#Spectrum Security

[cacaocheri]

this was supposed to be one drawing!! ONE DRAWING!!!!!!!!! but every time i draw them i can't stop i need to keep going

[the-time-lord-oracle]

Spectrum vehicles appreciation:

The vehicles of Spectrum.

[wixibaby]

I love Cassie I had to include her in the AU don’t argue with me on this.

(Also ignore when I drew Cassie a couple of weeks ago she was wayyyyy too pale I did not mean to whitewash her like that deadass so she’s Hispanic now 😎😎😎)

[evilhorse]

Captain Scarlet cards 69: Maximum Security Vehicle

[starlightsecuritypuppet-ssp]

SSP Here! Working through my Thoughts

I have been doing a bit of thinking lately. I do not know who to talk to about this, so I will simply record my thoughts here. I think I will be unable to focus on my rounds tonight unless I do.

... I am a guard dog, to some extent. I am okay with this, as long as I do not end up mistakenly "biting" someone who is not a threat. I was created to protect people. It is what I was coded for.

However, I was not coded for socialization, like mainline attractions are. And, sometimes you have to learn things you were not coded for, that is just how things are. I have become very adept at cleaning and handling potentially hazardous materials! And sometimes the things you can learn can be shockingly far from what you were originally coded with.

But I still have to wonder. Why it almost feels like learning magic (magic is real by the way and that is the most amazing thing) is easier than learning how have friends. I made another person annoyed at me for being, too much of a "nagging robot" I guess? I am not entirely sure.

... do I try to hard too make Eclipse like me? I have seen others on his blog doing so and I know he does not like that. But he is usually so direct, would he not have said so already if that were the case? Did I cross boundaries?

I suppose I might be trying to be likable to Eclipse because I feel I have annoyed him lately? What I have with him is tenuous, but I do not want to lose it. He is not the most personable of animatronics but that is somewhat why I like him? He is very direct and straightforward. After being surrounded by customer service voices all the time, and after needing to use a customer service voice all the time, it is very refreshing. And he is so intelligent that it may well be a super-power. And he has led such an interesting life. He is unlike anyone I have ever met, even the other Eclipse I know. I admit he fascinates me a fair bit. And I do love his dry and somewhat dark sense of humor.

...Oh dear. I hope I do not come across like those who wish to, ugh, romance him. I am still surprised to have learned that some robots actually feel those sorts of things, but I certainly do not! And I suspect Eclipse himself does not either. I do hope to win him over as a friend one day, but I will not force it. Even if he never considers me a friend I hope he does consider me someone he does not mind talking to.

*Sigh* I also hope I have not made Sun irreparably unhappy with me. I do not even really understand why they were so very angry with me. But they were so upset with me that it was palpable. I will have to gather my courage and ask them when I feel they have cooled off. They were my first real friend I do not wish to lose them before even get the chance to really know them. And if I lose them I may lose Clip as well.

I would be dejected at not being taught magic anymore, but I would easily give that up if it meant I got to keep my new friends.

And, the Sun arriving soon. They will need them.

Did I really overstep my bounds that much?

I suppose either way, I will need to write a letter for new Sun (I need a better name to call them, I guess Sunny will do for now). It pains me, but I will not be there when they arrive. I do not think I can sneak away from my current station and safely navigate my way to the pizzaplex and back in a single night. The distance is too great, and I have no experience traveling by myself out there.

Whatever is in store for them, whether what I fear comes to pass or not, they need to know right away that somebody cares about them. They will not even have bandmates and I don't want them feeling as alone and overwhelmed as I did when I was first online.

My goodness, I wrote a great deal here! I guess I have a lot on my mind. I feel a bit better, though. Maybe I should do something like this more often.

Time for my night patrols. I hope Bonnie does not end up fighting with Foxy again, Freddy is really at his limit and Chica is getting depressed about the friction between her bandmates ruining the band aracde nights.

