I never expected to be meeting the leader of one of the most powerful factions first thing in the fucking morning, mate.
Bingo walked down a dark alley, her boots clicking against the pavement. The city's morning hustle and bustle surrounded her, with Christmas music blaring from speakers and the air already warm. Typical Aussie Christmas… How festive.
Bingo was wearing her usual—black unzipped crop top jacket over a white tank top, dark blue jeans, black fingerless gloves, and sneakers. A utility belt strapped to her waist held an assortment of blades. A holster rested on her right thigh, and hidden slots inside her jacket and shoes were packed with knives. Hell, she might've had a blade tucked away in her bra for all anyone knew.
She approached a tall Newfoundland standing next to a door. His arms crossed, he eyed her with amusement.
"What's the password, Knives?" he asked, his brow raised in a challenge to her.
Ugh, this fucker. This is the worst part of my day.
"Vick, you know it's me. Let me in, man," Bingo grumbled, annoyed.
"No password, no entry," he smirked, unflinching.
Bingo groaned, exasperated. "Fine... Sprinkles," she muttered, glancing down in embarrassment. I fucking HATE that password.
The Newfoundland snickered before stepping aside. "Ha! Yeah, go on in, love. Can't believe that's your password!" Bingo just rolled her eyes and tapped a card against the scanner, the soft beep confirming her access.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," she muttered as she stepped through the door, Vick covering the entrance once it shut behind her.
Inside, Bingo walked down a narrow corridor that led to a glass elevator. She hit the 'Down' button, and as the doors closed, the elevator began its slow descent into the heart of the underground world.
Allow me to introduce you all… to the Killer's Den. A place where a bounty hunter can come to either unwind or indulge in the numerous amenities that this death pit has to offer.
As the elevator descended, the glowing neon lights of the world below began to pierce through the growing darkness. It was like a miniature city—vendors haggling with shady characters, assassins stalking the streets with purpose, and bars humming with the low murmur of conversation. The faint pulse of music mingled with the ambient noise, creating a rhythm that was part chaotic, part hypnotic. And looming in the distance, cutting through the night like a monolith, was the faction tower—a symbol of power and control.
That was the building where most of the highest-ranking factions made their homes. The Black Widows would be up there, at the very top, no doubt.
The elevator dinged as it reached the bottom, the doors sliding open. Bingo's eyes went straight to the towering structure in the distance.
I feel so fucking small when I look at that tower. It's… like they built that thing just to remind me of how powerless I am in the grand scheme of things. I hate that feeling. Bingo— Knives, started to make her way through the streets of the Killer's Den, walking towards the faction tower. ….
"I'll be home for Christmas
You can plan for me
Please save snow and mistletoe
And presents on the tree.."
The smooth, melancholic voice of Bing Crosby echoed through the room, blending with the faint scent of cinnamon that clung to the air. The space was decadent, a room fit for a king—or a warlord. Red carpet covered the floor, and the furnishings spoke of both luxury and power: a pool table in the corner, a sleek mini bar stocked with top-shelf liquor, plush sofas surrounding a low coffee table, and a modest kitchen tucked into the side.
From the panoramic windows at the far end of the room, the entire Killer's Den sprawled out below like a neon-drenched labyrinth.
Behind a large mahogany desk that commanded the room sat the faction's leader, Phantom. The middle-aged grey wolf leaned back in his chair, the sharp cut of his black tailored suit accentuating his broad shoulders. His polished dress shoes gleamed under the dim light, and his crimson tie—a perfect splash of color—seemed to pulse with authority. Tapping his finger idly against the desk to the beat of the mournful Christmas tune, Phantom exuded a calm control that only a veteran could achieve in a world where killers rarely lived long enough to go gray.
But he wasn't alone.
The Black Widows filled the room, scattered like pieces on a chessboard, all clad in red and black clothing.
On the sofa, three men leaned into an animated conversation: a wiry Jack Russell terrier, a burly Koolie, and a sharp-eyed Dingo. Their laughter, low and confident, hinted at inside jokes or shared war stories.
