The day passed and went just as quickly as it came. I slept for a few hours, and went and saw Blue for a bit… she didn't speak, but she was doing a bit better. I came back home and slept until night finally came. Mum and Dad were at the hospital with Bluey, while I got ready for a little party.
Bingo stood there in her underwear, staring at the outfit laid out on her bed. It was a shadow of who she used to be—dark, ruthless, and efficient.
The faint glow of her phone lit the dim room, "Rises the Moon" by Liana Flores playing softly in the background. Her reflection in the cracked, body-sized mirror caught her eye. The break in the glass splintered her image into pieces, each shard showing a different side of her: the young girl she used to be, the fighter she had become, and the fury that was still bubbling just beneath the surface.
"Days seem sometimes as if they'll never end
Sun digs its heels to taunt you
But after sunlit days, one thing stays the same
Rises the moon.."
The lyrics floated in the air, soft and ethereal, as she took a deep breath.
Okay. Time to gear up.
The black, high-neck sleeveless shirt came first. She slipped it over her head, adjusting the snug fit over her torso. The fabric was light but sturdy, clinging like a second skin. She zipped the collar up, feeling the material press against her throat—a quiet reminder to stay grounded, stay sharp.
"Days fade into a watercolour blur
Memories swim and haunt you
But look into the lake, shimmering like smoke
Rises the moon.."
Next were the cargo pants. Bingo stepped into them, tugging them up and fastening the belt around her waist with a deliberate pull. Her fingers lingered on the pouches, checking and double-checking the placement of her blades. One, two, three knives. She ran her thumb over the grip of the largest one, the cool steel a comforting weight in her hands.
"Oh-oh, close your weary eyes
I promise you that soon the autumn comes
To darken fading summer skies
Breathe, breathe, breathe.."
The gloves came next, their leather soft and worn from years of use. She slid them on, flexing her fingers and rolling her wrists. These gloves had been with her through it all—every fight, every close call, every moment where blood had stained her hands. She squeezed her fists, feeling the creak of the leather.
Tonight would be no different.
"Days pull you down just like a sinking ship
Floating is getting harder
But tread the water, child, and know that meanwhile
Rises the moon.."
Sitting on the edge of her bed, she pulled on her boots. Each lace was tied with care, the knot pulled tight to ensure they wouldn't come undone in the middle of a fight. Bingo leaned down, slipping a small blade into the sheath hidden inside her left boot. She stomped her foot once against the floor, testing the fit. Solid.
Finally, the bomber jacket. She shrugged it on, the weight settling over her shoulders like armor. The pockets inside the jacket were already filled—throwing knives on the left, more throwing knives on the right. She adjusted the fit and zipped it up halfway, leaving just enough room to move freely.
"Days pull you up just like a daffodil
Uprooted from its garden
They'll tell you what you owe, but know even so
Rises the moon.."
The last piece was her utility belt. She picked it up and wrapped it around her waist, fastening it snugly. Each pouch and sheath was meticulously arranged: more knives, lockpicks, and a small vial of poison tucked neatly into place incase she needed it.. She gave the belt a final tug, making sure it wouldn't shift during the mission.
Bingo looked back at the mirror. Her reflection stared back, fractured but resolute. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she fixed her hair. The line in the mirror was split.
On one side she saw Bingo, and on the other side, she saw Knives. But, when she blinked...
All there was, was Knives. Staring back at her.
For a moment, she let herself feel it all—the anger, the pain, the determination. Then, she reached for the last blade on the table, twirling it once before sliding it into the sheath on her thigh.
"You'll be visited by sleep
I promise you that soon the autumn comes
To steal away each dream you keep
Breathe, breathe, breathe.."
She turned off the music, grabbed her phone, and tucked it into her jacket. With one last look in the mirror, she whispered to herself
"Let's go."
And with that, Bingo stepped into the night, getting into her rental car and pulling out of her parents' driveway.
This is gonna be a night… that Archer will NEVER forget.
….
Bingo gripped the wheel tightly, the hum of the car's engine filling the silence as she sped down the dark streets. Her professional phone rested on the passenger seat, its screen glowing faintly. After a moment of hesitation, she picked it up and dialed a number...
The line rang twice before a familiar voice answered.
"Knives? Didn't expect to hear from you so soon. How's the family?"
"…My sister got shot, Sevyn," Bingo said bluntly, her voice low and controlled. "It was a Black Widow. Archer—the Marksman."
There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end, followed by silence.
"Knives… I'm so sorry," Sevyn finally said, her tone soft and careful. "Is she…"
"She's alive," Bingo interrupted, though her voice wavered slightly. "Barely. But that doesn't mean I'm letting this slide."
Sevyn exhaled heavily. "I see. What do you need?"
"I need information," Bingo said, the venom in her voice cutting through the quiet. "Not just on Archer—on the Black Widows. All of them. I'm going after every last one. And tonight, it starts with him."
There was a pause before Sevyn replied. "You're serious about this, aren't you?"
"Dead serious," Bingo snapped. "You used to work at the information center in the underground, didn't you? You've still got connections. I need you to dig up everything you can on my targets. I know it's a lot to ask, but—"
"You don't even have to ask, love," Sevyn cut in gently. "Of course I'll help. But Knives… you realize what you're stepping into, right? The Black Widows aren't just dangerous—they're ruthless. Going after them could…" She hesitated, her voice lowering. "It could get you killed."
She's right. But…
Bingo's grip on the phone tightened as she stared ahead into the dark road. "I know. But they've crossed a line, Sevyn. They came after my family. If I don't do this, they'll keep coming. I can't let that happen."
Sevyn was quiet for a long moment before finally replying. "…Alright. I'll get to work. I'll send you everything I find, but be careful. You'll need more than just a sharp blade to take them on, Knives."
"I've got all that I need." Bingo said, her voice cold and steady.
The call ended, the quiet hum of the car returning. Bingo tossed the phone back onto the seat and pressed harder on the gas, the city lights flashing by in a blur…
…..
