"Shi--" she cocked her head. A thunderous boom came into the sewer from outside, as her attention barely managed to peel away from the wall beside her. Water gently started to flow from the grate, most likely from rainfall. Marilynn then snapped back her attention, taking a step forward, "Jordon?" her voice chocked, from sheer disbelief. Bone chilling disbelief. The tall man finally took a step as well, his height peaking completely to the 6'7" he naturally was. In simple words, it was horrifying. Her mouth was gaping in an awkward position. She stepped slightly to the side, leaning against the wall, before-- clink. Her dizzy eyes fell to the floor, a metal plate with a dim glow had turned on below her.
"It's activated by pressure," Mortifer's voice surfaced, slightly snapping her out of the surreal condition her mind was. "Now that it's got a feel of your weight, when it gets any less it will explode," he shrugged nonchalantly. Her head shot back up, taking a better look at the tall man. He was moving slowly towards him, if not struggling to move. His knees were covered with bandages, from where she had shot him. Her hazel eyes glanced more and more up, landing on his face, studying where she had planted the final shot. It was clear he had surgery, there was no possible way he would still be before her if not.
A sharp tug pulled him slightly back, chains wrapped around his torso tightly, the other end wielded by the other hitman. It was silent. The sound of rainfall echoed within the tunnels. Her eyes flickered on Jordon, her stare forced away from him. "Why?" her voice was cold and grim, shutting her eyes. "Why?" the man mocked, tilting his head to the side. "Oh, Mari, dearest. You don't believe I was looking for you as a social call, did you?" She remained in her statue state, still keeping her look off either of them. "I was going to start by taking your sister, but Thomas was an easier target." Her eyes jolted open, "Thom-", before feeling a sharp hit on her face, the unexpected blow sending her unconscious.
"Hurry up, Miranda!" "I'm coming, Marilynn!" a small girl ran out of the kindergarten classroom, clinging close to her sister when she finally caught up to her. "Look it what I gotten!" "Got, hell, maybe even have," she corrected, "Don't they teach you s**t in school?" she growled, noticing dirty looks from close by parents. The small girl then shoved a picture into her older sister's hand, a cliché crayon drawing of family. "Mrs. Dean told us to draw a family portrait," she explained, Marilynn glancing it over.
The tall blonde seemed to be a teenager. Her features were soft, her hair still a bit long. "Alright, well there's you, right?" she pointed to the smallest stick figure on the sheet. "Yeah, that's me." "That's Michael. That's me. Mom-- where's dad?" she stopped, looking over the picture. Now that she examined it closer, the mom was colored purple, resembling bruises. She swallowed hard, looking up momentarily as they walked. A sharp screeching could be heard, along with loud, frustrated honking. "What the hell!--" "Watch the [********] where you're going, dipshit!" she yelled, scooping the young girl into her arms, and finishing the crosswalk. A small giggle could be heard, causing Marilynn to frown slightly. "You like that?" she said sarcastically, "It's funny when you get mad."
She shook her head, before looking at the picture one last time, searching for other small details she could have missed. She stopped walking, when she noticed a small smudge, resembling somewhat of a needle on her own stick figure. Her eyes rapidly moved over to the picture back to the smallest one, it containing a similar smudge within it's hand. "s**t," her voice broke, looking down to Miranda. Her mouth gaped open, frowning, then setting the girl down on a lonely bench. She knelled to her level, looking at her directly. "Miranda," she began, pointing at the picture, "What does this mean?" The small girl looked at her, picking up the seriousness of her tone. "Miranda!" she said louder, the kindergartner's face crumbling slightly with sensitivity. "I just want to be with you, Mari," her voice broke.
"No. N-no, Miranda," she began, "You can't be like this. You can't be like your sister, alright?" "But, you're n-never home," a sob broke free, "A-an-and mommy never takes care of us. A-an-and daddy--" "Hey, knock it off, okay?" Marilynn's face was still serious, but her tone had shifted slightly, if not a bit emotional. "You can't be like me," she repeated, her eyes watering up slightly. "But why--" "You just can't." She reached over, holding her small shoulders. She bit her lip slightly, looking down, before looking back up. "You remember when I get sick? I get a tummy-ache, sweaty, all gross. That all happens because of what I do. If you do what I do, if you--" she turned away, shaking her head, "You need to stay in school. Remember that, alright? Hey! Look at me. You stay in school, you study hard, and don't even for a second think about doing what I do. You need to be different. There's already too many screw ups in this family." She looked strongly at her, before pulling her close, "Please."