At the pool table, a sleek Saluki lined up her shot, the soft click of the cue ball meeting its mark punctuating her quiet exchange with the Labrador across from her. Their body language was loose, but their eyes held the alertness of predators never fully at rest.
At the bar, a solitary Doberman swirled his margarita with one hand, his other resting on the counter. He watched the room with a detached air, his silence more commanding than any words.
And then there was Scarlet Fang.
Standing at Phantom's side, the Shiba Inu radiated cold professionalism. Her yellow fur and long hair tied in a ponytail with bangs, flawless beneath the tailored lines of her black business dress, contrasted with the deep red tie she wore—an echo of her superior's style. She adjusted her black-framed glasses with a deliberate precision, her expression unreadable. Despite her curvaceous frame, there was nothing soft about her; her gaze was sharp and calculating, a blade in its own right. If Phantom was the head of the Black Widows, Scarlet was its razor edge.
This was their den. And in their world, they were royalty.
Creaaaaak
The heavy doors groaned open, revealing Bingo to the room. The guards flanked her as she stepped inside, the weight of every gaze from the Black Widows pressing against her like a knife to the back.
Damn, I feel like a fly in a spider's web here.
The room reeked faintly of cinnamon and cigar smoke, an odd blend that only deepened her discomfort. Bingo kept her pace steady, her face blank, even as she felt their eyes dissecting her every move.
"Is that her?" the Labrador muttered from the pool table, tilting his head toward her.
"Oui. It seems so," the Saluki replied, her voice barely above a whisper.
The Dingo smirked, his sharp eyes narrowing. "Look at her, walking like she's all cool. She's nothin', mate."
"Yeah, but she seems like a decent lay," the Jack Russell added with a chuckle, his eyes dragging over Bingo with a leering grin.
"Keep that thing in your pants, man," the Koolie snapped, smacking the Jack Russell on the arm.
Bingo ignored them, her focus locked on Phantom, though she noted the silence from the Doberman at the bar. She stepped forward, placing her hands on the polished wood of Phantom's desk, the cool surface grounding her for a moment.
Damn, this table's probably worth more than my whole flat. Typical rich asshole.
"Alright, old man. What do you want?" she said, her voice sharp, carrying none of the respect he might have expected.
The room fell silent except for Scarlet Fang's low, biting voice. "You address him with respect, rookie."
Bingo rolled her eyes, smirking. "And you are? Some secretary or something?"
Scarlet's expression didn't waver, leaning in a little. "Perhaps you don't know me because I'm leagues above you. Tread lightly…or you won't tread at all."
The two locked eyes, the tension thickening between them. Bingo held her ground, the flicker of a smirk returning.
Who does this bitch think she is? If it were just me and her, I'd knock her teeth in—
"Ladies, ladies… please." Phantom's voice cut through, calm yet commanding. The gruff edge sent a shiver down Bingo's spine. He raised two fingers, and a servant materialized, setting tea before both of them with quiet precision.
"Knives," Phantom said, his gaze unreadable. "Take a seat. Make yourself comfortable."
Bingo sank into the chair, surprised by its plush comfort.
Feels like I'm sitting on a cloud.
But she didn't let her guard down, her eyes flicking back to the man across the desk.
"Knives, how are you this morning?" Phantom's voice was almost soothing, like a predator trying to lull its prey.
"I'd be fantastic if I wasn't getting stared down like a piece of meat," Bingo shot back, leaning into her chair with a casual defiance. "But aside from that… I'm fine."
"Good, good." Phantom took a slow sip of his tea, setting the cup down with precision. "Now, let's talk business, shall we?"
Bingo raised a brow, resting her knuckle against her cheek as he continued.
"I've been watching you, Knives. You've been making headlines down here. A rising star, they say. A natural-born killer. Calculative. Deadly. A monster." He smiled, his words laced with a sick kind of admiration. "And you don't even know how dangerous you are yet."
"Go on with it, man." Bingo muttered, rolling her eyes.
Phantom chuckled, the sound low and unsettling. Scarlet's glare burned into Bingo from the sidelines, but she ignored it.
