Stellar Constellations

Cannibalism is a weird thing. I mean, animals resort to it all the time. Humans are animals, but humans have ethics; animals don’t. The ability to question what makes a human, a human, already proves the intelligence and emotional capacity of humans. 

        Therefore, there’s no excuse for hurting another. You know what you’re doing. 

        So eating people? You know Andrew’s guilty, from the day he broke into your apartment with blood covering his mouth. 

        Meat Master’s is your next place to investigate. The idea of unknowingly consuming human is unsettling enough, but the fact you discover this just after finding out about a human organ ring? Yeah, the chances of those two being separate incidents happening at the same time in the same city is small. If there’s a chance that the Meat Master is connected to the apartment complex mystery, it’s something worth looking into. 

        You had dragged Andrew out of bed once again. By now, he’s gotten used to his sleep being interrupted. You had your camera in your pocket, ready to photograph any evidence or anything that looked suspicious.

        The city alleyways were mostly deserted, not much but the occasional shady stranger walking alone and trash on the cracked sidewalks. You and Andrew walked down the street, reaching Meat Master. The front door had a padlock on it, needing a four-digit code to unlock the door. On the store windows, there were advertisements such as combo sandwich and soup, their new soda flavors after partnering with Toxisoda, and their new ‘brisket’ sandwich (which you know now is definitely human meat). 

        Andrew fiddled with the lock, before sighing, irritated. He looked back at you, frowning.

        “Any idea what the code is?” Andrew questioned, looking back at you, although the look on his face suggested he already knew your answer. “You know, I thought you were a detective or something?”

        “Journalist.” You corrected him, before frowning, taking your phone out of your pocket.

        You looked up Meat Master, finding the owner’s page. Albert Newson, 34, born in 1992. Three stars on Yelp, with people complaining about the quality and taste of the meat. 

        “Try 1992.” You suggested.

        You watched as Andrew spun the number dials, before pulling the lock.

        “Nope.” Andrew hummed.

        You frowned, before looking around at the windows. There was a sign, saying the establishment was founded in 2021. 

        “2021?” you suggested. 

        “Nah.” Andrew spoke, tugging the lock again. “Got a specific birthday anywhere?” 

        “Only that he was born in 1992.” You sighed.

        “Well, that’s that.” Andrew smiled, standing up straight, burying his hands into his pockets. “Let’s go before something sees us. I bet we look really suspicious trying and failing a padlock at 4 AM.”

        “No way! This could have a connection to your case!” you exclaimed. 

        You looked around more desperately, looking at the posters on the windows. Your eyes locked onto the Toxisoda poster, reading the small fine print for anything. 

        Founded 1957. 

        “Try 1957.” You spoke up, looking at Andrew.

        Andrew let out a tired sigh, fiddling with the lock. The padlock popped open with a click, opening as Andrew twisted it. He looked at you, almost annoyed that your idea worked. He pushed open the door, looking around cautiously, before stepping inside. 

        You walked into the establishment. The chairs and tables inside are neatly put away, with a strong smell of pepper and lemon wafting in the air. You made your way to the back kitchen, looking around. 

        Andrew pulled a metal handle, the door belonging to a walk-in thawing fridge. There was a plastic curtain blocking the way, red blurs behind it. Andrew lifted the curtain and walked inside, immediately seeing hanging carcasses. There were shelves with bins in them, and upon opening them, there were severed legs and arms—some skinned and others intact. The limbs were in bins while full torsos were hooked up like hunting goods, their chests already ripped open and missing internal organs. There was a large dumpster with bloodied bones. Some shelves had cut-up meat, a layer of lemon juice to try to tenderize the meat and hide the taste. 

        The smell. God, the smell. A rancid stench that was kept air-tight in the walk-in fridge thanks to the doors stripping, but now face-to-face with the smell, you wanted to puke.

        And to think you ate that. 

        “I’m… not feeling good. At all…” you groaned, in a limbo between consciousness and unconsciousness.  

        Andrew grabbed your arm, dragging you out of the walk-in, shutting the door behind you. He led you to a chair, sitting you down. 

        “You know, I’m surprised a place like this is in business. I mean, food establishments need to be cleared by health inspectors before opening for business.” Andrew spoke. 

        You nodded, leaning back on the chair and looking up at the ceiling, surrounded by dim security lights to deter people from breaking in (not like that stopped you). 

        There were no cameras in the establishment, which is to be expected considering you wouldn’t want your crime caught on tape. You can’t complain much though, it made it easier to break in undetected. 

        “I’m sure there’s dirt here.” You spoke, before standing up and handing Andrew your camera from your messenger bag. “Here. Go back in there and take pictures for evidence. Make sure it’s good quality. Get the limbs especially to prove it’s humans. I’m going to go see if there’s an office and snoop around.”  

        Andrew looked down, before sighing, nodding his head. He walked back into the walk-in while you searched for another door. You found shelves with bold seasonings and spices, a freezer to preserve some more older meat, tons of large pots scattered around, the sink’s drain wafting a foul smell. 

        You found a grey-painted metal door, trying the doorknob. You swung the door open, walking in and looking around. You opened file cabinets, scanning over documents, most unimportant and not useful to your investigation. Utility bills, truck deliveries, even a list of things to fix in the restaurant; tightening chair legs, fixing the front doors bell, adjusting the timers for the freezers and fridges, etc.

        Looking at the papers, you noticed a separated column of papers that didn’t have a note saying what it was. Picking up one of the pieces of paper, you read about truck deliveries every 7th of the month from Toxisoda. 

        It’s no surprise. You’re starting to wonder if the city council happens to also be Toxisoda’s board of directors too. You rummaged through some more papers. Contracts with Toxisoda, a written agreement to keep everything involving the food and drinks silent while the business remains in operation, and if ever closed, disclose no information of Toxisoda or any sister companies. 

        Big companies suck. 

        Andrew found you in the office, handing the camera back over. You took it, taking a picture of the written agreement. Andrew sat in the office chair, spinning in circles while you looked through more stuff. 

        “You know, I’ve been wondering. What’s the plan after this?” Andrew questioned, spinning around. “Like, you save the day by writing an article about Toxisoda and their sister companies' crimes. Yay. What happens to me though? I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news, but I’m not just going to go live on the streets or something.”

        “There’s always homeless shelters.” You muttered, comparing documents together.

        “Hehehe...” Andrew chuckled, smiling, before his face fell. “No.”

        You frowned, looking at him, before rolling your eyes. “Whatever.”

        You could just hand him into the police later down the road. After all, he is on the run. You could just say you were housing a criminal because he was threatening to kill you. Surely, you can come up with some fabricated lie along the way. An anonymous tip could work too…

        It wasn’t long before you closed the drawers with a sigh. You left the office, tidying it up and making it look like you were never there. You exited the restaurant, closing the doors and replacing the padlock on the handle. 

        Andrew walked down the streets, hands in his pockets as he looked around. You walked by his side, walking on his left.

        “You know, you’re supposed to be walking next to the road, not me.” You spoke up. 

        “That’s only if a man cares about you though—which I don’t.” Andrew hummed. 

        “Charming.” You muttered sarcastically.

        You made it back to your apartment, safe and sound. You got to work, grabbing a USB data cord, plugging one end in your phone charger, and the other in your computer cable. The screen lit up, asking to transfer the pictures, to which you agreed. 

        While you waited for the pictures to load, you grabbed your notebook of notes. From what you saw at the restaurant, you didn’t see any organs. No hearts, livers, kidneys; the high-demand money makers basically. If your idea that Meat Master is connected to the harvesting ring, then the most logical conclusion would be the harvesting ring probably sells the organs, and the Meat Master rids the actual bodies. What does Toxisoda, a soda company, do? Who knows. 

        In conclusion, the Toxisoda factory is your next target.

        But for now, you could use a shower. You’re not that hungry right now—you don’t think your stomach can handle any meat right now, nor do you think it could handle soup at the moment. 

        Andrew sat on the couch, his whole body taking up the couch, resting his head on the couch arm as he read one of the books he grabbed from your bookshelf. 

        “This guy sucks.” Andrew deadpanned, reading the book. “Puts cameras in her house, hacks her computer, watches her webcam, follows her to work, is her ex-boyfriend’s roommate and friend. Gross. Who wants to fuck your friend’s leftovers? This isn't some all-you-can-eat seafood buffet." Andrew spoke crassly, rolling his eyes. 

        “Yeah, don’t trust Booktok.” You sighed. “Their recommendations suck. I never finished that book.”

        Andrew nodded in acknowledgement. He tossed the book on a random shelf, before grabbing a different one, collapsing back onto the couch. 

        “I’m taking a shower.” You spoke. 

        You didn’t have to tell him, but you felt it was a good conversation-ender. 

        “Don’t drown.” He muttered, nose buried in the book. 

        You walked to the bathroom, undressing. No matter how hard you tried, you could still smell it, that disgusting smell of flesh. Even in the shower, you tried to clean off your skin. It felt greasy, like trying to clean a spatula with bacon grease on it. Despite it being your imagination, you couldn’t help but panic. 

        Human fat as bacon fat. The skin was kept—probably being fried similar to how pig skin is. The legs, far too oversized and humanoid to be drumsticks—the meat soft and easy to tender, making it perfect for stews. The fingers, maybe if you de-bone them and grind up the meat, you could make meaty mozzarella sticks.

        The ideas racing in her head made her puke in the shower. 

        You’re not sure if you felt nastier before or after your shower, but you finished your routine, walking out with a wobble. You dressed in a sweatshirt and sleep pants, walking out to the living room to Andrew. 

        Andrew’s position moved from laying his body on the couch to sitting up, bored out of his mind and he clicked through the channels for something interesting. He seems to have a short attention span, or perhaps he’s passing time and wasting your electricity. 

        You frowned, snatching the remote from him. 

        “Hey!” Andrew hissed, annoyed as he turned his head to look back at you. 

        You searched up a history documentary of WWII, clicking the screen. He suddenly had no complaints as he settled back into the couch cushions. 

        Men and having a strange addiction to history. You frowned, shaking your head. It’s like turning on a cartoon for a toddler. Got to keep the kids entertained.

        You walked back to your work desk, happy to see the photos have finished uploading onto the computer. You gathered all the photos in one album and started printing them. While waiting for them to print, you grabbed one of your many empty scrapbooks. 

        You always kept useless stuff like the hoarder you were—just in case! Which, it really can’t be useless because it’s proven to be useful now. 

        You grabbed some glue and colored pens, writing a headline for: The Hartsworth Apartments Quarantine 

        The place where it all started, or at least, what drew your attention to everything. You know most about it considering you have Andrew as your interviewee—who you’ll keep anonymous for his and your own safety. 

        You should start at the beginning. 

        Turning your attention to Andrew, you looked over at him as he watched his history documentary. You grabbed your trusty little notepad for notes, plopping down on the couch next to him. 

        “Listen, ranger. I need some questions answered.” You spoke, throwing your legs on his lap.

        “Don’t call me that.” Andrew looked at you, irritated, before pinching your toe. “And be careful before this piggy goes back to Meat Master.” He gritted through his teeth. 

        “Ouch! Okay!” you yipped, sending a light kick to his stomach, before relaxing. “I need some answers… You get to live here; I get answers for my biggest story yet.”

        Andrew sighed, leaning his head back onto the couch. “Fine. Fine. What do you want to know?” 

        “Let’s start with the quarantine itself.” You hummed, opening your notepad and placing it on your lap. “What exactly was the quarantine claimed to be caused by?”

“Allegedly, according to the news, it was caused by a water infection in the pipes, probably connected to the water tank or something like that.” Andrew hummed, resting his face on his palm. “But we know that’s just a cover for the public.”

        “And what exactly happened during quarantine. Who visited you? What was life like?” you questioned. 

        “At first, we had these nurses who took our vitals, asked us about our health history, and drew our blood.” Andrew spoke. “But that stopped. We started having people in the hallways, wardens. Men with guns who would force us to stay in our apartments claiming they were keeping the quarantine contained. Once you ran out of food, you were out. You couldn’t leave to go to the store, and the wardens wouldn’t give you food. They kept us isolated and starved.”

