It's late at night, almost two am. The smell of oil fills the lamp lit bedroom, the only sound is of steel sliding against cloth. Myra is sat at her desk, a small mountain of knives in front of her.
She works methodically - oil, wipe, sharpen, test. The rhythm is soothing, something that calmed her restlessness when her mind couldn't.
Her purple hair is tied back into a neat bun. Next to her little work station was a pile of used makeup wipes in front of a small, desktop mirror. On the opposite side, a gold coin and a matchbox-both with intricate etchings-placed on top of a hardcover book she'd been slowly reading in her free time.
Myra picks up the knife she's working on and runs her finger along the blade edge, just enough to sting.
"Still too dull," she murmurs. She had liked this knife, it was a shame to throw it away. It was one of the first ones she'd gotten from Bird when they started doing work together. A peace treaty, of sorts.
She leans back, rubbing her scarred hands on the dirty cloth. Laughter echoes from the common room, probably Laura or Piper. It made her chest ache.
Her gaze floats to the matchbox and coin. Both inscribed with the emblem of the mafia she'd once sworn her loyalty to. The matchbox is open, and she stares at the burned black stems inside. She placed a burnt match inside every time she felt regret for a kill.
A total of twelve burnt matches laid inside the box.
"You're not there anymore," she says firmly to herself. She can feel her heartbeat pick up. "Stay here, stay here."
The words never stick. But the laughter might. Myra sets the cloth down and heads for the door.
Trying to condense down how many works I have on the masterlist, but that means longer multiple scene posts. Do y'all prefer more shorter snippet posts, or fewer posts with longer/more scenes?
Masterlist
~~~
“I’ve been out of the game too long.” Myra slumps in the passenger seat of the car, rubbing her head. “I’d forgotten how utterly useless informants are.”
Harriet hums from the backseat. She’s got her laptop open, the soft glow illuminating her face. Milo is sitting on the opposite side in the dark, staring out the window.
Bird has her gaze fixed on the road. Most roads would be empty at this hour of the night, but there was still a good amount of traffic around here. Most of the clubs in this area were owned by the Torchlights, a cell notorious for holding the most egregious parties behind the club curtains at all hours of every day.
“He knows who we’re looking for,” Bird mutters. “He said she wants us to ‘figure it out for ourselves’. The fake-out said something similar at the Blood Jacker’s pit.”
“Yeah, but who is she?” Myra grumbles. She pulls her mask down and frowns at Bird. “After that letter and the dumb informant, it’s obvious-”
Myra’s complaints are interrupted by the ringing of a phone. Bird picks it up and glances at it. It’s not their personal phones, but the encrypted one.
Unknown Number
“Hare, track it?” Bird says as she swipes answer. Only a very few people outside of the team had the encrypted number, and they were all saved in the phone.
The line is silent at first. The car waits in anticipatory silence. Then, just as Bird moves her thumb to the end call button, there’s static.
The sound of a crowd builds like a steady wave.
Cheering, roaring, chanting, voices echoing like a thousand feet marching.
Trial of blood! Trial of blood! Trial of blood!
The sounds grows and grows until it’s almost unbearable. West and Myra have their hands clasped over their ears. Harriet is frantically typing, trying to push through the sound. Bird pulls the car over into a parking lot and stares at the phone in disbelief.
Her hands are tight around the wheel, but her palms are slick with sweat. Trial of Blood. The same trial the informant had mentioned? Something else?
The line goes dead, and the car is left in ear-ringing silence. Only the low growl of the car engine and the occasional passing of traffic.
“Message received,” Milo says dryly. Bird can hear his foot tapping against the mat, contrasting the unbothered expression she sees in the mirror.
Bird drops the phone into the cupholder and leans her head back against the head rest. Harriet is still typing in the back. The sound of the keyboard felt too loud, now.
Harriet’s typing is sharp and fast, but it’s only a moment before she slams the laptop shut with a huff of frustration. “That shouldn’t be possible. No one should be able to cut us off, not like that.”
The leader pushes the phone down and closes the cupholder, like that would cut off the lingering weight of the call.