"I want to give you an opportunity," Phantom said, clasping his hands neatly on the desk. "An opportunity to change your life. To rise above this—above them all." He gestured vaguely toward the other Black Widows, who shifted at the implication. "..I want you to become a Black Widow."
Bingo's expression faltered. Her eyes widened slightly, but she didn't move.
Yeah, I knew it. He wants me to become one of them.
"Out of everyone you could choose, why me?" she said, her voice sharp. "There's plenty of other assassins out there you could've picked to be your little lapdog. What makes me so special?"
Scarlet's nails tapped rhythmically against her thigh, her gaze slicing into Bingo. "You should be grateful, rookie," she muttered, venom dripping from her words.
Phantom raised a hand, silencing Scarlet without a glance. His attention stayed on Bingo. "You're not a lapdog, Knives," he said, his smile returning. "I don't just give this opportunity to anyone. You're… special."
Bingo's jaw tightened, but she said nothing.
"Nobody kills like you do," Phantom continued, leaning forward slightly. "Primal, yet controlled. I've heard stories—entire groups of men cut down by your hand. And this was in your first year? Do you know what that means?" He smiled wider, his teeth glinting in the low light. "You're a force, Knives. A calamity... With me, you could have the underground in the palm of your hand. You could live like a queen!" He paused, letting the words linger. "No. Like a god."
Holy shit… he's so detached. These guys think they're untouchable, like blood makes them invincible. What a joke.
Bingo felt her fists clench, her nails biting into her palms.
…That shit PISSES me off.
Bingo chuckled softly, shaking her head as if she couldn't believe what she'd just heard. The sound was quiet at first, almost dismissive. Then it grew louder and sharper until it echoed through the room like a crack in the silence.
She leaned back in her chair, letting out a full-blown laugh, the kind that seemed to mock everything Phantom had just said.
Phantom raised a brow, his expression calm but curious. Scarlet, on the other hand, looked ready to pounce, her glare sharp enough to cut steel. The room turned its attention toward Bingo, a mix of curiosity and unease spreading among the Black Widows.
Her laughter died as quickly as it began, leaving the room in an eerie silence. Slowly, she stood, leaning over the table until she was just close enough to meet Phantom's gaze. Her eyes narrowed, her face unreadable, but the weight of her presence was undeniable.
"Live like a god, eh?" Her voice dropped to a low, biting whisper. "Hate to break it to you, old man, but gods don't exist. And if they did?" She smirked faintly, her voice dripping with venom. "They sure as hell wouldn't be here, throwing scraps to their FUCKING lap dogs."
The air grew heavy. Scarlet's nails tapped against her thigh, tension radiating off her in waves. The Labrador at the pool table smirked, muttering something under his breath, while the Doberman crossed his arms, watching Bingo with an unreadable expression.
"With that being said." Bingo spat, venom lacing every word, "I won't be joining your little cult of killers with a god complex." She turned her back on Phantom with deliberate disdain, her boots echoing against the floor. "Find someone else to manipulate and screw over, mate."
Scarlet's growl cut through the tension like a blade. "You show absolutely no respect!" she barked, her fists clenching at her sides. Her cold, calculated demeanor cracked, revealing the fury beneath. "You turn down an opportunity like this? You're nothing but—"
"Shut it." Bingo didn't even stop walking, throwing the words over her shoulder with icy precision. "Your bark's louder than your bite."
Scarlet took a step forward, her eyes blazing, but Phantom raised a hand, silencing her. He leaned back in his chair, watching Bingo with that unsettling calm that came from years of control.
"Knives," he called out, his voice smooth and unshaken, "you have no idea what you're passing up. This isn't just an opportunity—it's power. Power to command the underground, to be untouchable. You could have the world in the palm of your hand."
Bingo stopped in her tracks, turning on her heel to face the room. Her eyes burned with defiance as she let out a low, humorless chuckle. "Power, huh?" She tilted her head, her smirk cutting through the tension like a knife. "I told you before mate, I do NOT believe in any gods.. and I definitely don't wanna fucking live like one... YOU ain't a god either."