        “Did you have any access to the outside world?” you questioned. 

        “Other than the wardens, you could try yelling to your neighbors, but the wardens quickly shut you up with that. We did have landlines. If you tried to contact people outside and explain the situation, they didn’t believe you. Pretty sure the news tried to cover that by saying those infected with the disease could have delusional symptoms or something.” Andrew explained, crossing his arms, thinking. 

        “Did you experience anything strange? Any symptoms at all?” you inquired. 

        “No, cause it wasn’t a real illness. Just a cover-up.” Andrew scoffed. “I was perfectly fine, before the quarantine, during the quarantine, and after I left.” 

        You nodded, taking notes, sitting back and thinking. An unknown waterborne illness affecting a whole apartment. It’s certainly strange. 

        As far as you know, all waterborne illnesses have a cure, or at least they have a name to the illness, such as brain-eating amoeba. While there’s no cure, there’s a label to it, so somebody wouldn’t just be quarantined for having it. If there was a waterborne disease with no name and no known cure, you’d expect there to be more urgency. More nurses coming to visit and check-up regularly, doctors looking at symptoms, people trying to find cures. It would be talked about on the news worldwide to prevent this unknown disease from spreading, especially considering how lethal it is if 53 people died in a singular building. 

        Suspicious indeed. 

        “I’m satisfied.” You smiled, swinging your legs off his lap and hurrying back to your desk. 

        You grabbed the photos that finished printing from the printer, taking your scrapbook and writing. 

        You wrote what Andrew told you, adding your own bits and pieces of information. How there were wardens, you clipped a picture of one of them, pointing out the guns using a red string. You explained how they were being starved, taping pictures of the empty pantry and the dead person withered away in their bed, how they just went to sleep and never woke up. You clipped a picture of the doors with writing on them, “O+” “O-” how they resembled blood types. You put down the surveillance camera room, how everything was monitored, pointing out the abundance of Toxisoda cans. Down below the apartment complex, there was The Ring. 

        The Ring was your next headline. You showed the pictures you collected of the surgeons extracting human organs from the dead. It was pretty obvious what was going on there. You didn’t need to explain much anymore. 

        And then Mr. Washing Machine, the hitman who tried to kill you. You taped his note into the scrapbook, underlining specifically how the letter requesting to kill you offered new flavors of soda from their sister company.

        Then you moved onto Meat Master. You theorize they’re working with Toxisoda considering their contract with them and all the evidence of Toxisoda being involved so far. There were no meat deliveries, but deliveries from Toxisoda. All these coincidences lining up, it can’t just be separate incidents—they’re connected. 

        You taped the pictures of what’s actually inside the walk-in, the human carcasses. How they lacked internal organs. You theorize after the apartment complex collects the bodies, they get sent to the Ring underneath to be dissected and extracted, which then gets delivered to Meat Master to rid the bodies. Those bodies get used as meat and sold to dispose of evidence, and the bones remain. 

        You have two mysteries. What happens to the bones? They can’t just be disposed of, especially in such a large amount. It’d be suspicious and easy to suspect foul play if there's just piles of human bodies strewn around the city or forest, and police would easily be able to identify human bones from animals. 

        The second mystery is where are the organs going? You know for sure there’s a organ trafficking ring involved; however, where exactly are the organs going? 

        You shut your scrapbook shut. That’s enough for tonight. You have more than enough work. 

        Now, you can settle down for the night. 

        But even so, your mind can’t help but wander. The bodies. The stench. Why? Why isn’t anybody considered in this shitty city? 

        You looked up on your computer, “Toxisoda.” You really didn’t expect to find their sister company in bold bright lights on your screen. 

        And you’d be right, yeah. There wasn’t anything telling you about a sister company, but you still wanted to check. You scrolled the company’s page.. Founded in 1957. Founder being some guy named Harold Fitz—something you’ll keep note of. The founder is retired and it’s being run by his daughter Donna Fitz. On the front of the soda can, it says it’s a“great source for calcium and magnesium” , probably trying to convince buyers it’s healthy for you.

        You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. Peeking over at Andrew, or rather the lack of Andrew.

        He’s already gone to bed. Looking outside, it was an hour after sunrise, which makes sense considering you did go to Meat Masters in the middle of the night. At least you have the day off from work, so you don’t have to worry about falling asleep at work. 

        You walked to your bedroom, closing the door behind you. Andrew was in bed, wearing some oversized T-shirt and sweatpants he found in your closet. You collapsed on the bed, eyes closed, ready for sleep. 

        .

        .

        .

        You woke up to the smell of eggs and bacon. Looking at your phone, it was 5 PM. You’ve slept quite a bit, exhausted from your earlier investigation and thinking. It’s not like your sleep schedule wasn’t messed up before this whole thing started, but it’s definitely off-track now. 

        You stood up, walking to the bathroom to get yourself ready for the day. Use the bathroom, fix your hair, brush your teeth. You washed your face—it felt like rubber, probably from your lack of sleep. You had blackish-purple eyebags under your eyes, they were so big it practically engulfed your whole eye. If someone asked what eyeshadow you used, you’d say “Stress” 

        Your stomach growled as you exited the bathroom, walking out into the kitchen. You saw Andrew, still wearing pajamas, plating fried eggs.

        “I didn’t know you could cook.” You spoke, eyebrows raised, not surprised, more so amusement of this guy being a domestic person. 

        “I was hungry.” Andrew shrugged. 

        Your eyes trailed to the kitchen sink. He even washed all the dishes he dirtied. How thoughtful. 

        The bare minimum impresses you.

        You took a seat, watching as Andrew flipped the bacon, before placing it on the plate. He poured some grits in a bowl, then slid the dish to you.

        “I don’t remember the last time I had food cooked for me.” You yawned out, accepting the plate.

        You don’t remember the last time you made food either. You still remember all the leftover containers you used to house in your living room until Andrew decided that even your uncleaniness was worse than his.

        “I know.” Andrew hummed, pouring himself a glass of orange juice. “Half the stuff in your fridge is expired. It’s like going to my grandma’s house, finding chips from 2019 and stuff.” 

        You frowned, unamused. “Doesn’t matter. It’s still good if it’s not opened.”

        That answer earned you a disgusted glance from Andrew, before he busied his face with food. You put butter and sugar in your grits, mixing it till it was sweet enough for you, eating a spoonful. Take a piece of bacon to your lips, your stomach dropped.

        “Andrew?” you muttered, the bacon stuck on your tongue as you refused to swallow. “Where the hell did you get this bacon?” 

        “From next door.” He answered, chewing his own.

        You spit the bacon out on a napkin, rushing to the bathroom to brush your teeth. As you gagged with the toothbrush in your mouth, Andrew came into the bathroom, his arms crossed around his chest with a smug expression.

        “Well, I didn’t think you hated my cooking that much.” He chuckled.

        “That’s no damn food.” You hissed, staring into his eyes through the mirror. 

        “Yeah, some elderly lady next door. She asked for help cooking earlier, and I happened to need to recharge my little trinket.” Andrew shrugged.

        “What did I tell you about behaving?!” you snapped, hitting his chest. “You can’t be killing innocent people! Especially not in my apartment! The hitman was self-defense, that was a totally innocent lady!”

        “Hey, you never know if she was innocent. I could’ve saved you from the next Nannie Doss.” Andrew frowned. “She could’ve poisoned an ex-husband of hers for money.”

        “Stop trying to justify yourself.” You growled, your eyebrow twitching, irritatedly. 

        “I was just making sure for real that you didn’t like human meat.” Andrew spoke, raising his hands in the air in a surrender-like motion. “Maybe you needed a second opinion from a way better chef.” 

        “You ever cook this type of crap in my apartment, I’ll skin you myself.” You threatened before walking back into the dining room.

        You threw poor Ms. Down's flesh on his plate, settling for eating your eggs and grits.

        “So, anyway. I needed to recharge my trinket because it was used yesterday. I saw another vision.” Andrew spoke, spooning eggs in his mouth. “I’d recommend being vigilant at work, especially considering we’ve been targeted before.” 

        “What’d you see?” you questioned, curious, although you were still angry at him.

        “Saw you in the backseat of a car. Black leather seats. You were sleeping, but who knows.” Andrew shrugged. “I wasn’t there, so I’m sure that it’s a time of day when we’re apart, such as when you’re at work.”

        You hummed, thinking. You don’t really do much. You work, grocery shop right before it closes, and sleep at home. Not much going on in your life. 

        “Okay.” You nodded. 

        It should be easy enough. You were able to change the events from the previous prediction after all.

        Deep down, you already know who it is, and like the journalist you are, you want evidence. 

Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Current Chapter, Chapter 5 (in the works)

Want more Andrew Graves content? Check out the Andrew Graves masterlist!

        After breaking and entering, napping with a dead body in close proximity, running in sewage water away from organ harvesters and crooked guards, you were more than ready to sleep. 

        By the way Andrew shot up from his sleep and looked at you, he apparently had other plans.

        “We need to leave.” 

        “We just got back.” You groaned, looking at him.

        “Hey, I’m serious. I’m deathly serious here.” Andrew frowned, eyes wide as he looked at you. 

        “Let me sleep for an hour at least.” You grumbled, rolling over and facing your back to him.

        “Can you listen to me?” Andrew hissed, grabbing your arm and squeezing it tight enough to hurt you. “We’re in danger.”

        You frowned, raising an eyebrow. “Okay, Houdini. Why are we in danger?”

        “I-I… listen. Just trust me on this.” Andrew mumbled. He stood up from your bed, looking at you. “Just, come on. Please. We really need to leave!” 

        You sighed, getting up from your bed, annoyed.

        “Grab all your stuff. All your necessities, everything.” Andrew spoke.

        “What the hell? I’m not running away with you!” you frowned. “I have a job. You’re the felon; not me!”

        “Damn it, woman!” Andrew snapped, grabbing your shoulders. “You’re going to die if you stay here! We’re being tracked!”

        You squinted your eyes, skeptical, before groaning. “Fuuuck, okay. Okay.” You grumbled, sitting up from bed. “Can you just tell me what’s going on? Like, why are we in danger exactly?”

        He sighed, looking at you. “I… had a dream, where someone broke in and slit our throats in our sleep.” 

        You frowned, annoyed. “Those are usually called nightmares, and it’s quite reasonable to be paranoid given you’re a wanted felon with PTSD.” 

        With a dejected sigh, you walked to your closet, grabbing a shoe box and opening it. You pulled out a small gun, checking to make sure it was loaded and turning the safety off.

        “If someone breaks in, I’ll shoot them.” You frowned.

        Andrew’s eyes were wide, not expecting you to own a gun, let alone be willing to kill someone else.

        “Wait, seriously?” he questioned.

        “Uh, yeah? If someone is trying to kill us, we’ll kill them first. They’re breaking in anyways, it’s self-defense.” You scoffed. 

        If this little prediction was even true, that is. 

        You walked out to the living room, taking a seat in the dark with your phone. 

        All you wanted to do was sleep, and you couldn’t even do that. You could let Andrew keep watch, but there’s no way you could trust him with a gun—you could see him accidentally shooting you, and then "accidentally" eating you.

        It didn’t take long for Andrew to follow you to the living room, sitting down on the couch next to you. This could be a useful opportunity.

        Andrew watched over your shoulder as you scrolled through the internet, awaiting for something to happen. 

        There wasn’t nothing interesting on the internet. Stupid Reddit stories with Minecraft parkour, tons of gaming channels under the radar from fame, food videos, meme complications; nothing intriguing. 

        It must’ve been two hours later, you could feel yourself falling asleep. You were watching something about a new clothing brand—you couldn’t care much—until you heard the front door’s handle jingle.

        It caught your attention and the already-paranoid Andrew. You waited silently, giving someone the grace of walking to the wrong apartment drunk, but your front door slowly opening showed it was no accident. You know for sure you locked that door, which could only mean the person picked the lock. A normal drunkard couldn’t do that.

        The figure stepped foot into the apartment, and before you could even draw the trigger, Andrew snatched the gun.

