Of Wolves and Devils: A Dark Angel Fanfiction Story
Episode 7:
Hours into the following night, at Crash…
Original Cindy is sitting at a table by herself: In her jet black jacket over a dark blue t-shirt with dark purple shaded XY chromosomes across, looking kind of spaced and drinking beer.
Then, out of the blue… Max says, "hey. Want some company?"
She's in her dark red top and jet black jacket, carrying over a pitcher of beer.
Original Cindy slightly chuckles, "hey yourself."
Max sits down beside her. Sounding kind of worried, she wonders, "you ok? Seems like there's more on your mind than just beer."
Original Cindy faintly smiles, "just gotten out of almost marrying a sweet rich girl. Turns out she can't remember a thing without her secretary jotting it down for her. Not too big of a bitch to get through though."
Amused and sympathetic all at once, Max adds, "ouch. Still…if you're into rich… I'm sure Logan's got connections. Could hook you up with one."
Original Cindy shakes her head, "thanks. But, Original Cindy is not gonna rely on C.R.E.A.M. alone to get through life." She changes the subject, "besides…me and Syl had been beginning to wonder if a "manticore" came back with its multi-ugly heads or what."
Max pours herself some beer. She faintly chuckles, "I'd be real damned if I didn't turn out to kick their asses for good. Kicked some corporate guys's asses from behind though. So, yeah: I think I'm good."
Original Cindy comments, "damn, girl! Trouble seems to find you like Xena with a Chakram."
She finishes her bottle.
With very mixed feelings, Max says, "tell me about it." She drinks some.
Original Cindy reasons, "there'll be plenty of time to hear it, shugga. Looks like trouble is knocking."
A guy walks into Crash. He's bald, has black stubble, a faint black mustache, and a jet black jacket like Max's over light green plaid over dark blue.
He's in his mid 20's. But, he carries on like he's thirty.
With her cat like eyes from a distance, Max instantly knows she's seen him before. But, she can't quite place it yet.
Sounding almost lost in thought, Max wonders, "the gross man genes kind or the kicking ass kind?" Original Cindy laughs, giving her a fist bump.
She points out, "we'll be sure to find out."
The guy walks over towards them. Cool and yet quick sounding, he addresses Max, "excuse me. Are you Mrs. Anselmo?"
Faint images of Bruno Anselmo come into her mind's eye like a tidal wave.
With a quickly forming glare, Max looks about ready to knock him down, "where the hell would you…?!"
Just as she's about to lift him up by his jacket though… It all falls into place.
In black and white… Max was thinking back to a faintly familiar biker bar.
Bruno called out, "hey bartender! I want to get a water and vinegar for this douche bag over here." Max was looking at him like he's drunk or something. The guy in the black jacket was further back, casually talking to some random woman.
Bruno and his opponent were about to fight…when Max threw his opponent across the bar. Two guys looking for action were quickly met with being beat up.
Max handcuffed Bruno's hand to hers before saying, "let's go."
As they both walked out, Bruno muttered, "not bad for a girl."
Max remarked, "I was just pretending they were you, sweetheart."
Presently…
Embarrassed and angry at herself at the same time… Max realizes, "ohh. Sorry. You didn't know."
The guy is looking very confused. Maybe a bit nervous too.
On the fly, Original Cindy figures, "umm…I got work tomorrow. But, you gonna be aiight here Boo?"
Red in the face, Max assures her, "yeah. I think I will. But, thanks."
Original Cindy faintly smiles, "anytime, Boo."
She leaves them both be.
Max gets down to business, "ok. What do you want?"
The guy heavily sighs. He sits down at the table.
Max joins him uneasily.
He explains himself, "I'm not looking for trouble. All I know is that you're a very good trooper for someone's side, and that I came out here looking for help."
Max remarks, "this isn't one of those whack man fetish club recruitment deals, is it? Cause you're this close to being a whack."
The guy faintly chuckles, "no. Far from anything sexual."
Relieved in a sympathetic way, Max faintly smiles, "then I got all night."
Ten minutes after…
The guy voices, "damn. That is deep. A super trooper from the front lines, and I didn't even know."
Max comments, "well…not exactly. Just a very dark angel who's good at kicking typical and superpowered asses. Got to say though I'm kind of relieved you're not such a pervo after all."
With a hint of a smile, Devrom reflects, "well, now I know. To better understand you a little though, I got to ask: Who are you really then?"
