Arcane

I study the walls of my confined room, as I do every night. The white surface seemingly dancing under the lights the longer I stare. My bed is rather uncomfortable tonight, it's almost as if I can feel each spring poking into my back. The fresh air streaming in from the cracked window is almost enough to distract me from the unpleasantness of the mattress as I pull my blanket closer to my neck. The sound of footsteps approaching my room is something that never fails to get my heart racing. My head turns as the door opens. I stand instantly, awaiting my task.

"Fisk needs you to take out Thomas Bates and some of his men." Victor looks down at the paper in his hand. "He's on 43rd and 10th right now, better hurry." I nod in return, grabbing my mask and quickly walking out of the room. I've learned that on nights that Fisk is worked up it's best to lay in bed with my suit on, nine times out of ten he will send me out to kill someone. The first time I ever wore this suit, the kevlar indescribably irked my skin. The way I'm able to move around in the suit leads me to believe it is mixed with some sort of spandex. I don't care for the whole get-up, but it's more for making sure no loose ends are discovered on Fisk's behalf. If my identity remains secret, nothing can be connected to Wilson. If I die, well, that won't be good for either of us.   

I speed to the destination on my motorcycle, stopping for nothing. As I reach the car dealership, I quickly scan the environment. Three men guard the entrance, while there look to be about ten more men inside, including Bates. Each man outside has a semi-automatic, fingers awaiting a job on the triggers. I pull my mask over my nose and quietly trail the shadows, it'll be easier to take these three out quietly. I sneak up behind the guy farthest from the group, snapping his neck discretely. The other two are next to each other, turned away from me. I creep behind the men, bashing their heads together. I hold both of their limp bodies, lowering them to the ground silently.

I crouch-walk over toward a window to survey the men on the inside. I'm able to spot eight men with semi-automatics and Thomas. Bates is sitting at a desk and with a closer look, I can see that he is talking to the owner of the dealership. 

I locate the electrical panel, killing the lights. I prefer my targets to be riddled with fear around me, it makes my job easier. I slip in through a window, taking two men out instantly. One of the guys begins shooting into the air out of fear, praying to hit their assailant. I walk up behind another crew member, wrapping my arm around his neck. I pull him back while lifting my leg, snapping his back. His screams echo into the dark abyss of the room, the sound of his body hitting the floor causing more shots to fire into the air. It's almost as if I can taste their fear on the tip of my tongue. I'm able to track another member's movement, kicking his leg in, I punch him swiftly across the face. I have no time to feel guilty, all there is the mission. I quickly take out the last four men without breaking a sweat. It's a much easier job when my targets are scared shitless, they are bound to make more mistakes.

Bates is curled under a chair, his hands over his head. He shakes with fear as I drag him out of the seat. The owner must have left when the lights went out for he was nowhere to be seen. I grab the knife from my thigh holster, gripping it tightly. I take little time to soak in the terror radiating through his very bones, rather quickly I plunge the blade deep into his chest. I tilt my head slightly as I watch his life drain before me. I can hardly see, but the roll of his eyes is enough to tell me that he's perished. 

A short breath falls out of my mouth as someone tackles me from behind, taking me by surprise. They straddle me, pulling me by the shoulder so I lay on my back. My eyes widen slightly at the sight before me. The Devil of Hell's Kitchen. I've heard of him but never had the pleasure of meeting the man. I put my arms up to block his punches. Kicking him off of me, I stand, shaking any doubt from my mind. I can take him, easily. I lunge at him, sending a kick into his stomach. He flies backward, colliding with the wall. The man in black quickly gets up, keeping his hands ready. I walk toward him, feeling my anger rise. This was supposed to be quick. I dodge every punch he sends my way, patiently waiting for an opening. He soon becomes frustrated at my ability to dodge every punch sent my way. I carefully place each foot behind me as I walk backward, allowing him to keep charging at me. One mistake and that could be it, which is something I cannot afford. 

Eventually, I allow him to land some blows so he'll become confident enough to make a fault. He leaves his right side open as he grows tired from the fight, I take the opportunity and punch him there. He stumbles a bit, allowing me to strike him across the face hard enough to send him to the floor. Before he has a chance to stand, I grab his head with both of my hands. I position myself to snap his neck with ease. He breathes heavily as my arms tremble, clutching onto them to try and relocate the pressure going to his head. I try to force the motion but my arms refuse to move. I am easily stronger than him, so why can't I do this? You don't kill, not willingly. I shout as I force myself to remove my hands from his head, pushing him to the ground. That nagging voice in the back of my head is the only thing I have to keep me from crossing the line I so carefully try to avoid. I kick him across the face, pinning him to the floor. I begin to punch him relentlessly. Blood soon drips from my gloves and only then do I stop. His face is bloodied, crimson flowing from his mouth and nose. I pick him up and throw him through the wall, the Devil of Hell's Kitchen landing outside the dealership. I step through the hole, checking to see if he is still conscious. 