Bingo adjusted her jacket as the salty breeze from the ocean swept through the streets of 'Kill Haven'. The city felt alive, buzzing with its own undercurrent of chaos. Neon lights reflected off puddles scattered across the cobblestone streets, while the faint sound of waves crashing against the docks blended with the occasional shouts of fishermen and the hum of distant boats. Despite its criminal reputation, Kill Haven was strangely picturesque—a twisted beauty born from its coastal roots.
She walked past weathered buildings, their chipped paint and rusted metal accents giving them a gritty charm. Each structure leaned into the aesthetic of an old port city, with ropes, anchors, and faded maritime symbols etched into the walls. It might have been a tourist destination in another life, but now, it belonged to the underground—the perfect setting for a party catering to the assassins and their ilk.
Bingo's boots clicked softly against the pavement as she approached the building where the party was being held. It was perched on a cliff overlooking the sea, its looming silhouette glowing faintly under scattered string lights. The windows shimmered with distorted reflections of the ocean, and muffled bass thumped from inside, competing with the crash of the waves below.
She paused at the edge of the street, her eyes scanning the crowd trickling into the building. Wealthy criminals in tailored suits and deadly heels. Bounty hunters, mercenaries, and assassins mingled like it was just another night out. Bingo adjusted her utility belt, her fingers brushing against the hidden blades at her side. Her breath was steady, her heart cold with focus.
As she moved closer, a faint aroma of saltwater and cigarette smoke hit her. The party-goers gave her little more than a glance, though a few stared longer, sizing her up. She smirked faintly to herself—just another predator in a den full of them. But tonight, she wasn't here to mingle.
She was here for Archer.
Bingo clenched her fists, her gloved hands tightening around her resolve.
The party may have been in full swing, but her night was just beginning.
A lot of blokes are attending this party… makes me jealous I wasn't invited.
Bingo silently blended into the crowd that funneled into the building. The security guards barely noticed her as she slipped through the cracks, a shadow in the midst of drunken laughter and boisterous chatter. The thump of bass rattled her bones, and the energy of the crowd washed over her as if she was just another face in the sea of intoxicated partygoers. She felt the pulse of the music in her veins, a steady rhythm that matched her heartbeat. Her eyes darted over the group—there was a lot of money in here, a lot of killers—and she felt it. This wasn't just a party.
This was a war zone in disguise.
On the inside, the building was nothing like the grim, weathered exterior. It was alive with neon lights flashing across exposed brick, dancing off the chrome fixtures, and the air was thick with the heavy scent of weed and cigarette smoke. People swayed to the music, their bodies moving in ways that mirrored the chaos of Kill Haven's underworld. The bar, a massive structure of polished steel and glass, was a hub of activity. Laughter and clinking glasses echoed off the walls, while the DJ booth spun tracks that blended into the pulse of the crowd. The music was loud, the energy high.
Four floors, four levels of potential chaos. Bingo took in the layout, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the room. This place was a hive of killers—and she was right in the middle of it. Her senses sharpened, heightened by the familiar feeling of being surrounded by danger.
Archer could be anywhere… but if I had to take a stab, he'd probably be on the top floor. VIP is up there, right?
As Bingo adjusted her grip on her Utility belt, her mind worked quickly. She moved through the crowd with precision, her body gliding like water as she blended seamlessly with the chaos around her. She could practically feel the weight of each step, every breath, every passing second building the tension in her chest.
Bzzt.
Bzzt.
Her phone vibrated in her hand, snapping her focus back to reality. With a sharp exhale, she pulled it from her pocket and flicked the screen to answer.
"Talk."
"It's Mirage." Judo's voice cut through the haze of noise like a blade. "I have an informant inside. She says Archer's going to be in the private rooms on the 4th floor. The 3rd floor is packed with his goons—they're having their own little party up there. That slob's probably trying to get laid." Judo scoffed on the other end, and Bingo could almost hear the disgust in her tone. "You know what to do."
Jackpot.
Bingo's lips curled into a tight smirk, the adrenaline beginning to buzz under her skin.
The puzzle pieces were falling into place.
"Copy that." Her voice was cool, steady, and focused. She hung up and pocketed her phone, her eyes scanning for the quickest route to the elevator.
The atmosphere around her felt more oppressive now, her senses on high alert. The music, the laughter, the clinking of bottles—all of it faded into the background as she fixed her gaze on the glowing elevator buttons.
With a steady breath, Bingo turned toward the bank of elevators and made her way through the crowd, moving with purpose, each step bringing her closer to the moment she'd been waiting for.
Tonight, Archer wouldn't be walking out of here.
Not alive, at least.
The rookie killer stepped out of the elevator, her boots clicking against the polished floor as she scanned the corridor ahead. It was quiet, almost too quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos of the lower floors. This space had an air of exclusivity—closed off, insulated, and carefully guarded.
At the end of the hallway stood her obstacle: a towering Great Pyrenees in black tactical attire, stationed in front of a set of imposing double doors. He was built like a wall, broad-shouldered and formidable, and his sharp eyes tracked her movements immediately.
Bingo strode forward with purpose, confidence radiating off her like a second skin. Her lips curled into a smirk, but beneath her casual demeanor, her mind was already working through her next move. The knife at her thigh and the blade in her boot felt like extensions of her body, but she decided on a different approach—something quieter, something smarter.
As she approached, the guard shifted his stance, crossing his arms over his chest. "Sorry, you ain't VIP, love," he said gruffly, his voice deep and dismissive. "No entry."
Bingo stopped just short of him, tilting her head slightly as her smirk widened. "Oh, c'mon, big guy…" she said, her tone dipping into something flirtatious. She took a small step closer, placing a hand lightly on his chest, her fingers brushing against the fabric of his shirt. Her expression softened into a sultry grin, her eyes locking onto his with a faux innocence that could fool even the sharpest mind. "How about I make it worth your while, eh? I'll give you a little something, and you let me in… Pretty please?"
Internally, she cringed, but she kept the act flawless.
This is disgusting. But if it works, it works.
The Pyrenees looked down at her, clearly caught off guard. He arched a brow, a crooked smirk tugging at his lips. All of these guys were the same—slobs, easy to manipulate.
He chuckled, the sound low and smug. "I'm listenin'."