Phantom raised an eyebrow, but Bingo didn't give him the chance to respond. She took a step forward, her voice growing sharper, louder.
"You lot think you're untouchable. But here's the truth—if you bleed, you can die. And every single one of you here bleeds just like everyone else." Her gaze swept across the room, her grin widening into something mocking. "Your titles, your bounties, your egos—they don't mean shit. You're all just waiting for the day someone faster, smarter, or hungrier cuts. you. down…We're all waiting on that day."
The room fell silent, the weight of her words settling like a storm cloud. Scarlet's jaw tightened, her hand twitching toward the knife at her hip, but Phantom remained still, his expression unreadable.
Bingo turned away again, heading for the door. "I don't need your power, your protection, or your bullshit promises. Keep your little spider's web. I'll survive just fine on my own."
The heavy doors creaked open as she left, her head held high. Behind her, the Black Widows exchanged glances—some angry, some curious, and others quietly amused. Phantom watched her go, his fingers steepled beneath his chin, a faint smirk playing on his lips.
"Interesting," he murmured, breaking the silence. "Very interesting."
The Dingo leaned back on the sofa, propping his feet up on the low table with a cocky grin. "That bitch has a pair on her, doesn't she? Marching in here, mouthing off to the boss like she owns the place." He gave a short laugh, shaking his head. "Biting all over."
"I like a bitch that bites," the Jack Russell chimed in, his smirk widening. He chuckled, low and sleazy, earning a sharp glare from Scarlet.
"Enough." she hissed, cutting through the room's tension like a blade. Her tone was clipped, her body language rigid. Despite her outward control, there was a flicker of something in her eyes—humiliation, anger, maybe even fear.
Phantom sat in silence, his fingers steepled beneath his chin, his expression unreadable. The faint ticking of a clock in the corner filled the room as he let the others' chatter fade. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke.
"Scarlet," he began, his voice calm but carrying an edge of menace, "where did Knives' handler say she was based again?"
"Brisbane," Scarlet replied, her tone curt and professional.
Phantom hummed thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair. His gaze shifted to Archer, the Dingo, who perked up at the sound of his name.
"Archer." Phantom called, his voice still measured, almost conversational.
"Yeah, boss?" Archer straightened slightly, his cocky grin softening into something more attentive.
Phantom's smile was slow, calculated. "How about you pay Brisbane a little visit for the holidays? Get real acquainted with our friend Knives. And when I say 'real acquainted,'" his tone dropped an octave, ice creeping into his words, "I mean it. Leave an impression she won't forget."
The Dingo's grin returned, sharper now. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigar, lighting it with a practiced flick of his lighter. Taking a long drag, he exhaled a cloud of smoke, the corners of his mouth curling upward.
"Heh. Sure thing, Bossman. Consider it done."
Phantom's gaze shifted to Scarlet, and for a moment, an unspoken understanding passed between them. There was no need for more words; the room had already filled with the weight of what was to come.
Something was brewing, dark and dangerous, and everyone could feel it.
…
That whole encounter stressed me the fuck out.
The Killer's Den was alive as always, the faint hum of chatter blending with the festive tones of "It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas" playing over the bar's speakers.
Despite the music, the atmosphere was anything but merry. The room was a haven for assassins and bounty hunters, each one nursing drinks and swapping stories of blood-soaked jobs.
Bingo pushed open the heavy door of her favorite bar, The Crimson Coffin, a place she found herself drawn to more often than she'd like to admit. It wasn't just the drinks—it was the strange sense of calm she felt there, even in the heart of the underground's chaos. The beer was good, the mimosas were better, and the company knew better than to ask questions.
The red heeler strode inside, her boots clicking softly against the floor as she made her way to the counter. She took her usual seat, resting her arms on the polished wood. Behind the bar, a female border collie was cleaning a glass with a rag. Her outfit was neat, resembling a butler's uniform, simple but sharp.