-SSP

[proteus-no]

Class solidarity means class solidarity.

sits bolt upright in bed because i knew there would be an attempt to break the solidarity formed in the wake of the CEO shooting and i’m seeing it happen. people who were celebrating it are doing it themselves by digging through his social media and decrying him as just another alt right. but if this really is the guy who did it then like, what does that matter? are we really going to let this disrupt the momentum and the possibility for change? he did the thing. he (allegedly) killed the CEO and that same day another health insurance company backpedaled on one of its new dystopian ideas. now is not the time for “oh, he’s just another” – now is the time to drive that momentum forwards and to keep going. deny defend depose

[trumenshow]

#itru stories

#Getting #bye #with #900$ #a #month

#And #with #other #WiFi #money #different

#I #fell into #dr.carnage

#Who #jumped #in #1983 #1700 #Im #searching it was #brooklyn #layer #protecting #cus #i #was# falling #an #getting #hurt #this #officer police #that #works #different #with #trumenshow #trickster#police

But friended them to help out

[a-lil-rat]

I don't want to be a conspiracy theorist on main but all the memes about Luigi Mangione kind of piss me off bc I am 90% sure he is not the assassin.

I know I've joked in the past that all white men look alike but Luigi Mangione litterally does not look like any of the shooter pics.

The shooter has a long face and a sharp chin, Mangione has a more square face and rounder chin, and THE EYEBROWS!! You're gonna tell me he groomed his eyebrows before commiting a murder and they just grew back completely in less than a week? Nah

Not to mention, police claimed he was wearing the same jacket and backpack from the day of the shooting. You know, the same jacket and backpack the NYPD found discarded in Central Park?

And they're saying his fingerprints match the crimescene even though security footage clearly shows the shooter wearing GLOVES!!

Not to mention, after every meticulous step taken to get away with the shooting, why would the perpatrator still be carrying the murder weapon and a manifesto??

I genuinely believe the cops are using Luigi Mangione as a fall guy. They found a centrist Ivy League kid who kind of matched the description in order to shift the narrative from class war back to a less threatening "left vs right" culture war.

His politics are messy enough that people will spend more time debating over what side of the spectrum he is on than the actual issue at hand. THIS IS A DISTRACTION!

Also the story is all over the place. Was it a McDonalds employee or patron that reported him? The story keeps changing but either way it sends the message that the working class will turn on itself during an unprecedented moment of class unity and solidarity in the United States.

Also I think pinning this on an Ivy League kid was done in an attempt to shift the narrative from the assassin being a working class hero to just another trust fund kid. That being said, even if it WAS him, an Ivy League trust fund kid has more in common with you than you have with the 1%.

So people in the US, please think critically about the distraction tactics being pushed onto you and don't forget who the real enemy is.

Keep solidarity.

Deny

Defend

Depose

Edit: I have since been informed that Italians grow eyebrows at a very fast pace.

[hitdonuts]

It's a superpower with extreme side effects. Personally and simply:

Pros: Extreme verbal proficiency and reasoning. Much knowledge about special interests. Powered up form only accessible when you have consumed a sufficient amount of safe food/drink.

Drawbacks: Brain has difficulty scanning things 'A Priori'. Will meltdown or freakout if forced to explain things partially/with discrepancies/employing fallacies. Cannot consume food outside of a safe taste and texture range.

I see nothing wrong with autistic people seeing their own autism as a superpower. I don't see mine as a superpower, but I don't see it as a bad thing either. It's just a neutral thing to me. That doesn't mean I can't be proud of it though.

[internett1line]

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[futurefatum]

Nuclear Risks and The End of Empire with Jeffrey Sachs (Tone: 400)

Are we on the brink of nuclear disaster? Jeffrey Sachs explores the dangers of unchecked U.S. foreign policy in this must-watch episode. #NuclearWar #Diplomacy #Peace

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[frog707]

Since computer software can be dangerous, I sometimes wonder how much longer hobbyists like myself will be permitted to publish our own code.

[phantomrose96]

God's Favorite

Lucy wakes to the soft tapping of rain against her window, and she is God’s favorite. She knows this in the absent sound of her alarm, and she knows this in the yawning rumbles of thunder, and she knows this before she touches her phone alight to the notification screen.

8:43 am. Far from the 4:30 am alarm she’d needed to heed to make it to her flight. Her screen is awash with airline notifications.

She scrambles from bed. Her urgency is an apology. Lucy skips the shower and skips the hair washing and paints on deodorant before stowing it back in her carryon and calling her uber.

“Crazy weather,” her driver with the big mustache remarks. His windshield wipers swish through a river of rain.

“Yeah,” Lucy answers. She glances at her rumbling phone. She glances at the rumbling clouds. The road is clear. It shouldn’t be, not this route and not at this hour. A gas main broke somewhere up the highway that feeds this street. A freak accident. 2 injuries. It’s kept this road clear for just the locals since it happened. Lucy encounters no traffic enroute to the airport.