        BANG!

        The man crumpled onto the ground with a pained groan, clutching his knee, a knife dropping out of his loose jacket pocket.

        “You missed!” You gasped, trying to reach for the gun to finish the job.

        “No! I need him alive!” Andrew hissed, keeping the gun out of your reach. 

        “Andrew, what the hell?!” you grunted, struggling for the gun. 

        Andrew aimed the gun at you, gritting his teeth. “Back off, (Y/N). I’ll shoot you too if I have to.”

        Your stare hardened, frowning as you backed away from him. 

        Andrew walked over to the injured figure, kicking the knife away from him. He looked over at you, speaking. “I need something to tie him up.”

        You don’t understand why you should help. It’s not like killing this guy will fix anything. If you have a target on you, killing this guy will just make the people after you more upset.

        Nonetheless, you were powerless without the gun, so you listened. You walked to your closet, grabbing a spare grey bedsheet. You walked back to Andrew, practically shoving the cloth into his arms.

        He huffed, getting down on the ground next to the hooded man. He rolled the bedsheet hotdog way to make a rope, then wrapped the bedsheet around the man, tying him up to keep his hands to himself.

        “You have candles?” Andrew questioned.

        “Yeah?” you nodded, confused. 

        “I need four of them.” Andrew spoke.

        He dipped his hand into the puddle of blood on the ground, starting to make a circle around the body.

        “Are you doing a fucking ritual? In my apartment?!” you snapped, angry.

        “Get the damn candles!” Andrew hissed, turning his back on you. 

        Muttering to yourself about demons in your home, you walked to the kitchen and grabbed candles from the counter, scented coffee and raspberry smells. You walked back to Andrew, silently watching him make a bloody pentacle you’d see in some shitty ghost movie. 

        You were never one to worry about things you couldn’t see. God, demons, ghosts—it didn’t matter to you since you’ve never had to worry about it, but now you’re standing here genuinely wondering if a hole will appear in the ground and some unholy eldritch demon will crawl out.

        Andrew finished his little art project, taking the candles from you and placing them around the pentacle. He fished a lighter out of his pants, lighting the candles.

        Andrew looked around, before sighing, his shoulders drooping.

        “Hey, The Entity or whatever. I’m calling upon you.” Andrew sighed, waving his arms around.

        You couldn’t help but think he was crazy and stupid—or at least, crazier and stupider than you thought. 

        The room turned red as the ground rumbled, the air turning freezing cold to where you could see your breath. You looked at the time, your clock freezing by the millisecond, time literally stopping as a black goop rose from the middle of the pentacle. 

        The black ink dripped, before a red eye appeared in the center of the darkness.

        “Grime Soul…” a deep rumble came from the eye.

        Your mouth fell open, taking a step back from the scene, almost tripping over your own feet.

        There’s no way. This can’t be possible. This is something from fiction. Demons don’t exist. 

        If this is real, what else roams this world?

        The eye snapped its pupil to you with a sickening crunch, floating closer to you. 

        “A dirty soul.” The demon spoke, looking at you.

        You couldn’t help but cringe, inching away from the unholy being. 

        “Hey. I need you to recharge this.” Andrew spoke, fishing out what looked like a poor arts and craft project from his pocket.

        The eye looked down at the body of the intruder, letting out a pleased rumble, “Still alive. Yes. Yes. I will lend you some of my power.” 

        You watched as the weird demon trinket glowed red, before the light faded. Andrew shoved the object back into his pocket, looking at him.

        “Now, rid the body. I can’t give you strength if I get caught.” Andrew frowned, crossing his arms.

        The demon let out a low groan at that, not appreciating Andrew’s demanding nature, but nonetheless, the intruder’s body sunk down into the ground, disappearing. 

        “Until again, Grime Soul.” It echoed, before the atmosphere went back to normal.

        Your eyes darted to the clock, watching as it changed after being frozen for minutes. 

        “Holy… shit.” You spoke, eyes moving to Andrew, looking at him in a "what the fuck did you get me into?" look.

        “Hey. You dragged me into the apartment thing, I drag you into a demon thing. Fair trade off.” Andrew smiled.

        You frowned, irritated, rolling your eyes. “Whatever…” you muttered. 

        Andrew smirked, looking outside the window. He noticed a car outside, parked to the curb instead of the parking lot, catching his attention instantly.

        “Hey, I bet that is the guy’s car.” Andrew spoke, pointing the window. 

        “Maybe.” You frowned, crossing your arms.

        “Well, I’m going to see if he left his wallet in there.” Andrew spoke.

        Before you could protest, he stepped over the puddle of blood that was still on the floor, walking out of the apartment.

        “Come on…” you muttered, rolling your eyes.

        Men. So immature.

        You grabbed a mop bucket, some fabuloso and bleach. Praying that you don’t make mustard gas, you mixed the two together and got on the floor with a rag, cleaning the blood off the ground and walls. 

        Andrew walked back up the stairs, a big grin on his face as he had a set of keys in his hand, along with an envelope of money. 

        “He left his keys in the ignition!” Andrew laughed.

        “Probably to leave quickly from the scene.” You theorized. 

        “Either way. I found his wallet in there too.” Andrew smirked.

        He flipped the wallet open, snatching all the debit and credit cards, along with any pocket cash.

        “I was looking through the glovebox and found this.” Andrew spoke, holding up a blank envelope.

        He opened the envelope, scrubbing through papers before forming one that caught his eye, reading it. He looked back at you, handing you the paper that had intrigued him.

        “Well shit.” Andrew hummed as he gave you the letter.

        You grabbed it, holding it up and reading it.

        “Dear Mr. Washing Machine, consider this a receipt for your cleaning services. We're extremely grateful that you've accepted to clean our laundry for us. And we're so confident in your services, that we will not be needing any progress reports. In fact, please do not contact us. If anyone were to ask, the less we know, the better. As a bonus, we've included free samples of all the new soda flavors from our sister company! Happy washing!"

        You look back at Andrew, surprised.

        “That apartment complex really sent a damn hitman after us?!” you spoke, surprised.

        “Looks like it.” Andrew hummed, counting the bills in the envelope.

        “I can’t believe this!” you scoffed, re-reading the letter, before catching onto the last part of the letter. “Hey, wait. Andrew, look at this.”

        You spoke, pointing out onto the letter. “Soda? Sister company?” you raised an eyebrow, confused. 

        “A sister company that sells soda and is evil? Works with an organ harvesting ring or possibly owns it?” Andrew raised an eyebrow, thinking, before shrugging his shoulders. “Eh, fuck if I know.”

        You took the letter with you, walking to your work desk. You grabbed the pictures you took before, looking through them, before reaching the one you took of the security office, scanning the background. Takeout bags and soda cans, specifically, a large quantity of Toxisoda cans. 

        “I think that Toxisoda could be working with the organ harvesting ring, if not, own them too.” You spoke up, looking over at Andrew.

        “Maybe. All big companies are evil.” Andrew shrugged, shoving Mr. Washing Machine’s wallet in his pocket. 

        Andrew sighed, scratching his neck. “Well, I’m going back to bed…” He spoke, making his way back to the bedroom. 

        “H-hey! This still needs cleaned up!” you spoke, referring to the blood in the apartment.

        “You got this. I believe in you.” Andrew called out from the bedroom, before shutting the door.

        “Lazy prick…” you grumbled under your breath. 

        You shoved the evidence in a desk drawer, then went back to mopping for the evening. 

        .         .         .

        As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t call out of work again. You needed money, and you weren’t going to use your PTO.

        Dressed in your brown sweater and black pants, you walked to your computer desk with a coffee cup in your hand.

        Earlier, you made sure to write your number on the fridge in case Andrew needed to call you. You told him not to kill anyone, eat anyone, or summon any demons; though you’re not sure how reliable his promises are. 

        Your work desk looked different. There was a balloon tied to your chair saying “Get Well Soon!” on your desk was a card, a box of coffee cakes, and some fancy chocolate coffee grinds. There was a box of Benadryl and a bottle of DayQuil. 

        “What the hell?” you grumbled, confused on who would do this, although you had a pretty good idea who. 

        You took the balloon, ripping it off the chair and stabbing it with a paper clip. It made a loud pop, causing a few coworkers to peek over, to which you smiled and muttered “oops” like it was an accident.

        You threw the popped balloon in the trash, not even bothering to read the card as it joined the trash. Opened the coffee cake box, you booted up your computer, unwrapping coffee cake as you typed your password in. 

        You stared at your screen, trying to figure out what article to work on today. You didn’t have enough evidence to expose Toxisoda as an organ harvesting ring, nor did you have any authoritive permission, or even authorities backing you up. If you were wrong, you could be sued for defamation—and you didn’t have the money for that. 

        You sighed, closing your eyes and placing your head on your desk.

        How has this been going on? Has there been other cases like this? Why wasn’t anybody doing anything? Didn’t anybody care at all?

        How could you expose this?

        “Hey, you alright?”

        The voice dragged you out of your thoughts. Your already negative-attitude became worse as you locked eyes with Robert Rodgers. 

        “Heard from the boss yesterday that you called in sick. You feeling better?” Robert questioned, his hands in his pockets. 

        “Yes.” You frowned, not in the mood to socialize.

        Robert smiled, picking up the box of coffee cakes, “I wonder who gave you these?” he hummed.

        “Probably someone who doesn’t make good financial decisions.” You vocalized bluntly. “Spending money on me that could be used for retirement.”

        Robert frowned, looking at you. “Well, I think you’re worth the money.” He spoke.

        “I have work to do.” You shooed him off, focusing on your computer, scrolling through news articles for any inspiration. 

        “Right. I’ll leave you to it.” Robert smiled dully, walking away, dejected. 

        You rolled your eyes. What a fragile man.

        Going back to your computer, you scrolled through minor articles, looking for something to report on today. You decided on an animal shelter asking for volunteers. Something quick and simple so you can ponder more on Andrew’s case. 

        There were many questions to ponder about. For example, even if the infection was real, how did a whole apartment complex just get quarantined with no valid explanation? A whole complex and yet no doctors or researchers are trying to investigate the cause or look for a cure? Why hasn’t any family tried reaching out at all, it’s an extremely low probability a whole apartment complex has bad familial connections or no family at all. 

        Where are these organs going? Are they just being sold out? Cannibalized? Transferred somewhere? Either way, the chances of there being more than one party involved was high. 

        You spent the day lazily writing a half-assed article of some band coming into town for a festival, spinning around in your chair lazily when bored. You wrote down in your notebook any questions that showed up in your head for you to look at later. You made runs to the employee room for cups of coffee.

        1:30 rolled around, forcing you to acknowledge the growl in your stomach. You hadn’t eaten breakfast, much too disturbed of last nights events—and in typical you fashion, you didn’t pack a lunch either.

        There was a knock on your work cubby, before Rodger appeared once more, a smile on his face.

        “Good afternoon!” he smiled, chirpy. “It’s lunchtime. I’m here to see if you’d be up for my invitation today.” 

        “What invitation?” you frowned, barely sparing him a glance, pretending to look busy on your computer.

        “For lunch? That sandwich and soup place isn’t closing anytime soon. Good coffee too.” He spoke, leaning on your cubby and crossing his arms.

        “No.” You quickly shot down.

        “I’ll pay.” Rodger offered.

        The idea of free food was suddenly appealing to you and your stomach. 

        You stood up from your chair, grabbing your purse.

        “Well? Let’s get going.” You spoke impatiently. 

        You clocked out for your meal break, following Rodger to wherever this oh-so-good meal place was. 

        It was around a ten minute walk from the office, close enough. Well, everything was decently close by when you live in a city. Convenience and everything. 

        Meat Master. 

        Wow. You hated that name. That’s the name for a business?

        You walked into the establishment, the place smelling strongly of air freshener and seasoning. Rodger sat down at a booth, you on his heels as you sat down across from him. 

        You got your order taken, resting in an awkward silence—or at least, you prefer it’d be an awkward silence, but Rodger has to open his mouth like always.

        “Feeling better than yesterday?” Rodger questioned.