"G'day, Knives," the bartender greeted, her tone casual as her sharp blue eyes glanced up. "You're pretty early today. It's only 12:15 PM."
Bingo sighed, leaning back on her stool. "Stressed." Her voice was flat but heavy, carrying the weight of the morning she just had.
"Figured," the collie replied with a knowing smirk. "Want your usual? Two beers?"
"You know me well, Misty." Bingo said, giving a small nod.
Misty turned, her movements practiced and smooth as she grabbed two cold bottles from the fridge and set them in front of the assassin. The bottles clinked softly as they hit the counter.
"I'll open a tab for you." Misty said before stepping away to tend to another patron.
Bingo exhaled and reached for the first bottle, twisting off the cap and taking a long drink. She didn't pay much attention to the other killers scattered around the bar, sitting at tables and trading stories. This was one of the few places she could unwind—if you could call drinking alone to Christmas music unwinding.
The soft, upbeat lyrics of "It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas" floated through the air, starkly contrasting with the undercurrent of violence that hung around the patrons. Bingo tapped her fingers against the counter, listening to the music with a tired smirk.
"'Tis the bloody season," she muttered to herself before taking another swig.
About time I can enjoy a bloody drink around here, eh?
20 or so minutes would pass and Bingo would be two beers down, another in her hand with the bottle half empty, chugging down the rest of it.
Her time of peace would be interrupted though, when 3 Australian Shepherd Brothers would walk in, their boots clattering on the floor.
The brothers, Bash, Deadeye, and Knuckle. Bash is focused on melee, Deadeye is the sharpshooter, and Knuckle is the muscle/brute.
Bingo sat at the counter, her elbow resting on the polished wood and a half-empty beer bottle in her hand. not caring that they entered.
"Well, well! If it isn't Knives, in the flesh!" Bash sauntered into the room with his brothers close behind. His grin was wide and smug as his eyes scanned her lazily. "Hmm… she's quite the looker, ain't she?"
"Yeah," the shooter, Deadeye, replied with a chuckle. "I'd give her a poke… if we didn't have to kill her." His voice oozed vulgarity, and the smirk on his face didn't help.
"Let's make this quick.." the brute, Knuckle, said gruffly, his gaze locking onto Bingo.
The red Heeler woman sighed, her ears twitching as she glanced at them from the corner of her eye. "C'mon, mate, it's the holidays… Do you guys really wanna do this here?" Her tone was casual but edged with irritation. She raised the beer bottle to her lips and took a slow sip. "Go spend time with your folks, just go home."
"We ain't goin' nowhere, love," Bash said, stepping forward with his cocky grin. "We're doing this right here, right now, Knives..so let's make it fun, yeah?"
Bingo shook her head, looking down at the bottle in her hand. She inspected it idly, tilting it back and forth as if appraising its worth. "…Yup, this oughta do." she murmured, almost to herself.
Bash's smirk faltered slightly. "Hey, hey, BITCH." He jabbed a finger toward her. "I know you hear me—"
CRACK
SLASH
He didn't finish. In one swift motion, Bingo smashed the beer bottle against the counter and slit his throat with the jagged edge of the glass. Blood sprayed out as his eyes widened in shock, his hands clawing at his neck.
"Agh! Aghhshh…."
He stumbled back, gurgling, before crumpling to the floor, blood shooting from his throat.
The bar went silent. Conversations halted, and all eyes turned toward the scene. Only the jukebox carried on, lazily crooning
"It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas…"
Bingo stood slowly, shaking her head at the body on the floor. She scoffed, her tone sharp and cold. "Could've just walked out."
Deadeye's smirk disappeared as he pulled his pistol, fury twisting his features. "You're not walking out of here alive, Knives! " he snarled, aiming straight at her. "I'll shoot you dead, BITCH!"
Bingo didn't flinch. She sighed dramatically, wiping a bit of blood off her cheek. "Mate, I warned you. Could've been home with your family, eating pavlova, opening presents…" Her hand dipped into her jacket as she trailed off.
The moment his finger twitched toward the trigger...
SLING!
