A minivan.

They’d gotten a minivan.

Far be it for Dan to question the taste of a giggling, blood soaked, mentally unstable, well racked, homicidally inclined, rag wearing, bone wielding, backstabbing, well endowed chick but, well… He opened his mouth, and then promptly shut it as his mind replayed the last few minutes of his life. There were times when keeping quiet was just the better option and this was one of them, especially given that the bone bitch had managed to walk away from an explosion that should have leveled a small building.

Yeah he was just gonna keep his mouth shut.

The modified six point harness the girl had made was a little excessive though; where was he going to go on foot? The slut was a god damned walking armory, even if he had tried to make a run for it he’d probably get a whole three steps before she gunned him down.

Again though, Dan said nothing, merely hotwiring the car while the soaked psychopath loaded her partners corpse into the back. One of the first lessons he’d learned on the streets was ‘thou shalt not question those who will put you six foot under’. It was a rule which hadn’t steered him wrong yet, even if he didn’t always remember it. In any case, by the time he’d gotten the engine running the nameless backstabbing bitch had just finished climbing in herself.

Chicago is a big place. People always seem to think new York is the only city in the country worth mentioning but the windy city was definitely up there, and on a night like tonight it was all too easy to see how the place got its name.

The earlier drumming rain had turned into a full downpour which threatened to flood the streets. It seemed to slam into the windshield in waves, screening everything from view for a few brief seconds before the next wave followed up and repeated the underwater effect.

Then there was the wind. It didn’t howl; that would mean it actually stopped at some point. No, this thing was an everlasting bellow and at every cross street it only gotten louder as thunderous gales slammed into the vans side and threatened to shove it up onto the curve.

Each time though, Dan simply sighed, awful though the weather might be, it was just another day in the big city and a part of him welcomed the constant distraction as he fought to keep the machine in the center of the road. He made a careful effort not to look at his passenger however since the girl seemed a little off put by the screaming wind and if he watched her jump one too many times he might start laughing.

Start, but he very much doubted he’d finish.

Finding Biggs was fairly simple task in and of itself, the guy had been the first to make a move after Jarcone had disappeared and had spent nearly all his time camped out at Jarcones reserved floor of the Willis Tower trying to get his hands into as many pies as he could reach. The man had even managed to replace most of the buildings normal security with his own muscle, a fact Dan found himself quietly thankful for when he was made to carry the skinny ass corpse of the bone bitches former partner.


That being said, he still wasn’t thrilled with the idea of carrying a body out in the open for everyone and their mother to see. While he might prefer prison over immediate mutilation and death, neither one was high on his list of things to do. Still, he kept his mouth shut and didn’t complain as per the rule above.

What he did do was park illegally on the lower of the two tiered streets beside the Tower and carried, or more specifically, dragged the stick thin corpse in through the back entrance he’d been guided through earlier when Biggs had called him in to give the bombing mission which had started this whole mess.

It had been an interesting, if brief tour, the Tower was largely what people would expect from an oversized sky scraper. There were windows and views everywhere you looked, white (fake) marble flooring on almost every floor and artwork placed every few feet ranging from traditional classic prints to apparently modern pieces which looked to have been thrown together by toddlers.

The best way Dan could have described it was to cross an art museum with a bankers convention center and then stretch the whole thing straight up for 160 stories. The elevator rides weren’t fun.

That being said, at night the building wasn’t so much impressive as oppressive. The large lack of interior lighting coupled with the abundance of windows and the storm outside gave off a feel which was very much very much a prelude to a B horror movie. If it weren’t for the fact that he seemed to have a living horror movie reject following behind him the entire time Dan might have actually found it amusing in a sad way.

As it was he struggled not to sweat or stumble over his words as he tried to explain things to a rather muscle bound gun wielding guard by a large bank of elevators who, after being shown just how quickly the bone bitch could literally spike someone.

Nails weren’t meant to grow over six feet in less than a second.

Eventually they made it up to the 60th floor and even more muscle made its way out of the wood work, quietly watching and following as Dan dragged his targets corpse, and by extension, homicidal brunette towards Biggs’s office at the end of the hallway as he tried not to think about just how many guns were going to be pointed at him if he screwed up.

Honestly at this point he was just happy the body wasn’t getting the carpet bloody.

Finally, they made it inside, and as he glanced about Dan tried not to think about the unfairness of it all; the room was easily five times as large as cramped little crevice of an apartment and actually had a view which wasn’t of a backwards alley and it all now belonged to a guy who’d grown up on the same street as he had.

It wasn’t until he finally looked at Biggs himself though that Dan began to winder just what he’d done wrong in a past life to deserve his current predicament.

Biggs was a tall man and built like an elephant. Coming in at anywhere from early 30’s to late 40’s the man capped off at around 6” something with a short, almost militaristic haircut and drooping green eyes which swept lazily over the paper in his hand. A hand which was covered in three solid gold rings and was only missing a fourth because the finger in question had been removed under circumstances of which no one was entirely. In short Biggs gave the impression of a shaved gorilla someone had shoved into a suit and by himself would have carried an ample intimidation factor.

When he had six shotgun wielding thugs at his back well... even he faded into the background to a degree.

“I gave you a simple job Dan,”[/color] The voice was low and while it didn’t rumble and while it didn’t rumble it seemed to carry with it an air of restrained violence ; as though the man wanted his words to connect in the same way a bat does a baseball.

“yet you’ve come to see me personally, and with… complications. I do hope you haven’t disappointed me.”[/color] At those words all six shotguns were pumped but not raised, and Dan found himself quietly calculating whether he was too far away to make a dive for Biggs’s desk.

This was not going to end well.

Well, the building was huge as hell, to put it simply. Isabel has never been in the building so large, though she couldn't exactly say she was impressed with the aesthetics. All in all the distance they had to go to meet with the boss man was a pain in the ass, the only interesting part being the opportunity to kill some goon that was giving them trouble. The had to entertain herself by smearing red marks across the framed artworks and clean walls. The elevator they climbed into had a nice collection of bloody fingerprints all along one of the walls by the time they had reached their floor.