        “Yeah.” You frowned. 

        “Nice…” Rodger nodded, tapping his finger against the table. 

        He frowned, before looking at you, nervous. “I meant what I said yesterday.” 

        “Cleaning? I don’t need you cleaning my apartment.” You huffed.

        “Well, that too.” He chuckled, readjusting in the seat. “But I meant covering different material.” He spoke. “I just… you could get in danger. Covering cases and all. Like that one report of the stalker dude, you ended up being followed for three days because you wrote an article on the head suspect.” 

        “Well the job comes with risks, and risks means higher pay.” You crossed your arms, indifferent.

        “Is it really worth the money though? If you get hurt?” he frowned, tilting his head, 

        “You’re in the same business too.” You pointed out. “I don’t want to hear it from you.” 

        Rodger sighed, looking away. “I just don’t think a girl like you needs to put herself in danger. You should be staying home and doing stuff you like.”

        “Stay at home? Like a housewife?” you deadpanned.

        “Well, I didn’t exactly mean that…” He chuckled sheepishly. “But I won’t look at you any different if that’s what you want to do?” he added on.

        “Please. Not in this economy.” You spoke, rolling your eyes. 

        You took a sip of coffee to avoid conversation, just in time as your food came out. You looked down at your free meal, admiring it. 

        You had a brisket sandwich and clear soup, the meal coming with two chocolate-dipped strawberries. 

        “I know you like sweets.” Rodger smiled—one you didn’t bother to return.

        You picked up the sandwich, taking a bite. The meat was chewy, overseasoned and salty, a slight taste of lemon and pepper. There was some strange aftertaste afterwards, and you couldn’t get rid of that sour aftertaste in your mouth.

        “Woah…” you frowned, placing the sandwich down. 

        That’s the worst brisket you’ve ever had in your life. Brisket is supposed to be tender and flavorful. 

        “Like it?” Rodger questioned.

        “Not my thing…” you muttered, before picking up your spoon and trying the soup.

        Tasted just like normal beef broth. At least that was edible.

        You only ate the soup and strawberries, taking the sandwich home to give Andrew your leftovers like a dog.

        You did not enjoy lunch.

        .         .         .         It might’ve been February, but it felt like December, cold and freezing outside. You’d figure all the factories and smog in the city air would keep heat trapped, but tonight wasn’t the same. 

        You made it to your apartment, climbing up the steps, unlocking your front door and entering.

        Immediately, you smelt lavender cleaner agent. As you closed and locked your door behind you, you looked around, spotting Andrew actually sitting on the couch.

        The couch looked clean—no coffee stains in sight. Even your pillows were clean. The takeout bags and empty coffee cups had been thrown out, and the carpet freshly vacuumed. Your desk has been dusted, your papers staying in the same place for the most part. 

        “Hey.” Andrew hummed, staring at the TV blankly, watching a cartoon. 

        “Hey?” you frowned, looking around. 

        Andrew noticed your stares and spoke. “Your place was gross. I cleaned it. Take care of your stuff.”

        You stared at him, before sighing. “Yeah, well thanks.” 

        Andrew’s eyebrows raised. He didn’t seem to expect a thank you so quick. 

        “Yeah. Whatever…” Andrew muttered, looking away. 

        You collapsed on the couch with a sigh, before throwing the bag of food at him.

        “Food. Try it.” You spoke. 

        This guy has eaten human meat before, so he must be able to eat whatever shitty sandwich this is.

        Andrew raised an eyebrow, sticking his nose out. “Feeding me scraps?”

        “Fine. I’ll throw it in the trash.” You frowned.

        “No.” Andrew quickly spoke. “Can’t waste food. I’ll try it.” 

        He grabbed the bag from you, heating the food up. He took the container into the living room, sitting down next to you on the couch.

        You eyed him like a hawk as he took a bite, chewing throughly, before swallowing. 

        “Where’d you get this?” he asked, taking another bite.

        Guess he likes it.

        “Some place my coworker took me to. Meat Master. I think it tastes like shit—but guess you like it.” You spoke, crossing your arms.

        “Yeah.” Andrew nodded, as if confirming something. “It’s human meat.” He spoke, taking another big bite.

        “Human meat?!” you gasped.

        Immediately, you felt nauseous, once small stomach cramp away from puking. 

        “It wouldn’t be so bad if it had some cheese… Mayo and hot sauce.” Andrew muttered in thought.

        “Hey, asshole! The hell do you mean it’s human meat?!” you snapped, hitting the coffee table.

        “It’s human meat. Means exactly that.” Andrew deadpanned. “Coworker has some good tastes. It’s not the worst I’ve tasted. You should’ve tried my sister’s cooking—when she was alive.” 

        “Oh…. Oh my God.” The world was spinning as you quickly ran to the bathroom, vomiting out your lunch, you gagged and hackled to puke more, just to make sure it was all out of your stomach.

        Walking back into the living room with a stagger, you sat at your research desk, collapsing in the chair. 

        “I know where we’re investigating tonight.” You muttered weakly. “Just… give me a few.” Turning your head to Andrew, you slapped his arm. “And stop eating that!”

Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Current Chapter, Chapter 4, Chapter 5 (in the works).

Want more Andrew Graves content? Check out the Andrew Graves masterlist!

The entrance was covered in “Do Not Enter” yellow tape, two middle-aged men in dull grey uniforms blocking the entrance.

        It was early in the morning. The news vans and news anchors were long gone, leaving after yesterday’s monthly reporting of the news. 

        Andrew stood behind you, his arms crossed as he leaned on the alleyway’s brick wall. “You know, it took a long time for me to finally get out of there——and the first thing you do is make me go right back?”

        “Would you rather prison?” you questioned, raising an eyebrow.

        Andrew frowned, unappreciative of your snarky comment. He knocked his hip against yours, making you lose your balance and face plant into the brick wall.

        “Asshole…” you hissed, annoyed, clutching your nose. “I’ll take back my offer.”

        Food. Your offer was food. If what he said earlier was true, apparently the apartment isn’t actually quarantined from an unknown illness; but the people there have been being starved. Why? He doesn’t know.

        Which is where you come in. If you break in and find out Morrison City’s hottest 3 month case, you’ll beat Robert Rodger’s for sure. You can get your picture on the Employee of the Month. Hopefully you can get a raise too! If you can keep your place as Employee of the Month, it can show others your journalism and focus on little details can help you climb the ranks to being a detective! 

        You looked around at the men guarding the doors. The building looked like it was old, terribly old with no safety inspection in the last 10 years. 

        “So like, how did you escape this place?” you questioned, looking over at Andrew.

        “Murder.” Andrew hummed, smiling at you. “Wanna find out?” he questioned, pulling a gun out from his waistband. 

        “Woah, hey, hey!” you gasped, backing up and raising your hands.

        “Ha. Don’t worry.” He smiled, raising the gun at you. 

        You heard the click of the trigger, but didn’t feel any unbearable pain.

        “It’s empty.” He smirked.

        “You’re such a fucking psycho.” You hissed, clutching your heart as you caught your breath. 

        “Scared ya.” He chuckled, placing the gun back in his waistband. “Used all the bullets to escape.”

        “There is something seriously wrong with you…” you grimaced, before looking back at the building. “You know if there’s any guards on the sides of the building?”

        “There isn’t. They guard the hallways though.” Andrew hummed, his hands shoved into his pockets. 

        “Come on.” You urged.

        You stepped out of the alleyway, walking past the apartment like a normal pedestrian, before taking a sharp left, ducking behind the side of the building. You took cover in some bushes, cringing.

        “Spiderwebs.” Andrew spoke, unphased, before picking up a spider and placing it on your head.

        You resisted the urge to shriek. “Get it off. Get it the fuck off.” You whispered harshly.

        “Arachnophobia?” he smiled, taking the spider away, looking at it in his palm before crushing it, wiping away the remains on his shirt.

        “I see why you were kept quarantined from society.” You quipped, earning a glare from him.

        You gave a pointed stare at the window, before looking back at him. “Well? You’re the tall one. Open the window.” 

        “Like it’s gonna be unlocked.” Andrew scoffed, rattling the window, before pushing up. 

        It creaked, Andrew having to push up the window with extra force a few time, before it unjammed. 

        Not stuck.

        You look at him, smirking, to which he just rolled his eyes. He grabbed the windowsill, before hoisting himself up. He reached his hand out, pulling you up through the building.

        Andrew panted, his hands on his knees as he hunched over. 

        “Out of shape?” you teased.

        “Fuck you. I-I’ve been famished. My strength ain’t a-all there yet.” Andrew rasped out.

        “Whatever you say.” You hummed. 

        You turned your attention to the room you climbed into, suddenly smelling a disgusting smell. It was putrid, invasive even as you covered your nose. 

        “W-what the fuck is that stench?” you coughed out. 

        It felt like your eyes burned as you watched Andrew straighten, his eyes trailing around, as if looking for something. He took a few steps forward, turning past a corner. 

        You followed him into a bedroom, where the scent only got more stronger. Andrew felt around, before the room was taken over by light. 

        The bedroom was messy, clothes strewn around and dust on the drawers. The bed had a lump, a figure resting on it.

        Andrew didn’t hesitate to rip the covers off, revealing a skinny-boned male. The man was dead, but there was no visible injuries as if he just went to sleep and never woke up. 

        “I knew I smelt death.” Andrew frowned, covering it back up. 

        Not like there was any meat to take. 

        “Urgh…” You groaned, covering your mouth, resisting the urge to vomit.

        Even though you’re a journalist and have seen many dead bodies. The body on the side of the road from a car crash, the murder-suicide on Flare Lane, the dead cashier from a robbery gone wrong. It never gets any easier to see a dead body and wonder what kind of person they were and who will miss them.

        “Did they die from the sickness?” you questioned, looking over at Andrew.

        “I told you, that sickness is bullshit.” Andrew scoffed, irritated as he shoved his hands in his pockets. 

        “So why would an apartment complex just quarantine everything and report people dropping dead from a sickness in the water?” you retorted, trying to make sense of this absurd situation.

        “I don’t know. Isn’t that why you’re here? To figure it out?” Andrew frowned, annoyed.

        “Yeah, but you’re someone who experienced it first-hand. You’re telling me you can’t give me any useful information?” you sighed.

        You uncovered the dead body, using your camera and snapping a picture. 

        “I’m telling you there’s no sickness.” Andrew frowned, his hands still in his pockets as he leaned on the wall. “Died from hunger. They weren’t giving us any food once we ran out."

        “Really?” you raised an eyebrow, skeptical, before looking back at the body.

        It was a possibility, the man was extremely skinny and pale. You lifted his shirt, taking a picture of his sunken chest and stomach, his ribs protruding through his skin. You opened his mouth, taking a picture of the dry, cracked tongue. 

        “Sure looks like starvation…” you muttered. 

        You put the blanket back on him, allowing him to eternally rest warm, looking back at Andrew.

        “But… I don’t understand why they would just let you all die and give an excuse to the public?” you frowned.

        “Who knows?” Andrew frowned, crossing his arms. “This city is fucking shifty. Nobody gives a damn about anything.” 

        You nodded, looking around more for any clues. You went to the pantry, opening up the cabinets.

        There wasn’t a single can. Not even a forgotten tomato soup in the corner, or a can of tuna you swear you’ll eat eventually, or even any salt crackers.

        “Jesus…” you muttered, brows furrowed as you snapped a picture of the empty void. “I want to explore outside this room, look for more answers.” You spoke, looking at Andrew.

        “Can’t.” Andrew spoke plainly, admiring the decoration in the apartment. “The door is locked. You’ll have to wait for them to do their rounds. If they don’t hear anything, they’ll come in and we can sneak out. 

        “How long will that take?” you frowned, looking at him. 

        “They usually do it at ten.” Andrew hummed, looking at the clock on the stove. “Meaning… we’ll have to wait six hours.” He sighed, letting out a groan.

        “Oh great.” You huffed, rolling your eyes. “Can’t we just sneak into another window that leads to the hallway?”