Myra turns in her seat to look at her. “But someone did. And we don’t know who.” She rubs her forehead harder, like the sound had burrowed itself into her brain.
Bird puts the car back in gear and makes the turn onto the main road. Her chest is tight, the city lights ahead hazy in the windshield. Whoever she was, she knew their number. Their signals. Potentially their names, if she wanted.
This was someone more unpredictable and dangerous than anyone Bird had faced with the team yet.
~~~
“I’m just saying-”
“-You’ve been ‘just saying’ for the past hour,” Myra snaps. “We get it!”
Bird’s eyelid is twitching. The tension in the room is thick, like something lodged deep in the throat. She can hear the eye roll Laura gives Myra.
She rolls her shoulders, before turning to face the room.
“Alright, let’s just start over,” she says, waving her hand. A couple people mutter protests, but no one speaks up to be heard. “We’re getting nowhere with this. Let’s talk about the phone call.”
“Talk?” Jake asks. He leans forward, arms folded tight across his chest. “Bird, that was a direct threat. They know our numbers, how to get past our encryption. Maybe even our location. We should be moving bases tonight.”
“Paranoid much?” Milo drawls, slouched so far down in his chair he looks boneless. “It was noise and theater. Scare tactics. Relax.”
Ridge sets his elbow on the table and leans his head into his hand. “You can never be too paranoid, Milo. I can’t tell you how many paranoid people used to walk into my hospital because they felt the smallest bit of pain, and found out something major was wrong with them.”
Milo shoots a glare across the table, but a few are nodding in silent agreement.
Bird sets both hands on the table and purses her lips. She glances around the room. Maybe it was a smart idea to move bases tonight, but to where? They didn’t have any sort of backups available. And moving would leave them vulnerable, anyways.
Piper, who’s perched on the edge of her chair, raises her hand. “Sorry if I’m like, the only one not following here, but what trial? Like, a pit fight? A test? Are we the trial?”
The room goes still at that. Only Harriet continues without pause. She’s got an earbud in and hasn’t said anything the entire meeting, Bird isn’t sure if she’s even listening or not.
“Good question,” Harriet replies. Her reading glasses reflect a dozen open tabs. “I’ve been running cross-checks since I got the signal un-jammed. There are whispers in older Blood Jacker chatter. Phrases like ‘champions of blood’ and ‘witch trials’. Always tied to Red Ring pit fights.”
Bird doesn’t like the sound of any of it. Piper made a good point. They very well could be the trial. The phone call had seemed like a summons, of sorts. Myra had taken the letter-the invitation, as it was described-and it had only been a day before they got the phone call.
Raya picks up a pen and taps it on the notebook in front of her. “It’s like pouring boiling water down an ant hill,” she says softly. “They’re trying to put pressure on us and flush us out. I think we should stay, for the time being.”
“I agree,” Myra says with a nod. “But we should probably have a backup ready, just in case. Anyone opposed?”
No one speaks up. Even Jake seems somewhat agreeable with the decision. Bird looks over at a map of the city hung on the wall.
Every spot that was a known pit was marked with a red pin. Clubs were marked with blue, gang and cell territories were circled and marked in black pen. There’s still a corner of the map unmarked, the top right. They hadn’t had time to send a recon team out there yet, as it was fenced off and heavily guarded from every angle.
“I just think,” Nate begins, pulling her from her thoughts, “That if we want to find anything, we outta get our hands dirty.”
“He’s got a point,” Laura says over the sighs and groans. “To know how the pits work, we gotta be in the pits.”
Will shakes his head quickly. “Nope. Absolutely not. You want a big red target on your back, that’s how you get one.”
Nate punches his hand into his fist, grinning. “You just have no love for the game, Willy.”
“I want to be on the front lines as much as the rest of you,” Jake growls, “But even I don’t agree with joining the pits. We’d be stooping to their level.”
The room splits in two. Nate leans forward, elbows on his knees, practically vibrating with the idea. Laura mirrors him, that wild light in her eyes. On the other side, Will’s jaw is locked, his arms crossed like stone, while Jake looms in the middle, caught between the fire and the frost.