Bingo let out a soft, playful laugh, running a finger across his chest. "Heh, follow me," she said, grabbing his wrist lightly and leading him toward a nearby restroom.
The second the door shut behind them, Bingo struck. Her playful demeanor melted away in an instant, replaced by the cold, calculated efficiency of Knives. She spun around and slammed her fist into his nose!
CRUNCH
"AGH! YOU BITCH-"
Before he could react, she grabbed his head and drove it into the nearest mirror-
CRASH!
The mirror shattered and the Pyrenees collapsed to the floor, dazed and groaning, blood dripping from his broken nose and his forehead.
Bingo stood over him, shaking her hand out as she muttered, "Fucking idiot." She crouched down, rifling through his pockets to grab anything useful—a keycard, maybe even his phone, she took a set of keys.. the VIP rooms maybe? Once satisfied, she straightened up, brushing a few shards of glass off her jacket.
With one last glance at the unconscious brute, she stepped back out into the hallway, her composure unshaken. She returned to the double doors, the smirk creeping back onto her face. "And that's how you deal with a guard.." she muttered under her breath, reaching for the handle.
Bingo pushed the double doors open, stepping into what could only be described as a den of sin. The air was thick with the stench of sweat, booze, smoke, and a hint of something chemical—cocaine if the guy hunched over a table in the corner was any indication. The room was alive with chaos: loud music boomed through the speakers, strobe lights flashed across the crowd of men, and every corner was a scene of debauchery. Men dressed in the Black Widows' signature black and red attire drank heavily, laughed obnoxiously, and pawed at the women who danced around them.
It was disgusting. A hive of scum and villainy.
Fucking heathens. Bingo's lip curled in disdain.
She quickly scanned the room, catching sight of a Kelpie woman behind the bar. The moment their gazes met, the Kelpie froze, her eyes widening. Bingo strode toward her, her boots crunching faintly against the sticky floor. The thrum of the music barely masked the sound.
"Hey, look," Bingo started, her tone calm but laced with an edge. "It's about to get real messy up here. I suggest you call it a night and head home."
The Kelpie blinked, seemingly startled, before leaning closer. "Wait… are you Knives?" she asked, her voice low but hurried. When Bingo's brow raised slightly, the woman continued, "Mirage told me about you. You got here quick." She glanced around, subtly motioning with her head toward a set of stairs tucked away at the far end of the room. "Those stairs will take you to the 4th floor. But if you want to level the playing field, there's a breaker box in the back that controls the lights in this room and on the floor above."
Her eyes darkened, and her voice dropped to a whisper. "These guys are just thugs—idiots with guns and weapons.. One of them groped me earlier, and I couldn't do a damn thing about it..." She looked Bingo dead in the eyes. "So, woman to woman… do me a favor, yeah? Kill these bastards."
Bingo stared at her for a moment, her jaw tightening. There was nothing she hated more than creeps like these. Slowly, she gave a silent nod. "…Alright." She motioned for the woman to leave. "Get out of here. I'll handle the rest."
The Kelpie gave her a grateful nod, slipping out from behind the bar and vanishing through the doors Bingo had just entered. With the informant gone, Bingo shifted her focus to the room.
She moved through the crowd, weaving her way toward one of the men, a burly thug with a woman grinding against him. He didn't notice her until she tapped him on the shoulder.
"Oi, what the—who the hell are you?" he barked, glaring down at her.
Bingo gave him a cold smile. "The Grim Reaper, mate."
Before he could react, her blade flashed. The combat knife sliced clean through his throat in one swift, practiced motion. Blood sprayed from the wound as the man stumbled back, gurgling and clutching at his neck before collapsing to the floor in a heap.
The woman screamed, staggering back before bolting for the exit. Her panicked cries sparked chaos as the other women in the room scrambled for the door, leaving only Bingo and the remaining 11 men.
The thugs turned toward her, stunned at first, then furious.
"Holy shit! That bitch just killed Danny!" one shouted, his voice rising over the pounding music.
"Let's teach her a lesson she'll never forget..." another growled, his gaze dark and predatory. "Maybe have some fun with her, eh?"
Bingo stood her ground, her blade glinting under the strobe lights as her fingers flexed around its hilt. "Come and try.." she said, her voice low and deadly.
One of the men lunged at her first, his fists swinging wildly. Bingo ducked under his strike with ease, stepping into his space and driving her knife into his side, just beneath his ribs. He let out a choked cry as she twisted the blade, yanking it free before kicking him backward into a table.
Two more came at her, one swinging a pool cue while the other grabbed a chair. Bingo sidestepped the first swing, grabbing the pool cue mid-strike and snapping it over her knee. She spun, driving the broken end into the second man's chest before grabbing his head and slamming it into the edge of the bar. The dull thud was satisfying as he crumpled to the floor.
The man with the chair tried to use it as a shield, but Bingo was faster. She darted around him, slicing across the back of his leg to bring him to his knees. A quick elbow to the side of his head finished the job.
Eight more to go.
Another thug, high on cocaine, charged at her with a broken beer bottle. His movements were erratic, but she timed his attack perfectly, sidestepping and slashing across his forearm. The bottle fell from his grip, and she followed up with a knee to his stomach and a knife to his throat.
Gunshots rang out as one of the men finally decided to stop playing games. Bingo dropped to the ground, rolling behind an overturned table for cover. She pulled a small throwing knife from her jacket and hurled it across the room, hitting the gunman in the shoulder.
"Agh!"
He screamed, dropping the weapon just as she closed the distance with a quick dash. A swift kick to his knee sent him crashing down, and she silenced him with a blade to the heart.
The remaining six thugs hesitated, realizing she wasn't just some reckless girl—they were dealing with a killer.
"..Let's dance." Bingo said, cracking her neck as she readied herself for the next wave.
The six remaining thugs exchanged uncertain glances, a flicker of hesitation passing through the group. But their pride—or stupidity—kept them rooted in place. One of them, a wiry mutt with a jagged scar running across his face, spat on the ground and sneered.
"She's just one chick. Come on, boys—rush her!"