The man that was apparently Mr. Biggs cut an impressive figure, she'd give him that. He was nothing compared to someone like Abyss, but by human standards he was pretty large. She was less impressed by the half dozen apes standing behind him, each visibly wielding a gun apiece.

She cocked an eyebrow as the men cocked their guns, Biggs apparently not entirely pleased to see his associate returning with two extra bodies, one of which was still kicking. She wasn't intimidated by the gorilla of a man, nor by his flock of hired help standing behind him. She couldn't help but assure herself that he wouldn't be accompanied by so many goons if he was assured at all in his personal safety. That was a point for her.

"You can put the guns way, boys," she said, crossing her arms and leaning her weight on one leg so the opposite hip popped in a show of her lack of concern, "The bomb didn't work, so those won't either. At least not on me," Gunshot wounds hurt like hell, but they weren't anything worse than superficial wounds where she was concerned. It helped to have personal armor that only she knew about.

She was sure the Boss man wouldn't exactly like being ignored, either, which was why she'd made a point of doing it in addressing the peanut gallery fist. She had planned on letting her captive do the talking first, but had decided to go ahead and run her mouth anyway. Judging by the way the larger man had spoken to him, the guy wasn't likely to get her many more points with the boss either way.

"Here's the deal, Mob Man," she said, finally addressing the largest man in the room, "Your little friend here said there was a hefty price on someones head. You might not have managed to kill him, but I did and I'm here to collect."

This was not going to end well.

With Biggs directly in front of him and the crazy bone bitch just behind him Dan was stuck between a rock and a hard place, a fact which was becoming increasingly evident as he saw Biggs expression grow steadily darker with each word that came out of the blood soaked sluts mouth.

Did that sound bitter? It shouldn’t have because honestly he wasn’t; he was too damn terrified to even entertain the idea of being bitter. In fact it was a miracle he was still standing considering his legs wanted to quit on him and get the hell out of dodge. What he did next few moments though was likely a sign of insanity.

The black gaze Biggs was giving the girl over Dan’s shoulder could have stripped paint and caused him to wonder for a brief moment whether he’d have enough time to drop to the floor before the first round of buckshot decorated the wall behind him. For all that Biggs had put on a fancy suit and sat himself behind a posh bankers desk the guy had a fuse shorter than cut grass and could go from man mountain to enraged gorilla faster than most people could blink.

Somehow though the boss didn’t explode, instead the man just shifted his gaze until his eyes were locked firmly on Dan’s own and, for about half a second, the two bit thug felt the faintest flicker of hope.

“Dan, if you can’t keep that creature quiet I will have her put down.”[/color]

The flicker died as it was all but stamped into the earth and then salted over. He was dead. Biggs and the bitch were going to poke each other until one of them snapped and since he was stuck in the middle he’d lose no matter who won. He could already see the hit squad behind Biggs tense up as they got ready to aim and fire, not necessarily in that order.

Cue the aforementioned insanity.

‘Say something. Distract them.’

The voice was back, it had been quiet for so long that Dan actually jumped, dropping the corpse he’d dragged practically across the city. The motion gained everyone’s attention with all but one of the hit squad jerking their weapons somewhat unsteadily in his direction.

Almost instinctively Dan arms shot skywards as he began babbling.

“Whoa whoa, b-boss it ain’t what you’re thinking.”[/color]

“Are you telling me I’m wrong Dan?”[/color] Biggs expression was cold but there was a hint of something else in his voice as he spoke.

“No, no boss I wasn’t trying to say that. I, just wanted to show you the job was done, got the English bastards body here and everything. The girls here cause, like she said, she helped out so I figured it would be a good idea to bring her along… right?”[/color]


So you’re telling me Dan that you didn’t bring Isabel Duskmoor, a homicidal mutant fanatic, into this room with the express purpose of killing me? I have doubts Dan.

“W-w-what?”[/color] Dans face had gone from pale to ghostly white as he choked out the words and glanced fearfully over his shoulder at the crazy bone bitch who was now practically beaming. “Boss, boss you gotta believe me I didn’t-"[/color]

Dans words died as Biggs reach under his desk and pull out an almost comically oversized pair of headphones, slipping them over his head even as the shotgun hit squad leveled their weapons.

“I will say Dan, I thought the first attempt on my life would be harder to deal with, you made it easy.”[/color] Pausing for one moment to press a foot against the desk Biggs sent his chair rolling backwards as his body guards stepped forward with a single command.

”Kill them.”[/color]

Diving downwards at the same instant his boss was rolling backwards Dan hit the carpet and pulled himself flat against the front of Bigg’s desk, plugging his hands in his ears as he waited for fatal cacophony of buckshot to sound.

K-KACHUNK!

Click- click- click--click.

Blinking in panicked belief Dan slowly twisted his head over his shoulder, not daring to believe what his ears were telling him.

Click- click- click.[/b]

The mutant bitch Duskmoor was still standing. The wall on either side of her was practically gone and her clothes were little more than rags which showed a good deal of freshly cut and bleeding skin, but the girl was still standing, and as she lowered her arms from her face Dan saw the exact moment she reached the same conclusion he had as a wide blood thirsty grin stretched across her lips.

The shotguns had jammed. All of them.

This was not going to end well.

So the gorilla man thought he was tough with his little firing squad did he? He could talk tough all he wanted, but the fact that her reputation had spread outside New York and that some sort of mob boss had heard it said to her that he at least had to be the littlest bit wary. He had even jumped to the conclusion that she'd been brought in to kill him. That hadn't even been at the top of her list. Second on the list after collection the money maybe but not at the top.

Apparently he was also full of himself, and rather overconfident in the abilities of guns if he thought dealing with her would be easy. She had to grin at that, just barely holding back a laugh. He may know her name and her hobbies, but he wasn't all that well-read if he thought something like a couple of firearms would protect him.

Boss man rolled back in his chair, his goons stepped forward and Dan hit the deck. Isabel stayed right where she was, only moving to cover her face as the muzzles of the guns were leveled at her. Getting shot in the face was not a pleasant thing, and even if the things couldn't kill her, having her lip or nose torn open or one of her eyes hit was not on her list of fun things to do.

