#punishem

‘you’ve got to be shitting me.’

The dichotomy was rather impressive when more than a few moments were left to ponder it. On the surface, New York had become so cleaned and scrubbed of the grungy filthy image that had dominated it in the decades previous. Yet here in the shadows it was a warzone, blood and steel split and spilt all across the pavement, factions colliding like well honed blades in the night, no life safe from the sparks that ignited such horrific fires. Yet in this clash, there is only one victor, and the mighty Foot stands ever proudly.

When the other announces his presence with shock, the scene is clear. Amidst the crowd stands the Shredder, the only soul amidst the peons worth their salt standing in this warehouse once full of the Hand overreaching into territory they did not belong. While the other ninja set ready to strike, arsenal of weapons at the ready, the Shredder makes his dominion of them known. A single hand stills their movement, to defy his command would mean death and the Shredder knows better than to send his children to death at a man so clearly well armed when only he was the one guaranteed to still be standing.

𝕺ne that prompts her to do the following: kill + dismember, [NOT PARTICULARLY IN THAT ORDER. taunt, abuse, rip apart ─ but not with your hands! Use your teeth. Razor-blade thin, yet resilient like steel. A realm where *wine-ing, dine-ing, + "69-ing" doesn't exist anymore ... The cool new hip thing is to cause a kink in someone else's plans, rip their target's innards, and stomach them so there's no trace of them left: [NOT UNLESS YOU RIP HER OPEN TOO!] 𝑰t's not like she only does it for the thrill. Jennifer's totes' normal. Well, as normal as any living dead girl. When flesh, veins, and blood is the only thing that brings SUPERHUMAN STRENGTH, a flawless complexion, & bouncy locks that shed away their damage, the bodies eventually pile up, their faces blur, names fade away & the only thing that remains constant is her solitude.

@punishem enters: A GAS STATION AT THE EDGE OF NOWHERE.

𝐇er drink is finished with one last gulp, ballerina-pink toes stretching out in-front, as frame leans against a gas pump. She positions the bottle between her bare thighs, its cold exterior cooling her sun-kissed skin, while bony digits finger her rear pocket to retrieve a stolen pack of cigarettes. Not her usual type, but she won't criticise ─ thanks to its previous owner, she's got a good few days of survival left. The second a cig' is lit, felines are distracted, and lifted wispies immediately scan the summer air. Feeding on boys comes with its perks, superhuman vision being one of them, but there's nothing in the bylaws about seeing in the dark ─ so she remains confused, until her stalker finally shows face.

📨 mssg sent @ 9:50 pm ⇉ you tell me this and you don't send me a photo. that's cruel.