The men let out a battle cry as they charged all at once, a chaotic mass of fists, weapons, and desperation. Bingo's muscles tensed, her eyes darting between them as the chaos came rushing toward her.
This is going to get messy..
The first man to reach her swung a crowbar, aiming for her head. Bingo ducked low, the weapon whistling past her as she drove her shoulder into his gut, using his own momentum to send him crashing into one of his friends. They toppled like dominoes, but there was no time to celebrate. Another thug came at her with a knife, slashing wildly.
Bingo deflected the attack with her own blade, sparks flying as the knives clashed. She twisted her wrist, disarming him with a fluid motion before slamming the hilt of her weapon into his temple. He staggered back, dazed, and she finished him off with a brutal kick to the throat, crushing his windpipe.
One of the larger thugs, a massive Rottweiler, grabbed her from behind, locking his thick arms around her in a crushing bear hug. Bingo gritted her teeth as he lifted her off the ground, her ribs groaning under the pressure.
"Gotcha now, you little—"
He didn't get to finish. Bingo slammed the back of her head into his nose with a sharp crack, causing him to loosen his grip. She followed up with a vicious stomp to his foot and a well-placed elbow to his groin. The Rottweiler let out a strangled gasp as he released her entirely, clutching at himself as he dropped to his knees.
She spun around, her blade flashing as she drove it deep into his chest and twisted it, killing him.. she pulled out her blood-stained knife.
Three down, three to go.
The last three surrounded her, each wielding a weapon—a bat, a pipe, and a pair of brass knuckles. They moved more cautiously now, circling her like a pack of wolves sizing up their prey.
The one with the bat lunged first, swinging for her legs. Bingo jumped back, narrowly avoiding the strike, but the guy with the pipe took the opportunity to swing at her side. She twisted her body, the pipe grazing her ribs, but the impact sent a jolt of pain through her.
Gritting her teeth, she grabbed the bat mid-swing on the second attempt, yanking it from the first thug's hands and smashing it into his knee. He howled in pain as his leg buckled, and Bingo capitalized on the moment, swinging the bat again—this time into his face, fracturing his skull.
The thug with the brass knuckles tried to catch her off guard, rushing her with a furious barrage of punches. She ducked and weaved, her agility keeping her just out of reach. When an opening presented itself, she stepped inside his guard and slammed the bat into his ribs and then again into his skull, the crack of bone audible even over the pounding music. He collapsed, groaning, as the last thug—pipe in hand—stood frozen in place.
"Go ahead," Bingo said, her voice cold and sharp as steel. She dropped the bat, letting it clatter to the floor. "Try me."
The thug's confidence faltered, his grip on the pipe tightening as sweat beaded on his forehead. He charged, screaming as he swung with all his strength. Bingo sidestepped, her body moving fluidly, and delivered a brutal kick to his knee, sending him crashing to the floor. Before he could recover, she stomped on his wrist, forcing him to drop the pipe, and drove her knife into his chest.
The room was silent now, save for the pounding bass of the music and the faint gurgles of the last thug as he slumped lifelessly to the ground. Bingo stood in the center of the carnage, her chest heaving as she surveyed the bodies littering the room. Blood stained the floor, pooling beneath the fallen men.
She wiped her blade clean on the shirt of the nearest corpse, then glanced toward the stairs leading to the fourth floor... She remembered the power box that the woman told her about.
With a blank stare, she made her way toward the back and found a little power room that had the circuit box in it.
I could shut this off.. but I've only got like 2 minutes before it powers back on.. gotta make this quick.
She put her hands on the handle for the power box and quickly pulled it down…
….
The soft sounds of muffled music thumped from the floor below as moans and whispered laughter filled the VIP suite. Inside the lavish hotel-like room—with its sleek kitchenette, luxurious bathroom, and a balcony overlooking Kill Haven—Archer lay sprawled on the plush bed. Dressed in his signature black-and-red attire, the Dingo indulged himself fully in the pleasures of the night.
The woman atop him, a sultry poodle with perfect curls and a mischievous smile, trailed kisses down his jawline. Her perfume mixed with the faint aroma of alcohol clinging to both of them, the haze of indulgence thick between them.
"Mmm, you cheeky little thing…" Archer muttered as her hand slid to grope his backside. His voice was slurred just enough to betray his intoxication, but the glint in his amber eyes showed he still had some awareness. He chuckled as her lips found his neck, his head tipping back. "Keep that up, and I might actually get used to you."
The woman giggled, her nails trailing down his chest. "Oh, I'm not here to keep you used to anything, sweetheart. Just a little fun, yeah?"
"Fun's what I'm all about, love," Archer drawled, the cocky grin spreading wider. Everything seemed to be going his way tonight—
until it didn't.
Whiiirrrr.
The lights abruptly cut out, plunging the room into pitch-black darkness. The faint hum of the air conditioning died as well, leaving an eerie silence punctuated only by the muffled bass from below.
"What the—?" Archer's body tensed, his brows furrowing. He pushed the woman off him and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, sitting up. "Ah, bloody hell… can't lay down the wood if I can't see you, love. Pitch black in here."
The poodle sat up as well, a pout in her voice. "Oh, come on, dear. It's not like I need the lights to—"
"Shh!" Archer cut her off, his sharp instincts kicking in. Despite the alcohol dulling his senses, he could hear something faint—a shuffle, a creak. His hand immediately reached toward the nightstand for the gun he always kept close.
The poodle, oblivious, cooed, "Don't worry, darling. I've got your number, and you've got mine. You can always call me later~"
Archer ignored her, his eyes narrowing as he stood. His sharp hearing picked up something else now—a soft click, like a door opening and closing.
"Heh, alright then," he muttered to the woman, feigning nonchalance. But his muscles coiled like a spring, his eyes darting toward the shadows in the room.
Click.
The lights flickered back on, illuminating the room. Archer froze, his instincts screaming.
Something was different.
"Alright, love… run along," Archer barked, his tone sharp and cold as his focus shifted from the poodle to the sudden shift in the air around him.
The poodle looked at him, confused at first, then sighed dramatically, her earlier coy demeanor slipping away. "Fine, fine… see ya, love," she muttered, smoothing out her dress as she sauntered toward the door.