Her body tensed as the first round of shots was let loose. She was expecting half a dozen concentrated spots of pain but instead the majority of the front of her body erupted in hot, stinging pain. The hell kind of ammo were they using? She could feel blood beginning to well up and slide down her skin in a number of places and as much as she wanted to survey the damage and see just what he hell had happened she knew most guns carried more than one bullet in them. She'd have to keep he head covered and hope whatever it was they were shooting at her wouldn't tear away too much of her skin.

But the additional shots never came. In there place a number of increasingly frequent clicks filled the air. She ventured a peek between her arms, lowering the appendages when she saw the men begin fidgeting with their weaponry, as if giving the gun a slap or a shake would loosen whatever was obstructing the ammunition.

She had to laugh this time. Jammed. Every single one of them.

Shaking her head she gave her body a quick once over. She was going to be very sore for a while before she managed to get back to the Sanctuary and into the Infirmary. Nearly every inch of her skin was cut and bleeding, but she could live with it. Her clothes were unsalvageable, but she still had the soggy duffel bag in the car on the street. The clothes would be damp and uncomfortable, but they would cover her. The ones she had on now no longer left as much to the imagination as she liked in their current state, but she'd be killing everyone in the room anyway, so she could worry about that once they were dead.

As the men scrambled to fix their weaponry and gorilla man began looking less than sure of himself, she began moving forward. Dan made for a rather poor springboard, but a good corpse. The second her foot hit him, his upper body filled up with hundreds of large splinters of bone. If she'd missed his heart and he managed to keep breathing, it wouldn't be for long before he bled out.

She went up and over the desk after dealing with little Dan, launching herself into the middle of the small group of goons. The boss would likely be last as he'd slid against he back wall, but that was fine. She didn't mind him watching her cut through his hired help before she got to him.

She grabbed the still warm barrel of the nearest gun and smashed the butt into the handler's face, leaving him reeling momentarily as she twisted her body toward the next man and plunged the bade forming in her free hand into his throat. The gun she'd grabbed had come relatively loose in her grasp and she gave it a yank, pulling it away from the man nursing a broken nose before proceeding to smash it into the temple of another man after which it was dropped on the floor. Remaining midsections were split open, throats were slit, and bodies were riddled with gaping holes where major organs used to be. A section of one man's spine had crushed his own windpipe.

And then there was one. She advanced on the man who had already half risen from his seat, stupid headphones askew and face rather white. He'd pulled a handgun that he'd apparently had hidden on his person and was pointing it rather halfheartedly in her direction, as if he was unsure whether or not to actually use it. All it took to make up his mind was for her to step forward. One step and he unloaded the weapon in her direction. His hand must have been shaking pretty badly. His aim was terrible. She could feel several newly painful spots on her person, but they didn't match the number of shots he had fired. She decided to demonstrate who was the better shot she was by putting a small piece of bone through his forehead.

"So much for easy," she scoffed, hauling the large body out of the chair and taking the seat of herself after dragging it over to the desk, kicking bodies aside as she went. She plopped down in the seat and surveyed the damage. Not too bad, if she had a say in it. But still no money. With a sigh she set to the task of searching through the desk of the deceased. Maybe she'd find something there.

It is said that no plan ever survives first contact with the enemy.

Much the same could be said of those who meet Ms. Duskmoor.

The girl was a berserker; there was no denying that sad fact as she leapt over the desk and into the thick of things. She thrived on violence, relying on instinct and reflex to tear the life from those around her without regard to her own safety or anything beyond the fight itself.

She’d need to be broken of such behavior.

Still, for all her blind blood lust the gamines propensity for violence meant that her motions were almost an art, if a crude and transitory one. She bore down on her opponents like an enraged lioness, knocking the first of them off balance with a blow from his own weapon before she darted away. The next instant she’d somehow slipped inside the guard of her next victim, a serrated blade snaking into her hand to sever jugular and spine in a single motion which left her spinning and brought her to face a new target whom she charged without hesitation.

All in all the transition from executive office to abattoir took under a minute. In less time than it took most to finish a cup of coffee, Duskmoor had managed to destabilize, if not outright demolish, the criminal hierarchy of an entire city.

Considering that this was the same girl who’d been trying to mug tourists in back alleys a few months ago, it was quite a step up. Indeed, one might say her efforts were worthy of recognition, possibly even a measure of applause…

Clap - Clap - Clap

Across the room, leaning against one of the few sections of wall still left standing, Zephyr’s pale and bloodied form struck an idle pose directly beneath a sparking cctv camera as he brought his hands together in a deliberately slow and mocking golf clap as a dark expression settled across his features

“You put on quite a show.” His voice was low and soft but carried an unmistakably malevolent tone all too fitting for a man whose clothing still attested to the fact he’d been gutted only an hour ago.

“Killing not just your target but your teammate and all immediate witnesses. Pity you couldn’t carry through properly, you might have made it back with nothing more than cuts and scrapes.”

When he failed to receive an immediate response the pale elemental lifted his gaze from the surrounding carnage to the brunettes own stunned eyes and gave a hollow chuckle.

“What’s wrong Duskmoor? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Well, the good news was that Lori and Lenna wouldn't kill her when she got back home. The bad news was that someone else might before she got a chance to get home.

She had just pulled a third drawer from the desk and emptied the contents onto the top of the furnishing when the slow, sharp sound of clapping caught her attention. She froze with the first clap, just barely keeping herself from jumping at the sound. Beside her, there shouldn't be anything but corpses in the room, and corpses certainly didn't clap.

The drawer she'd been holding fell out of her hand with a loud thud against the top of the desk before bouncing to the floor with even more of a racket. One of the corpses had gotten to its feet and was leaning against the far wall, its hands slowly pulling apart and coming back together before falling still. And of course the corpse had to belong to the last person she'd have wanted to see moving again.

It was Zephyr.