Her knife was already in the air. It spun end over end, sinking into his chest with a sickening thunk.
Deadeye froze, his mouth falling open as he stumbled back, the gun slipping from his fingers and he looked down at the blade in his chest… He hit the floor with a thud, dead before the knife's handle stopped quivering.
For a moment, the only sound was the jukebox crooning.
"Take a look at the five and ten, it's glistening once again…"
Knuckle stepped forward, his towering frame blocking out the light above. Unlike his brothers, he didn't rush. He simply stared at Bingo with cold, calculating eyes.
"You've got guts, Knives. I'll give you that," he said, his voice like gravel. "But you're not getting out of here in one piece... I'm going to snap you like a twig."
Bingo cracked her neck, rolling her shoulders as she faced him. "Snap me like a twig? I'd love to see you try, big guy."
His response was a roar as he charged, swinging a massive fist. Bingo ducked the haymaker, sliding to the side and delivering a quick jab to his ribs. He barely flinched. She danced back, landing a kick to his shin, then another to his side, but it was like hitting a brick wall.
Knuckle swung again, and this time, he connected. His fist slammed into her shoulder, sending her stumbling into the bar. She gritted her teeth, shaking off the pain, but he was already on her. A backhand from his massive arm struck her across the face, snapping her head to the side and sending her sprawling to the floor.
The crowd of bounty hunters murmured, a few smirking, clearly entertained by the fight.
Bingo pushed herself up, blood trickling from her lip, and threw a punch at his stomach. It landed, but he just grunted, grabbing her arm and flinging her into a table. The impact knocked the breath out of her, and she slumped for a moment before forcing herself upright.
You're slipping Knives.. get the hell up.
"You done yet?" Knuckle taunted, cracking his knuckles as he approached.
Bingo spat blood onto the floor and smirked through the pain. "Not even close, mate."
When Knuckle charged again, Bingo was ready. She ducked under his swing and slammed her head forward, her forehead smashing directly into his nose.
CRACK
"AGH!"
A sickening crack echoed through the bar as blood spurted from Knuckle's face. He staggered back, cursing in pain, "FUCK..!"
Bingo pressed her advantage, darting forward and slamming her fist into his ribs, then an elbow into his throat. But even through the pain, Knuckle roared and swung wildly, his fist catching her side and sending her tumbling into a broken chair.
The moment she rose, her feral side began to bubble to the surface. Her breaths came in sharp, animalistic huffs, and her eyes narrowed as a snarl escaped her throat.
She was a monster.
Knuckle, still clutching his broken nose, lunged again. This time, she didn't avoid him. She met him head-on, slipping past his reach and launching herself onto his back. Locking her legs around his torso, she began driving a shard of glass she'd grabbed into his neck, over and over.
"AGHH GET OFF ME!"
Blood sprayed as he roared, stumbling backward and slamming her against a wall before stumbling again, but Bingo didn't let up. Her fangs were bared, her snarls guttural as she drove the shard into his shoulder, his chest, and his throat. His massive hands clawed at her, but she clung on like a rabid animal.
Finally, with a last furious growl, she drove the shard deep into his throat again and twisted.
SPLISHHHHH
Knuckle's knees buckled and his blood painted the floor red and he fell forward, slamming to the floor with Bingo still atop him.
Bingo sat atop Knuckle's motionless body, her chest heaving as blood dripped down her arms. Slowly, her feral side ebbed, leaving her breathing ragged and her body trembling.
She climbed off him, wiping her face with the back of her hand. The bar was silent except for the soft croon of the jukebox.
"Soon the bells will start…"
She looked at the three corpses scattered around her, shaking her head slowly. Her voice was low, almost a whisper. "I told you three.. to just go the fuck home..."
Sighing, she calmed back down, wincing at the pain in her ribs. Misty sighed, wiping a glass.
"Well, Merry bloody Christmas, Knives. You're paying for the cleanup."
Bingo turned toward the counter, her movements slow and deliberate. Her body ached, but she forced herself to sit back down in her seat, exhaling shakily. "Just… just add it to my tab." She paused, her voice softening slightly. "Also, give me a mimosa, please… and a towel."