Max finishes her beer.
She states simply, "name's Max Guevera. How about you?"
The guy figures, "Devrom. In the Free Zone, it's the only name that matters."
Max suddenly changes her tune, "suddenly, I'm not liking the sound of this. Heard scientologists are supposed to be like preacher whacks or something."
Devrom faintly laughs, "that's all right. The Church of Scientology are exactly that: Preacher whacks. As soon as the incident with the Pulse came, most of all of them thought we were good as dead squirrels out here. Someday though, when the war with Xeno ends… The Free Zone will be free again. And, all us true scientologists can rest in peace."
With a double edge to it, Max voices, "chuckle. Don't think I'm that "high-minded". But, if it's free for all? I'd go for that in a heartbeat."
Devrom figures, "still… It's the essence that counts. Thanks."
Max starts to get up. She reasons, "no problem. This rash of robberies though sounds like something the grand Eyes Only should look into."
Devrom firmly nods, "yeah. I can be wishful for both of us."
Turning back, Max adds, "thanks. But…see you around?"
Devrom faintly smiles, "very likely."
Max slightly smiles back as she makes her way out.
She thinks to herself:
He sure as hell isn't Herbal. But, past all the whacks in the world…he seems to be on the level some way or another.
I hope though it stays that way. Moderate sigh. Cause it wouldn't be the first time we got played.
In the not so early morning, in Logan's apartment…
Logan is sitting at his computer, going over several Sector Police reports officially and covertly transferred to his database. It includes interviews with urban families, handprint identifications of possible suspects, and so on.
Max is standing over him, like she often is in the habit of doing. Logan is in a dark green T-shirt. Max is in her light blue cleavage showing sweater like shirt.
Logan contemplates out loud, "hmm. Looks like a series of robberies in state that should have been solved weeks ago."
Max says, "looks like his tip was correct. Six houses robbed. No sign of forced entry though." Logan surmises, "and with not much gang activity for the media to report on, the families are quick to blame the government."
Max reasons, "sounds like we should look into it. How is Herbal doing?"
Logan turns to her. He moderately sighs, "he's still shaken. But, you'll be interested to know that he's made arrangements for him and his girlfriend to head to California: Still working under the Eyes Only banner."
Slightly amused, Max reflects, "so after all of this…he still thinks you're the Most High. Faint chuckle. Can't say I see a downside to that."
Logan faintly smiles, "thanks. But…I can't take all the credit, Max. You helped me not crash and burn. And, not just in hero work."
Sort of sarcastically, Max comments, "well…not always. But, I try."
Logan says, "you're welcome. So, any ideas as to our mystery thieves?"
Max suggests, "just partially. Aren't all of these houses supposed to mostly be built out of scrap and crap?" Logan recalls from what he knows, "yes. But, after the Pulse, it was both the most popular and the cheapest way to build things anew. You can't tax what you can salvage from the ground up."
Max faintly smiles, "true. Still… No family friends or family seem to be tied into any of this. Might have given thieves a kind of backdoor in."
Logan deduces, "well, according to the Sector reports… There is another pattern. One that could fit your theory."
Almost challengingly, Max figures, "really?"
Logan figures, "yeah. All six houses were checked for metal decay and radiation over the past several weeks. A Sector Radiation team leaves after a house passes inspection. Money goes missing not long after."
Max comments, "nice. Least we know what to expect."
Logan concludes, "true. While we're on the subject though… You sure you feel up to this?"
With a slight shrug, Max reasons, "yeah. There's a little party down at SteelEon. Shouldn't be too far away if the pattern holds."
A little uneasily, Logan says, "ok. But, tell me something."
On impulse, Max sits up on his desk: Nearly knocking over his keyboard.
With a cat like playfulness in her eyes, Max figures, "anything. Faint chuckle. Well, mostly anything. But…you know."
Amused and nervous all at once, Logan tries to explain, "it isn't easy for me to ask. Heavy sigh. You only recently gave yourself a moral compass."
Max's cat like eyes start glaring at him in heated disbelief.
Realizing all too well what that means…Logan quickly puts it better, "I'm not saying you haven't already had one. That's not what I meant. But… Let's just say I'm a little worried about sending you back on a mission this soon."
Mostly assured, Max coolly figures, "so noted. But, this is just commerce: They don't look to be the Mafia cold murdering type." Logan implies, "and if a cold blooded murderer turns up as a hostage or a witness?"
