The floor around her was both slick and sticky with blood, a contradiction that claws at her nose like an old lover as she marches resolutely through the building. Her red-soled shoes click down the tiled floor of the WISE safehouse. The only sound...the screams had long since died away, silenced by slit throats or by those who succumbed to blood loss.
But Thorn Princess wasn't satisfied. Not with the bodies. Not with the blood that drips from her dress, her cheek, and her stilettos gripped tightly in her fists. She cared not for her own blood that mingled with the others, a few bullets graze from shots that had been lucky. She would patch them later, but for now...
Frustration roiled within her. No one had answered her very simple demand. They all refused to answer, crying for death rather than giving away that information.
Where is Loid Forger?
She had lost track of how many safehouses she had raided, how many spies she had slaughtered since she had learned that her husband was alive and that his agency was keeping him from returning to her and Anya.
Anya, who waited with Bond and Franky - who she was still wary of, but trusted enough because he loved her daughter as if she were his own blood relative - at home, was innocent of all of her mother's dealings. To whom she had to return to in the morning. For Thorn Princess could only exist in the darkness, in the shadows. In the underbelly of society. Far, far away from her daughter's innocent smile and bright eyes.
Eyes that had become dim after her father was taken. A smile that wasn't nearly as bright as it had once been.
Shaking her head, Thorn Princess' red eyes scanned the room full of desks, reflexively wiping the blood from her golden weapons before sheathing them for the moment. She would need to wash them and her hands as soon as possible. There would be no clean-up crews for this location (just like the others). This was a reminder to WISE that she was serious.
And she couldn't help but wonder why the spy agency was allowing her to slaughter their agents like lambs. Wouldn't it be easier to simply hand Loid Forger back over to her?
Unless Loid really was...
Unless they wanted a purge of their agents...
Her fingers slid across documents on the desk before her, flipping through cipher after cipher. She didn't understand them, but there were patterns she had picked up on, and one of them, in particular, could lead to the location of the next safe house and maybe information regarding her husband.
Something caught her eye.
A note. A simple scrawl on a small piece of paper. No cipher and clear as day. Her breath stalled in her chest as she seized the note and read it over and over and over again, hope and dread filling her all at once.
