]hell's angel[/b][/color] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c].....[/color] [url=https://imgur.com/iSBHkTI][color=808080][b]outfit[/b][/color][/url] [color=2e2c2c].....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c].....[/color] [color=808080][b]foggy's apartment[/b][/color]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/9qIY4OK.jpeg[/img][/sup][/center]

[indent][indent][indent][indent][justify][color=808080]It was another half an hour before the taxi came to a stop for a second time. The growing distance between Myla and Theo made her stomach churn so violently that she wanted to throw up on more than one occasion. She had been far from him before, countless times, but it all felt different with the rest of their secrets laid bare between them. The city was suffocating and she could have sworn that it felt like she was being watched. If she had a spidey sense she imagined it would have been screaming at her. The tips of her fingers subconsciously slipped into her hair and rested upon the metal spider nestled against her scalp like a small piece of comfort to calm herself. By that time Theo would have likely finished packing and been on his way there. [i]Ten to fifteen minutes longer,[/i] she told herself.

After thanking the cabby, Myla took in a sharp breath and exited the taxi. The moment her foot hit the pavement it felt like there were eyes trained on her. She tried to brush it off and tell herself that she was paranoid as she approached the doorman. [color=962929]"Evening, Percy,"[/color] she said automatically like she did every evening when she returned home after an exhausting night of fighting crime. 

[color=d6d6d6]"Is everything ok, Ms. Murdock?"[/color] the man replied, a faint bit of concern in his voice. [color=d6d6d6]"Your cane? Did you forget it in the cab? Let me catch him before he leaves."[/color]

Myla’s right hand flexed only just realizing she must have left it back at the academy, leaning against the sofa where she had been sitting. She sighed at her own stupidity and thought up a quick lie. [color=962929]"Oh no, it’s ok. I accidentally broke it on the subway. I came home to grab another one."[/color] She flashed a small embarrassed smile. 

[color=d6d6d6]"[i]Oh.[/i]"[/color] He stopped as the realization set in. [color=d6d6d6]"Here, let me help you to the elevator."[/color] Percy moved beside her and held out his elbow.

[i]Thank God[/i]. The last thing she wanted was to spend several minutes outside trying to explain herself. Myla wanted to be in and out as quickly as possible and while Percy was a lovely doorman, she didn’t have the time to humor his questions. Knowing she had little other options if she was going for speed, she took his arm and let him guide her inside. While he walked far slower than she would have liked, he led her directly to the elevators. 

[color=d6d6d6]"Will you be ok from here, Miss?"[/color] he asked as he hit the button to call the lift.

[color=962929]"Yes, thank you."[/color] She smiled at him once more as she pulled her arm free. [i]Thankfully[/i] he didn’t linger and went back to his post.

The elevator felt like it was running extra slow that day. Her foot tapped impatiently. She would have considered taking the stairs instead… [i]If[/i] she had her cane. But now Myla was stuck waiting like a good blind girl to keep up appearances. 

When the ding echoed throughout the large lobby and the doors opened, Myla had to refrain from darting inside and repeatedly pressing the close button. Her fingers ran across the braille until she found seventeen. She was lucky no one else tried to slip onto the elevator with her before it ascended, given the lobby was fairly busy around that time of day. 

It didn’t take too long for her to reach the seventeenth floor. When the lift settled and opened, Myla already had her keys in her hand and ready. She found her way to her Uncle’s apartment by running her fingertips along the walls and counting. It was to the right and three doors down. As always, it took a couple tries to get the key in the lock, but eventually she got it open and stepped inside with a sigh of relief. She immediately shut the door behind her and threw every lock and deadbolt. [i]Ok. Pack,[/i] she reminded herself.

[color=962929]"Foggy?"[/color] she called out to the empty apartment but was met with nothing but silence and the beep of a new message on their voicemail.

Myla wasn’t sure if knowing he was gone made her a little more relaxed or more anxious. She resolved to call him on the taxi ride back to the Academy then, might be easier that way. She discarded her handbag on the hall-tree near the entrance and walked across the small foyer to press the play button on the message receiver. It was a little outdated, but Foggy made sure to get one ever since her dad went missing, refusing to miss a single message on the off chance it was him. Her Uncle also used it as a way to leave notes for her to find whenever she came home since their paths rarely crossed most days. 