Max looks as though she's getting a test in high school that she can see the answers for upside down on the other side of the desk: If she ever went, anyway.
After a awkward silence… She reluctantly answers, "I'd call first. But, only because I love you."
With a sympathetic hand on hers… Logan says with a faint smile, "that's all I can ask. I know it's not easy." Max mutters lowly, "tell me about it."
Logan figures, "that…and for you to be careful."
With a faint smile, Max remarks, "as much as a revved up girl can be anyway. But, thanks." Logan adds, "anytime."
Not long after, just down past central Seattle…
Sixteen days ago…a certain backstabbing hit Eyes Only hard in California.
Because of the shake up, it wasn't just Eyes Only that was hit hard: Most of the computers for the new wave of technology haven't yet gotten to their destinations. They may have been left intact in the back. But, deliveries have been delayed for weeks. And, a Eyes Only affiliated construction crew has only just completed construction of a new secret base a few days ago in California.
The technological homefront and the bigger corporate scene is off to a slower start in America due to lack of supply, while most of the independent media companies don't need as much technology to start themselves going.
In light of the success of the Digital Arcade Expo, some independent media companies are quickly showcasing semi-virtual midway parks and arcades: Based off of the same technology, and mostly supported by the same people who entered in their own arcade games for the expo.
The midway park Max is headed to is called SteelEon.
Under a big top dark blue tent, hanging spiked balls are kept from falling into the heads of guests by the superthick metal chains above. Steel suits of armor in mostly jet blue make up their own round table. And, the song If I Ruled the World by Nas and Lauryn Hill is playing over the speakers: Explicit and all.
360 degree virtual screens over booths light up with bright spiked ball wheels, rolling along with many a cloud overhead and many a cave to drive in.
Many players are wearing jet blue gauntlets and black tinted knight like safety goggles: Each driving their own spiked ball wheel with one hand on a digital steering wheel, while using the other to hurl spiked balls at other players.
Some have darker hair and jet black jackets. Some have silvery white dyed hair or jet black streaked brown hair. And, some just wear worn dark blue to light red T-shirts. Faint chuckles and groans resound through the midway.
The main multiplayer setup is taking a liberty or two with how midways usually go. There is no health meter: Only a color fading golden spiked ball at the corner to be the time counter. And, there are no kills: Only knocking over or stunning other wheels for points. So, a strong PG rating is where it falls.
Max is coming in on a Sunday morning: When even most of Seattle and the rest of the country is off from work for religious reasons.
She's not alone either: She's with Syl and Sketchy. Syl is in a light blue sleeveless dress with a light gray sleeveless undershirt underneath. Sketchy is in a light blue and yellow plaid long sleeved buttoned shirt over his white undershirt.
Kind of stunned in a good way, Sketchy says, "sure beats riding bikes."
With a slight scoff, Max says, "speak for yourself. My Ninja is never leaving me." Syl slightly chuckles, as Max walks over to a metal crate to get some gauntlets and goggles.
Sketchy and Syl stand there before some suits of armor.
Sketchy slightly shrugs, "ok: Maybe it's just me then. You sure this place is up to code though?"
With a slight chuckle, Syl insists, "come on, Sketch. I'd spot it for you if I wasn't. Besides, you worry a little too much."
Sketchy says in his defense, "no more so than a average citizen who lives in a post-pulse economy. Compared to those odds, I'm just average."
Syl looks at him a little funny. But, it just as quickly goes away.
Moving in closer to him…she faintly smiles, "doubt it. You got a nice head for negotiation…" She whispers, "…and for the bedroom."
A surprised Sketchy smiles back, "about time someone noticed me for all of me. Thanks."
He hugs Syl close. But, she just stands there smiling all the while.
Syl figures, "any time, Sketchy. Now, are we going to talk or play?"
Sounding awkward now, Sketchy realizes, "right. You're right. You're just real easy to talk to."
A little red in the face, Syl points out with a awkward grin, "umm…more like when it comes to getting down to business. But, we're more than good."
Sketchy adds, "you're welcome."
Suddenly… Max comments, "a girl wants to play on the midway. Her friends decide to get all playful without her. And, this bitch feels a little left out."
She's holding two pairs of gauntlets and two goggles under one arm. And, she's already got her gauntlets on.
Syl says a little uneasily, "sorry. But…were you standing there the whole time?" Max figures bitchily, "long enough to know you'd be rolling on the bed if there was one. But, that's your business: I just came to play."