Zephyr was a corpse and he was lounging against the wall as if surviving being impaled was a normal occurrence. And as if a corpse standing up wasn't enough, he looked awful. Covered in blood, the loss of which should have killed him if the hole in his chest hadn't, and even paler than usual, almost gray. And looking very displeased. Very threatening.

She had tried to stand when she caught sight of him. There was no way she was just gonna sit there when a goddamn corpse was addressing her. Unfortunately, the other corpses were still on the floor and did not make for easy maneuvering. She'd managed to get part way out of the chair, but in doing so one of the wheels had caught a stray body part and wound up tipping the seat over and it took her down with it.

The floor was not a good place to be. Especially not a floor covered in blood and bodies, all of which seemed a hell of a lot creepier when one of them had begun moving and talking again. No, she did not want to be on the floor with those bodies. The floor was not an advantageous place to be should a fight break out, and judging by what she interpreted as a threat in his bit about cuts and bruises, she was already anticipating one.

"No way. I killed you. I stabbed you right in the chest. You can't be alive," she protested as she quickly clamored to her feet, careful to keep the desk between him and herself. She was trying to sound confident even as she could feel the color draining from her face and a chill starting to creep up her spine. This wasn't something she'd had to deal with before. Dead was supposed to be dead. That's it. End of story. What the hell was she supposed to do about a corpse that was threatening her? Kill it again? Did that even work?

"You stay the hell away from me."

He’d never expected things to go quite like this.

Cold azure eyes swept impassively across the room as Zephyr took careful note of what was left. Everything from the dismembered limbs scattered across the floor to the lurid crimson hue cast by the blood stained ceiling lights flickered through the mercenary’s mind as his thoughts raced to vying conclusions.

Biggs was dead, his macabre end at Duskmoor’s hands likely caught on camera. Every witness to slaughter, everyone who had held an ounce of the mobsters trust or respect, had been silenced. There was no one left to question. No one who could say for certain what had happened and the only record which could shed light on the nights events would simply show a homicidal mutant entering with one corpse, and leaving a score more in her wake.

This was far better than he’d hoped.

Still he wasn’t done yet, not quite, there was one last loose end.

"No way. I killed you. I stabbed you right in the chest. You can't be alive," The panicked tone which accompanied Duskmoors words as she frantically scrambled to her feet was more than music to Zephyr’s ears and a dark chuckle slipped from his throat as his attention wandered down the girls figure, from her eyes to her lips…

“Scared Duskmoor? Good, you’ve gotten away with far too much for far too long. It’s time you learned your actions have consequences and I fully intend to see it happen.”

Down her bust and her hips…

"You stay the hell away from me."[/color]

Then her legs to the floor…

“Eye for an eye Duskmoor, tooth for a tooth. I’m not going anywhere, and neither are you.” The mercenary’s gaze narrowed in malevolent amusement even as his fingers twitched just out of view and the air twisted.

The bodies at the Isabel’s feet, moved.[/i]

The motion wasn’t smooth or silent; there was too much mangled flesh and debris but it was fast. One moment there’d been six lifeless cadavers, the next they all lurched upwards, a mess of limbs and torsos rising unnaturally from the ground like half dead balloons before listing slowly towards their blood soaked killer.

A scream of sheer fright tore the night air apart as Duskmore threw herself away the ungainly horde, almost tripping over an upturned chair before she crashed into the worn oak desk and frantically attempted to clamber over it and escape.

She almost made it.

Her legs had just swung up and over the desk, arms braced to finish throwing her forwards when something seized her hair and hauled her back, slamming her into the desk and knocking the breath from her lungs.

The bodies fell on her before she had a chance to scream.

The way Zephyr was looking at her made the hairs stand up on the back of Isabel's neck. He clothing hadn't been totally destroyed, but it wasn't exactly in the best condition, nor did it offer the coverage she preferred. Though even with that minimal protection, she felt very naked under his gaze and very, very uncomfortable. And yet she couldn't bring herself to try and remedy the situation as she had done in the past. She wanted very much to squirm, to put more distance between him and herself, but at the same time there was a nagging suspicion that if she moved so would he and that was enough to keep her routed to the spot.

The only problem with her plan, however, was that apparently Zephyr wasn't the only thing she should have been worried about. It seemed like the rest of the massacred bodies wanted to follow his lead and get to their feet as well. Her head whipped around at the first sound of movement behind her and a scream forced its way out of her throat before she could bite it back. Corpses weren't supposed to be mobile. They were supposed to sit and rot and not shamble toward her and holy shit!

Vaulting a desk was usually a fairly easy task and so much faster than trying to skirt around the thing when there were dead limbs aimed in her direction. It should have been an easy enough knee jerk reaction to clamor over the furniture and away from the bodies. Unfortunately that would put her closer to Zephyr, but it would also put her closer to the door if she could just manage to move faster than he could in all his corpseyness. She'd almost made it, too, until a bloody hand tangled itself in her hair and gave her scalp a hard enough yank that it brought her skull crashing back onto the top of the desk quickly followed by her elbows and then her back. Pain rocketed up her spine and into her head and for a moment she had trouble getting her lungs to function.

Her hands flew to her hair in an attempt to disentangle to cooling fingers. She'd cut the damn things away from the rest of the hand if she had to. But she hadn't even had enough time to get a grip on the damn thing before the former mobster's undead companions decided to offer their assistance.

This was trouble. Big, big trouble. Isabel had never dealt with anything like zombies before. Her defenses had slammed back into place the moment she'd first heard her former coworker's voice, and she was doing her damnedest to put it to use. Anywhere she felt cold skin touching her body, dozens of spikes of varying size assaulted the offending flesh though seemingly to no avail. Her assailants weren't among the living, and therefore weren't bothered by things like pain or being impaled.

She couldn't seem to manage to get her head more than a few inches off of the desk's top, and with the number of bodies closing in on her, it was nearly impossible to get her hands up into her hair and free herself. Not to mention the various points of pressure pressing down on the rest of her body. Squirming, kicking, shoving, stabbing and slashing didn't seem to be getting her anywhere, only serving to tire her muscles out as she struggled against the unaffected bodies. If she was worried before she was falling into a full out panic attack by the time she was realizing these things.