Misty didn't flinch, didn't even blink at the carnage littering the bar. She simply reached under the counter, pulled out a pristine white towel, and tossed it to Bingo. The heeler caught it with one hand, the other already trembling from the adrenaline crash.
The towel turned crimson almost immediately as Bingo wiped the blood from her arms and face. She scrubbed at the fur, but the stains lingered, a harsh reminder of the violence she'd unleashed. Droplets fell onto the bar, pooling into a small, macabre reflection of her own handiwork.
The bar slowly returned to its usual hum of conversation. Whispers spread like wildfire, but no one dared approach her. What had just unfolded would soon become another tale of the underground—a gruesome story passed around over drinks, with her name as its central figure.
But for Bingo, the noise of the room faded. The world grew quiet, her thoughts loud and unrelenting.
Three brothers dead, and for what?
The words clawed at her mind, each syllable sinking deep.
A bloody warning to anyone dumb enough to cross me? Or maybe this is just who I am now…
She glanced at her hands, stained with blood that refused to wash away.
A killer who wastes lives before Christmas. Bloody hell... Bloody fuckin hell…
She finished wiping her face and stared down at the lifeless bodies sprawled across the floor. Bash's throat had been torn open, Deadeye's chest still bore the knife she'd thrown, and Knuckle lay in a growing pool of blood.
Her gaze lingered on them, calculating despite the guilt gnawing at her.
Bash was worth 20,000… Deadeye was worth 25,000… Knuckle was worth 30,000. That's 75,000 dollars in one day, it's not even night yet.
She let out a dry, humorless laugh.
Guess that's one way to make Christmas cash. But at what bloody cost? I've just KILLED someone's sons-
"KNIVES!"
The sharp voice jolted her out of her thoughts. She turned toward the counter, her eyes narrowing slightly before refocusing on Misty.
"Your mimosa." Misty said, sliding the glass toward her with a small smirk. "Figured you'd need it."
Bingo blinked, her mind catching up. "Oh. Yeah." She reached for the glass and took a long sip, the tart sweetness mingling with the sharp bite of alcohol. It was almost enough to calm her nerves.
"Thanks, mate." she murmured, her voice softer now.
Misty leaned against the counter, her sharp blue eyes watching Bingo carefully. "You know, Knives," she began, her tone conversational but edged with something deeper, "you've got a real talent for turning this place into a bloody mess."
Bingo didn't respond immediately. She kept drinking, staring at the bottom of her glass as though it might hold answers.
Her gaze flicked to the bodies one last time. The Christmas music played on, mocking her with its cheerfulness.
"It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas…"
She exhaled heavily, setting the empty glass down with a soft clink. "Misty." she said, her voice steady but carrying a weight, "..Add another mimosa to my tab. It's gonna be a long day."
…
I stayed in that bar for a good 2 hours, finally getting out of there and heading back home.
Bingo sat on the edge of her bed, her skin freshly scrubbed and free of the blood and grime that had clung to her earlier. A towel wrapped around her body and another twisted over her damp hair, she stared blankly at the television screen in front of her. It was off, the dark glass reflecting her silhouette at her like a warped mirror.
The room was quiet—too quiet. The kind of silence that wasn't comforting, but heavy, pressing against her like a weight she couldn't shake. She reached for the remote but stopped midway, her hand hovering in the air before retreating.
What's the point?
She thought, resting her elbows on her knees and dropping her face into her hands.
Her packed bags sat by the door, ready for her flight back home in the morning. Yet, as much as she wanted to go, something about the thought of facing her family again made her stomach churn. She sighed, leaning back and staring at the ceiling instead of her reflection.
Everything's packed. The flight's booked. But I still don't feel ready. How can I look them in the eyes when I can't even look at myself?
The thought lingered, gnawing at her. Her chest felt tight, and for a moment, she closed her eyes, trying to shove it all down, to lock it away like she always did. But the apartment's oppressive stillness made it impossible to ignore the weight of her thoughts.