Archer didn't bother watching her leave. The door clicked shut behind her, and the faint sound of her heels faded into the distance. The room was silent now, save for the muffled bass of the music thumping below.
The dingo's hand slowly moved to his holster, pulling out a sleek black handgun. His sharp eyes scanned the room, his movements deliberate and calculated.
"Alright, mate…" he muttered under his breath, every sense on high alert. "If you're in here, you've got about two seconds to show yourself. Or I'll find you first!"
He crept toward the kitchenette, his footsteps barely making a sound against the polished floors. He swung open the cabinet doors one by one, his gun raised, checking every shadowed corner.
Nothing.
His gaze darted to the closet across the room. Keeping his back to the wall, he approached it cautiously. In one swift motion, he yanked the door open, aiming the gun inside.
Still nothing.
A bead of sweat rolled down his temple as he huffed in frustration, muttering, "Bloody games... What the hell's going on here?"
Finally, his eyes settled on the bathroom door, left slightly ajar. The light inside was off, leaving the room shrouded in darkness.
Archer swallowed hard, his grip tightening on the gun as he moved closer. The door creaked softly as he pushed it open with his foot. The air inside felt cooler, almost unnaturally so, sending a chill down his spine.
His gun led the way as he stepped in, his gaze sweeping over every corner of the tiled space. His breath hitched when he saw the shower curtain drawn closed, a thick shadow behind it dancing faintly under the dim light from the bedroom.
The tension was suffocating. Archer raised his weapon, his other hand slowly reaching for the curtain. His heart pounded in his chest, the sound loud in his ears as he gripped the fabric.
SWISH.
In a flash, he yanked the curtain aside and aimed his gun—
At nothing.
The shower was empty. No assassin lurking behind the curtain, no threat waiting to pounce. Just his own reflection in the damp chrome fixtures.
Archer let out a shaky breath, lowering his gun. His shoulders sagged slightly as he muttered, "Am I going bloody crazy? The hell did they put in those drinks?"
He backed out of the bathroom, his body still taut with tension, his instincts screaming that something was wrong. The door to the bathroom hung open behind him, a faint creak escaping as it swung slightly on its hinges.
He slowly backed out of the bathroom, still looking into it. The open door blocked his side vision.
Archer scoffed as he shut the bathroom door, shaking his head. "Heh… guess it was nothin'."
The moment the door clicked shut, Bingo was there, her eyes blazing with fury.
"GRAAH!" she roared, launching herself at him like a coiled spring.
"What the—!" Archer barely had time to react before Bingo's boot connected with his hand, sending his gun skittering across the room. She followed up instantly with a spinning back kick that smashed into his jaw, forcing the dingo to stumble back with a grunt of pain.
Before he could recover, Bingo closed the gap, her combat knife flashing in her hand. She slashed at him with surgical precision, her strikes relentless and fast. Archer dodged narrowly, twisting his body away from the first two attacks, his instincts keeping him alive. On the third slash, his hand shot out, gripping her wrist in a vice-like hold.
The two struggled, their strength pitted against one another as they locked eyes. Archer's lip curled into a mocking smirk. "Oh… well, if it isn't the red heeler bitch," he sneered, his voice dripping with condescension, "Knives, right?"
Bingo growled, pushing against him with all her might, her teeth clenched as her rage surged.
"Let me guess.." he continued, his tone laced with fake sympathy. "You're upset I put a bullet in your sister, huh?" His grin widened, cruel and taunting, as his grip tightened on her wrist. "It was such an honest mistake, yeah?"
Bingo snarled, her free hand clawing at his forearm, but Archer's raw strength gave him the upper hand.
"You can try all you want, sweetheart.." he chuckled, leaning in close enough for her to feel his breath. "But I've been in this game a lot longer than you have."
For a moment, it seemed like Archer had the upper hand, but Bingo's glare was unwavering, her mind racing for a way to turn the tide. She wasn't about to let him win—not after what he'd done.
Archer's smirk widened as he twisted Bingo's arm, forcing her to drop the knife. It clattered onto the floor, skidding across the room. He shoved her backward, sending her crashing into the wall. The impact rattled the framed artwork behind her, but Bingo recovered quickly, pushing herself off the wall and charging at him again.
The dingo was quick, his reflexes sharp despite the alcohol coursing through his veins. As Bingo threw a rapid series of punches, he deflected them with calculated ease, stepping back with every strike she attempted. Her fists grazed his jaw and ribs, but Archer retaliated with a brutal hook to her stomach, doubling her over.
"Not so tough now, are ya!" he sneered, grabbing a fistful of her shirt and yanking her upright. He slammed her into the kitchenette counter, scattering glassware onto the floor with a loud crash!
Bingo grunted in pain but refused to let up. She lashed out with her leg, landing a powerful knee into his side, making Archer grunt in frustration. The force caused him to release her, and she seized the moment, grabbing a broken wine bottle from the counter and swinging it at him.
Archer ducked just in time, the jagged edge of the bottle missing his face by inches. "You're a scrappy little bitch, I'll give you that.." he growled, grabbing a frying pan from the stove and swinging it at her head.
Bingo ducked low, the pan whooshing over her head, and responded with a swift leg sweep, knocking Archer off his feet. He hit the floor hard, but as she lunged to finish him off, he kicked upward, his boot connecting with her chest and sending her stumbling backward.
"Agh!" Bingo huffed, staggering.
The dingo scrambled to his feet, blood dripping from a shallow cut on his temple from the broken glass. "I've got to admit, you've got fire, Knives.." he said with a mocking tone, cracking his neck as he squared up. "But this? This is out of your league, love..."
Bingo's lip curled into a snarl. "Funny. You didn't think it was out of your league when you put a bullet in my SISTER!."
The two clashed again, exchanging rapid blows. Archer's strength and reach gave him the upper hand in close combat, landing a heavy uppercut that sent Bingo reeling. She spit blood onto the floor, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as she glared at him, her mind racing.
Fuck.. he's a tank..
