A short, oneshot passage of Carla and Peter getting revenge on their mortal enemy, Frank Foster.
"You ready baby?" Carla whispered confidently into Peter's ear whilst leaning inches away from him, her hot breath prickling against his bare neck. "I'm ready" Peter answered immediately, staring almost menacingly at her, his deep brown eyes boreing into her closely. "Good. He'll be here soon".
Peter sparked up a rolled-up cigarette, exhaling slowly as Carla watched the smoke dance around her, billowing upto the ceiling of the factory office. She held out her hand patiently, her fingers positioning themselves waiting for the inevitable poison that was to be placed in her hand. Peter handed her the cigarette and she puffed on it deeply, exhaling lazily.
They were now engulfed in smoke in this tiny boxed-off office and were mesmerised by the shapes and figures forming faintly in the space around them. An eerie silence overcame them and suspense hung anxiously in the air, as if the very foundations of the factory were holding out for the vengeful crime which was about to take place this night.
Carla draped her leg over Peter's thigh as they sat on the edge of Carla's desk, silently staring as they leaned on eachother, just waiting. The darkness hid every corner of the factory and the lights from outside created mysterious shadows, each one a blurred figure stretching painfully through the building. This building had history, this factory had seen it all and the death count wasn't about to stop increasing now.
The metal doors of Underworld rattled loudly, breaking the formidable silence. Carla and Peter turned their heads sharply towards the entrance in perfect unison, mirroring eachother's actions signifying their shared desire to come together and finish what they had set out to do.
Heavy footsteps echoed around the building as a smug, suited Frank strutted towards the office. Frank entered with a wide grin plastered on his face. Peter gritted his teeth viciously at Frank whose grin faltered quickly as he took in the scene in front of him. Those last moments of his twisted life ending how this man carried on, with an unfaltering smile etched across his face.
Carla and Peter's hands were raised, each holding that object that possessed an unexplainable hold over them. Within an instant they struck, two almighty blows, one to the head, the other the top of the spine. The broken rapist slumped uncontrollably to the floor. The once cunning, the once manipulating, evil Frank Foster was no more.
His carcus lay straight before the pair, his blood glistening a beautiful bright shade of crimson. Peter stood still, staring down at his victim, breathing slightly heavily and concentrating. Carla leant down putting her finger at his pulse point waiting for confirmation. "Is he dead?" Peter said coolly, any remorse he could have felt had disintegrated. Carla stood back up and looked straight at Peter in the face. "Oh yes" she beamed, grinning infectiously, spreading to Peter. Peter took Carla's hand as she cackled mercilessly, it was over.
The broken whisky bottles lay by their feet, shards of glass everywhere. "Well ya know what they say Peter" Carla stated matter of factly. "Drink'll kill ya".