"Wake up," water smacked her face, causing her to jump slightly. She was constrained, bound tightly to the wall with rope. She coughed, her head tense with pain, "Guess I'm not good enough for a chair?" she scoffed, referring to her sitting on the ground. "You talk in your sleep, are you aware of that?" the Russian man answered, pulling a seat up for himself, close enough for him to talk to her directly, but out of her reach.
She closed her eyes slightly-- "Thomas," she jolted up, but still being constrained. "W-what," her words were slightly stirred. "Oh, yes. He's quite the talker." "What the hell did you do to him? Where is he?" "Relax, he's just fine, minus the modified device in his neck. It could cause slight... well. I'll leave that a surprise," a smile wiped across his face. "Now," the Russian man began. "We can finally sit down and have this long over due talk. I hope you have prepared your explanation. After all, you did have five years to prepare it." Mari stared at him strongly, biting her lip. "What do you want to know?" she said, a bit weakly compared to her glance. He leaned over in his chair, his voice a bit quieter, as if a secret, "Why did you kill Layla?"
She was clearly uncomfortable with him so close. "It was a job--" "But why her?" "Because," she cleared her throat. "Mr. Milano was worried." "About?" "Your work. He was worried you were getting too comfortable in Los Angeles." He looked at her deeply, before busting out laughing. Standing up, he kicked the chair to the side. "Too comfortable?" he boomed. "Really? That's the best you can tell me? The best explanation?" He shook his head, before suddenly getting real close to her, grabbing her face, "Five years is too long to wait for a bullshit excuse as that one."
"Tell me what you did to Thomas," she said, now glaring at him directly. "Oh, no, no, no. That's not how it works. In a way, I sort of already did. And, you-- you," he stopped, letting go, "You, of all people, should know how this ends." She swallowed hard, as he got up, walking over to a wooden table. It was clear they were somewhere deep within the sewers still, as the lighting was poor, and the walls moist. "You're going to kill me?" "No, that would be too easy." His back was turned to her, making it impossible to see what he was preparing. "You see, I've been thinking about this so long. Planning it through miles and miles of details, but none of which pleased me. But, then it dawned on me," he stopped working, turning his head over his shoulder. "You need to suffer with longing, as I have for so long."
He then turned back, opening an ice cooler, pulling out a food container. After long moments, she opened her mouth, "I killed her because she saw me." Mortifer turned slightly, then all together. "I broke into the kitchen, and she heard me. I tried to hide, but she saw me. Right when she was going to yell I--," she looked down slightly, her voice a bit hoarse, "I pulled her close, knocked her down. She tried to fight back, and then I stabbed her, twice in the chest." She then looked back up to him, watching his face was distant from emotion, his dark hair covering his eyes slightly. "I saw you coming down the stairs, you saw me. I was wearing a mask and all that, so you couldn't tell who I was." She took a slight breath, shaking her head, "I was there to kill you, but she--…. and when I saw you, I knew I couldn't--…. you would've killed me, so I ran."
Mortifer's eyes stared at her to a point of extreme discomfort, then nodded. He then moved closer, grabbing the chair, and setting it back up in front of her. "Okay," he said, nodding. "But, that doesn't change how this ends." He pulled out a strip of cloth tying it around her right arm. "What are you doing?" she said, worry clearly present in her eyes. "You're a hard woman to make suffer. You don't seem to care when you're beaten. You don't have close enough friends. I'm impressed of your resilience," he began, knotting the cloth. "But, I dug deeper into the past, deeper into what really turned Marilynn Rose to Marilynn Maribelle." He stopped, looking at her, head slightly tilted. "Remember when we first met?" he shook his head, slightly laughing, "Quite the aim. So much so, that you were recruited on the spot. But, I remember distinctly you were shaky, sweaty, your eyes suken in. You weren't fidgety because you were scared," he bit his lip, then peeled into a smile, "You had quite the drug addiction, and the withdraws were eating you alive."
"You know what the problem is with surviving an addiction?" he looked down at her, Marilynn meeting eye contact, "It's a lie." A sharp pain surged through her right arm, as she looked down to see a needle plunged into it, her vein becoming inflicted with the foreign entity. She struggled to move her arms, reach over to throw the syringe out, but he took it out, setting it down on the floor. "Good luck, Marilynn," he said, standing up, "I heard the first heroin run took almost six years to 'recover' from." And, with that, he gave her a last small nod, leaving the afflicted hitwoman already a bit numb.