I study his motionless body while he lays on the concrete. As tempted as I am to remove his mask, I force myself away. I wasn't told to do it, so it doesn't need to be done. "Sorry," I say under my breath. He wasn't supposed to be here, he didn't need to get hurt. 

I step back into the building, walking over to Thomas. I stand over Bates, removing the blade from the cavity in his chest. He is dead and my mission is complete. I leave the scene before the police have a chance to arrive.

"Is he dead?" Fisk asks as I stand in his office with Victor. 

"Yes, although, there was an unwanted guest," I say flatly. 

"Who?"

"The Devil of Hell's Kitchen." 

I watch as anger erupts across Fisk's face, much like the eruption of a volcano that's been lying in wait for centuries. The man in the mask has been terrorizing Fisk's business for a little over a month now. Fisk slams his hand down on the table. "Men like him are why this city is going to hell," Fisk says angrily. 

"Sir, if I may, we could send the Russians after him," Wesley speaks up. "They take him out, one less problem for us. If they're unable to take out this- vigilante- then hopefully they will be scared enough to accept our deal." 

"Or we could sick her on him." Victor gestures to me.

"She obviously isn't skilled enough to kill him or he'd be dead right now," Wesley deadpans. 

I shake my head ever so slightly, clenching my jaw. "Have something you want to say?" Fisk questions. The very sight of him in this state is enough to send the Hulk reeling. 

"No, sir."

"No, I'm curious, go ahead spill your guts." Victor turns toward me completely.

I don't want to say anything, but something inside screams at me to do what he says. I try to keep my mouth shut but it opens anyway. "I could have killed him. I had the chance, but I spared him."

"What?" Fisk shouts at me. I flinch slightly.

"Go on," Victor commands. 

"He was unconscious and I decided to walk away. I left him at the dealership, alive and well," I say quietly. Fucking Idiot. I wish I had the strength to keep my fat mouth shut. 

Fisk flips his desk while Wesley and Victor take a few steps back. He hits me to the floor, his breathing erratic. I hold my jaw, avoiding eye contact out of fear. "You could have ended this! You could have ended the trouble that man brings me! Anything," he lowers his voice to a harsh whisper. "Anything he does from here on out is going to be your fault. He takes anything else from me, and you're as good as done." I nod slightly, avoiding his gaze. 

"Get her out of my sight." Fisk deadpans, turning away.

"I'm sorry sir," Victor says, grabbing my upper arm tightly, pulling me off the ground. "The hold I have on her must be wearing off, I'll work on her some more."

Wesley escorts both of us out of the office. I keep my head down as Victor drags me to the basement. I hate this basement more than anything. If I could, I would burn it to the ground. The amount of suffering this one room has brought me is heart-wrenching. 

He throws me to the ground once we step through the door. "What's wrong with you?" He shouts, kicking me. "Why would you embarrass me like that?" He kicks me in the stomach once more. I cough as I lean my head against the cool concrete ground. I feel like I'm going to throw up. 

"I'm sorry."

"See, I don't think you are." He grabs me off the floor and places me in the chair.

He straps my hands and legs to it, forcing my head back. "Wait- wait. I'll do better I swear. Please don't do this," I plea.

"Shut up." He slaps me. 

I force my eyes shut as I feel the cool metal helmet placed on my head. Victor forces a cloth into my mouth, "wouldn't want to break these pearly whites now would we?" My teeth clench down as he turns the machine on, electrocuting me. I writhe in pain while my whole body feels as if it's on fire. It's almost like I can feel each blood vessel pop as the time under the machine grows. 

He keeps it on for a solid minute before stopping. I begin gasping for air. I feel light-headed while my body feels as if it's floating. My vision is dotted and my ears ring. The tips of my fingers fall numb while electricity courses through them.

He starts the machine once more, upping the voltage. My screams bounce off the walls while I squirm under the straps of the chair. While keeping the machine going, he grabs a syringe, putting a serum inside. Victor plunges the syringe into my arm, laughing at my discomfort. If I wasn't so occupied at the moment, I'd wipe that smug right off his face. Of course, I'd never actually be able to do it, but I'd try. 

My head begins to droop down, I no longer have the strength to hold it up anymore. The weight of my eyelids grows ever more while the sounds around me soon cease. I drift off into the comfort of the darkness, my brain too weak to keep me awake any longer.