There are pockets of planes grounded across the runways, barely visible behind the sheets of downpour. They look like herding animals, herbivores, standing stock-still in brace against the weather. Lucy stares at them only a moment while the driver pulls her carryon out of the trunk. She grabs her jacket closed against the wind, and grabs her carryon handle, and thanks her driver. The rain does not reach her here, though the wind does.

Inside Lucy drags her bag past the help desks swarming with the orderly filings of people in disarray. Parents leaning too hard on help counters with kids pulling on bag handles. Hurried conversations and requests and arguments. The electronic boards are awash with deeply red DELAYED and CANCELED. The airport is choking. Lucy, who God loves, glides through security unimpeded.

At gate-side, Lucy finally looks to the large red board of DELAYED and CANCELED etchings to confirm what she knew without even checking her phone notifications. Gate A14. Her carryon wheels pitter and patter across tile as she walks, striding quickly, with apology.

When Gate A14 comes into view it is smothered with the weight of two or possibly three flights worth of people. There are people asleep clutching backpacks and curled on the floor. There is a four-year-old girl with her face buried in an iPad and a mother having a phone call whose clipped urgency infects Lucy. There is a man leaning over the counter to talk to the gate agent, and his hands pulse with each tensing of his fingers. “…to the hospital before she…” Lucy makes out, or thinks she makes out. She doesn’t hear the gate agent’s response, but she can read the defeated shake of her head.

Lucy’s carryon wheels clunk where the smooth tile of the terminal shifts to carpeting. She doesn’t think to grab a seat because there are no open seats. So she positions herself in a way to unmistakably say she is at the gate, threading between stagnant suitcases and kids splayed on the floor. Lucy approaches the rain-splattered windows, and like a conversation shy upon being overheard, the thunder recedes from her advance. The rain draws to a polite close. The clouds split along a seam and pull away, as if they were only ever a wave that had transiently crashed to shore. The sky is beautifully blue.

There is a stirring hopefulness in the air. Other passengers have pushed past Lucy to stand closer to the window and peer outside, as if their confirmation of the changing weather can convince the airline of what to do next.

The gate agent puts down the phone receiver of a one-sided call. She pulls the microphone close and with grainy clarity she announces, “Boarding for Flight A1874 to Detroit will begin in 10 minutes.”

On the walkway, through the gap between the throughway and plane, Lucy sees the puddles rising with steam. They throw the iridescent spectrum of a rainbow up into the sky.

In a backlog of hundreds of flights, Lucy’s is the first out across the runway. This is because God loves her. She only wishes It loved her in a way to fix her broken phone alarm.

…

In childhood Lucy had heard “God loves you” and “Jesus loves you” in the placative ways that Sunday School teaches its children. With jingles and crayon-drawings of sheep and shepherds and a decorated ornament, crafted each Christmas Eve.

Lucy had long since fallen out of it and had thought very little of her parents’ tepid god for the last 10 or 15 years.

It was last spring, 27-years-old, that Lucy had found her way out into the marsh. Mud sucking her boots and gnats plicking in swarm against her skin. Where she sat her tailbone in the muck and folded her arms over her knees and buried her face in her legs to cry. And cry. And cry. And there with the mugginess sopping her skin and the humidity coiling her hair, God decided It loved her.

It loved her with a parting of canopy for the robin-blue sky. It loved her with the chirp of cicadas. It loved her in the way a dog circles its owner and nudges a wet snout to palm, because It was here, and It would make her feel better.

Lucy’s seat is the window seat beside the man with the tensing fingers. He fiddles with a phone in his clutch until he locks it in airplane mode and stows it, to look at no more. Lucy wonders who this man knows in the hospital, and she wonders why God doesn’t love him more than It loves her.

…

In March, Marco breaks up with her over a plate of fish that is too dry. In the moment, Lucy wonders if it’s her fault, because of the fish. But that’s not it. The signs were there, in all the subtle and stuttering moments Marco had pulled away. Each little moment like a slightly missed step, on a staircase growing ricketier each month.

