Reagent 26835

John Brosio, “Queen of Suburbia” [Preliminary]

@2young2die

Night Hunter made a noise of disgust. She was delusional. They had never truly 'kissed' in the traditional sense. It was teeth and pain and blood. Whatever that was wasn't 'kissing'. Far from it.

“I’ll go look for some alcohol. Be careful in here,” She murmurs, patting his knee where it juts up out of the water. The tub barely had room for an adult man, let alone the two of them.

Without bothering to dry himself, he donned his filthy clothes again. They still reeked, but they were the closest thing to familiar in an unfamiliar world.

He eyed the liquid suspiciously. Under the varying hues of green projected by his goggles, it almost looked like window cleaner. Even trying to decipher the label was no use. Fucking English letters shaped all weird.

“It’s alcohol. Whiskey,” She explains, unbothered by his hostility. She really should be used to it at this point.

“We don’t really have vodka over here in America,” She adds, then heads into the kitchen, beginning to dump her filthy clothes into the sink along with a healthy little pile of dish washing powder. Soap was soap at this point.

"Черт. This is the good shit then." he snorted, before taking a swig.

Some of the alcohol poured out between his exposed teeth, directly onto the misshapen flesh around it. He hissed at the pain, but it burned good.

"It's strong. Good." he concluded before pouring it directly onto his wound.

The pain was red hot like an inferno brewing right under his skin. It was a different kind of agony compared to the chronic one from the metal embedded into him. It was sharper and left him lucid, as if he had plunged into an ice bath. He liked this kind of pain. One he could control.

Lucidity makes her head spin. She wasn’t normal anymore. There was something wrong with her. There was another person living inside her skin—a person that made her do things and kill people and feed them to a man she loved but he hated her but—

Her vision crawls with black tendrils and she grips the sides of the kitchen counter. What was she going to do? What could she do?? Did Murkoff do this to her or had she always been like this???

Sova’s call to her from the bathroom makes her shiver and her mind immediately quiets, going docile, the panic smothered by his accented rasp.

Nothing mattered except the two of them together.

Мышь. Maybe he wasn’t too mad at her after all.

“Sure, Sova,” She replies, as if nothing happened, padding back into the bathroom to find him a washcloth. The sharp scent of alcohol makes her nose itch, and something buried at the back of her mind squirm.

Night Hunter took the old washcloth and tore it until it resembled a strip of bandage. He wrapped it the same as before but was pleased he wouldn't have to stuff the material into the wound like before.

“Do you wanna keep driving, or wait here a bit longer? I’m not sure if any of these other houses still have people who live in them,” She muses, moving to peek out of another window.

It was a lonely stretch of highway, but she could make out maybe a few more houses with their lights on. At least they might be in better shape than this one. Hopefully they didn’t have any—

Whatever she was thinking of, her mind blanked it out. She scratches at her hair, then tousles the damp curls. Weird.

It wasn't his fault. His mind started to thread a dangerous line of thoughts. It was the old man's fault for keeping the kid around. It was Murkoff's fault for creating him. No... It was her fault. She pulled the trigger. Not him. Never him. The child blood was on her hands.

He ground his teeth as if the additional pressure in his head would push the thoughts away. The burn of alcohol in his chest only heightened the pain there.

"Хорошо." he said absentmindedly. His thoughts were far away, ruminating on that pink room littered with toys. "Хорошо...You choose a house. Make them come to me."

“Sova, are you…?” But she simply trails off, his words just enough of an order. Outwardly she goes still, but inwardly she can feel herself dissolving, falling into a bright green sea.

Part of her knew (somehow) that something was waiting for her at the bottom. Multiple somethings. But she couldn’t drown yet. She had work to do.

The green water is bitter and acidic on her tongue. It hurts, but she’d gulp it down if she could. She settles for a taste and it makes her chest ache. With longing, with emotions she barely recognizes anymore.

Outside-Selene plucks the bottle of whiskey from Night Hunter’s hand, takes a swig, then kisses his ruined mess of a mouth. Her tongue licks his, then his exposed teeth and gums. Like a caress. Like she’d do to the rest of him, if he allowed it.

“Dinner will be ready soon, darling,” She coos, then sets off outside and down the street in just her towel, bottle in hand. He might punish her for that kiss later, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t afraid of anything anymore.

Make them come to me. Easy.

The single gulp of alcohol was making her head fuzzy, but she manages to make it to the first lit-up house. Knocks like she’s supposed to be there. Suddenly there’s a man standing there—older than her but healthy. Sova will like him.

“Hey, you wanna party?” She slurs to him, grinning. Was this how she used to be, in a life she could barely remember? She can’t stand herself, but she keeps smiling.