And then there was Zephyr. She couldn't keep an eye on him from where she'd been pinned and she knew he was still far more dangerous than the corpses she was trying to break away from. A chill raced up and down her spine when she realized that the corpses didn't seem to be doing much more than weighing her down as the image of Zephyr's leering face popped back into her head and his words echoed through her mind.

She'd broken the camel's back, she just knew it. He might actually kill her this time. And he wouldn't be nice about it. He seemed to enjoy tormenting her far too much. He'd kill her, but not before having some fun at her expense first. He could kill her, torture her, and there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it. She saw that look again and could feel bile rising in her throat.

She let herself scream again in frustration as well as fear while she struggled.

There was a saying about the best laid plans.

From when he’d first dragged Duskmoor to this windswept godforsaken city, through her inevitable betrayal and his own subsequent death and resurrection Zephyr had done nearly everything he could think of to keep the girl pressured and off balanced.

He’d started innocuously enough; initially gaining her compliance through a minor piece of blackmail posing no tangible threat but still one which her pride couldn’t abide. Then, once Sanctuary and all its protections had been left far behind, he’d begun gradually wearing down the girls patience. Trivial things at first; denying simple requests, giving no explanation as he dragged her back and forth across countless city blocks and only stopping just after the city began to flood and soaked them both nearly to the bone.

It wasn’t until they’d reached the motel that he’d begun applying any real pressure; playing off the brunettes insecurities of intimacy by having them share a single room, then highlighting precisely how isolated she was and using it to add another, far more viable threat to increase her sense of vulnerability, all while blatantly disregarding her opinion and treating her as little more than a child.

After that point things had become… interesting. Having visited nearly every criminal contact he’d had in the windy city the elemental had expected Biggs to make some type of preemptive strike, but hadn’t known what shape or form it would take. As it was Zephyr doubted he could have asked for a better response; Duskmoor was far too used to bullets and blades; a bomb was a good ways beyond her comfort zone and though she’d fortunately avoided taking any physical damage, mentally it had knocked her off balance quite well, she’d followed him back outside as though she’d been leashed.

Once they’d caught the useless souls Biggs had sent after them it had been almost too easy. Knowing she’d want revenge against the mere humans who’d dared try to kill her, he’d deliberately put their lives in the gamines hands, and then forbidden her from doing anything. The resulting expression of impotent fury which had raged across Duskmoors face at that point had brought him a surprising sense of satisfaction, and it had only grown when the girl had moved to spite him almost immediately and, in doing so had given him a perfect excuse to retaliate. He’d taken it and left the brunette an aching exhausted, and likely concussed, wreck before she knew what hit her.

After that, it had been child’s play to goad her into betraying him. In truth, the ruse probably would have worked even if it had been broad daylight and Duskmoor had been able to think. New York’s ‘Bone B*tch’ was many things, but she was far from the sharpest knife in the drawer. As it was she’d barely been able to see in the dark, and she likely never realized that her ‘killing’ blow met almost no resistance. Add to that the fact he’d already soaked his clothes in blood when he’d purposefully held her against him and she’d had no reason to ever suspect deception.

That had marked the end of Zephyr’s original plan. Keeping himself alive after Duskmoors betrayal had taken rather more effort than he’d expected. The incorporeal state wasn’t difficult per say, but maintaining even a partial shift for extended periods caused a certain amount of strain. He’d intended Dan to be nothing more than a brief distraction to buy time, yet events had quickly taken on a life of their own and a combination of fatigue and curiosity had left the elemental content to do little more than watch and whisper.

With Duskmoor in charge of proceedings however it was somewhat inevitable that things would become violent. He’d need to sit the girl down and explain the functions of different firearms at some point; buckshot was one of the few conventional weapons which posed serious harm to the bonemancer. It had been something of a race to crack each weapons firing pin before the order to shoot had been given and he’d not quite managed to get the last two in time.

After that well… Zephyr glanced down at his Duskmoor as the buxom brunette continued to writhe and thrash on top of the desk beneath the bodies. All it had taken was a measure of showmanship and drama to scare the girl and rob her of her wits, once she’d panicked pinning her had been a simple matter; he hardly needed to hold the cadavers in place at this point, the brunette’s spikes were more than enough to keep the dead weight in place.
The end result had left the girl trapped in an awkward spread eagled limbo like stance, her head, shoulders and arms had been pinned flat against the desk, forcing her to brace her legs and thrust her hips upwards in order to arch her back and take the pressure off her spinal column. It was an incredibly stressful position and exceedingly difficult to hold for any length of time and after only a few short moments Zephyr saw the gamines struggles become increasingly subdued.

Had she actually bothered to think the ingénue likely could twisted her spine or other bones to escape handily, in her current state though such an idea likely wouldn’t come to her any time soon . That being said, blind fear would only last so long, eventually Duskmoor would realize she was still breathing and fall back into her usual recalcitrant behavior, best to move one now while she was off balance and somewhat plaint.

Stalking deftly towards the shapely soubrette Zephyr eyed the girl with a contemplative expression as he withdrew his phone and began deftly tapping the keys for a number he’d memorized only a short time ago and which belonged to a rather… unique, individual whose word was hind bond and who’d promise, to assist in this particular endeavor.

Pausing just beyond Duskmoors view the elemental cast one swift glance around the scarlet scattered room before he made his decision; death, decay and gore were all well in good for distracting and upsetting most individuals but it wouldn’t work here. Something a little more theatric, possibly even clichéd, was needed.

A single idle gesture towards a switch on the far wall was all it took to kill the blood spattered lights and drape the abattoir of a room in darkness, leaving only the sound of a sudden gasping breath a before a cold, calm voice broke the air.

“I use to think you were worth something Duskmoor; that you might be more than just another mindless mutant zealot. I tried to show you that there was more than one solution to a problem, that killing wasn’t the only means to an end.”

Fire flared into life, a vibrant orange flame which cast vivid shadows over the walls as it hovered just over Zephyr’s outstretch palm… barely a foot from Isabel’s own terrified face.