Marco leaves and everything is so quiet, to the point that Lucy thinks her own sounds are pretty stupid, and pretty embarrassing while she’s coiled snail-like and snottily-sobbing into her pillowcase. She thinks absently of how she has to wash the pillowcase now, and that’s fine, because she was going to wash her linens this weekend anyway. She sobs so hard she’s almost screaming. Oh, and kitchen towels. She’ll wash the kitchen towels too.

She’s alive enough the next morning to throw all her linens and her kitchen towels on the floor of the laundry room. And maybe Marco breaking up with her is fine, because his birthday is December 25th and who wants a husband whose birthday is the same day as Christmas?

Her doorbell rings. And somehow it’s Marco again. She opens it to him, and he smells like a wildfire.

“Sorry, Lucy, this is awkward,” and Lucy believes he means it. He’s clutching a jacket around himself for what looks like security more than warmth. His apartment burned down last night. A resident fell asleep with a cigarette lit and dangling from her fingertips. Unit right below him. All his stuff burned, or filled with smoke, or is now logged up with water. He’s been sitting outside on the cobblestone for the last few hours, watching the blaze, on the phone with insurance. His landlord hasn’t responded to him yet. He’s cold, and he’s smokey, and can he shower here maybe? Can he stay for just a day or two, maybe? Sorry. This is awkward. He has no family on this coast. He really has nowhere else to go.

“Sure.” Lucy lets in Marco who smells like a wildfire. She adds the towels to her laundry list because they will smell like a wildfire too once Marco has used them. When he is clean, Lucy asks him nice questions. He asks her nice questions back. She helps him figure out something strange on the insurance form. He starts cooking dinner before Lucy realizes he’d entered the kitchen, because she was busy with the linens and the towels.

Marco takes the couch and clean linens. “Thanks, again, really. I can pay you a few days rent, when I get the insurance payout.” It’s no problem. Lucy goes to her room and shuts the door. It’s warmer here with Marco again. She wonders how long he’ll stay. She wonders if it will be for as long as she thinks the sound of him breathing in the other room is a comfort.

Something twists in Lucy’s chest. She wonders why God loves her more than It loves Marco. Lucy wonders why God didn’t love the woman with the lit cigarette who did not make it out of the building.

…

In June Lucy is desperately throwing together the haphazard makings of a financial report. She meant to stay up late to finish it, and get up early to make it beautiful, but she’s had a cold for a whole week now and the new bottle of decongestant she grabbed wasn’t “non-drowsy” like she thought.

Her heart is beating, and she nearly twists her ankle with a misstep in high heels, and she almost loses her grip on the shoddy makings of a too-light financial report still warm from the printer. She can spin it, maybe, that it’s intentionally light and she’d simply wanted the esteemed and respected input from the executives in the room before she produces the truly polished report this evening. And when the eyebrows are raised and she is told the report is due now, maybe they will refrain from firing her on the spot since she is still the only one who can produce the report they need.

She pulls open the meeting room door as if she is not out of breath, as if her nose isn’t red from a thousand tissues. She takes her seat so hastily that she does not notice, until she looks up properly, and sees the CEO’s seat is empty.

No one speaks. No one acknowledges her entrance. Lucy hugs the warm binder to her chest.

The door latch clicks open, but Lucy knows it will not be the CEO. She heard the click of heels before the doorknob turned.

It’s his assistant with the lovely auburn hair that curls around her shoulders. Her suit is red and her eyes are red and she stands just behind the CEO’s chair. Everyone notices her in the way they did not notice Lucy.

She speaks. The CEO’s wife and daughter were in a head-on collision with a drunk driver 42 minutes ago. They’re in critical condition, and the CEO has gone to be with them. He asks everyone’s forgiveness and grace in this time. The meeting is rescheduled for tomorrow, same time, and he humbly requests if everyone in attendance can adjust their calendar to accommodate this. This is a big ask, he knows. The board will have questions, he knows. But these are extenuating circumstances. The assistant will help with any necessary reworking of everyone’s calendars. And Lucy, can you please deliver the report tomorrow? The assistant has a sympathy card, which she lays on the table along with a black pen, and she asks if anyone would care to sign it.

Lucy signs it. The card paper is so cold, compared to the warmth of the half-finished report squeezed tight against her chest. The half-finished report should have cooled by now, but God must know she’s cold and ashen-faced, and God loves her so much.