Knowing this is kind of normal with Max, Sketchy just looks taken aback.
A slight glare comes across Syl's face.
She comments, "looks like you're still nosy as ever. All right. But, me and Sketchy are going after you. Two to one." Max says incredulously, "what?!"
A little amused by this turn on things, Sketchy says, "really?"
Syl figures with a cheeky smile, "yeah: If you want."
With some cheekiness, Sketchy reflects, "a chance to show Max a lesson? I'm in." They bump fists together, much to Max's chagrin.
Max mutters, "oh, come on! I'm just being the bitch I often am."
Syl remarks coolly, "exactly. You afraid to fall on your ass?"
Max comments back, "are you? Cause I sure am not going easy on yours."
Syl adds, "and neither are we. Let's play." Max nervously says, "fine."
She hands over their goggles and pairs of gauntlets.
Syl adds, "whatever you say, sis."
Sketchy almost can't resist laughing at Max's expense. But, he knows all too well he would regret it if he ever does. So, he's smart enough not to.
Twelve or so minutes later…
Two big golden spiked ball wheels are speeding across the desert sand. The players within are viciously hurling spiked balls at each other.
Most all the other players in their spiked ball wheels have quickly realized that getting between them is like asking to be sent flying like pinballs. But, some spiked ball wheels are gunning for them anyway: Looking for a challenge.
A particular ghostly spiked ball wheel retreats into one of the caves…even as a pair of red ringed jet black spiked ball attack drones comes right at it.
The player behind the wheel steers tightly past at the last second, letting them crash into pieces in the cave wall.
On the surface… The players in the two biggest golden spiked ball wheels are too focused on each other to notice the incoming players.
One ghostly spiked wheel gets a hit on one of them before they can break away: With a spiked ball sent in front of it making it tumble over and over.
A lot of dark gold points are seen in the sky over the one who made the hit.
But, it's short lived victory…as the ghostly spiked ball wheel from below speeds up into the air from another cave to crash right on top.
The second ghostly spiked ball wheel is buried into the desert as the land from down under collapses into a crater from the sheer impact.
The first ghostly spiked ball wheel just bounces off with a loud clink of metal, side ramming at two more surprised players who intended to double team after the remaining big golden spiked ball wheel. They both crash into each other's spiked ball wheels, rolling down into another cave.
Just as the remaining big golden spiked ball wheel speeds back around to try to hit the fallen golden spiked ball wheel some more… The player in the ghostly spiked ball wheel left hurls a pair of spiked balls in front of it: Before crashing into a sand dune with no hands on the wheel.
As the final golden slimmer of time fades… The first golden spiked ball wheel falls before the restabilizing balance of the second golden spiked ball wheel.
Back from the virtual screens…
Syl, Sketchy, and Max are all in gauntlets and goggles: With brainwave responsive fiber optics for zero time lag.
Turning to Sketchy, Max says, "damn! I was half expecting Syl to kick my ass. But, you got more game than I thought."
Their scores go up: With Max at 245, Sketchy at 450, and Syl at 315.
Looking just as surprised, Sketchy figures, "yeah. Guess I only shy away from actual physical harm on my person."
Syl adds, "still…way to go." Sketchy smiles back, "I was good. Wasn't I?"
With some held back unease, Syl adds, "yeah. I'm good at hand to hand: Just less so on a screen. Max here has always been good at telecommunications."
A little red in the face, Max thinks out loud, "well…I don't exactly go out of my way to be a pest about it. But, yeah: I have."
Sketchy looks almost dumbfounded, "wow. Suddenly, I have a whole other respect for you."
Max warns him, "so long as it's not trying to get in my pants, you can keep yourself from us playing kickball with your ass from three stories."
Sketchy clears his throat nervously, "fair point."
Faintly amused, Syl comments, "glad you know it."
Sketchy figures, "long as it doesn't involve cruel and unusual punishment, I'm here to play." Syl faintly smiles, "same here." Max adds, "good."
A few hours later…
With the gauntlets and goggles off… Max is walking past a row of mostly faint brown bricked storefronts and back alleys.
One of the stores has Prax Max in big blue chocolate bordered letters. On its front window is a flyer with a orange and red candy coated trail mix bar. It says, "Prax Max: We care to the Max!" Down below in tiny letters though, it says, "not liable for any tummy aches or risk for disease contraction found in our products."