Bird pulls her chair over and sits down. Sometimes, it was better to let the wick burn a bit before snuffing it out. Something productive usually came out of it, if you knew how to listen.
Ridge speaks up again. “The pits will chew you up. We’ve seen enough bodies to prove it.”
“Yeah, yeah, doom and gloom,” Piper says, propping her feet up on the table. “But admit it—you’re all a little curious. What’re they hiding down there that we haven’t already seen?”
Harriet doesn’t look up from her laptop. “Statistically speaking, you’d have a better chance of surviving a plane crash than lasting in a pit fight. I’m not recommending it.”
“Not recommending?” Nate smirks. “So you’re not saying no.”
Bird’s fingers drum against the armrest of her chair, a steady rhythm. When the bickering reaches its loudest point, she stands once again.
“We’re not stepping into the pits.” Her voice cuts through everything, calm but firm. “Not yet. If this mystery person wants blood, she’s not getting ours. We play smarter than that.”
The silence that follows is thick—half frustrated, half relieved. No one argues, but she knows better by now than to not expect someone to follow up this meeting with a stupid decision.
Bird’s boots scuffed lightly against the gym mat as she crossed the training floor for the third time. She was already tired and they hadn’t even started. That alone said everything.
She’d spent most of the night reviewing the roster, imagining how this group might operate as a team. Now, watching them stretch, spar, or just hover—Bird realized that imagining had been a cute little lie she told herself to feel prepared.
Nate was bouncing on the balls of his feet like he’d punch someone just to kill the time.
Piper had already named the training dummy “Jerry” and tied a pink ribbon around its neck.
Deacon had taken off his shoes and was attempting to skateboard across the smooth floor. Again.
Bird sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Line up,” she called, loud enough to echo. “Let’s get started.”
The group shuffled into something almost resembling a straight line. West stood stiffly at one end, clearly analyzing every flaw in formation. Milo was at the far other end, hood up, hands in pockets, like he’d rather vanish than participate.
“Myra,” Bird said, turning to her second-in-command, “you ready to run the test?”
Myra gave a nod, bored but focused. “Yeah. Basic recon and rescue scenario. One ‘civilian’ trapped, team divided in two. First group gets to search, second group covers extraction.”
Jake stepped forward, already checking his gear. “Who’s with who?”
“You’ll find out when the timer starts.” Bird didn’t have the energy for debates. “The objective is teamwork, not personal glory. You want to show off, do it on your own time.”
“Teamwork,” Nate muttered. “Right. With Carrot and Grumpy.”
“Who’s Grumpy?” West asked, even though it was obvious.
“You,” Piper said sweetly.
Bird looked at the lot of them, this beautiful disaster she’d somehow agreed to lead. “Timer starts in ten. If you don’t bring back the civilian within fifteen minutes, you all fail.”
“Wait,” Cane asked, raising a gloved hand. “What’s the punishment for failure?”
“You get to do it again. Until you get it right.”
Collective groans echoed across the gym.
Ten seconds later, the lights dimmed, the simulated environment whirred to life, and a siren signaled the start.
Bird stayed by the observation glass, arms crossed, watching the chaos unfold. Piper ran ahead without a partner. West shouted after her, giving up halfway through. Jake and Will fell into step like a well-oiled machine. Milo disappeared entirely. Nate tried to command his group, but Ridge just ignored him and kept scanning for injuries in the dark corners.
Meanwhile, Laura and Deacon were arguing about which corridor “felt luckier.”
It was a mess. But it wasn’t hopeless.
Beside her, Myra returned silently from her monitoring station. “What do you think?”
“I think,” Bird muttered, “this is going to take a lot more than one drill.”
Myra smirked. “Good thing we don’t quit easy.”
Bird didn’t answer. She just leaned her forehead briefly against the cool glass and whispered to herself, “Please let Jerry survive.”
~~~
Drill 5 - 7 minutes in
Group 1: Recon
Jake leads the team through the smoky hallway. The lights above flickered and flashed, simulating emergency lighting. “Eyes open, team.”