“I’ve run out of patience with you Duskmoor, give me one good reason why you should keep breathing.”

Things were just getting worse and worse. And just when Isabel thought things couldn't get any more awful, she was proven wrong. Her head felt like it was slowly splitting itself in half, the most recent strike to the back of her skull aggravating the injury she'd received earlier that night and making it throb twice as badly as it would have otherwise. Her position on the desk was killing her spine, the pressure only getting worse as her muscles gradually fatigued. The weight of the bodies only seemed to get heavier and heavier as the seconds ticked by and the longer she was pinned and the heavier the bodies felt the more painfully her skin was beginning to ache from the numerous punctures and tears the cadaver's bullets had given her.

And on top of all that Zephyr has disappeared from sight. That was so not good. Isabel never liked losing sight of an opponent, especially one as dangerous as he was. And doubly especially not when she was at such a huge disadvantage. Not good. So not good. She redoubled her efforts to get the hell away from the oppressive press of bodies, trying to free herself up even just enough that she'd be able to see more of the room. However, before she could so much as rip off the face of the nearest ghoul the entire room went dark.

The sudden blackness caught her so off guard that she completely froze, eyes wide as she attempted to catch any kind of light that might be leaking into the room from a doorway or a window. But there was only blackness. Nothingness and bodies and pain.

She gave a shout of surprise when Zephyr's voice broke the silence and a sudden burst of light ignited right by her face accompanied by a wave of heat. Her eyes closed at the sudden brightness, though they reopened again shortly after in hopes of getting the other mutant back into her line of sight.

He had asked her a question. He wanted her to prove that she was useful. Give him a reason not to kill her. Her eyes grew even wider, if at all possible, and she tried to think of what she could say in reply to that. She'd never been asked something like that before. She'd always been useful to those in charge. The Order generally didn't have many issues with the ways she operated and they used her abilities and blood lust to their advantage. They didn't think she was mindless. She was an asset. She was a soldier in their fight for mutant supremacy and a damn good one to boot. What more did she need to offer?

It was hard to think over the sound of her labored breathing and her racing heart beating in her ears. The flame was like a spotlight, only worse. She wanted to tear his eyes out of his goddamn face and yet at the same time she was too scared to move. She had never really faced death before. Her mutation had protected and aided her so thoroughly up until this point, but against Zephyr it was ultimately useless.

What the hell did he even want her to say? She'd always thought he'd dragged her along on jobs in order to take advantage of her abilities, just as the Order put them to use. She got her hands dirty so he didn't have to. He'd always been pissy with her temperament, but she didn't really think he'd end up trying to kill her over it.

"I didn't mean to kill you! Or almost kill you. Or whatever the hell it is I did! You grabbed me and I just sorta reacted! Kind of. "I'm not gonna do it again!" Probably. She didn't even know if it was possible to kill the bastard. And its not like she was exactly looking forward to ending up in a similar position ever again. What she wouldn't give for any of her fellow Order members to step in and help her.

Briefly she thought they could be her answer. But really, if she couldn't kill him, then how could an of them? What was to stop him from never going back to the Sanctuary after this? They didn't even know where she was or that she was with him. And threatening the guy probably wasn't her best bet. threatening him and subsequently following through with her threats is what got her exactly where she was.

"I don't know what you want me to say to you," she whined piteously, beginning to strain against the weight of the cadavers again. He was setting her up for failure right from the start. He really meant to kill her. It felt like it as getting harder to breathe as her panic began to restrict her chest, which only succeeded in furthering that panic due to his threat about her continuing to breathe. "Just tell me what you want me to say. What do you want me to do?"

It was almost too easy.

Masking a smirk Zephyr carefully kept his features impassive as he stared down at Duskmoor. The fire had caught her completely off guard, so much so that she’d forgotten to keep her back arched, prompting a hiss of pain when the sharp edge of the desk had bit into her spine, forcing the gamine to thrust her nearly bare hips upwards once more in what would have been a rather appealing motion had she not been covered in blood and spikes.

More importantly though the girl had essentially stopped fighting, she’d given up, her frantic, barely coherent pleas were more than proof of that. Add in what little could be seen of her face showed that her skin had become deathly ashen as she stared wide eyed at the flames in his hand, and it was clear that Duskmoor was well and truly terrified.

It might have been vindictive, petty and cruel but even so, for just a few short seconds, the elemental couldn’t help but feel some small sense of gratification for finally tearing the soubrette down; for making her face mortality and forcing her to realize just how vulnerable she really was.

Then the moment passed, and Zephyr pulled his hand away; a short curving motion which brought the flames over the two bodies resting on each of the girls arms, coaxing new fires into life as the silk suits on each corpse quickly caught light, framing the brunette features in fire as she finally found the words he’d been waiting to hear.

"Just tell me what you want me to say! What do you want me to do?"[/color]

Almost at once the fires seemed to die down, the harsh crimson light fading to a more subdued amber flicker as Zephyr planted a pale hand besides Duskmoors head and then gradually leaned down until his face was less than a foot away from her own. A dangerous gamble in other circumstances but as it was the girl had seen with her own eyes how futile her attempts to kill him were, she’d hold back, if only to avoid angering him even more and if she didn’t, well… there was a reason his skin had just turned a few shades paler; he wasn’t all there.

When he was close enough to feel her panting breaths the elemental stopped and held her gaze before he spoke in a low voice of absolute certainty which brooked no argument.

” One chance Duskmoor, one last chance.” The words were cold and crisp, each one chosen with care as his thoughts focused on the third party listening through his phone. He needed this to be perfect the first time.

“Give me your word. No. Promise that you’ll always do as I say, or I will leave you here to rot in this charnel house you created.”

He paused then, waiting for some form of response and when none came the surrounding flames swiftly grew in intensity. “Say it.”

Having flames pulled away from her face would have been a relief in any other situation. But flames attached to someone like Zephyr at any distance were still extremely unnerving. In this situation in particular it couldn't possibly mean anything good. She knew there was no way he was going to be making any sort of retreat, even if the tiniest part of her really, really hoped that there might be a remote possibility that he was relenting, giving her a second to breathe and collect her wits. But, as seemed to be the ongoing trend of the evening, any kind of hope she may have held at any one time was being mercilessly crushed.