Max's black cellular phone beeps from the left side of her mostly concealed black leather belt. She ducks into a alleyway to take the call.
Knowing exactly who's calling, Max goes, "hey."
From the other end, Logan answers, "hey. How's the new cellular phone?"
Partly sarcastic, Max reasons, "well, I'm talking to you. Aren't I?"
Logan faintly chuckles, "so how's my revved up girl?"
Max chuckles bittersweetly, "more than fine, Logan. Though, you wouldn't be calling this bitch up unless you need me to save the world and kick ass for you."
Logan confirms, "yeah. Pretty much what you said. I also care about you."
Max adds, "thanks. So, anything on our band of radiation trippin' thieves?"
Logan concludes, "yes. Got a fix on some security footage at a junkyard in Sector 3. Looks like their special van had recently started having engine trouble. But, here is where it gets weird."
With her back to a brick building… Max comments, "and here I thought I could just let the guys go at each other while I chill on the couch with some beer."
Logan faintly smiles, "if only. The preliminary report says the gas tank couplings had been shot off by a unidentified assailant with a pistol. Gas tank got disconnected and banged up shortly after, and the van had to be towed. Sounds almost too perfect." Max pieces it together easy, "like it was a inside job."
Logan reflects, "looks like. And, since it wouldn't be very smart to sabotage your own team and turn them in when no one's even asking for a reward… They're looking to rob a junkyard."
Max speculates, "you sure one of them didn't feel the need to rat them out? Just because?" Logan points out, "now that would be nice. But, no: None of them have been arrested or interrogated by Sector Police or Junkyard Security."
Max mutters, "damn. I'm not gonna get to chill much more today, am I?"
Logan says sympathetically, "sorry. But…least we all got to relax for most of the day. They'll also be a well cooked turkey from Canada for you tonight."
Max faintly chuckles, "that's true. Looking forward to dinner though." Logan adds, "me too."
Max smiles brightly to herself: Out in the darkness between two brick walls.
She says over the phone, "later." She then hangs up.
In just under a half hour, in Sector 3…
After the first weeks of the Pulse…everyone left in the country was desperate for food and shelter to sleep well enough with. Waves of illegal immigration and murderous hate turned every major city left into a ghost town.
The two biggest businesses left at the time were junkyards…and rich leaders in the modern world that could restart the whole economy with the coins in their pockets. But, salvage became a very high profiting business overnight.
Hundreds of thousands of cars were taken in and remade without electronic interfaces to safeguard against another Pulse that might have come.
Heaps of trash were melted down into scrap metal to help rebuild the country. Even warehouse like offices and cut up and stamped aluminum foil strips for money were made from scrap.
In the year 2020… Junkyards are still holding up as the center of Post-Pulse America's automobile industry, repair crews, and construction work.
With all the gang wars that have come and gone, many a house has been destroyed and rebuilt over the past decade. And, even with Eyes Only International around…gang wars are still fairly commonplace outside of Seattle.
Junkyards have been a rich target for smuggling rings and terrorists. Junkyard Security is made up of special forces in black and blue patterned military uniforms to combat such threats: Even though such threats are very few now.
Some of the most hate filled people even say they're worse than Sector Police.
They've recently escorted the dark green Sector Radiation van with its battered gas tank to get fixed up: With twenty coal black freight cranes to lift and unload a entire circle of hooked in metal lifts with car frames, car parts, and whole government issue cars for junkyard mechanics in gray to work on.
That hasn't stopped Junkyard Security from bringing in the Sector Radiation team in gold colored Sector Police styled uniforms and hazmat helmets for questioning. But…what they didn't realize was that they counted on it.
They're being escorted onto a lift without a hook, lowering down into a military bunker. HK416 14.5 inch barrel assault rifles are in the Sector Radiation team's backs…ready to shoot their spines out into human fossils if they so much as breathe wrong.
With a rifle in the team leader's back, a Junkyard Security officer mutters harshly, "we're just going to ask you a nice set of questions. Government procedure and all that. Try anything, and you'll be dead before…"
Then…a explosion goes off.
The battered tank with its several cracks explodes off: With slipped in matches striking the inside as the tank is swerved around.
The lift crashes down on top of the elevator control box stationed outside…as several mechanics run screaming with their clothes on fire. The bodies of two Junkyard Security officers are crushed to death instantly.
A layer of emergency foam releases from metal trapdoors to put out the fire.