I… I gotta talk to someone. I hate being alone with my thoughts.
Bingo's hands fumbled for her personal phone on the bedside table. Her thumb hovered over her contacts list, scrolling past familiar names.
Mum? No… I can't tell her anything. Bluey? Same issue. Shit, I can't even let my own family in on this mess. What the hell would they think of me?
She let out a shaky breath, tossing the phone aside and grabbing her burner—her "professional" phone. As she scrolled through her limited contacts, one name stood out, making her stomach knot.
Ms. Sevyn… God, I can't believe I'm about to do this. I'm being pathetic. Vulnerable. This isn't me.
Before she could second-guess herself, she hit the call button. The line barely rang before Ms. Sevyn's cool, professional voice answered.
"Knives? What's up? You know it's usually me chasing you down, not the other way around."
Bingo froze, gripping the phone tightly. For a moment, the words were stuck in her throat.
"I…" She swallowed hard, forcing the words out. "Sev, I'm… scared."
There was a beat of silence on the other end of the line, as if Ms. Sevyn were letting the weight of the admission settle.
"For the first time in forever, I'm fucking scared, Sev. I turned down the Black Widows today—Phantom himself—and now I'm on edge. What if they retaliate? What if I've just painted a target on my back?" Her voice cracked slightly, and she took a shaky breath. "And on top of that… I'm flying back home tomorrow, to see my family. I haven't seen them in MONTHS, nearly a year! I don't even know if they'll recognize me… if I recognize me anymore. I just… I feel like I'm falling apart and-"
"Knives," Ms. Sevyn's voice came sharp and steady, slicing through Bingo's spiraling thoughts. "First off, take a breath. No—really—breathe. You're working yourself up, love."
Bingo hesitated but closed her eyes, inhaling and exhaling deeply
"Good," Sevyn continued, her tone softening. "Now listen to me: the Black Widows? They're like a storm—loud, intimidating, and impossible to ignore. But storms blow over, sweetheart. You made your choice, and from what I know about you, it wasn't a decision made lightly. So don't waste energy doubting it now."
Bingo's grip on the phone loosened slightly as Sevyn's words sank in.
"And about your family…" Sevyn paused, her voice turning gentle, almost maternal. "You're still you, Knives. Sure, maybe you've got more scars now—inside and out—but you're their daughter. Their sister. That won't change, no matter how much you've been through. Don't let your fear talk you out of seeing the people who love you."
Bingo exhaled slowly, her chest feeling slightly lighter. "Yeah…" she murmured, her voice quieter. "You're right."
"Of course I am." Ms. Sevyn chuckled softly. "Now, stop pacing around and get some rest. You'll need your wits about you—for your family and for whatever the Black Widows think they're planning. IF they're planning something that is."
"Thanks, Sev," Bingo replied, a faint, genuine smile tugging at her lips.
"Anytime, dear. Happy Holidays!"
As the call ended, Bingo sat in the silence again. It wasn't quite as heavy as before.
She's right.
Bingo exhaled deeply, gripping the edge of her bed.
I can't let this mess screw me over. I'm going back to Brisbane, and I'm going to make my folks happy. We're going to have a great Christmas and nothing— her jaw tightened —nothing is gonna stop me.
She stood up, shaking off the lingering tension, and rummaged through her drawers for something comfortable. She eventually settled on a loose grey t-shirt, black sweats, and a pair of fluffy pink slippers. Cute. Simple. Relaxed. Just what I need right now.
As she sank back onto the bed, Bingo grabbed the remote and flicked through her options before landing on a classic she'd watched a hundred times. The Nightmare Before Christmas.
She nestled into her pillow as the opening music started, her lips quirking into a faint smile.
Hate the holidays, but I love this movie. Figures. Her brow furrowed slightly.
Christmas hater or secret enjoyer…? You can't ever decide, huh, Bingo? Fraud.
The thought made her laugh quietly to herself, her body finally easing into the comfort of the moment. For once, it was just her, a movie, and a rare slice of peace.
It was rare that she had moments like these.
….