#i am officially 23 years old. isnt that grim

[raineandsky]

#99

tw: stabbing

Laughter echoes off the walls around the hero, and it’s not the laughter of friends. They stumble on, trying to ignore how close it is, how this will inevitably end.

The other heroes’ voices are nothing more than ghosts carried by the wind now. This villain is smart—a group of heroes is nothing to them. A few well placed scares is all it took to split the hero off from the rest of their team.

It’s dark in these parts of the city. The only noise is faroff traffic and the breeze dancing between the buildings and that echoing laughter. The hero turns down a street, lost, confused, counting the minutes, only to find it a dead end.

They turn back too late. The villain is already standing in the entrance, the streetlight behind lighting them up like they’ve just descended from heaven itself. Like they’re some angel, if angels were massive assholes and tried to kill everyone on the regular.

Panic and instinct clash in some horrendous shrieking horror. The hero yanks their knife from their belt, ready to throw their hands up to delay the inevitable, to protect themself, to protect the others. The villain takes two long steps towards them and it’s practically over.

The hero makes a swipe and the villain sidesteps it. Another step pushes them into the hero’s space, grabbing their wrists like it’s easy. It’d be insulting if the hero wasn’t so busy praying to god knows what in the vain hope of getting out of this alive.

“[Hero],” the villain says faintly. The hero makes a desperate attempt to headbutt them and misses. “[Hero].”

A weak cry escapes the hero’s mouth. It’s pathetic, not going down with grace and fire. They want it over. If they die now, here, at least they don’t have to worry about anyone seeing them like this.

“[Hero], stop,” the villain repeats, a little harsher. “I’m trying to help you here, jeez.”

The hero stops. They can’t do anything else. Another grief stricken sob falls from their lips.

“Look, I don’t have long before those freaks inevitably find us,” the villain continues, “but you have to go home.”

The hero chokes on whatever noise was about to come out. “W–What?”

“I’m going to ruin your perception of them and I know you’re not going to believe me, but—” The villain heaves a deep breath, pinning their gaze to the hero’s sharply. “They’re going to kill you.”

A laugh tries to bubble out of the hero’s mouth but it comes out distorted. “No.”

“I’m sorry, [Hero], but I’ve seen them before.” The villain flits a glance over their shoulder, like they have the reason to be nervous. “They’ve done this to many heroes like you. Don’t go anywhere near them, okay?”

“They would never,” the hero spits, the words mangled in their dread. “They– You– You’re trying to turn me on my friends. You monster.”

The villain sighs disappointedly, defeatedly. “Just go home, [Hero]. I’ll call you a taxi.”

The villain lets go of them and steps back, their hand disappearing into their pocket. For a phone, they promised, but the hero isn’t stupid. Their hands free, their enemy’s attention diverted, they dart forward and plunge their knife into the villain’s thigh.

The noise that comes out of the villain’s mouth isn’t a nice one. The hero gives it no thought, slipping past them and back out into the street as they sink to one knee with a gasp.

“Don’t go back, [Hero]!” they call after the hero, their voice taut and grim. “Please, don’t—”

The hero’s panting and echoing footsteps drown them out.

-

The villain watches as the little gaggle of heroes appears out the agency doors. Laughing, bumping shoulders, carrying little bags for lunch. Four of them.

The hero isn’t with them.

The villain nods once to themself, picks up their bag, and leaves.