        “We don’t have windows in the hallways. It’s an apartment complex. You think anyone cares about the view of a smogged city?” Andrew frowned. 

        “Personally, I like gray skies.” You spoke, receiving a glare from your non-trustable companion.

        You exited the bedroom, not able to stand the stench any longer. Andrew followed, plopping down on the couch. 

        “How can you not be phased by the smell?” you questioned, crossing your arms as you sat down on the couch. 

        “You could smell death from two rooms over. I could smell my dead neighbors.” Andrew spoke, unbothered as he reached for the TV remote, turning on the TV. 

        You frowned, grossed out, feeling lightheaded from the stench. It felt like you could taste it in your mouth. Stinging. Metallic. A slight acidic burn. 

        You raised your shirt to your nose, dropping down onto the couch, burying your head in the fabric to try and hide from the smell (it did very little). 

        You could hear Andrew stick with something on the TV, the sound of a show being played, most likely Courage the Cowardly Dog. You would watch the show if you didn’t feel like Courage, getting himself into bad situations to protect his family, only difference if you’re trying to protect and the truth. 

        You don’t know when you fell asleep, but you could feel yourself nodding off, the tv show being white noise to you before your head hit the couch cushion.

        .         .         .         You woke up to the sound of banging on the front door, jolting you awake. You looked over at Andrew, seeing his groggy expression and the drool on his lips, signifying he fell asleep too.

        Another banging on the door, followed by the sound of a voice.

        “Hey! What the hell is that smell? Are you dead in there?”

        Both you and Andrew froze, looking at each other. You both quickly jumped up from the couch, crouching down and hiding behind the couch. 

        The door banged again, getting louder. “If I have to come in there and you’re still alive, you’re going to regret it!” the guard hissed, his fist hitting the door.

        He stopped, before you heard the sound of the lock being undone, the quiet click loud in the room, Courage screaming on the TV. The door creaked open, the guard cautiously looking around, before stepping foot in the apartment. 

        You peeked your head out of the couch, watching as the man followed the stench to the bedroom. You took the opportunity, quickly crawling to the front door, sticking your head out and looking around. 

        Nobody else was on the floor, allowing you to escape. You quickly scurried out of the room, getting up off the ground and looking around. Through the walls, you could hear the guard talk in a radio about a dead body and to bring someone to help with the mess. You probably had a few minutes before more guards would come.

        On the doors, you noticed markings. Most of the said “O+” and “O-“, but you did see one as “A+” 

        Two of the O+ doors were wide open, presumably no occupants in those apartments. 

        “They’re… blood types?” You spoke up, looking at the doors. “What’s your blood type?”

        “O-negative.” He answered. “You know, that would make sense considering when I left my apartment, it did say O-negative…” he hummed, thinking back. 

        “Why would an apartment complex write your blood type onto the doors? How did they even get ahold of that kind of information?” you frowned, brows furrowed.

        Andrew closed his eyes, thinking back. “Well… I do recall the very beginning, we had a nurse come to our apartment and take our blood, ask us questions about our health, that type of stuff.”

        You nodded, thinking. “That makes sense for a pandemic, I mean, trying to figure out the symptoms and infected—all that jazz.” 

        “Yeah—never saw another nurse again.” Andrew spoke up, crossing his arms. 

        You frowned, confused. “What? Like, no check-ups?”

        “None. Exactly why I find it strange. I mean, if this infection or disease whatever is unknown, why aren’t we having people regularly or at least weekly asking about our symptoms? Check-ups or stuff?” Andrew explained. “Just seems weird…”

        You were about to open your mouth, but the sound of footsteps climbing stairs caught your attention. You ducked into one of the open rooms, hiding behind the door as footsteps walked to the apartment you had escaped from. 

        “This one’s a goner.” The guard spoke. 

        “Jesus, how long this guy’s been dead?” 

        “Probably a few days.”

        “How did you not smell the stench, man? I don’t think that can be salvaged.”

        “Hey... don’t be insensitive. I just got surgery.”

        “I’m sorry…”

        You listened as they entered the room, ready to move the body.

        You and Andrew peeked your heads out of the doorway, walking back out and stalking down the stairs.

        “Ready to go?” Andrew whispered, his hand on the stair railing for balance.

        “You kidding? I have more questions than answers.” You scoffed, looking back. “Salvage? Like, what do they mean by that? Why are your blood types on the doors? Why aren’t there any nurses checking up? Why is nobody testing the water if it’s infected?”

        ”Why do you ask so many questions?” Andrew hissed, annoyed. “Listen, woman. These people here have guns and they’re hiding something. If they see us, they’ll shoot us.” 

        You reached the bottom of the staircase, ignoring him. Looking around, it looks like you’ve made it to the lobby. Perhaps there would be guards protecting this staircase if it wasn’t for the body upstairs, giving you the chance to snoop around. 

        “Hey, what’s the chances of there being a cams room?” you questioned, turning your head to Andrew.

        “Likely considering there’s cameras all around.” Andrew spoke, looking into the corner at the camera. “I’d guess it’d be in the back, behind the desk.” 

        You nodded, letting Andrew take the lead, following him through the hallway. There was a door with the words “prohibited” 

        Andrew turned the knob quietly, looking around you. 

        “You peek your head in.” He spoke, gesturing his head to the door. 

        “Why me?” you whispered, frowning. 

        “Cause I’m not going to die for your case. Duh.” Andrew scoffed. 

        You glared at him, muttering something about “chivalry being dead”, peeking your head open. 

        “It’s… a pig?” you whispered, confused.

        “Huh?” Andrew muttered, just as confused.

        You smirked at him, opening the door to reveal a chair in front of a screen of cameras, “Kidding.”

        He frowned, unamused. He walked into the room, much more at ease and relaxed upon seeing the burly security guard sleeping in his chair. 

        “Wow… this is the snitch behind the cameras?” Andrew scoffed, frowning.

        “Who cares? Let’s look around for something.” You whispered, your eyes trailing around the room.

        A half empty bag of trail mix, some toxisoda cans, a neck pillow around the guard’s neck, crumbled up papers of grubhub and DoorDash receipts. Nothing useful to you.

        “Hey.” Andrew spoke, shaking a paper in his hands. “Look at this.”

        You walked over to him, peering over his shoulder, reading the paper.

        Elise Williams. Female. 32. Married.          Blood type: O-         blood pressure: 110/72         Conditions: None         Concerns: None         Status: Undergoing Treatment.

        “Looks like this is what those nurses were checking for.” You spoke, taking your camera out, snapping a picture of the evidence in the messy room, Toxisoda cans and takeout in the background of the picture.

        The flash and shutter of the camera cause the guard to jolt awake. You and Andrew froze, watching as the guard opened his eyes.

        “What the Hell…? Hey! How did you guys get in here?!” the burly man spoke, sitting up straight in his chair.

        Andrew glared at you, before quickly turning and running out of the room. 

        “Oh, you fucker!” you hissed, taking off after him. 

        You heard the sound of radio static, no doubt the security guard calling for guards. Andrew quickly unlocked a window, jumping out of it. You hoisted yourself up and out, landing on the pavement.

        A few men turned the corner, spotting you two, both of them wearing the same grey uniforms the other guards did. 

        “There they are!” one of the guards spoke, drawing their gun.

        Andrew grabbed your hand, forcing you down an alley, “Hurry up!”

        “Would be faster if you didn’t ditch me!” You snapped, angry.

        “Hey, you caught up.” Andrew smirked, ducking into an alley. 

        It was late morning, possibly 10:30 AM, which would make sense of Andrew’s earlier statement of guards doing rounds at 10. You could run into a crowd and blend into people, but your thoughts were cut off, noticing a light from a dark alley. You would’ve ran away from it, but it was small light underneath a dumpster can that drew your attention. 

        The darkness underneath the dumpster allowed you to see a light. You shoved the dumpster with your shoulder.

        “What the hell are you doing?!” Andrew hissed, turning back to you. 

        “Hiding! Help me.” You frowned.

        Andrew grumbled under his breath, quickly pushing the dumpster with a hard shove. He looked back, on the lookout while you peeled open a sewer grate with light shining through. 

        You quickly climbed down the ladder, Andrew following. Hitting the concrete sidewalk of the sewers, you turned your head, noticing three people in surgeon masks and white coats, blood staining their sleeves. In front of them lied a dead body, cut open, their heart in one of the surgeon’s hands.

        You paused, everybody awestruck in the room, before you pulled out your camera and took a picture, the camera shutter loud in the silence.

        “G-get them!” one of the surgeon’s stammered, almost tripping over his feet as he rushed towards you two. 

        “Woah, woah! I can delete it.” you lied to try and de-escalate the situation, your hands in the air. 

        Andrew scoffed, grabbing your hand and running down the sewers concrete. 

        “This is gross!” you groaned, cautious not to step in any puddles as you ran, avoiding a dead rat on the ground.

        “Not my concern right now.” Andrew hissed, looking around for an exit. 

        You looked back at the people chasing you, one of them avoiding the puddles like you, another scrambling to put the heart in a container safely, and one of them running like an all-star athlete, quickly gaining ground on you.

        This must be what Flint Lockwood felt like. 

        “The big one is eating up space!” you spoke, forgetting about the puddles as you quickly slammed your feet in the ground. 

        Andrew frowned, looking around, before stopping at one of the ladders. He quickly climbed up, forcing the sewer lid open, climbing up. He held out your hand, you quickly taking it.

        You reached up, grabbing the hand and using the ladder to lift yourself up. The big man grabbed your ankle, trying to pull you down.

        “Get lost, fatty!” you hissed, kicking your foot against his nose, causing him to let go with a groan. 

        You climbed up, quickly shutting the lid and running out into the street, smelling like sweat and sewage. You laughed, looking at Andrew as you cackled.

        “What the hell is so funny?!” Andrew snapped, stopping on the sidewalk, looking back at you. “We almost died! Jesus Christ, lady, how do you live by yourself?!”

        “Money, specifically from my job, which I went there to get all that information!” you spoke, looking at your phone camera. “These are great. Amazing quality. I’m so glad for upgrading my device.”

        “Hello?! Again! We almost died!” Andrew hissed, waving his hand in front of you.

        “Yeah? But we didn’t.” You smirked, looking at him. 

        “Do you ever think or—“

        “I’ll feed you Cracker Barrel if you shut up and stop complying.” 

        Andrew immediately shut his mouth, looking away from you, annoyed. You used food against him, knowing damn well he’s been starving, just like how you made him come here with the promise of food.

        He grumbled under his breath, annoyed as you walked down the street, ignoring the stares of the people around you, noticing your reek of sewerage. 

        You were cautious to make sure there was no other guards or surgeons following you. You made it to your car you parked a few streets away from the apartment complex, unlocking the car and hopping in.

        “Try not to get the smell stuck in here.” You spoke, starting the car. “I don’t want it seeping into the seats. I just got this car like, four years ago.” 

        “Wow, how privileged.” Andrew spoke, rolling the car window down for fresh air.

        You frowned, looking back at him, “You know, I really don’t like your humor.”

        “I don’t like you.” Andrew shot back.

        “Starve.” You hissed, irritated, but you know you’ll still get him food for all his generous help today. 

        .         .         Andrew snatched the bathroom first. Apparently chivalry isn’t a word in his vocabulary because he didn’t let you take the first shower. 

        While Andrew was showering, you had ordered some Cracker Barrel on your phone for delivery, stacks of pancakes and bacon and their hashbrown casserole. 

        Andrew walked out of the bathroom, wearing a black sweatshirt and grey pants. It’s a good thing you like oversized clothes to sleep in, otherwise he’d be stuck in those bloody and sewage-smelling clothes. 

        “I don’t like the smell of your shampoo.” Andrew commented.

        “Get your own money for shampoo then.” You spoke, walking past him to get to the bathroom. “The delivery guy’s on his way. It’s already paid for. Just answer the door when they knock.”

        You entered the bathroom, locking it behind you. Andrew’s dirty clothes on the ground, annoying considering there was a laundry bin right next to them. 

        Rolling your eyes, you threw his dirty clothes in the bin, then undressed and threw your own clothes in. 