The man just stares at her in dull shock. Was she crazy? Injured? His eyes flicker from her barely concealed body to the bottle in her hand. His wife was asleep. He should wake her up.

Selene’s grin falters. He was looking at her. He wasn’t Sova. She didn’t like it.

The bottle of whiskey shatters against the man’s face and he falls backwards with a yelp, face streaming with blood, burning from the alcohol.

"Just get on with it." he spat at her as she left.

His mood soured the longer he had to go without any bloodshed. Now alone in the humble house, Night Hunter started to pace. It was dangerous for him to be alone with his thoughts. The more time he was with them, the longer he could ruminate and plunge into a darker place (where that child was. dead with only a thin sheet to cover it. did it have parents? would they come? what he done. what had he done what had he done what had HE DO-).

He abruptly turned his thoughts outwards. Yes yes, he could take his time butchering the old man now just to fill the time.

The kitchen was bare but not filthy. A meager collection of cutlery was placed out in the open, sheathed in a wooden block. Night Hunter grabbed the largest one and tested the sharpness on the pad of his thumb. The skin split easily. Good. Unlike his machete, this blade was sharper and precise.

She missed her shoes. Her bare feet weren’t enough to smash his face in, and he wouldn’t stop crying. This was what it was like to be an Ex-Pop, she mused. No wonder Night Hunter was mad at her all the time.

Even without shoes her body weight is enough to push the glass shards into his face. There, that’s what she needed. They’d probably get stuck in her feet too, but at this point she barely had any feeling left in them anyway.

The floor traps. No matter how careful she was, she’d end up stepping on one anyway. Then she’d scream and Coyle would find her, and he’d laugh—

Fingers grab at the towel she’s wearing, ripping at it, then her legs. It’s blind groping, not intentional, but it still makes her freeze up. She’s choking on cigarette smoke, on the reek of hot leather. Coyle always smelled like roadkill that’d been baking in the desert for a few days.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Selene shrieks, so loud that it makes her chest burn. She gouges at his eyes with her fingers, his face. She just didn’t want Coyle touching her—

You’re not following orders.

Her body freezes up again and she blinks hard. What was scarier than Coyle? Sova being disappointed in her. If she just killed this guy, he wouldn’t like it.

“You’re… you’re lucky,” She mumbles, licking her dry lips, then starts dragging him back to the house that Sova and her had taken. Blood was caked up to her wrists. The man wasn’t trying to grab her anymore, his fight reduced to broken sobbing as gummy tears leaked out of his mangled face.

The whole house reeked of blood and guts and all the smells that came from it. Across from the front door, blood spread on the tiled floor, coagulating into a thick gel in the grout. The stench was overwhelming, almost physical, as if it clung to every surface like lichen.

"Fresh meat." Night Hunter breathed excitedly.

He stepped away from the body of the old man or what was left of him. It was just a carcass now.

The man on the floor started to struggle again, most likely smelling the carnage around him. He flailed his arms and legs, lashing out at anyone or anything close to him.

"Stay away!!" he shouted. "Help! HEEELLL-"

Night Hunter cut him off with the sole of his boot crushing the man's windpipe.

“Wish you talked about me like that,” She murmurs dryly, jealous of the exhilaration in his voice. She was less than meat.

"Черт. They don't make them like they used to." he muttered, disappointedly.

Usually, he was more violent with his methods, butchering prey without a care about when the next one would come around.

Night Hunter scowled, cursing quietly to himself. If they were still in the trials, he wouldn't have to restrain himself like this. He wouldn't have to preserve his fun for later like some beggar.

When Selene slammed the blade of the kitchen knife into the wall, it earns a grunt from Night Hunter. No questions, just acknowledgment. He had no idea what was festering in her. All he noticed was how she seemed to fall into a fugue at random, and how her eyes would glaze over and her normally clumsy gait would become a graceful glide. She seemed otherworldly as if possessed by something he couldn't name. It intrigued him to see what she would evolve into.

Of course. Something easy for kids to eat.

Kids? Why was she thinking—

The sudden memory of what she’d done before they even came in the house hits her like a flash bang and she has to hold onto the counter for support.

For a second, a wave of immense guilt washed over him before being replaced with cold fury. Why did she remind him? Why was she blaming him? She brought him out here, out of his cage where he should've been kept, trapped like the monster he was supposed to be. The child was just...

"Сопутствующий ущерб." he murmured. The word stuck to his tongue like tar. "Это был сопутствующий ущерб."

It reminded him of the snow again and all the bodies buried shallowly underneath. The war-torn city, smoke billowing from broken windows, and corpses scattered on the streets, turning blue from the cold. Men, women, children. Blood and ash in the air. Blistering cold. Starving. Strange Meat. Leningrad.

He felt ravenous.