He came at her again, aiming another punch, but this time Bingo ducked and slid to the side, grabbing a nearby stool. With a growl, she swung it at him, the legs connecting with his ribs. Archer staggered, clutching his side, and Bingo pressed her advantage, rushing forward and slamming her elbow into his face and into his nose with a sick crunch, his nose bleeding.
The impact dazed him, but he wasn't finished. With a roar, Archer lunged forward, grabbing Bingo by the waist and slamming her into the edge of the dining table. The force knocked the wind out of her, and he pinned her down, his hand wrapping around her throat as he sneered down at her.
"You think you're special, huh? Just another rookie with a death wish. I've killed plenty of people tougher than you, sweetheart.." he spat, tightening his grip and he grinned maniacally.
Bingo's vision blurred for a moment, but her resolve burned brighter. Gritting her teeth, she reached for a fork on the table and jammed it into Archer's arm.
"FUCK!"
He roared in pain, letting go of her neck, and she used the opening to drive her knee into his groin.
Archer stumbled back, clutching himself, cursing under his breath and he yanked the fork out of his arm. "You'll regret that you little-"
Bingo didn't let him finish. She grabbed a kitchen knife from the counter, flipping it expertly in her hand, and charged at him again. Archer, still clutching his side, managed to grab a barstool, using it as a makeshift shield against her slashes.
The two moved like a storm around the room, trading vicious blows.
The fight was brutal, with neither willing to give an inch. Blood dripped onto the floor from shallow cuts on both of them, the sound of heavy breathing and crashes filling the air.
Bingo was battered but relentless, her bloodlust fueling her movements as she looked for an opening to finish this once and for all.
"Come on then!" Archer roared, throwing the stool aside and grabbing a large, decorative vase. He hurled it at her, but Bingo ducked just in time, the vase shattering against the wall.
CRASH!
As the debris settled, Bingo rushed forward, feinting a knife strike to his left side. When Archer moved to block, she shifted her weight, slamming the heel of her boot into his kneecap with a sickening crunch.
"GAAHH!"
Archer howled in pain, collapsing onto his good knee, but even then, his defiance burned hot. He lashed out with a wild punch, catching Bingo across the jaw and sending her stumbling back against the counter. Blood trickled from her split lip as she wiped it away, glaring at him with pure fury.
"You've got a lot of fight in ya.." he growled, breath ragged, his injured leg trembling as he forced himself upright.
Bingo smirked, ignoring the ache in her jaw. "Shut up.."
Her eyes darted around the room, searching for an opening, and then she spotted it—the glint of her knife lying on the floor near the kitchenette. Archer's eyes flicked toward it too, and for a split second, both of them froze.
They lunged at the same time.
Bingo hit the ground first, her fingers just grazing the hilt of the knife before Archer's heavy frame crashed into her. He shoved her onto her back, pinning her down as his weight bore down on her, his hands clamping around her wrist to stop her from reaching the blade.
"You don't have what it takes to kill me," he hissed through gritted teeth, leaning his full weight onto her as she struggled beneath him. "You'll never—"
Bingo snarled, cutting him off as she drove her knee into his stomach, forcing him to recoil. With a burst of strength, she twisted her body, rolling them both onto their sides. She reached for the knife again, her fingertips brushing the hilt—
Archer grabbed her ankle and yanked her back, dragging her away from the blade. She kicked at him furiously, her heel slamming into his injured leg, making him howl in agony. Taking advantage of his momentary distraction, Bingo scrambled to her feet, her breathing ragged as she put distance between them.
Archer got up and limped toward her, his face twisted in fury, his steps uneven and labored. "You little bitch!" he spat, blood dripping from his split lip. "You think you've got me? I'll snap your neck before you even get the chance-"
Bingo didn't waste time on a retort. As Archer lunged, she pivoted sharply, sweeping her leg into his good knee with a brutal kick.
"AHH MOTHER FUCKER!"
The impact made a sickening crack as Archer cried out, collapsing to the ground with both legs useless beneath him.
He tried to pull himself up, dragging his body forward with his arms, but Bingo was faster. She snatched up her knife, spinning it deftly in her hand as she turned to face him.
Archer glared up at her, his defiance dimming but not extinguished. "You think this makes you better than me?" he rasped, coughing through the pain. "You think killing me changes anything-"
"Shut the fuck up," Bingo snarled, her voice trembling with raw, unfiltered rage. She straddled the downed Dingo in one swift motion, her body vibrating with unrelenting fury. Without hesitation, she began to rain punches down on him—one after another, each blow harder than the last.
Archer's head jerked with every impact, his body convulsing as blood splattered across the floor, his muzzle, and her fists. Her knuckles, wrapped in fingerless black gloves, were now painted crimson, her breath ragged and animalistic with each strike.
She didn't stop—couldn't stop—until the world around her seemed to dissolve into the rhythm of violence.
By the time she finally halted, her chest heaved, her arms trembling from the exertion. She sat there, straddling him, her fists hovering mid-air as if they still wanted to strike.
Blood smeared her face, her gloves, her jacket, even the strands of fur on her arms.
Archer lay beneath her, barely conscious, his breath wheezing, his chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. His face was a grotesque mess of swollen flesh, cuts, and bruises.
His muzzle, once golden, was now drenched in red. A few of his teeth lay scattered on the floor beside him.
And yet, he was alive.
Bingo stared down at him, her eyes glassy and devoid of life. Her face was expressionless, blank, but her trembling hands betrayed the storm boiling inside.
She leaned down close, so close that Archer could barely focus on her face through his blood-blurred vision.
The Dingo coughed, blood spilling from his mouth and dribbling down his cheek. "Kill… me," he rasped, his voice broken, barely more than a whisper.
"Oh, I will," she murmured, her tone chillingly soft and controlled. Her voice didn't carry anger anymore—it carried something far worse. Cold, calculated malice. "But not yet."
Archer blinked, his battered face twitching as the weight of her words sank in.
"I'm going to make this slow," she continued, her tone low and venomous, each word slicing into him like a blade. "I'm going to make this the most painful, miserable death you've ever imagined. You're going to suffer, just like my sister is suffering right now."
Her breath brushed against his bloodied ear as she leaned in even closer, her lips curled into a cruel, almost deranged smile. "And I'm going to enjoy… every second of it."