…

In July, Lucy is a perfectionist. Her mother swears she wasn’t always like this. Her high school best friend is surprised, when in town for a weekend and meeting up for coffee, by the way Lucy triple-confirms the time, and the place, and the way she wears two watches. Why two watches? he asks. Because the alarm on one watch might fail. What about your phone? The watches are the backup, if the phone dies.

There’s something off-putting in the way she talks, and the way she asks questions of him, and the way she exclaims in joy at every piece of good news he shares. Josiah glances behind himself, more and more, and it’s because Lucy stares back there like she knows someone else at the next table.

It’s all weird, and Josiah can’t help but pull away. But Lucy pulls away first, retroactively. She can always pull away retroactively, and declare to her four walls of her room how much she didn’t need that friend, like she doesn’t need Marco, or anyone else who God may drop at her doorstep like the dead bird bounty of a cat, happy to share with the person It loves.

Lucy finishes her reports early. She wiles away the sun at her office even in the summer finishing reports far before anyone could need them. She double-checks, every time. She triple-checks. Her boss pulls her into a meeting room and with hands folded on the desk, he asks if maybe she needs to take some time off. And instantly she declares to the four walls that no-one at the company is doing this to her. “I wasn’t implying that…” but she’s not looking at him when he answers.

In July Lucy returns to the marsh. She returns with stones she’s horded up and gathered in the trunk of her car. She walks through the boot-suckling mud and she weighs stones in her arms while she hurls them, and throws, and screams, and hopes one of them might strike God in Its snout.

“I HATE YOU!” she screams. She throws all her weight into a stone whose sharp edge nicks bark. She hurls one through the bushes and another into the leafy canopy above. She is sopping wet and the cicadas chirp at her. “I HATE YOU!! GO AWAY!! LEAVE ME ALONE!!!” She chucks a stone which lands in the sucking muck, capsizing like a ship beneath the algae.

She throws, and her gravity heaves forward, and her boots stay stuck in the mud. So she topples elbow-deep in the mud, spattered, soaking into her chin and her shirt and her jeans and her hair. She parts her lips and tastes the earthy wetness on her skin, coppery blood, split lip. The stones are all under her. She laughs. Lucy tilts her head to the sky screaming with laughter. Joyous to tears, with the wetness drawing rivulets down the mud on her cheeks. She laughs because sopping-in-mud-and-muck is NOT the state of something God loves. This wouldn’t happen to something God loves.

Lucy goes home. Lucy showers. Lucy does her laundry. And It crawls back into bed with her. Perhaps like a scolded animal, but perhaps It did not even know It was being scolded. Lucy cannot tell.

The wine stains came out of her linens today because God loves her.

[mayykit]

the way TDJ approaches gender is SO interesting to me.

soohyun as the female love interest with a more traditionally masculine approach to problems (trying to take things on personally to keep gaon away from hardship, fighting with physical violence, literally being a cop) vs. gaon as the male main character with a more “feminine” take on the world (nurturing his plants and the prople around him, protective of children and the weak, how his work is in his words and he is really only ever allowed to be physical about his rage by the man he’s closest to).

then there’s yohan, who’s just Man at his peak i feel (gun-wielding, broody, aggressive, dark and powerful and dangerous… but misunderstood and chivalrous and a provider at heart… mr Beast from the hit disney film type beat) vs. seon-a, who is the actual definition of an ambitious Woman (her power coming from being underestimated as a woman, and how she forcibly empowered herself through the circumstances of being taken advantage of for her girlhood).

and then there’s soohyun and yohan being in explicit competition with each other for gaon everytime they meet while gaon and seon-a passive aggressively battle away in yohan’s home. LMFAO. enough said on that one i feel.

Kim Gaon is the most female coded character ever

[dumbseee]

i’ll be watching you.

note: warnings for violence, psycho behaviour, wrote that at 1am so it’s kinda bad.

part two.

