𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚖𝚞𝚏𝚏𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐. with a vexed groan (near growl), your neck cranes in the assassin's direction. expression unreadable under the cowl, a canvas doesn't need to be painted to display your dislike of this scenario. the tone of your voice is readable enough. ❝ i can't get a clear number of how many are inside. MAYBE FIFTEEN, TWENTY? i'm not sure. ❞ a sniff in the air, you're met with at least sixteen different types of cologne, gasoline, the scent of pine, and elektra's perfume. your head could spin if the severity didn't rest on your shoulders. gaze reverting ahead to the warehouse, YOU INCH CLOSER TO THE EDGE OF THE ROOFTOP. ❝ i know you and logan did things a certain way. i have my own way of doing things. no killing ... and i mean it. ❞ knockouts only.

the assassin pries —– her question is like a blade, cutting and lifting the layers of your skin to see what lies beneath. you want to snarl. grit your teeth, lock your jaw, and bite back until nothing remains but bones. like the dog you are. like you will always be. but, logan wouldn't like that. certainly not towards her. and, you are not a weapon anymore. you're a part of the x-men. [ ᴷᴵᴸᴸ / ᴷᴵᴸᴸ / ᴷᴵᴸᴸ  —– you still hear the word echoing throughout your head.] a chance had been granted for a new beginning / a second chance at life —– how is a new beginning supposed to be taken when you still are not entirely in control? how are you meant to trust if you cannot trust yourself? teeth biting the inner lining of your cheeks, your expression remains unreadable —– stone-faced. ❝ nobody can fix it. everyone has tried. ❞