[i]Beep.[/i] [color=d6d6d6]"Two new messages. First message. Hey, Mimi,"[/color] Foggy’s voice echoed throughout the apartment as Myla made her way down the hallway. [color=d6d6d6]"I know you have that [i]thing[/i] today but if you happen to be home before ten I thought maybe we could get a late dinner. Sammy’s?"[/color] Her heart sank as she crossed the threshold into her room. It was so rare for her and Foggy to find time for each other. It killed her to know she’d have to turn him down. If Theo got there in time… [i]maybe.[/i] She sighed. People like her didn’t get the luxuries of [i]normal[/i] life things like introducing her Uncle to her… [i]whatever Theo was.[/i]

Her room was more like glorified storage rather than a bedroom. If it wasn’t for the messy, unmade blankets on the bed someone could be forgiven for thinking it was an unused guest room. Dozens of boxes leaned against the walls, stacked three or four high. There was a narrow path that gave her access to one side of the bed, the closet, and en suite bathroom. The remainder of the room was stuffed with whatever belongings she managed to get from her apartment before being evicted.

[color=d6d6d6]"I should be home around 9:30 if you’re available… Also, Roger called… [i]again.[/i]"[/color]

Myla sighed at the growing guilt for having to miss dinner with her Uncle, but her eyes rolled at the mention of [i]Roger.[/i] He was a paralegal from the old firm she used to work at. They dated… [i]briefly[/i]. She couldn’t even recall if it could be really called [i]dating[/i]. More like drinks after work with the occasional regretful hook up as she tried to mask the grief of her dad going missing. It wasn’t even good sex, but [i]anything[/i] felt better than her crippling anxiety and grief. But she cut it all off around the time when she met Theo. Spending her free time around a good and decent man only made her realize how much she had let her life and standards slip through the cracks… Not to mention he was one of the jackasses who got her fired. So, you know, [i]fuck Roger.[/i] That didn’t stop him from calling once a week with a new apology though.

[i]Beep.[/i] [color=d6d6d6]"Second message."[/color]

She knelt down on the ground and pulled a large duffle bag out from under the bed. It was a shitty hiding place, but keeping her suit there made it easier if she needed to grab it and run… Like she currently needed to. Myla set the bag on top of the unkempt bed and unzipped it. Her fingers ran along the contents, taking inventory of her suit, gloves, helmet, halo, and spare billy club. It was all there. 

[color=d6d6d6]"Hey Myla, it’s me, Roger."[/color]

[color=962929]"For fuck’s sake,"[/color] Myla sighed, walking around her bed to her closet. Her hand ran along the hanging clothes, skipping anything professional and formal. Whenever she crossed casual or fitness attire, she tugged it off the hanger and threw it behind her on the bed. She highly doubted she’d have a need for an excessive amount of blouses and pencil skirts at the academy. 

[color=d6d6d6]"I know it’s been almost a year, and I sound a little pathetic at this point—"[/color]

Myla snorted. [color=962929]"A [i]little?[/i]"[/color] She shook her head and threw a couple pairs of shoes into the pile on her bed before dipping into her bathroom. 

[color=d6d6d6]"—But if you could give me one more chance. [i]Just[/i] dinner. That’s all I ask."[/color]

She zoned out the rest of the message, presuming he’d go into his usual groveling that sounded something like ‘I made a mistake,’ ‘I miss you,’ and ‘let me make it up to you.’ It honestly happened so frequently for such a small fling that it was beyond the point of creepy. If she was another woman, a [i]regular[/i] woman, she’d consider a restraining order. But Myla? She was half tempted to agree only to kick his ass if he tried something sleazy. Even if that [i]did[/i] sound like a fun way to blow off steam, Roger wasn’t worth her time or effort. He wasn’t even worth a second thought when she had someone like Theo in her life. Someone who—