“Target’s supposed to be pinned somewhere near Sector 4C,” Will supplies, reading off his notepad.
“Which direction is that supposed to be, again?” Deacon questions, looking around.
Laura snapped her fingers at a wall panel as they passed, labeled SECTOR 2A. “This is only the fifth drill today, dummy. Keep track.”
Piper turns to walk backwards and offers the trailing group a grin. “Laura’s on fire today, you’ll end up dethroning Grumpy if you’re not careful.”
“Still not a real title,” Milo says dryly, trailing a good three feet behind the group. His black hoodie covers most of his face, but his eyes look sharp, darting from one corner to another.
Jake pauses and holds up his hand. The five come to a stop behind him. “Hold up, you guys hear that?”
All eyes turn to a boarded metal door. A faint beeping pierces through the eerily quiet halls. The smoke seemed denser here, a good sign.
“This is it. Let’s breach.”
~~~
Group 2: Cover and Extraction
West studied the digital map for what felt like the hundredth time today. He let out a heavy sigh, “They’re moving too slowly. If this were real-”
“-If this were real, we wouldn’t be doing the same thing five times in a row,” Nate snapped. “Tell them to move faster.”
“That not the point of stimulations,” West argued, pointedly keeping his back to Nate. “Go find some patience if you’re that bored.”
While the two argued, Cane had somehow pried a control panel off the wall, studying its wiring with glee. “I wonder if I reroute this power relay-”
“Cane,” Harriet said warningly, arms crossed. “If you trigger a lockdown again, I’m calling the punishment drill Harriet’s Hour of Screaming.”
“Fair,” he said, still rewiring.
Raya stood off to the side with Ridge, calmly packing a medbag. “We’ll be extraction. You and me.”
“You sure?” Ridge asked, eyes narrowed.
“You asking if I’m okay to run in blind and drag out strangers?” Raya gave a crooked smile. “Yeah. I’m good at that.”
Nate finally turned away from the screen, cracking his knuckles. “Fine. When the call comes, me, Ridge, and Raya push in. The rest of you do your little ‘wait and worry’ thing.
~~~
8 Minutes In
Jake kicked open the heavy door. Smoke burst out. Inside, a dummy—rigged with sensors—was sprawled under a collapsed beam and pulsing red light.
Piper cheered. “Jerry!”
“Focus,” Will barked. “Milo, scan for trip triggers. Deacon, help me with the lift.”
Deacon gave him a nervous thumbs-up and moved in, fingers trembling slightly. “We doing this on three or—?”
“Now.”
They heaved the beam together, Milo guiding them past a hidden pressure plate. Laura darted in, cutting away straps that tethered the dummy to the floor. “We’re good!”
Jake keyed his mic. “Extraction team, we’ve got the target. Send backup. We’re moving to exit point Alpha.”
~~~
10 Minutes In
“On it,” Raya said, already sprinting down the corridor with Ridge and Nate close behind.
West’s voice crackled over the comm. “Warning—there’s a simulated fireblocker closing in two minutes.”
Nate snorted. “Like we need that long.”
Raya’s group met the recon team at the junction. Deacon passed the dummy off, looking dazed but proud. “We just saved a dude.”
“You saved a foam mannequin,” Ridge said flatly, grabbing it from him. “Congrats.”
“You’re just mad because Jerry likes me better,” Piper called, skipping past with a smirk.
~~~
12 Minutes In
The group burst through the mock exit just as the fireblocker slammed shut behind them. Smoke, lights, and the distant wail of sirens faded away, leaving only the glow of the training room returning to normal.
They stood there, panting, sweat-slicked, and blinking at each other.
Then Nate muttered, “So... that didn’t totally suck.”
“Yeah,” Deacon said. “We only screamed at each other like, half the time.”
Bird’s voice rang out through the intercom. “You didn’t fail.”
Silence.
Then cheers.
Cane did a little dance. Piper nearly tackled Milo in excitement. Harriet rolled her eyes, but her lips twitched. Even West gave a begrudging nod.