Night Hunter stared at the meat on the floor, then to the butchered corpse of the old man. He wanted fresh meat, but he had to conserve (for the winter). He grit his teeth unconsciously as the hunger in his guts started to eat away at him.

Suddenly, he fell to his knees and whatever string that was holding him back snapped into two. Night Hunter bit into the man's neck. Blood pooled out from his jagged teeth further staining the horrifically orange carpet. He couldn't stand it anymore. This all-consuming thing in him. Whether it was guilt or hunger, he didn't care anymore.

As he ate, there was banging on the door.

Husband? Must be nice. Must be nice to have someone love you that much.

Her fingers twitch and she discards the last bit of stale bread from her sandwich, then wipes her hands off on her jeans before rising.

@2young2die

Night Hunter made a noise of disgust. She was delusional. They had never truly 'kissed' in the traditional sense. It was teeth and pain and blood. Whatever that was wasn't 'kissing'. Far from it.

“I’ll go look for some alcohol. Be careful in here,” She murmurs, patting his knee where it juts up out of the water. The tub barely had room for an adult man, let alone the two of them.

Without bothering to dry himself, he donned his filthy clothes again. They still reeked, but they were the closest thing to familiar in an unfamiliar world.

He eyed the liquid suspiciously. Under the varying hues of green projected by his goggles, it almost looked like window cleaner. Even trying to decipher the label was no use. Fucking English letters shaped all weird.

“It’s alcohol. Whiskey,” She explains, unbothered by his hostility. She really should be used to it at this point.

“We don’t really have vodka over here in America,” She adds, then heads into the kitchen, beginning to dump her filthy clothes into the sink along with a healthy little pile of dish washing powder. Soap was soap at this point.

"Черт. This is the good shit then." he snorted, before taking a swig.

Some of the alcohol poured out between his exposed teeth, directly onto the misshapen flesh around it. He hissed at the pain, but it burned good.

"It's strong. Good." he concluded before pouring it directly onto his wound.

The pain was red hot like an inferno brewing right under his skin. It was a different kind of agony compared to the chronic one from the metal embedded into him. It was sharper and left him lucid, as if he had plunged into an ice bath. He liked this kind of pain. One he could control.

Lucidity makes her head spin. She wasn’t normal anymore. There was something wrong with her. There was another person living inside her skin—a person that made her do things and kill people and feed them to a man she loved but he hated her but—

Her vision crawls with black tendrils and she grips the sides of the kitchen counter. What was she going to do? What could she do?? Did Murkoff do this to her or had she always been like this???

Sova’s call to her from the bathroom makes her shiver and her mind immediately quiets, going docile, the panic smothered by his accented rasp.

Nothing mattered except the two of them together.

Мышь. Maybe he wasn’t too mad at her after all.

“Sure, Sova,” She replies, as if nothing happened, padding back into the bathroom to find him a washcloth. The sharp scent of alcohol makes her nose itch, and something buried at the back of her mind squirm.

Night Hunter took the old washcloth and tore it until it resembled a strip of bandage. He wrapped it the same as before but was pleased he wouldn't have to stuff the material into the wound like before.

“Do you wanna keep driving, or wait here a bit longer? I’m not sure if any of these other houses still have people who live in them,” She muses, moving to peek out of another window.

It was a lonely stretch of highway, but she could make out maybe a few more houses with their lights on. At least they might be in better shape than this one. Hopefully they didn’t have any—

Whatever she was thinking of, her mind blanked it out. She scratches at her hair, then tousles the damp curls. Weird.

It wasn't his fault. His mind started to thread a dangerous line of thoughts. It was the old man's fault for keeping the kid around. It was Murkoff's fault for creating him. No... It was her fault. She pulled the trigger. Not him. Never him. The child blood was on her hands.

He ground his teeth as if the additional pressure in his head would push the thoughts away. The burn of alcohol in his chest only heightened the pain there.

"Хорошо." he said absentmindedly. His thoughts were far away, ruminating on that pink room littered with toys. "Хорошо...You choose a house. Make them come to me."

“Sova, are you…?” But she simply trails off, his words just enough of an order. Outwardly she goes still, but inwardly she can feel herself dissolving, falling into a bright green sea.

Part of her knew (somehow) that something was waiting for her at the bottom. Multiple somethings. But she couldn’t drown yet. She had work to do.

The green water is bitter and acidic on her tongue. It hurts, but she’d gulp it down if she could. She settles for a taste and it makes her chest ache. With longing, with emotions she barely recognizes anymore.

Outside-Selene plucks the bottle of whiskey from Night Hunter’s hand, takes a swig, then kisses his ruined mess of a mouth. Her tongue licks his, then his exposed teeth and gums. Like a caress. Like she’d do to the rest of him, if he allowed it.