The click of the deadbolt unlocking pulled Myla out of her thoughts like coming to an immediate and sudden stop. She walked out of the bathroom with all her toiletries shoved in her hands. [color=962929]"Uncle Foggy? I’m in my room!"[/color] she called out to him as she dropped the various bottles on the bed, running through a mental list to decide if she needed anything else. [i]Underwear[/i]. She snapped to herself before going over to the nightstand on the far side of the bed. [color=962929]"I’m going out of town for a bit. I’ll explain—"[/color] 

Myla froze, a cold chill running down her spine as she caught the scent of bourbon, cheap cologne, and pomade. Her Uncle usually smelled of oranges, spearmint, and fresh dry cleaning. No… That… That smelled like [i]Roger?[/i] She was on the opposite side of her bed from the door, backed into a corner, her suit out of reach. His steps were calm, almost lazy as he made his way up the hallway toward her room. Myla slowly, quietly stepped out of her stilettos and picked them up, the index and middle finger of her right hand hooked into the heels. There was no use jumping to conclusions… [i]yet.[/i]

Roger stepped through the doorway with his hands in his pockets, acting a little too casual for someone who just broke into her home. [color=d6d6d6]"Hello, Myla,"[/color] he greeted her with his usual forced charm. As he moved there was the slight sound of metal buckles rubbing and the shuffling of tight fabric. He wasn’t in a suit, but wore something tactical. It sounded like canvas and Kevlar. His shoes thudded like military grade boots, not the soft tapping of oxfords. [color=d6d6d6]"I hope you don’t mind that I let myself in. The door was unlocked,"[/color] he added, motioning his thumb back over his shoulder.

[color=962929]"No it wasn’t,"[/color] she corrected him. She let out a tired laugh, already exhausted from the fight she knew she couldn’t avoid. Myla had been good, diligent and where did it get her? The one time she turned down Theo’s overprotectiveness and it bit her in the ass. She adjusted the shoes in her grasp, putting one in each hand, holding them by the arches like makeshift weapons. Her eyes blinked back the tears that welled against her eyelashes. She didn’t cry for herself but for the inevitable pain and grief her Uncle and Theo would be put through. They both had lost so much already. But if those fuckers could take down her father, [i]Superman?[/i] What fucking chance did she have? She had Theo’s little spider and a couple hours on her side. Myla could only hope he’d be able to find her before it was too late… But if she was going to go down, she was taking that bastard along with her.

[color=d6d6d6]"Tears? [i]Really?[/i]"[/color] he mused while taking a step closer. Off in the distance she could hear nearly a dozen different sets of footsteps flooding into the apartment and the desynchronized clicks of their safeties switching off. [color=d6d6d6]"I thought Hell’s Angel was supposed to be brave? [i]Fearless?[/i] It’s honestly disappointing."[/color]

[color=962929]"Bravery is courage in the face of fear, jackass. How many degrees do you have and you still can’t pick up a dictionary?"[/color]

Roger laughed in the way men did when their ego’s were bruised, but they were too proud to admit it. [color=d6d6d6]"You know,"[/color] he continued as he pulled a handgun from a holster that rested against his chest and began screwing on a silencer. [color=d6d6d6]"I was [i]trying[/i] to do this the generous way. A nice date. One last fuck. And then slip you a little Rohypnol… [i]Easy.[/i]"[/color] He clapped his empty hand against the gun as if it was easy as that. [color=d6d6d6]"But you know what? Maybe my hand just… [i]slips.[/i] We already have your dad… So why do we need you?"[/color] He cocked the gun and aimed it at her. [color=d6d6d6]"You weren’t even that good of a fuck anyway."[/color]

If it was possible for Myla to see red, her vision would have been bloodier than a slaughter house. Her chest heaved as her heart pounded against her ribcage. Adrenalin coursed through her veins like nitro through an engine, her trigger finger shakily hovering over the button, ready to set herself free. How dare he talk about her father! How dare—[i]Have.[/i] He said they [i]have[/i] her dad… Which meant he was alive? While the thought of killing Roger was enticing, first she needed answers… Anyway she could get them. A sinister, bordering on manic smile crossed her lips as the tired laugh resurfaced. [color=962929]"You’re going to die before you set foot out of this room."[/color] Her voice was calm, cold… foreboding.