        You sighed, closing your eyes and scrubbing all of the dirt and shit from today. The images of that man’s dead body replayed in your head. Unnourished. Starved. He just went to sleep to escape the pain in his stomach, and he never woke up again. 

        Is that what happened to all the causalities?

        Why would someone do that to people? 

        Why would they keep people locked in their apartments and harvest their organs?

        How is nobody concerned about anyone in the apartment? 

        Doesn’t anybody care? What about the families? The friends? 

        Your arm was red from how hard you were scrubbing. You sighed, rinsing off and getting out of the shower. 

        You changing into a sweatshirt and sleep shorts, wearing comfy Christmas socks. Walking out of the bathroom, you saw Andrew already eating at your crowded dining table. He pushed aside your papers and folders, digging in on some pancakes.

        “Would’ve been nice to tell me food was here.” You frowned, although you couldn’t be too mad—he was starved after all. “Also, you need to start putting your dirty clothes in the laundry basket!”

        “You complain about clothes on the floor but there’s coffee stains on your couch.” Andrew frowned, scarfing down half a pancake in just one bite.

        “Do as I say, not as I do.” You spoke, sitting down at the table and snatching the hashbrown casserole, digging in.

        It could be because you were hungry and tired, but the silence was nice. Maybe that’s what shared trauma does to a person. 

        There was a knock at the door, causing you and Andrew to look at each other at the same time.

        “They forget anything?” you questioned, checking the bag. 

        You didn’t notice anything missing, but you still went to the door; perhaps a salty guy who didn’t receive a tip. You’d give him a tip anyways, salty or not, he deserves some money. 

        Opening the door, you were unpleasantly met with Robert Rodgers in front of your door, holding two cups of coffee in his hands. He smiled with his pearly whites, combed black hair. His smile faded upon noticing your unprofessional attire.

        “Oh… bad timing?” he questioned.

        You grimaced, not even bothering to hide your annoyance, “Yeah. I was eating lunch.”

        “Sorry. I just figured since you’ve been behind on work lately, I’d stop by and help you out.” He spoke. “I brought coffee?”

        He held up the peace offering, one you accepted, before slamming the door in his face.

        “H-hey! Wait!” Robert gasped, knocking on the door again.

        You walked to Andrew, pointing to your room. “You. Hide in my room. Nobody can know about me housing a wanted man.” 

        Andrew grimaced, annoyed, before you shoved the bag of food at him. He seemed to accept being locked in your room as long as food was involved as he walked into your room, closing the door behind him.

        You walked back to the front door, opening it to see Rodger standing there like a kicked puppy, before perking up, seeing you opened the door again.

        “Sorry. I was just tidying lunch up.” You spoke, reluctantly opening the door wider for him to enter.

        Rodger entered your apartment, looking around. 

        “Woah… your place is… very you.” He spoke, trying to be polite, seeing empty coffee cups and microwave steak boxes. “It’s just like your workspace.”

        Messy. Disorganized. Cluttered.

        “Thanks. I always remember where stuff is.” You spoke blandly, before jestering to the dining room table. “Sit.”

        He nodded, sitting down, his posture straight and perfect with his hands in his lap politely. 

        “You came to help me with work?” you frowned, raising an eyebrow.

        “The boss figured you could use a little push to bring out your full potential, so he offered it to me. I think your work is good! Only thing I would tweak is your… subjects.” Rodger’s spoke.

        “What do you mean?” you questioned, crossing your arms.

        “Well, we have a lot of people who cover crime stories in our department. And, no offense, but a woman writing about true crime is a subject everyone’s heard of. You know? Everybody knows a female podcaster or YouTuber who talks about cold cases, or a woman who watches Law and Order, or some teen girl watching police bodycams. Basically, there’s a lot of females in the crime scene, and the boss thinks you’ll do better in a place where you’re… more different?” Rodger’s spoke.

        You didn’t bother listening. Everything he was saying was going in one ear and out the other. You don’t need constructive criticism, especially if it was about your gender; you couldn’t change that and why should you? He should just accept it. 

        “The boss can say it to my face or up his ass!” You scoffed, rolling your eyes.

        “Ahaha… blunt as always!” Rodger’s laughed awkwardly. “Well, he just means… maybe fashion? Or perhaps food would be a better fit for you?” 

        “I’m actually working on something big that will change the boss’ mind once it’s out!” you huffed, standing up from your seat. “I believe you can leave now. I can help myself!”

        “I-I didn’t mean any offense, just—“

        “Leave please.” You snapped, annoyed.

        Rodger’s got up from his seat, walking to the door. “By the way! I’m a really good cleaner! I used to clean houses for a living. I could help clean your place, free of charge.”

        You slammed the door on his face, locking it and twirling on your heels back to your bedroom. Andrew rested on your bed, reading your beside book.

        “I didn’t know you were into dark rom-fantasy or whatever it’s called.” He hummed, reading a book with a cover of shapeshifters.

        “Mind your business!” you snapped, snatching the book back. 

        “So? Was that your loverboy?” Andrew questioned, smirking. “How shameless of you, to house a man like me in your home, here on your bed.”

        “As if. He’s a shitty coworker.” You scoffed, taking your book and placing it back on your bedside. 

        “Drama?” he smirked, propping his head up on his palm. “Tell me. Ex-lovers? Childhood friends grown apart? CEO and assistant?” 

        “He’s the damn Employee of the Month… every month!” you frowned.

        Andrew raised his eyebrow, as if asking “seriously?” He frowned, unimpressed and disappointed. “How boring.”

        “I never said it was interesting. You got your hopes up.” You frowned, before crossing your arms. “And get out of my bed!”

        “If you think I’m going to sleep on that stained couch, you’re even stupider than I thought you were—and I think you’re pretty stupid.” Andrew grimaced, stubborn and refusing to move.

        You glared at him, annoyed. “I ain’t giving up my bed. My rent; my bed.”

        “And I’m not moving, so I guess we’re sharing.” Andrew spoke, doubling down as he squirmed under the covers. 

        “Fine.” You gritted through your teeth, but not before giving him a harsh elbow jab as you climbed into bed and got comfy.

        Andrew scooted over to the wall, closing his eyes.

        It might be the soft blankets with a slight smell of mocha coffee. Or maybe it was finally feeling clean of dirt and blood. Perhaps it was finally having a full belly and a chance to relax. Whatever it was, it made Andrew pass out as soon as he closed his eyes. Not even three minutes went by and you could hear his breath evening out, followed by a soft snore.

        You couldn’t be too mad at him, you were pretty tired too. Breaking and entering, napping with a dead body in close proximity, running in sewage water away from organ harvesters and crooked guards.

        Yeah. You could use this rest.

        With a yawn, you placed a pillow before you and Andrew to separate him from you.

        Tomorrow, you’ll download the photos onto a USB and turn it into authorities to open an investigation of the apartment complex.

        But that’s something for tomorrow.

        At least, it’s what you thought it would be. Andrew quickly shot up, not even 10 minutes in sleep, a panicked expression as he looked at you.

        “We need to leave.” 

Chapters: Chapter 1, Current Chapter, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5 (in the works).

Want more Andrew Graves content? Check out the Andrew Graves masterlist!

Inbox is OPEN for questions about the story and new plotlines/ideas, not for requests!

        You sat on the bed, your hands crossed as you pondered. While you waited for your heart to stop skipping, you thought about what happened. Your robe covered what little dignity you had, but it couldn’t even cover up the bite marks and hickeys on your neck. Andrew had his front of the robe open and loose, showing his chest, your engraving peeking out from the fabric.

        You ripped your eyes away from Andrew’s chest so you could think about more important things

        Alive? $100,000.

        Dead? $500,000

        Well shit, you’ll take that money in a heartbeat. And if you’re willing to take that money, someone out there has the same idea too, and they know your location.

        You don’t know where a damn tracker is on you. You don’t remember there being a tracker on you! Nobody even told you of this! This must’ve been your parents’ plan. Perhaps all your siblings have a tracker on you. 

        It can’t be a clothing article—you’re wearing new clothes. And it can’t be a phone—you got rid of yours! And there’s no way it’s a car, you’ve been car-hopping.

        That must mean the tracker is somewhere on your body, but you’ve never seen anything like that. What’s a place that can even be used to conceal a small tracker?

        “Leo,” you spoke. “You got any idea of a tracker on me? Where it could be?” 

        Leopard sat on a chair in the room, his arms crossed thoughtfully as he stared at your ex-fiancé’s smushed eyeballs on the ground. “Well, Ms. (L/N). If I was going to put a tracker on someone, I’d put it on their feet. More specifically, a toe.”

        You hummed, entertaining the idea. “Right… well, I don’t just want to start peeling off my skin in random areas.” You frowned, crossing your arms. “You think a tracker would be in an organ?” you questioned, looking at Leopard. 

        “I doubt it.” Leopard hummed. “Too risky. Especially for an infant if they put the tracker on you while you were young.”

        You didn’t bother with asking Andrew’s opinion—you were still a bit upset with him snooping through your stuff. So what if you had a jar of your dead fiancé’s eyeballs around your neck? It wasn’t his eyes so it shouldn’t matter.

        “Well, what do you think I should do?” you questioned Leopard. “You and your family have been working with my family for generations. Surely you must know something.” 

        “We could try doing an x-ray?” Leopard spoke. 

        “I can’t go to hospital. I don’t have insurance.” You huffed, blowing a strand of hair out from your eyes. “Maybe we could buy a metal detector?” 

        “Pfft.” Andrew scoffed as if the idea was stupid, which it probably was. “Really? A flimsy metal detector from the internet to find treasure on the beach?” 

        You frowned, annoyed. You wanted to ignore him. You were still angry at him from earlier and was resisting the urge to finish that wound along his stomach, instead just gutting his intestines out.

        “Actually the lithium, copper, and galvanized steel in most trackers would make it easy to find something.” Leopard jumped in. 

        You shot Andrew a cocky smirk, one he had to resist punching your nose in for. You glared at each other, a frown on your face. Leopard noticed the tension, shifting uncomfortably. 

        “Well… I’m just going to go camp out in the Walmart parking lot till the store opens up.” Leopard spoke. 

        It would be best to leave the two alone to solve their own problems, he figured. 

        Oh yes, you can solve this alright. You’re currently thinking the best way to solve this is digging your thumbs into his eyes until they pop out, so you can step on his eyes like he did to your ex-fiancés. 

        You watched as Leopard snuck out the balcony again, closing the glass door behind him. You frowned, turning your attention to Andrew. Andrew didn’t look too happy either, staring at the eyeballs on the ground.

        “Well? Aren’t you going to pick up your mess?” you spoke, crossing your arms as you looked at him. 

        He sighed, tired of your attitude. You were always bitchy. He was starting to miss when you were the social neighbor next door he’d get off to. 

        Andrew knew it wasn’t worth fighting you over; you were more petty than him. He knew if he kept fighting you, either you or him will end up hurting the other.

        He gritted his teeth, biting back his words, before walking to the bathroom. He came out, holding some toilet paper, picking up the smushed eyeballs with one and wiping the fluids with more paper. He flushed everything down the toilet, washing his hands from the slimy feeling of your dead fiancé’s eyeballs.

        Andrew sighed, looking at himself in the mirror. He really shouldn’t have agreed—or, well, should’ve left when he had the chance, like when she was sleeping or something. But once again, his dick got in the way of his logic. Or did it really if he was self-aware?

        Well, they say the first step to getting better is acknowledging it.

        Andrew came back in the bedroom, collapsing down onto the bed. While you glared at him, he looked up at the ceiling, before lifting his arm up, beckoning you to come closer.

        “C’mere.” He spoke. 

        You huffed, insulted at his audacity. After he has the gull to be your neighbor, see your secret family business, get betrayed by said secret family business, hold a gun to your head so you can blow him, and smash a jar of your dead fiancé’s eyes—you were still mourning his death. What healthier way is there to heal than always keep a part of them to remember? It’s basically the same thing as ashes in an urn.

        You ignored him, but an impatient snappy command of “Now” led you to reluctantly crawl into bed with a grumble. He wrapped his arms around you, to which you let out an annoyed groan and squirmed. 