Archer's bloodied eyes widened, and for the first time in years—perhaps his entire life—he felt something he didn't think he was capable of feeling: fear.
Real, primal fear.
Bingo pulled back slightly, her head tilting as she drank in the terror flickering in Archer's bloodshot eyes. A low, humorless chuckle escaped her lips, the sound hollow and unhinged. She pressed her bloodied hand against his throat—not with enough pressure to choke him, but just enough to remind him how easily she could snuff him out.
"I could end you right now," she whispered, her voice a venomous hiss, so soft it was almost gentle. "But that would be too easy. Too quick." Her lips curled into a predatory smirk. "No. You don't deserve a quick death. You deserve to feel everything. To lose everything. Piece by agonizing piece."
Archer coughed weakly, his body trembling beneath her, but her voice cut through the faint sound like a blade.
"There's no god here to save you. No otherworldly force coming to protect you. No friends. No backup. There's only me." Her words dripped with malice, her eyes boring into him with an intensity that made his blood run cold.
She stood slowly, towering over him like a figure of death itself, her bloodied silhouette painted in the dim light of the room. Archer, broken and helpless, could do nothing but watch as she reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone with deliberate, calculated movements.
Bingo glanced down at him, a faint smirk tugging at her lips as she held up the phone. "Thanks for this," she muttered, her tone casual but laced with cruel amusement. Using one of his bloodied, limp fingers, she unlocked it with an unsettling patience. Her calmness was almost worse than her earlier fury—it was the calm of a predator playing with its prey.
She turned, walking to the counter with a purposeful stride, her boots clicking against the floor in a rhythm that seemed to echo like a countdown to something terrible. Setting the phone against the countertop, she adjusted it until it had a perfect angle of the room—of her standing over Archer, blood staining her fur and clothes, and him crumpled on the floor like a discarded doll.
She tapped the record button, her bloodied hand lingering over the screen for a moment before stepping back to face the camera.
"Hello there, Phantom," she began, her voice steady, cold, and deliberate. "Scarlet. All you little Spiders." She leaned slightly into the camera, her dull, lifeless gaze glaring through the lens. Her eyes carried a monstrous emptiness, a void that threatened to swallow everything in its path.
"You might know me as Knives," she continued, her lips curling into a cruel, humorless smirk. "The girl who turned down your little offer. The one you decided to punish by putting my sister in the hospital." Her voice grew quieter, colder, the venom behind her words sharper than any blade. "That was your mistake."
Her hand rose, gesturing to Archer, who lay broken and bloodied at her feet. "Now, you'll know me as something else. You'll know me as death... And I'm going to show you why."
She stepped back toward Archer, crouching beside him, her hand gripping his bloodied chin and forcing his face toward the camera. "Take a good look at your friend here," she growled, her voice low and cutting. "This is your buddy, Archer. He put up a fight. I'll give him that. But now? Now he's mine. And you… you have the privilege of watching what I do to him."
Her hand released Archer's chin, letting his head slump to the side as she stood again, returning her cold gaze to the camera. Her smirk returned, darker and more sadistic. "I want you to watch. I want you to feel every second of what's coming. Because this?" She gestured to her handiwork. "This is just the beginning. I'm going to make all of you suffer."
Bingo lingered over Archer for a moment, her blank, blood-smeared face void of emotion. Then, without a word, she rose to her feet and walked toward the kitchenette.
Archer groaned weakly, coughing up blood as he struggled to lift his head. His ears twitched at the faint sound of drawers being opened and closed, metal clinking faintly.
"What… what are you doing?" he rasped, his voice trembling, the weight of dread settling in his chest.
She didn't answer.
When she returned, a pair of kitchen scissors glinted in her gloved hand, their clean, silver surface a stark contrast to the crimson staining her fingers. Her footsteps were slow and deliberate, the soft snip-snipping of the scissors as she opened and closed them echoing in the air like a death knell.
"No… no, wait," Archer stammered, his voice cracking as he tried to shuffle backward. "Please… don't…"
Bingo didn't even look at him. She crouched beside him, grabbing his right hand with a grip so tight it silenced his attempts to resist. She positioned the scissors around his middle finger, her movements calm and practiced, as if she had done this a thousand times before.
"Wait, please—"
The first snip cut through fur and skin, and Archer's voice erupted into a high-pitched scream.
"AAAAGHHHHHH!"
He thrashed, his body jerking uncontrollably, but Bingo held firm.
Blood seeped between the blades, dripping onto the floor, but she didn't flinch. She worked steadily, slicing through tendons and muscle with cold precision.
Archer's cries of agony filled the room, growing more desperate with each snip, but Bingo remained silent, her face a mask of eerie detachment.
When the blades met bone, she paused. Archer sobbed, his breath ragged, his entire body trembling in shock and pain. Bingo tilted her head slightly, studying her work with a clinical eye. Then, with a sharp twist of the scissors and a sickening snap,
The finger came free.
It fell to the floor with a wet thud.
Archer wailed, clutching his mutilated hand as blood gushed from the stump. His cries filled the room, echoing over the soft thrum of music outside, tears in his eyes.
Bingo stood slowly, brushing a strand of fur from her face as she glanced down at him.
"Another one." She spoke emotionlessly, moving to the other hand.
"NO! GOD NO! JESUS CHRIST!-"
From outside of the room, Archer's screams and cries could be heard. But, the music from downstairs drowned them out.
Nobody would hear him.
Nobody would come for him.
Bingo had him all to himself.
…
Two hours later.
The air was heavy with the copper tang of blood, so thick it clung to the back of her throat. Bingo sat on the edge of the bed, a cigarette dangling between her fingers, the ash precariously long. She took a slow drag, letting the smoke swirl in her lungs before exhaling it in a thin stream. In her other hand, she held Archer's phone, the screen glowing faintly against her blood-streaked gloves.
Two hours. That's how long she had spent in this room, making him pay for every ounce of pain he'd caused her sister. Two hours of tearing him apart piece by piece, stripping him of everything—his strength, his dignity, his life. She'd filmed it all, every second of his suffering, and sent it to the Black Widows. The video had gone through just moments ago, but she still stared at the screen, empty.