“Dinner will be ready soon, darling,” She coos, then sets off outside and down the street in just her towel, bottle in hand. He might punish her for that kiss later, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t afraid of anything anymore.

Make them come to me. Easy.

The single gulp of alcohol was making her head fuzzy, but she manages to make it to the first lit-up house. Knocks like she’s supposed to be there. Suddenly there’s a man standing there—older than her but healthy. Sova will like him.

“Hey, you wanna party?” She slurs to him, grinning. Was this how she used to be, in a life she could barely remember? She can’t stand herself, but she keeps smiling.

The man just stares at her in dull shock. Was she crazy? Injured? His eyes flicker from her barely concealed body to the bottle in her hand. His wife was asleep. He should wake her up.

Selene’s grin falters. He was looking at her. He wasn’t Sova. She didn’t like it.

The bottle of whiskey shatters against the man’s face and he falls backwards with a yelp, face streaming with blood, burning from the alcohol.

"Just get on with it." he spat at her as she left.

His mood soured the longer he had to go without any bloodshed. Now alone in the humble house, Night Hunter started to pace. It was dangerous for him to be alone with his thoughts. The more time he was with them, the longer he could ruminate and plunge into a darker place (where that child was. dead with only a thin sheet to cover it. did it have parents? would they come? what he done. what had he done what had he done what had HE DO-).

He abruptly turned his thoughts outwards. Yes yes, he could take his time butchering the old man now just to fill the time.

The kitchen was bare but not filthy. A meager collection of cutlery was placed out in the open, sheathed in a wooden block. Night Hunter grabbed the largest one and tested the sharpness on the pad of his thumb. The skin split easily. Good. Unlike his machete, this blade was sharper and precise.

She missed her shoes. Her bare feet weren’t enough to smash his face in, and he wouldn’t stop crying. This was what it was like to be an Ex-Pop, she mused. No wonder Night Hunter was mad at her all the time.

Even without shoes her body weight is enough to push the glass shards into his face. There, that’s what she needed. They’d probably get stuck in her feet too, but at this point she barely had any feeling left in them anyway.

The floor traps. No matter how careful she was, she’d end up stepping on one anyway. Then she’d scream and Coyle would find her, and he’d laugh—

Fingers grab at the towel she’s wearing, ripping at it, then her legs. It’s blind groping, not intentional, but it still makes her freeze up. She’s choking on cigarette smoke, on the reek of hot leather. Coyle always smelled like roadkill that’d been baking in the desert for a few days.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” Selene shrieks, so loud that it makes her chest burn. She gouges at his eyes with her fingers, his face. She just didn’t want Coyle touching her—

You’re not following orders.

Her body freezes up again and she blinks hard. What was scarier than Coyle? Sova being disappointed in her. If she just killed this guy, he wouldn’t like it.

“You’re… you’re lucky,” She mumbles, licking her dry lips, then starts dragging him back to the house that Sova and her had taken. Blood was caked up to her wrists. The man wasn’t trying to grab her anymore, his fight reduced to broken sobbing as gummy tears leaked out of his mangled face.

The whole house reeked of blood and guts and all the smells that came from it. Across from the front door, blood spread on the tiled floor, coagulating into a thick gel in the grout. The stench was overwhelming, almost physical, as if it clung to every surface like lichen.

"Fresh meat." Night Hunter breathed excitedly.

He stepped away from the body of the old man or what was left of him. It was just a carcass now.

The man on the floor started to struggle again, most likely smelling the carnage around him. He flailed his arms and legs, lashing out at anyone or anything close to him.

"Stay away!!" he shouted. "Help! HEEELLL-"

Night Hunter cut him off with the sole of his boot crushing the man's windpipe.

“Wish you talked about me like that,” She murmurs dryly, jealous of the exhilaration in his voice. She was less than meat.

"Черт. They don't make them like they used to." he muttered, disappointedly.

Usually, he was more violent with his methods, butchering prey without a care about when the next one would come around.

Night Hunter scowled, cursing quietly to himself. If they were still in the trials, he wouldn't have to restrain himself like this. He wouldn't have to preserve his fun for later like some beggar.

When Selene slammed the blade of the kitchen knife into the wall, it earns a grunt from Night Hunter. No questions, just acknowledgment. He had no idea what was festering in her. All he noticed was how she seemed to fall into a fugue at random, and how her eyes would glaze over and her normally clumsy gait would become a graceful glide. She seemed otherworldly as if possessed by something he couldn't name. It intrigued him to see what she would evolve into.

Of course. Something easy for kids to eat.

Kids? Why was she thinking—

The sudden memory of what she’d done before they even came in the house hits her like a flash bang and she has to hold onto the counter for support.

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