All the other mechanics run down the circle of metal stairs, screaming.
Junkyard Security begrudgingly escorts them away, leaving a handful of officers behind in the chaos. But, that's the least of their troubles.
The underground lift abruptly stops, setting off security's balance.
The Sector Radiation team use the Junkyard Security officers's own body weight against them to knock them off completely: Letting them get knocked out against solid earth, even with their guns blazing.
One of them clutches her arm as dark red liquid starts coming down from it.
In a husky like voice, the leader checks, "you still with us?"
The second Sector Radiation team imposter firmly nods.
The leader picks up a fallen construction work styled emergency remote control from one of the Junkyard Security officers, and uses it to resume their descent down. He reminds them, "we only get six minutes. Get ready to move."
The rest of the four of them take a moment to pick up the fallen assault rifles: Knowing more security could be down there waiting for them.
Back up on the surface… One of the officers has interestingly slipped out of sight of the other officers, and into the foam.
In a Junkyard Security uniform and matching hat, a devilishly smiling Max is swimming through the foam for the left open underground lift's shaft.
In a quick memory flash, not at all long ago…
In her catsuit from under her clothes… Max flip jumps her way into a rusty dark red security booth: Just as some car parts are being escorted in by truck.
She takes out both guards in midair just before landing on her feet.
Max slightly laughs, "almost like you're not even trying to shoot first and then ask." She starts putting on one of their uniforms before anyone else can see.
Presently, down under…
A ring of metal walkways circles over a pit of boiling hot liquid metal, with thin metal rods for its only supports and red emergency lights. A metal walkway in the back leads to a big centralized metal lift. It's the control room: With several Junkyard Security officers, four control terminals covered in yellow and black striped tape, and a bulletproof metal vault in the center with millions of dollars.
The leader of the Sector Radiation team imposters has taken off his hazmat helmet and stuffed a security officer's grenade into it. He's a gang leader: With medium blackish brown hair and a jet black jackhammer tattoo across his cheek.
The leader hurls the helmet out as Junkyard Security tries to open fire. The bullets tear the helmet apart…as the grenade turns into a flare of brilliant light.
Junkyard Security shields their eyes. And, the gang of imposters run down the metal walkways: Taking advantage of the extra seconds.
They both start shooting. But, the metal supports are the only things being shot down left and right: Falling into the boiling hot liquid metal.
In the midst of it all though…Max comes swinging in on a cable from her crossbow: Timed well enough in mid-fall to swing right at Junkyard Security.
Max kicks one violently into another, taking both out in a daze into a control terminal. She tumble lands on her feet: Her army hat falling off without a care.
She calls out tauntingly, "guess you're the midway attraction now! Can you be any more pathetic?"
The gang leader motions his team to stop firing. They do.
Readying his rifle, one of the Junkyard Security officers mutters, "I don't know who in God's name you are. But, you just made your last mistake."
Max high side kicks him off the lift…and into the pit of liquid metal.
He screams as his body starts boiling from the inside out.
Eerily calm, she challenges, "you were saying?"
Just before the two left could decide though…Max just punches one and kicks the other out at the same time. Their bodies land hard onto the lift.
From the back catwalk… The leader figures, "nice moves. Take it you heard about our heist here somehow." Max slightly chuckles, "seems like."
The leader offers, "would be nice if you helped us out of here. How does a five way split sound?"
Max fast walks over to the gang: Knocking the wind out of them all with their rifles shoved into their sides. They groan violently in sharply shaken nerves.
Sympathetically, she faintly sighs, "too bad I'm not as desperate for cash."
Late that night…
Max is sitting up on the Space Needle, looking out to the streets below. And, all of a sudden…she finds herself teary eyed.
She's thinking to herself:
I finished the mission. But…I haven't told Logan about the guy I killed.
I could have killed all the security bastards right there. But, I didn't for some reason. Only…I know the reason. I thought of what Logan would think.
Take away the ass kicking, and what am I?
Just "this bitch" deluding myself on having friends I can kick it with until I kick them all away? Is there even such a thing as being too much of a bitch?
Sniffle! Deep breath. Faint sigh.
I hope not. But…maybe it's time I should give a damn.
The last thing I want is to be just "this bitch" in a broken world: Even though I would never admit it to anyone.
I can put myself out there and get through one bitch after another as best as I know how. I just hope it's more than enough to keep the friends I got.