        Andrew contemplated grabbing your robe’s tie and tying your hands together so you couldn’t resist him, but he knew it wouldn’t make the situation better. He grabbed your hair, wrapping the locks around his fingers.

        “Stop moving.” He frowned, tugging your hair.

        “Ow!” you whined, frowning at him. “Watch that! That’s the only thing good left of me!”

        Your face was already fucked up, you had a tracker somewhere in your body, and your personality was as enjoyable as a skunk’s smell. There wasn’t much else to you anymore. No wealth belonging to your name. No reputation for you to uphold or cling onto. The only thing you had was a bounty on the black web. 

        Andrew frowned, looking up at the ceiling, before sighing. He turned his attention back to you, speaking. 

        “You know, I think our dynamic is pretty unhealthy.” Andrew spoke up. 

        “Really? A disowned mafia member and her hostage? Who would’ve guessed.” You spoke sarcastically. 

        Andrew ignored your sass and continued. “I propose we make a compromise. We can’t just keep arguing and beating each other up.” 

        You raised an eyebrow, thinking. Usually when you and your siblings got into a disagreement, you’d fist-fight it out. There’s nothing more useful than learning hand-to-hand combat at a young age. Smashing each other’s heads in walls, stairs, countertops, and poles were all just good practice for the future. 

        “What do you expect us to do? Every time we fight, hug it out?” you questioned, not serious at all about your suggestion. “When you’re mad, you’re mad. Intimacy with the person you’re angry at isn’t gonna help.” 

        “What do you enjoy doing?” Andrew suddenly spoke.

        “Way to change the topic.” You frowned, looking up at him as he held you.

        “I’m being serious here.” He spoke.

        “Um… well… I like.” You paused, thinking. “Books? I like books? And I like to take walks. I like music, and I enjoy new foods.”

        Andrew nodded. “I like some books too.” He shrugged. “I don’t go outside much, but I like music—probably not from the same decade as you though.” He smiled. “But… food is good. I like food.”

        “So? We’ve established common ground; we enjoy food.” You spoke, raising an eyebrow. “What about food?”

        “Everytime we get angry at each other, let’s find a recipe and cook a meal together. Food is always a happy thing.” Andrew spoke.

        You hummed thoughtfully, looking at him. It’s not common for Andrew to take charge, not unless it was him complaining about something or threatening you; something you both have a terrible trait in.

        But instead of just constantly screaming, breaking each other’s noses, stabbing, and fucking each other—you can break the self-destructive cycle you’ve both created. 

        “That works.” You nodded, smiling. “I can do that.”

        “Great.” Andrew smiled. “So, let’s eat about it.” He spoke, reaching his hand out to the bedside table, picking up the package of Oreos he snatched from Mr. gatto earlier.

        He opened the lid’s film, grabbing two cookies, holding one up to you. “This’ll do. It’s too late to try and cook something now, especially in Gallo’s house, so let’s settle with this.” 

        You accepted the cookie, the both of you biting into your own treat.

        “…I have a confession.” You spoke.

        “Hm?” Andrew hummed, swallowing his cookie in one gulp. 

        “I don’t like Oreos…” 

        Andrew paused, looking down at you resting by his side. “I’m going to ignore what you just said.” He spoke, frowning

        You smiled at his dramatic antics, before closing your eyes too. “Night, Andrew…”

        .

        .

        .         A knock on the balcony door woke you up. Andrew instantly tightened his grip on you, cautious.

        “It’s Leo.” You muttered, rubbing your eyes with a yawn.

        Andrew frowned, before sitting up. “Stay here.” He spoke, getting out of bed and walking to the balcony door. 

        He opened it, Leopard stepping in. Leopard closed the door behind him, the glass showing that it was early noon. 

        “Got it. I had to camp outside the place; 24 hour Walmarts don’t exist anymore.” Leopard spoke, holding a box.

        “Thank you, Leopard.” You spoke, sitting up.

        Andrew snatched the box from Leopard, tearing it open. He read the instructions, putting together the small metal detector,

        “Just like on the beach…” he muttered, twisting the handle together.

        He held up the metal detector, quickly holding it up to Leo, gliding it over his body. 

        “…What are you doing?” Leo frowned.

        Andrew kept quiet, hovering the metal detector over Leopard’s body once, then twice just to make sure. “…Just testing.” 

        He was defiantly trying to see if Leopard could not be trusted. It was like he had a vengeance against the man. 

        Leopard raised an eyebrow, not impressed. Andrew grumbled something inalienable under his breath, before taking the metal detector and slowly hovering it over you.

        He held it up to your head. Nothing. He held it to your shoulders. Nothing. Your abdomen. Nothing. Your hands. Nothing. Your thighs. Nothing. Your knees. Nothing. Your toes. 

        Beep!

        You frowned, looking down to see where the metal detector beeped. It was your foot, your left foot.

        “Okay…” You frowned. “I didn’t actually think this would work, but I’m happily surprised.” 

        “So? Which toe are we chopping off?” Andrew questioned, raising an eyebrow.

        “Your big toe would be the most plausible area for a tracker to be.” Leopard spoke up.

        “Yeah, yeah…” You frowned, stretching your foot, rolling the ankle as if you’d magically feel what you couldn’t feel for years. 

        “I bought a cleaver too for this.” Leopard spoke, reaching into the grocery bag on the ground and grabbing a packaged cleaver along with a first-aid kit.

        Andrew’s eyes trailed to the cleaver, his gaze hardening as he watched Leopard tear open the plastic with the cleaver.

        You got off Mr. Gato’s bed, not wanting to stain the sheets with your blood as you instead laid on the floor. Leopard kneeled down, the cleaver in hand as Andrew stood closely behind him, as if not trusting Leopard would just cut your toe off.

        “Ready?” Leopard questioned, one hand separating your big toe from your other to avoid accidentally cutting two or more toes off. 

        “Don’t fucking talk to me—it’s adding suspense!” you snapped, nervous. Who wouldn’t be nervous having to be sober during this?

        You closed your eyes, gripping your robe. Andrew came up behind you, sitting behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist in an attempt to comfort you. He watched as Leopard held the cleaver up, before you felt an indescribable pain in your foot. Andrew placed his hand to your mouth, allowing you to let out a muffled scream. 

        For such a small target, it took three hashes down for the toe to sever. You felt the small bones be forcefully broken apart, a warm feeling spreading throughout your foot as blood spluttered out, quickly covering the tile in rapid speed like unholy water. 

        “Oh my fucking god…” You gasped, shaking from the intensity of the pain. 

        It felt like every bone in your big toe was missing, even though you were looking at your severed toe. 

        “Holy shit, this is what I’m doing to people?” you spoke, panting heavily. 

        “Easy, easy…” Andrew muttered, rubbing your left thigh, as if trying to ease the pain you felt in your toe—or therefore lack of.

        You couldn’t even see bone or fat, only pure red blood squeezing out of your nub. You couldn’t stop from crying, tears running down your face like the blood did from your wound. 

        You closed your eyes, a ringing in your ears, your head feeling light-headed and hard to keep up. 

        Closing your eyes for a few seconds, you opened them to see cotton and gauze taped tightly to your missing toe. 

        “Passed out for a few seconds.” Andrew spoke, watching as Leopard gathered the gauze and medical tape, putting it back into the first aid. “You need ibuprofen?”

        “Give me four of them.” You groaned, grimacing at the pain. 

        “I would avoid walking on it and no shoes or socks to help prevent any infections.” Leopard spoke.

        “No can do.” You sighed, getting up from the ground, Andrew laying a hand on your waist in case you fell. “We have some business to take care of.”

        “Such as taking care of the remaining of your family?” Leopard questioned. 

        Your eyes hardened, turning your head to glare at him. “You gonna try and stop us?”

        “No.” Leopard smiled. “I’ve noticed a slight reduction in my pay, a comment of my shipments being ‘sloppy’.” Leopard frowned, crossing his arms. “I’d like to show them just how sloppy I can be in person.”

        You smiled, nodding your head. “Join the circus.” 

        Andrew opened the door, looking in the hallway to find a box. He cautiously opened it, finding a change of male and female clothes. He held up the fabric, grimacing. 

        “A button up? Again?” he hissed, annoyed.

        “Cute.” You smiled, grabbing a light blue sweater dress and black leggings. “I’m going to change in it. I’ll meet you guys in the hallway, then we’ll go find Mr. Gallo.         .

        .

        .         “Another man, I see?” Mr. Gallo spoke, glancing at Leopard. “You sure know how to catch them all.”

        “Watch it.” You frowned, crossing your arms. “He’s an acquaintance helping me out with this.”

        “Whatever you say.” Mr. Gallo shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets  “My pilot follows your orders. Tell him where to fly, and he’ll fly there.”

        “Albany, Georgia.” You explained, your briefcase of money in Andrew’s hold. “The rest of the family is hiding out there—I can guarantee it.”

        “That’s where the mercenary base is, correct? Would you like any of my men to accompany you?” Mr. Gallo questioned. 

        “Yes, that’d be wonderful.” You smiled. “Send them via car. Too many aircraft would raise suspicion. Book a hotel for us in *city* for two-days. I have a contact I need to recruit.” 

        “Who is this contact?” Mr. Gallo raised an eyebrow. 

        “Just someone who can help out.” You smiled. “Don’t worry about it. I can trust them. Let’s just get a move on. It’s a long flight.” 

        Mr. Gallo nodded, sending a glance at the pilot. The pilot crawled into the private helicopter, starting the engine. You and Mr. Gallo’s waved, before climbing into the pack of the helicopter, buckling up.

        Once you took flight, Andrew looked over at you. It was difficult to hear him from the powerful roar of the helicopters blades, but you knew he said something about “Mercenary base?” 

        “Don’t worry!” you smiled. “I got a few associates that can help.”

        You smiled, grabbing your cut-off toe you hid in your bra—what? You don’t have pockets—and threw it out of the helicopter for whoever on the black web to track down.

        Andrew looked at you, disgusted, to which you just smiled. 

        Hopefully whatever groups are tracking you through that toe will be led to Mr. Gallo’s. It’d remove one mafia off this damn planet.         .        

        .        

        .         Helicopter rides are boring. It’s cold up in the air, there’s not really any doors, so you’re kind of just hanging onto your life with your harness. It kind of hurts to breathe that cold, crisp air. It doesn’t make you look attractive in the movies, because your hair is going crazy.

        “So who’s this ‘associate’ we’re visiting?” Andrew practically yelled through the wind. 

        If Andrew’s learned one thing from you, your ‘associates’ fucking suck. He looked at Leopard across the seat, as if confirming it silently to himself.

        “Just wait till we get there.” You spoke.

        You didn’t want to speak about who you were visiting, not with Mr. Gallo’s pilot nearby. You eyed the pilot, which seemed to give Andrew a hint as he stopped talking.

        When you finally got back on land, you were beyond thankful. Finally! Your hair felt dry and brittle, moisture stripped away from it after the hours of high-speed cold wind blowing in it. You seriously needed some conditioner and a brush, but you had to make do with the comb Leopard gave you from out of his pocket (which took forever and you’re sure you lost 1/3 of your hair by forcing the comb through).

        You made it to a large penthouse, surrounded by bright green bushes, humidity in the air and white streak clouds. You told the pilot to stay landed here as your trio walked to the door, knocking on it.

        An elder man greeted you, leaning onto a walker and smiling, “Hello there?”

        “Mr. Coppola.” You smiled, a small bow of your head. 

        “Have we met?” he frowned, confused. His legs struggled to stay stable—a sign of Parkinson’s and old age bonding together.

        “No, sir.” You shook your head. “My name is (Y/N) (L/N).” 

        Hearing your last name, he smiled, “Ahhh… (L/N). Yes, yes. I knew Mr. (L/N) when I was a child moving from Italy to the US.” He nodded. 

        “Wilson?” you spoke your father’s name.

        “No, no. That was his son. I mean Davi.” Mr. Coppola spoke. 