They were going to get her, it wasn’t an [i]if[/i] but an inevitability. But only Roger wanted her dead. If she could kill him… Leave a trail… Maybe, just maybe… 

He laughed deep and heartily, his free hand even holding his chest like the humor made it hard for him to breathe. It was really bad acting that didn’t even fool him. Myla could hear his pulse elevating, the sweat pooling along his brow, and the slight tremor in his trigger hand. [color=d6d6d6]"Daredevil doesn’t kill,"[/color] Roger replied with a shake of his head and confused furrowing of his brow. 

[color=962929]"I’m not Daredevil."[/color] The words had just rolled off her tongue when she threw the first shoe at him, hitting him square in the face. Caught off guard, Roger reflexively pulled the trigger. Myla barely managed to dodge out of the way before the bullet sped past her, slicing through the bicep of her left shoulder and shattered the window behind her. She threw the second shoe, clipping him in the eye as she jumped onto the bed. The movement tore a slit in her skirt nearly to her hip as she moved beyond the constraints of the leather. One, two steps and she was across the mattress. Her right hand slid along Roger’s dominant arm and grabbed his wrist firmly. Before he could struggle to break free, Myla threw her left arm into the back of his elbow. 

There was a sickening crunch followed by a blood curdling—[i]and frankly bitch ass[/i]—scream that poured from Roger’s mouth. Bone protruded from his sleeve and blood spurted out from the exposed marrow. The hand on his wrist slid over and stole the gun before it fell from his grasp. She spun for momentum then kicked him square in his chest, sending him stumbling backwards, slamming her bedroom door shut as he collapsed against it. Myla was on him before he could attempt to stand up, throwing her bent leg against him, pinning him in place. Her shin pressed firmly against his throat as she pointed the gun at him, her hands unsettlingly steady. [color=962929]"Is he alive?"[/color]

Roger struggled against her hold but still managed an amused chuckle. Her jaw clenched as she threw her weight into his neck. The faint [i]pop[/i] of his hyoid snapping beneath her leg filled the silence of her bedroom while footsteps shuffled down the hallway toward them. [color=962929]"Is he [i]alive[/i]!?"[/color] She shouted at him, pressing the barrel against his forehead.

He gasped for air. [color=d6d6d6]"For now."[/color] 

[color=962929]"Where is he?"[/color] Myla’s voice was shaking, dark, and unhinged as glimpses of the demon caged within fought to break free. Roger tried to swallow but it got caught on the broken bone pressed into his throat. He was scared. She could feel it in his pulse beneath her shin, in the strangled breaths strained in his chest, and in the way his hand clawed at her leg for some semblance of relief. [i]Good.[/i] [color=962929]"I won’t ask again."[/color]

Roger tilted his head back, scared but proud. He said nothing. Even through raspy, gasping breaths, he didn’t give her anything… He wasn’t going to tell her anything. 

[color=962929]"Beg."[/color]

He was quiet, fighting between self preservation and his own pride. She could almost hear the wheels turning as he weighed the options. Was his life worth begging for? Could live with himself after begging for mercy from a [i]woman?[/i]

Roger coughed and strained, before finally speaking. His voice still held fast to his ego and arrogance, unwilling to compromise his integrity fully. [color=d6d6d6]"Please… Let me go."[/color]

[color=962929]"Not for mercy,"[/color] Myla replied almost offended at his poor attempt at seeking salvation. Her hand dropped, pointing the gun at the zipper of his pants with an emotionless expression. [color=962929]"Beg for death."[/color] 

[color=d6d6d6]"No! No, please—"[/color]

[i]Pop.[/i]

Roger let out an ear piercing wail as blood pooled on the ground beneath him. [color=d6d6d6]"Oh my God!"[/color] he cried as his one good hand cupped where the remnants of his manhood resided. [color=d6d6d6]"You crazy fucking bitch!"[/color]

[color=962929]"God’s not here right now."[/color] The words sat heavily in Myla’s chest. She had been struggling with her faith ever since her father was taken. He was a good, devout man that was far more pious than her. How could it be [i]God’s plan[/i] for him to disappear? How could it be God’s plan for the hell that’s been unleashed on the world? A loving God doesn’t play games with his subjects like pawns. A loving God can’t also be cruel. 