The flame was only gone for mere seconds before it suddenly spread to the bodies that were weighing her down, prompting a startled shriek from Isabel. Was he just teasing her? Trying to build up false hope that she might walk out of the building alive, watching her squirm and beg only to burn her alive in the end? The spikes that had been shoved into the bodies grew larger in her surprise, trying to push the flaming corpses away from her but only really succeeding in ruining more flesh and spilling whatever additional blood they may have still held.

The heat from the flames was unbelievable, even thought hey were still relatively small. Her panic may have been over exaggerating the sensation, but there was no way her mind could rationalize that at the time. If she hadn't already broken out in a cold sweat by that time, the flames certainly would have done it. She had quickly abandoned her attempts at lashing out and was instead beginning to shrink into herself, trying to keep her exposed flesh from being singed.

And then all at once they subsided. Not completely, but significantly enough. She would have vocalized her fleeting relief, but again there was no time. Before she had any chance to relax her sore, cramping muscles the slightest bit, her tormentor decided to get up close and personal. Very close.

She took in a sharp intake of breath as her eyes refocused on the face that had come so close to her. This time she tried to wriggle toward the source of pressure that was holding her hair taught rather than away, trying to shy away from that face and the hands on either side of her. She didn't dare try to move too much, though. She didn't want his hands on her, too, forcing her to remain still. It was bad enough that he was so close, she didn't want him touching her on top of it.

She fought the urge to drive a million spikes through his body just as she fought the bile that seemed to be trying to force its way up her throat as he made his demand. This man was everything she hated. He brought out everything in herself that she despised. Weakness, vulnerability, uselessness. She was virtually powerless against him and he didn't even have to life a finger to tear her down. He wanted to be in a position of power over her, something she only ever reserved for the leader of the Order. And if she wanted to live, she would have to let him.

She could feel tears beginning to slide down the sides of her face and couldn't do anything to stop them. Always do as he said. Always as in forever. He wanted to be in control of her forever, and if she liked living, she'd have to concede to it. Isabel didn't normally make promises, and any she did were quickly broken and forgotten. But there was something about the tone of his voice, about the tormenting events leading up to the demand that left her believing that this one promise would be binding. Inescapable. Forever.

"I..." she started, hesitating even as death seemed to be staring her in the eye. Wrong. Everything about this was wrong. She didn't want to promise him anything, especially not obedience. She wanted to be home in her own bed with Mercury guarding her room and keeping her safe. She wished for the hundredth time that she hasn't answered Zephyr's call.

Her hesitation, of course, didn't go unnoticed. Within the span of a few heartbeats the simmering flames leapt back to life and he pressed for the promise. She started at the sudden heat and light, fear and surprise mixing and escaping her in a half sob, half gasp. "I promise! I promise to always do as you say!"

He’d never seen Duskmoor cry before, never had the time or opportunity to wear her down, get past her almost instinctive anger and find the frightened child that lay beneath. Now that he’d seen her like this though, he almost wished he hadn’t.

Seeing the girl like this, without her bluff bravado or mindless fury… it had an immensely humanizing effect. Before he’d almost been able to convince himself that he’d been dealing with little more than wild creature; something which either needed to be chained or put down. Now though, as he watched fresh tears spill from terrified brown eyes, and felt her bare body heave against him with each sobbing breath, it was far too clear that he was dealing with a broken human being. A girl who could have been just like his sisters, if only things had been different.

Ignoring the sour taste such thoughts left him Zephyr stayed where he was, forcing himself to meet the gamines petrified gaze as he focused on feeding the flames higher and closer with what little spare air the room had left. He wasn’t doing this because he enjoyed it, not anymore; whatever petty sense of satisfaction he might have gotten had stopped the moment the gamine had begun crying. Now he was simply trying to end this distasteful act as quickly as possible, because if the girl didn’t give in soon he would have to start carrying through on his threats.

"I promise! I promise to always do as you say!"[/color]

The words were mangled, almost incomprehensible, as the soubrette struggled to speak past her sobbing breaths. Nonetheless, the instant the promise had left her lips the flames died down, reduced to little more than faint candlelight.

As for Zephyr, he remained where he was for a handful of seconds, staring into Duskmoors panicked eyes, looking for anything other than the sheer fear the gamine was showing before her breath suddenly hitched and a tremor coursed through her entire body. At the same moment the girls terrified expression faded and she instead gazed up at him with a mixture of surprise and uncertainty even as her chest continued to heave with each shaking breath she took.

Despite the silent question he could read in her gaze Zephyr said nothing, merely giving Duskmoor a short nod as he masked his sense of triumph and fatigue as he slowly pulled himself away. If he was right, and his plan had worked, the elemental could only begin to guess what the girl was feeling as she was bound by her promise and so trying to answer her would be foolish at best, even more so given that he wanted the brunette to remain ignorant of precisely what had happened for as long as possible.

Instead as he stood back to his full height his eyes once again trailed down the soubrettes shapely figure as he searched for the last sign that his plan had worked. In the dim light and under the dried blood which caked her skin he nearly missed it. The mark had formed at the top of her pelvis, what little he could make out on the clean edge of her hip suggesting a strange tribal design.

Whether it was weariness, curiosity or both that moved him next the elemental wouldn’t be able to say, all he knew was that his hand had moved seemingly of its own accord drifting lightly across Duskmoors skin, fingers gently scraping away the dead blood as he traced the unnatural tattoo which now chained Duskmoors hips as one thought echoed slowly through his head.

He’d done it.

Of all the thing that had been not right throughout the course of the horrible day she'd been forced to live through, this thing that was not right rocketed to the very top of the list. It was so not right her entire body shuddered as if her very being was rejecting the notion of it. It just didn't make any sense. Had she lost her mind? After all he'd put her through, everything he'd threatened her with, the corner that he'd forced her into how could she possibly, even the teeniest bit, feel like she could... trust him?