        “Ah, grandfather.” You nodded. 

        “Where are my manners? Would you and your men like to come in?” Wilson questioned.

        “Yes, sir. We actually have a business offer.” You nodded, tilting your head for Andrew and Leopard to follow you in.

        Mr. Coppola used his walker to slowly walk to a couch, carefully sitting down. He smiled, licking his lips for moisture, speaking. “What can I do for you?”

        “Sir, I’m unsure if you are aware of this, but the (L/N)’s has been facing some rather… unprecedented challenges as of lately.” You spoke, sitting in a couch across from him, Andrew and Leopard taking a seat on both sides of you. 

        “Yes. Yes… I remember. My men told me that your brother and sister were murdered. I’m sorry for your loss during these trying times.” Mr. Coppola spoke. “As time goes on, the crimes only become more and more dangerous, alongside do our enemies.” 

        “You’re aware of the official revoke of the (L/N)’s and Coppola’s treaty, correct?” you questioned. 

        “I am.” Mr. Coppola nodded. “It was when Wilson stepped up after the death of my dear friend, Davi.”

        “I apologize for my father. I had no say in the matter due to my young age.” You frowned.

        “I apologize for not knowing who you are.” Mr. Coppola spoke. “I was unaware Wilson had a third daughter.”

        You nodded, frowning. It was to be expected. You had no need to be exposed to the public. You weren’t needed for any treaties, or business proposals, or information exchange—you were needed in the back with the dead bodies and suffocating stench of death. 

        “Such things are best when you’re in a business such as this.” You spoke, before fixing your posture, sitting up straighter. “I need your help, Mr. Coppola.”

        “What do you need my aid for?” the elder man raised his eyebrow.

        “I need your men to help me overpower the (L/N)’s mercenaries.” You spoke.

        Andrew stiffen beside you, ready to jump into action; Leopard remained calm, ready to diffuse the situation by any means necessary.

        “You want my men to attack your men?” Mr. Coppola raised an eyebrow. 

        “My ex-men, per se.” You corrected. “I’m sure you’re very well aware of my bounty, yes?” 

        “I’ve heard a thing or two, yes.” He nodded, closing his eyes. “Your bounty is lower than I expected for being Davi's granddaughter.” 

        You frowned, unamused by his comedic jab. “Yes well, I work more underground.” You muttered, wanting to preserve your pride and ego. “However, due to the bounty, I’m in a bit of a pickle.”

        “So you expect my men to defend you? Against the (L/N)’s?” Mr. Coppola raised an eyebrow; unamused himself.

        “The Gallos will help you.” You added on.

        “And payment?” Mr. Coppola questioned. “You’re only asking for me to ruin my old buddy’s business. I doubt my good pal would be too happy about that in the clouds where he lives.” 

        “50% of all the (L/N) profits go to you.” You smiled. 

        “50%?!” Leopard scoffed, not appreciating such a large sum.

        “I don’t need all that money.” You whispered to Leo, frowning. 

        Besides, even just 50% of the money is a lot for you. You plan on splitting 20% with Leopard anyways. You don't want a big target on your back for having that much money. 

        Mr. Coppola hummed thoughtfully, before a smile spread cross his face. “If there’s one thing I know, it’s that Davi was always a good businessman. I’m glad to see you take after him and not your father. Consider it a deal.” 

        You smiled, relieved. “Good…” your tense shoulders lowered, relaxing. “I’ll write down the coordinates of the attack, along with the time."

        .

        .

        .

        You fiddled with the jacket you had on, trying to adjust the bulletproof vest underneath it. Mr. Gallo and his men had provided you and your two boys gear. You all sported a bulletproof vest underneath jackets, cargo pants for inventory, and a pistol with four magazines in your pants pockets. 

        You don't expect to fight with the others on the sidelines, but you doubt you'll be free of gunfire or encountering an enemy. 

        The Gallos and the Coppolas stood gunpoint on both sides of the institution. Inside that institution, you knew you'd find your older brother,  Alf, the caporegime who is in charge of the soldiers. If your hunch is correct, your parents and younger sister will somewhere inside that building, protected by a crowd of highly trained henchmen. 

        It wasn't long before (L/N) soldiers piled out of every door, getting behind bushes and walls for cover, stationing themselves at window-sills to shoot out of. They might be playing a home advantage, but the Gallos and the Coppolas outnumbered and overpowered the (L/N)s, even if the war was long. 

        "Here!" Leopard called out to you and Andrew, pointing at a sewer manhole missing drain holes.

        He opened the heavy lid, taking a flashlight out of his pocket and pointing down to make sure there was no hiding (L/N)s. Leopard went down first, surveying the area with a gun in his hand. Andrew went down next, holding his arms out and carefully grabbing your hips and setting you down on the ground once you were close enough to reach.

        The sewerage wasn't a sewerage, but a hidden tunnel for an exit in case of emergencies. You didn't even know about this secret location until now. Surely, your family would be hiding here, walking to this exit only to be shot down by you. 

        "Leopard, you go left." You spoke. "Andrew and I will travel right. Be weary of corners, and shoot anybody who is down here." 

        "Got it." Leopard smiled, cocking his gun. 

        Andrew and you carefully travelled on, Andrew in front of you to shield you if necessary. Traveling up the hallway, gunfire dying down as you walked further away from the fight just above your head, it didn't take long before you heard the sound of a gun cocking in front of you.

        Andrew reacted faster, zipping out in front of a corner and firing. You heard the sound of bullet shells falling down onto the ground, along with the familiar sound of a body falling limp. You peeked your head around the corner, surprised.

        "Hey, nice work." You smiled, surprised at his quick thinking and fast reflexes. 

        "I'm sick of all this violence." Andrew frowned. "It's gross to look at them dead, and frankly, I'd rather be sleeping or watching a shitty sitcom on TV."

        "Soon." You smiled, patting his shoulder before moving on (not before kicking the dead bodies in front of you, just for fun).

        You encountered the enemy every now and then, but the further you walked, the more soldiers there were, which only meant you were one dead body closer to seeing one you'd recognize as your own kin blood. 

        A stray gunshot echoed, causing you and Andrew to take cover behind a corner. You crouched and peeked your head out, recognizing three bodies.

        A man with caramel skin and aging grey hair, your father Alf. A short woman with dotted freckles across her body and curly brown hair, your mother Orlaith. Finally, a woman with short, curly red hair, your sister and the consigliere of the family, Lorelei. 

        Your father had a gun in his hands, but his hands shook, a mixture of fear and old age. Lorelei held your mother in her arms, protecting her head with her body. 

        "Mother, father, sister." You spoke behind the wall, smiling. 

        "You!" your father rasped out, his eyes darting around everywhere, looking for you, "How could you do this to us?" 

        "You were the ones who preyed on me first." You frowned. "You paid to have me kidnapped and killed. It's not my fault of what measures I have to do. You were the ones who taught me to protect myself first." 

        "I never expected to outlive my own children." Your mother spoke, as if sad, but her voice failed to show emotion. "Vincent and Kimberly... They weren't even half my age." 

        You rolled your eyes, taking the time to check the amount of bullets you had. "Oh wow. This must be very difficult for you. It must've also been a difficult decision to have me kidnapped and murdered in front of Vincent." 

        "We gave you an option to take the bribe money or to die!" your father exclaimed. 

        "I did what I had to do to survive. But I must know, why did you do it?" you questioned behind the wall, looking at Andrew, waiting for him to be ready.

        Your father stayed silent, before you heard clothes shuffle, and suddenly your father was in front of you, holding a gun. Andrew quickly took the shot, but your father pulled the trigger too. 

        Thankfully, thanks to Andrew shooting first, the force of the bullet caused Alf to move his arm and miss his shot. 

        You stepped out from behind the wall, seeing your defenseless mother and sister. You smiled, looking down at them as they curled up on the ground.

        "Keep your eyes open." You spoke. "I want to watch them die." 

        You shot your mother, her head exploding like something of a Lovecraftian monster's face. She fell limp almost immediately, all while your younger sister cried. 

        "Finally." She cried, sobbing. "Finally. Finally. It's over."

        You smiled, watching as blood poured out from your mother's head, before turning to Orlaith.

        "I hated it. I hated it all." She cried. "I was never supposed to have this role. It was always yours. Mama and Papa knew too, but they knew you were too smart, that you'd leave, so they went after you. I didn't want to live like this."

        Andrew stared at the crying girl, before you raised your hand, snapping your fingers.

        Another gunshot as Andrew took fire.

        Your sister's body fell face-forward, hitting the ground, her blood merging with your mother's.

        "I know what a liar looks like. After all, I am one." You spoke, apathetic at the scene in front of you. 

        You turned your attention to Andrew, smiling. “Only one more left.” You spoke. “But I bet he’s already dead considering he’s not here. Which means he must’ve been up front in the battlefield, or where Leopard went.”

        ”You think Leopard can hold himself in a fight?” Andrew frowned. 

        “Duh. He has a gun. Besides, he’s only been with the (L/N)’s since forever.” You hummed. “Now, let’s get a move on and find Leopard.”

        ”Or I’ll find you first.” Leopard’s voice rang behind you.

        In his hand, he held a bleeding head of your younger brother, Oswald. A man who was head of an army, and now head of nothing. 

        “Leo.” You smiled, glad. “Aren’t I so happy to see you alive, this is perfect. All we need to do now is track down the money and give our allies their shares.” 

        Leopard nodded, smiling. “Of course.” He hummed. 

        “Ah. You’re alive.” Andrew spoke dully, his shoulders dropping to see the other male. 

        “Always good to see you too, sir.” Leopard smiled, following you and Andrew as you walked down the tunnel. 

        The tunnel led to a ladder, to which you climbed and opened a hatch door, leading to an old and dusty basement. You got up and dusted yourself off, helping Andrew and Leopard up.

        Once all of you were in the basement, you closed the hatch. You walked up stairs, finding dead bodies all around, along with some lingering soldiers of the Gallos and Coppolas searching the area. 

        Many doors later, you stumble across what looks to be an office. You opened the drawer, finding a safe inside.

        “Leopard, if you would.” You spoke.

        He nodded, sitting down to the safe, grabbing a stethoscope from his pocket (it’s best not to ask Leopard about these things). 

        You and Andrew sat in swivel chairs, spinning around for 15 minutes while Leopard finally cracked the safe open. 

        Upon opening the safe, there was envelopes of money, alongside with numbers scribbled on them telling them the amount.

        You grabbed the envelopes, holding them out and counting how much there was in total. 

        8 million. Give the Coppolas their half, so 4 million left. Give Leopard 30%, which is 1,200,000. And you can keep the remaining, leaving you with 2,800,000.

        You smiled, stretching, happy to have everything sorted out as you gave Coppola his money. Coppola and his crew left, leaving you with Leopard and the Gallos soldiers.

        “Leopard, I have one final request from you.” You spoke, walking to the Gallos private helicopter, hand in hand with Andrew.

        “Yes, Miss (L/N)?” Leopard spoke.

        ”Kill Gallo.” You spoke. “I know the man wants us dead too. After all, nobody would help us and give us so much money for free.” 

        Leopard nodded, smiling. “Of course.”

        ”And Leo? Enjoy your life.” You spoke. “I’m retiring, and I believe you should too.”

        Leopard nodded, entering the helicopter. He waved goodbye, all while you and Andrew stood on the ground.

        “Ready to steal a car?” you questioned.

        “Not our first time.” Andrew shrugged, smiling. “But where are we going?” 

        “You know… Italy sounds nice. I’ve always wanted to travel to Europe and see all the historical sites.” You spoke.

        Andrew hummed, before smiling. “Eh, sure, why not? Can ditch the US police after us anyways.” 

        “We just need to go home first. I have a cat named Georgia who I miss dearly…” You spoke.

        You walked on, Andrew following close behind you.

Sorry this was a short series, I lacked a lot of motivation half-way through this one. My next series will be better, promise!

Don't forget to vote for the next series, tomorrow September 26 when I post it. Otherwise, I'm going to take a fat nap. I'll edit tomorrow.

Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, chapter 5, final chapter (current)

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