Without her dad… Without God she felt lost at sea, floundering to stay afloat. She was lost… Broken. The pieces of her remained held together with vague hope and the thoughts of what could have been with Theo. It was all slipping through the cracks knowing what waited for her beyond the door. A tear rolled down her cheek. Her voice cracked. [color=962929]"... Beg."[/color] She pressed the hot barrel of the gun against his forehead, searing an imprint into his skin.

Tears, snot, and spit sprayed from Roger’s mouth as the desperation finally reached his soul. [color=d6d6d6]"P-please—"[/color]

[i]Pop.[/i]

She didn’t need to hear his pleas. It wouldn’t have changed anything. She wanted… [i]needed[/i] him to feel the fear he instilled in countless others… in her father… in Theo’s father. Myla wiped away her tears, shoving her fear to the farthest pit of her broken soul, stood up, and pressed her ear to the bedroom door. On the other side she heard nine… [i]No,[/i] eleven men, armed, lined up and waiting in the hallway for her. Seventeen stories up, she had no escape. Her only way out was through. She took a step back and pointed the pistol at the door. She took a deep breath then pulled the trigger, shooting indiscriminately.

Three shots hit, one fatal, but most missed. 

Before they could retreat and seek cover, Myla discarded the gun and held out her left hand, recalling her batons. The Yggdrasil wood rattled in her purse before ripping free of the material. They sped down the hall, bumping into a few of the soldiers while one found the quickest course was passing straight through the gut of the closest man before bursting through the door. She caught the batons in her hands, the blood soaked one nearly slipped from her grasp. She took a deep breath, preparing herself, before diving through the hole in the door and tucking into a roll. As she popped back up, Myla threw her batons, knocking a gun out of one guy’s hand and breaking another’s nose. She sprinted down the hallway, launching herself off the wall and coming down on the closest merc with a balled fist straight to his temple.

She punched, kicked, and dodged her way through the human barricade. Bones snapped and guns misfired, but Myla was a whirlwind of fury and sure indomitable will. 

While her goal was survival or prolonging until Theo got there, the memory of the bat distress button June gave her came flooding to her mind. There was no way Myla would be able to hold onto it if they took her and there was no way June could travel over two hours in less than five minutes to save her. But she gave it to her for a reason, right? The thought distracted her for just long enough that she caught a punch in the jaw. She stumbled sideways, catching an uppercut in the chest that knocked the wind from her lungs. A blade pierced the side of her thigh, ripping a scream from her lungs as she fell to the ground. She coughed, trying to catch her breath as trembling hands held her leg. 

Myla screamed as a large combat boot pressed down against her thigh, causing the blood to pour from her wound like squeezing water out of a sponge. [color=d6d6d6]"Hold still, [i]bitch[/i]."[/color] The metal parts of the gun rattled and shifted as he aimed his weapon down at her, slipping his finger onto the trigger. 

She extended a trembling, blood soaked hand, recalling her batons once again. They flew off the ground toward her, slamming into the man’s leg, snapping his ankle in half before landing in her palms. As he stumbled over, he pulled the trigger and a tranquilizer dart impaled itself in the ground beside Myla’s head. She quickly threw the batons, one smacked the guy with the broken leg and knocked him to the ground, the second nailed a guy in his balls. He dropped his gun, cupping himself as he fell to his knees and doubled over.

Myla scrambled to her feet and limped across the living room as fast she could, ducking whenever she heard the shift of a gun behind her. Darts whizzed past her body, lodging in the sofa or the drywall as she ran. She grabbed a bookshelf and knocked it down behind her as she stumbled into the den. One of the uninjured men, weaved around his comrades and chased after her with a speed she couldn’t match. He hurdled the knocked over shelf and clutter of books, came up behind her and slammed her face down into the oak desk. As he went to do it a second time, Myla pulled the knife from her thigh, slammed it down through the top of his hand, pinning it to the desk. 