.

geum seongje wasn’t the romantic type.

he wasn’t interested in getting a girlfriend, and to be honest, the attention he got from the female audience could be annoying to him.

all he wanted was make a ton of money, go to the arcade, beat up some dumbasses, go home and repeat.

seongje was always very nonchalant about anything else in life, he hated school, didn’t want to work, didn’t want to make friends or get a girlfriend. seongje was just a chill guy, leaning towards the insane side of the spectrum, but a chill guy still.

but when he met you, seongje discovered a new side of him.

a raw, intense and ugly side that have been buried deep inside his soul, waiting for the moment to be released.

he first landed his eyes on you when he walked into the coffee shop you worked at. time immediately stopped and seongje could finally understand the feeling described in all those stupid romance dramas, do seongmok watched in secret.

when your eyes met, seongje felt like he could finally breath correctly, as if, for all this time, he had something weighing on his chest, that didn’t let him breath properly.

your gorgeous long hair, cascaded down your back, he wished he could run his fingers along your locks. your warm and kind eyes, he knew he could drown in them. your perfect and beautiful smile, he wished your smiles were only directed at him.

seongje quickly grew obsessed with you, and seongje isn’t the cute type of obsessed. he doesn’t leave you cute notes in your tips jar, he doesn’t leave roses on your doorstep, he doesn’t do that. no.

seongje follows you home, he manage to make himself a spare key, gets into your apartment when you’re not here, and lay in your bed when you’re absent, fantasising on the life he could offer you. the life you two could have, married with dozens of kids running around, while you’d look at them from your house’s porch. for the first time in his life, geum seongje dreamed of settling with someone.

seongje sits outside your workplace and wait for you till you finish your shift, and walk you home, from afar of course.

seongje watches your every move from his hideout, he managed to hack into your work’s security system and now has access to the live footage of the cameras.

he sees you, smiling to each and every damn customers, and he wished those smiles were directed at him, and him only.

those people don’t deserve to see you smile, they don’t love you like seongje does. they can’t protect you like seongje could.

when you almost get assaulted by a lousy coworker of yours, seongje pops out of a random bush and easily slams him against a nearby wall. hands in his pockets, cigarette in his mouth, he stood tall in front of you, his huge back facing your shaking form.

"tsk, tsk, tsk, in 2025 you still can’t take no for an answer?" he nonchalantly told the guy, who was barely collecting himself from almost merging with the brick wall.

"who the fuck are you? stay out of this, motherfucker!" the poor guy yelled, seongje whistled before erupting in a fit of laughter. "why are you laughing, you crazy psycho!" the guy tried to appear as tough and fearless, but truth was, he was terrified by the giant standing in front of him. there was something off putting with him, his aura screamed crazy psycho in loud capitals.

seongje stopped laughing immediately, his face falling and his eyes darkened. your coworker was currently shaking in his boots, he tried to swing first, but seongje dodged it with ease. since you could be in the way as well, seongje pulled you by your wrist and yanked you behind him.

for the first time, your eyes met. there was no way this man was sane with the way he was smiling in that kind of situation, and you couldn’t really see his face thanks to the poor lighting of the alley.

seongje quickly looked away when he saw the man charging towards him, seongje sighed before kicking your coworker in the chest, making him loose his balance and fall hardly on the concrete. all seongje wanted to do, was beating this motherfucker to a pulp for daring to touch you and scare you in the process. but he couldn’t show you his true colours yet.

he had to the perfect knight in shining armour, right now.

"leave her alone, she clearly doesn’t want you so stop embarrassing yourself." hands in his pockets, seongje nudged the guy, with his foot. he kept moaning in pain which made seongje grin, what a pussy.

seongje turned away from him and smiled at you, you were clearly shaken up and seongje really had to try hard to not turn around and kill your stupid coworker. "i’ll walk you home." he didn’t wait for your answer, actually he wasn’t asking or proposing, it was an affirmation.

he started walking ahead of you, making you run after him because there was no way you wanted to stay with your coworker. so you walked, seongje walking ahead of you, and you walking, a few steps behind him.

from behind you could get a good look of his body, seongje was tall, like almost two feet taller than you, and he had broad shoulders with a slim waist. you could tell he was good looking, and knew it. the way he carried himself screamed confidence, and almost cockiness. he walked like he owned the place.

he wore a school uniform, you recognised as ganghak. that school was infamous for having all sorts of delinquent. was he one of them? of course, this guy singlehanded your coworker, in one hit.

the walk home quickly ended when seongje suddenly stopped right in front of your doorstep. you didn’t even realise you arrived, you were so lost in thoughts. seongje turned around to face you, he looked down at you and brushed a loose strand of hair, behind your ear.

"take care of yourself, pretty girl." his voice was low, barely above a whisper and it made you shiver. he grinned at you, with that weird and almost twisted expression before leaving.

once inside the safety of your apartment, a thought made your heart skip a beat, you never gave him your address.