Of course the man in question would never offer up any hint as to why her feelings would take such an unusual turn and she never really expected him to, but even so she couldn't help searching his face while he was still so close, just in case his expression gave anything away. But as always he was so infuriatingly stone-faced. Not a damn clue to put any of her unasked questions to rest or to quiet the rapid increase of confusion, uncertainty, and uncharacteristic changes in thoughts and feelings filling her up her mind. The only potentially beneficial aspect it brought was the momentary stifling of her sheer terror.

She couldn't help breathing a shallow sigh as the young man finally backed away from her when he straightened his posture. The flames had died down again and she thought she could feel the weight and strain of the surrounding bodies lessening. She dared to hope it wasn't her mind playing tricks on her out of wishful thinking.

She was trying to slow her breathing down, inhaling deeply and releasing the breath as slowly as she could manage. Slowly she reached a hand up to see if she could finally free her hair and maybe try to sit up, though her hand was shaking so badly it was proving rather difficult to manage the task. Her fingers had just found what felt to be those of the cadaver's when all progress was lost.

Her hips bucked and a shout of surprise squeaked out of her at the sudden feeling of fingers on the exposed skin just below her belly button. Jesus Christ, let down her guard for even a second and he tries to make her jump out of her skin. She barely keep herself from covering the area in small spikes as a knee jerk reaction. She'd just managed to squeak through his temper in one piece, there was no way she was going to test it again so soon.

Biting her lip, she did her best to stop trying to wriggle across the desk, lest she accidentally fall off the back end of the thing or end up irritating the young man again somehow. She so did not need him leaning over her again to make her sit still or something. So much for trying to slow her breathing back down. Her damn heart felt like she'd just run a marathon it was beating so fast.

But she had to do something or she'd start squirming all over again. And so she decided she'd risk trying to sit up at least. It wasn't very comfortable lying on her back, nor did she feel very secure while in that position and very much wanted to get out of it. The only problem was that her limbs were still shaking so much that it was proving rather difficult to support her own weight. She managed it, but it wasn't exactly smooth going, especially when she still had to deal with shoving off the additional weight of the bodies on all sides of her.

Her fingers curled around the edge of the desk once she finally managed to get up, her knuckles slowly turning white as she struggled to hold on to the furnishing as her head throbbed, her muscles ached, and the room swayed a little. This was probably the first time most of the blood on her belonged to herself, rather than to those she'd killed. "Can we go home now?" she asked, her voice hushed and wavering as she focused on her red knees, not wanting to look up at Zephyr, nor around the room in case it started spinning faster. "Please?" she added for good measure.

There was a time when a promise use to mean something; when one’s word was more than an idle platitude. A promise in such times was a gesture of trust, of faith, both for the one who gave their word and the one who took it. To betray such trust carried grave consequences, for you had harmed not only those who’d relied upon you, but you had also diminished your worth in the eyes of your peers and thus harmed yourself as well.

As with all things though the concept of a promise has changed with time; the idea that a broken oath could cause harm beyond some form of transient guilt was considered both impossible and absurd.

Funnily enough, the same had been said of mutants not so long ago, which only goes to show that some people never learn.

The thought brought a ghost of a smile to Zephyr’s face as his fingers grazed over Duskmoor’s skin with a feather touch, idly tracing what little he could see of the tattoo which encircled her just below the waist. The girl herself quivered under his touch, hips dancing weakly back and forth as her legs trembled with exhaustion.

In an abstract way the elemental knew he was playing with fire. A touch as intimate as this was practically anathema to the brunette and he could feel each racing breath she took as her heart beat a mile a minute from barely contained panic.

Had he tried to take such liberties mere hours before he had little doubt she would have sprouted a veritable forest of spines and his hand would have been shredded at the very least. Now though her skin remained soft, supple and if he pressed down just slightly he even could feel the unnatural plate of bone she kept just out of sight; likely the only thing which had saved her from more than cuts and bruises.

If he’d needed further proof that the girl had been suitably cowed this was it.

Still, there was a difference between playing with fire and walking into an incinerator. The girl was a berserker by nature, and though fear kept her docile for the moment, if he kept pushing her the soubrette would panic and lash out regardless. Best to stop now while he had the advantage; he’d gotten everything he’d wand after all. Bigg’s was dead, Duskmoor was bound by her promise and, if she proved as simply minded as she had in the past, the girl likely now thought he was immortal which, combined with the healthy dose of fear he’d instilled in her tonight, would hopefully go some towards forestalling any future tantrums and allow him to make some real progress with her in the coming weeks.

This was only the beginning after all.

For now though Duskmoor had earned a reprieve and so Zephyr quietly withdrew his hand and stepped to the side, out of arms reach but still within the faint candle light if she cared to glance his way. He watched with calm detached interest as the gamine slowly calmed down and started working to free herself. The elemental could tell the moment she actually began thinking about her predicament when she retracted the spikes from her limbs and the bodies all but fell off her.

When at last the girl managed to sit up on the desk it was with an air of both defeat and despair; her breaths were slow but labored, her legs still trembled with fatigue and her head swayed from side to side as she kept her gaze firmly locked on her feet. If she hadn’t held the desk in a death grip Zephyr honestly wouldn’t have been surprised to see her fall off it.

“Can we go home now?”[/color]

The words were so soft they were almost a whisper, and it took Zephyr a moment to be sure he hadn’t imagined it. He never would have thought Duskmoor capable of speaking so quietly. Quite possibly she didn’t have the strength to talk any louder, which honestly didn’t speak well for her chances of getting home. She needed to rest. “Not yet” he answered, using a gentle yet still firm tone “You nee-“

“Please?”[/color]

The elemental paused as both his eyebrows rose in a faint expression of disbelief. He’d only once heard the girl utter the word before and he’d had to fight her for it the entire way. To have her offer it now, without any prompting on his part… he debated with himself for a few short moments, taking a spare set of pills from his jacket pocket and rolling them through his fingers.

Eventually though he walked up to the huddled brunette, crouching down into her view even as he placed a single alabaster pill in her unresisting palm and took the other one himself. “Alright Isabel, let’s go home.”