Her gaze shifted toward the far wall. Archer's body hung there, crucified in grotesque mockery. His arms were pinned wide, knives driven deep through his palms and feet, holding him upright against the crimson-streaked wallpaper. Blood dripped steadily from his mangled form, pooling beneath him. His fingers, toes, right ear, tail, and even his eye—all gone. The fur that had once been golden was now a deep, sticky red, and his face… no, it was unrecognizable now. The slash across his throat marked the final act, his body was littered with slashes and gashes, his stomach was even cut open.
She took another drag from the cigarette, staring at the body with the same lifeless expression she'd had since she started.
I don't feel like Bingo Heeler. I don't feel like Knives.
I don't feel like anything at all.
The thought echoed in her mind, hollow and unrelenting. The adrenaline was gone, her rage extinguished, and now there was only an emptiness—a void that gnawed at her from the inside. The room felt far away, as if she were watching herself from some distant corner of her mind.
Bingo sat on the edge of the bloodied bed, a cigarette balanced loosely between her fingers, her other hand holding Archer's phone. The screen was dim now, the video she'd recorded sent to the Black Widows' group chat. Two hours of brutality, of screaming, of blood.
She stared at the phone for a long moment before tossing it aside like garbage. The soft clack it made as it landed on the floor barely registered in her ears. She raised the cigarette to her lips, inhaling deeply and holding the smoke in her lungs.
How much was Archer worth again?
Oh, right… 200,000 dollar bucks.
The thought should have stirred something—pride, satisfaction, even relief—but nothing came. She crushed the cigarette into the nightstand, the ember hissing faintly.
She didn't need the smoke to calm her.
She was already calm.
Deadly calm.
Bingo stood slowly, her eyes drifting to the carnage she had left behind. Archer's body was mutilated beyond recognition, his golden fur now a slick crimson red. His fingers, ear, and eye were gone, and his throat was slashed deeply. Knives pinned his lifeless frame to the wall like some grotesque work of art.
She felt her hands tremble slightly, the only outward sign of anything left in her, but her face remained impassive. She turned away, the sound of her boots crunching against the blood-soaked carpet the only noise as she walked to the door.
She opened it, pausing for a moment in the frame. She leaned her shoulder against the door, letting it click shut behind her as she stood there. She didn't care about anything right now—not the blood that caked her fur, not the faint ache in her bruised knuckles, not even the eerie quiet of the hallway.
Her steps echoed as she made her way down the long corridor and down the stairs that led to the 3rd floor.
The bodies of the twelve thugs she had dispatched earlier were strewn across the floor, their blood pooling and staining the hardwood beneath them. She walked past them without a glance, the loud music on this floor barely silenced her thoughts.
Reaching the double doors, she pushed them open and stepped into the next hallway. The Great Pyrenees guard stood there, arms crossed, his eyes narrowing the second he spotted her.
"YOU!" he barked, stepping forward. But then he stopped. His nose twitched, catching the sharp scent of blood, and his expression faltered.
Bingo didn't even look at him. Her gaze was fixed straight ahead, her eyes dull and lifeless, her fur darkened with dried blood.
The Pyrenees took a step back. "What in the fuck…" he muttered, his voice low and uncertain now.
Bingo stopped, tilting her head slightly toward him, her expression devoid of anything human. Her voice was low, monotone, almost a whisper.
"You wanna have a go, mate..?"
The question wasn't a taunt, nor was it a threat. It was an invitation, spoken without a shred of emotion like the outcome didn't matter.
The Pyrenees froze, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. His hand moved instinctively to his still-sore nose, the memory of their last encounter sharp in his mind. But this… this was different. She wasn't just dangerous. She was something else entirely.
"N-Nah," he stammered, shaking his head quickly. "I'm good, love…"
Bingo's cold gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, and then she turned and continued down the hallway. The Pyrenees stood there, rooted in place, his breathing uneven.
She reached the elevator at the end of the hall, pressed the button, and waited in silence as the doors opened. The hum of the machinery seemed unnaturally loud in the stillness.
The elevator doors slid shut, and Bingo was gone.
Now that she was gone, the Pyrenees finally found his voice, muttering under his breath as he tore off his uniform and tossed it to the ground.
"…I quit. nope, nope.. FUCK this."
…
Ring… Ring…
"Hello? Knives?" Judo's voice cut through the static on the other end of the line.
Bingo sat behind the wheel of her rental car, staring blankly at the red light ahead. The glow reflected faintly in her bloodshot eyes. It was 2:15 in the morning, and the world around her was eerily quiet.
"It's done, Mirage," Bingo said flatly. Her voice was cold, distant. "Archer's dead."
There was a pause on the other end of the line, the faint sound of Judo exhaling breaking the silence.
"Right on." Judo finally replied, her tone mirroring Bingo's in its emptiness. But then her voice softened, almost imperceptibly. "How do you feel? You alright?"
Bingo tapped her fingers against the steering wheel, the green light flickering on. She eased the car forward, her gaze fixed on the empty road ahead.
How do I feel? she wondered. The question hung in her mind like a weight.
I don't feel anything.
"Fantastic," she said dryly, her tone dripping with sarcasm. She rolled her eyes, though there was no one there to see it. "Never been better."
Judo let the silence linger this time, not pushing for more.
"Look," Bingo said finally, her voice softening just a fraction, "can you do me a favor?"
"Depends," Judo replied, her tone guarded.
"Can I crash at your place?" Bingo asked, her words spilling out in a rush. "I'm covered in blood. I need to clean up—myself, my clothes, everything. And I can't exactly walk back into my parents' place looking like a fucking crime scene."
Another pause. Bingo could almost hear the wheels turning in Judo's head, weighing her options.
"…Yeah, I guess so." Judo said at last, a defeated sigh escaping her lips. "You know where I live, right?"
"Yeah," Bingo replied. "I'll be there shortly."
She hung up without another word, the soft click of the call ending filling the empty car. The waves along the coastline shimmered faintly in the moonlight as she drove, but Bingo didn't notice. Her mind was elsewhere—or perhaps nowhere at all.