He screamed out, desperately trying to free his hand, as another man clambered his way into the room. Myla attempted to put some distance between them, but the guy nailed to the desk tripped her and she stumbled backwards. The other merc was immediately on her with a tight and furious grip on her throat. She struggled in his hold, gasping and trying to reach for his face, but his arms were longer than hers. They wrestled, pulling back and forth on each other, trying to get the upper hand. She kicked and punched everywhere she could, but the guy was massive and unfazed. Myla tried to suck in air but her lungs constricted under the lack of oxygen. She was getting dizzy and quickly losing her strength when they backed into a window. 

Desperate, she held out her hand near the guy’s face and recalled the batons. They came barreling into the den, smashing hoes in the wall. The man’s grip loosened and he barely managed to dodge out of the way as the Yggdrasil wood shattered the window behind him. Myla pressed her hands against his chest and pushed him backwards with all her might. The lumbering man’s leg caught on the wall and he started falling. He frantically grasped at anything to catch himself and got a hold of her sweater. The weight of his body and force of gravity started pulling her through the window with him. She braced her hands against the windowframe, grunting and panting as her bloody palms slipped and the collar dug into the back of her neck. Just when she was losing her grip, a shard of glass nicked the sweater and the yarn began to unravel and tear.

The man didn’t die with a bang but a fizzle, as the fear sucked the air from his lungs and he crashed into the alley below without making a sound. 

Before she could back away, a bloody hand grabbed the back of her head and started pushing her down towards the broken pieces of glass still in the window. Myla tried to secure a stable hold, but the mix of blood and sweat made her hands slip and elbows buckle. She stumbled forward and the shard cut through the sweater like butter and sliced her deep along her ribs. Her arms trembled, threatening to cave at the pain… She couldn’t hold on much longer. 

Then the little tickle of mechanical feet released its hold on Myla’s hair and scurried up the man’s bloody arm. [color=d6d6d6]"What the—"[/color] The spider made a faint beeping sound and started to vibrate before it imploded, tasing him. His hold subsided as his body seized and went slack before he collapsed unconscious on the ground. 

Myla took a step backwards trying to catch her breath when she heard the bookshelf being lifted out of the way. The remaining mercenaries filed into the room and her heart sank. She stumbled slightly when she put too much weight on her injured leg. The dripping blood left a cold slick trail down to her foot. Her half exposed chest heaved beneath the destroyed sweater. An exhausted, defeated laugh escaped her lips. [i]I’m sorry, Dad… Theo… I tried.[/i]

[color=d6d6d6]"Enough of this,"[/color] one of the men said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out some sort of device. He held it up and pressed the button without hesitation. 

A high pitched, earsplitting sound that made dogs throughout the apartment complex bark and howl resonated out from the small device. Myla’s knees buckled and she fell to the ground, clutching her hands to ears. She wouldn’t have known she was screaming if it wasn’t for the raw scratching at the back of her throat like someone dragged sandpaper across her vocal cords. The sound blocked out every other sound and made her brain feel like it was splitting in two. Blood dripped from her ear canals and down the sides of her neck. It overpowered everything. She was truly blind, suspended in a void, while razor sharp sound waves bombarded her senses. Tears burned her eyes and stained her cheeks. It was the most painful thing she had ever experienced. Myla begged for release… for death… for anything to free her and end her torment.

All the while, the remaining mercenaries were unfazed. Dark expressions of pleasure crossed their demented faces as they watched Myla scream and writhe on the floor.[/color][/justify][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent]

[center][sup][img]https://i.imgur.com/9qIY4OK.jpeg[/img]
[color=808080][b]interactions[/b] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c]....[/color] none [color=2e2c2c]...............[/color] [b]mentions[/b] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c]....[/color] none [color=2e2c2c]...............[/color] [b]collabs[/b] [color=2e2c2c]....[/color]|[color=2e2c2c]....[/color] none[/color]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/9qIY4OK.jpeg[/img][/sup][/center]