Well, I'm back. It's been a while, but I'm back. Though Al and Miles have decided to go the safe route with good ole Jimmy, I'm sticking to my own interpretation. A smaller, (I think) more graphic snippet of Chloe's ordeal awaits you. The update is short this time, but only because I am short on sleep. I will update more regularly when I have more time (and sleep) on my hands. Until then, this is where we pick up. Don't worry, many unanswered questions concerning everyone else but Chloe will come in future updates, but, for the meantime, we're going to stay with her for a bit. I would tell you to "enjoy" but, that would e sick given the following circumstances. So, hopefully, you'll appreciate instead. It's always darkest before the dawn.
Chloe's hand stung. A thousand little needles, or bee stings, or whatever. It stung. She could barely hear her screams echoing off the walls shadowed in the moonlight. As her vision had begun too come back to her, she cold just make out smeared make-up and disheveled hair. She was wearing a black teddy, a cheap silk rip-off she'd bought at a little "boutique" in Chinatown. Her mind was wandering again as she felt the last of the tear drops roll down her cheek. Why did her hand sting? She glanced at it, saw the crimson trail running down to her elbow. As her vision was fully restored, she saw the lines cut in her reflection, with the pieces of her shoulder, her hip, her neck and ear missing from it. "Oh." She looked down again, as a small pool of velvet-colored sticky was forming around her feet. So much for that cheap pedicure. And everything went black again.
His hand came down on her again, harder this time. In a white hot flash, she yelped for the umpteenth time in the last five minutes, The air was full of blood, smog and cigarettes. Tears, sweat, and blood were caked in her hair, along with other things she'd have to wash out. Wash out? Was she even going to make it out? Barely able to think, much less breathe with the darker one's weight straddled over her shoulders, pressing all her weight down into the pavement, Chloe was taking as many precious breaths through her nose as possible. She had bit down hard on whatever parts of him came near her, and soon after, he was crushing her jaw closed, just as he was now. With each inhale, his sweat, and smell polluted her every thought with rank and disgust. She was almost glad he was blocking her view of what was happening from her neck down. Ravenous hands had been grabbing every square inch of her body. One of the orange-jackets was straddled over her waist, facing the same way as the darker-haired behemoth pressing into her collarbone. She knew what he was after, and was trying to find a way to ignore every nerve that was screaming at her between her midsection and shoulders. Soon, the screaming from below her midsection was too loud to ignore. With one piercing scream that felt like a stab wound, she knew it had begun. As every nerve ending out to her, she screamed through mangled jaw to anyone and everyone who would answer. Her voice was lost in the mob, lost in the chaos, lost in the pain.