"Drip… drip… drip"
The White Devil Bar was eerily silent, save for the steady dripping of liquid pooling on the floor. The chaos that had erupted moments ago had settled into a haunting stillness, leaving only the remnants of destruction in its wake. Matthew White and Donald Riot, the leaders of the White Rider MC, crouched behind an overturned table, their faces pale and their breaths shallow. Both were hardened criminals, men who had built their reputations on violence and fear. But this—this was something entirely different. This was a nightmare they couldn't comprehend.
Matthew's hands trembled as he clutched his pistol, his knuckles white. He glanced at Donald, whose face was slick with sweat, and saw the same fear reflected in his eyes. The bar, once their fortress, now felt like a death trap. The thick smoke that had filled the room was beginning to clear, but the shadows it left behind seemed alive, shifting and twisting in the dim light.
"Bob," Matthew hissed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Go see what's in that smoke."
Bob, a veteran member of the gang who had been hiding with them, shook his head vehemently. "No way, man. I'm not going out there."
Matthew's fear turned to anger. He raised his gun, pressing the barrel against Bob's forehead. "You go, or I'll blow your brains out right here."
Bob's eyes widened, and he swallowed hard. Reluctantly, he nodded, his hands shaking as he gripped his own weapon. He stepped out from behind the table, his boots crunching on broken glass and debris. The room was a mess—overturned chairs, shattered bottles, and the bodies of his fallen comrades littered the floor. The air was thick with the stench of blood and gunpowder.
"Come out, you coward!" Bob shouted, his voice cracking with fear. He fired his gun blindly into the smoke, the deafening "BANG! BANG! BANG!" echoing through the bar.
Bullets ricocheted off the walls, shattering what little remained intact. When his magazine was empty, he stood there, panting and gasping for air, his chest heaving.
Silence followed. The only sound was the relentless "drip… drip… drip" of blood pooling on the floor.
Bob turned back to Matthew and Donald, forcing a shaky smile. "See? Nothing to worry about. Just some punk trying to scare us."
He laughed nervously, his bravado hollow and unconvincing. But as the seconds ticked by and nothing happened, his confidence grew. He straightened up, his chest puffed out, and began cursing loudly, his voice filling the empty bar.
"You hear me, you piece of shit?! Come out and face me! I'll—"
His words were cut off as Matthew and Donald's eyes widened in horror. Behind Bob, a shadow emerged from the smoke—a figure clads in dark, advanced armor, a long black leather trench coat trailing behind him. The figure moved silently, his presence like a predator stalking its prey.
"BO—" Matthew opened his mouth to warn Bob, but shut up at the end from fear. The shadow's hand moved in a blur, a matte black blade slicing through the air with a sharp
"SWISH!"
Bob's body stiffened, his eyes wide with shock. Then, like a puppet with its strings cut, he crumpled to the floor.
"THUD."
The top half of his head slid off, hitting the ground with a sickening Blood and brain matter spilled across the floor, the *drip… drip… drip* now a steady stream.
"Fuck this Shit!! Arrrghh!!!" Donald reacted instinctively to this frustrating fear, his hand darting to his holster.
"ZZZIINNGGG!!!...THUUKK!!"
But the shadow was faster. With a flick of his wrist, a short sword flew through the air, piercing Donald's skull and pinning him to the wall. His body hung there, limp and lifeless, as blood trickled down the blade, while his eyes glued to Matthew, begging for help.
"Oh shit…shit…shit…SHIT!" Matthew froze, his gun trembling in his hands. He stared at the figure stepping out of the smoke, his mind struggling to process what he was seeing.
The man—no, the *thing*—before him was unlike anything he had ever encountered. The armor was sleek and menacing, the long coat adding to the aura of dread. The smoke clung to him, swirling around his form as if he were a specter of death.
"BANG! BANG! BANG! ARRRRHHHHH!!!!!! DIE YOU FUCKER!!!!" Matthew raised his gun and fired, deafening in the confined space. Along with his crude shouts
"DING! DING! DING!"
But the bullets did nothing. They struck the figure's armor and crumpled, falling to the ground like harmless pebbles. The man didn't flinch, didn't falter. He simply kept walking, his movements deliberate and unhurried.
Finally, the smoke cleared completely, and Matthew saw the full extent of the carnage. The bar was a slaughterhouse. Bodies were strewn across the floor, limbs severed and guts spilled. Blood coated every surface—the walls, the ceiling, the floor. The dripping that he had been heard from earlier was the sound of blood falling from the rafters, a macabre rain that painted the room in crimson.
"Oh. My. God…. Why? …why?" Matthew White face went pale, a he finally saw what is currently became of his proudful lair, being reduced to such state.
The figure stopped in front of Matthew; his presence overwhelming. Matthew's gun clicked empty, but he kept pulling the trigger, his hands shaking uncontrollably.
"W-who… who are you?" Matthew stammered, his voice barely a whisper.
The figure didn't answer. He simply stood there, his visor reflecting Matthew's terrified face. The leader of the White Rider MC, the man who had once ruled this bar with an iron fist, unstoppable cruelty and tyranny was now reduced to a trembling wreck who in the verge of pissing his own pants.
"Who are yo— BAAM!!" his rambling stopped with a solid uppercut, that hit squarely under his chin, instantly rattling his brain. But just as Matthew were about to faint. The man, grabbed his hair, preventing him from falling asleep.
"Not yet… you will be awake through all of this…. you don't deserve to sleep this one out…. Matthew White.". the deep growling voice, haunted Matthew to hi very core, and just like that the torment began.
The bar was become a tomb, its air thick with the metallic stench of blood and the acrid tang of gunpowder. Matthew White lay sprawled on the floor, his body broken and bloodied, his once-proud demeanor reduced to a whimpering mess. The man in black stood over him, his dark armor glistening under the faint light filtering through the shattered windows. The long leather trench coat swayed slightly as he moved, the only sound in the oppressive silence.
"Matthew White," the man said, his voice deep and growling, like thunder rolling in the distance. "Are you done?"
Matthew blinked, his vision blurred by tears and pain. He tried to focus on the figure looming above him, but all he could see was the cold, unyielding visor of the helmet. Fear gripped him as he tried to get up and, on his knees, a primal terror that drive him to forced his voice tremble as he shouted,
"Why are you doing this to me?!"
The man tilted his head slightly, as if considering the question. Then, with a voice that carried the weight of judgment, he replied, "Because someone had to…and you know…why…"
"Wha…what? BBUUKKK!!!!"
Before Matthew could respond, the man's fist shot forward, striking him in the gut with the force of a freight train. The impact lifted Matthew off the ground, sending him crashing into the ceiling before he crumpled back to the floor. He gasped for air, his ribs screaming in agony, but the man wasn't finished.
"You've been treating people like they were nothing," the man said, his voice cold and merciless. He stepped forward, his boot connecting with Matthew's face in a brutal kick.
"BBAAAMM!!! CRACK!!"
The sound of bone crunching echoed through the bar as Matthew's nose shattered, blood spraying across the floor.
"You've killed, raped, enslaved, and sold people as you pleased," the man continued, his tone dripping with disgust.
"ARRGHHH!!!.... BBBAAAMMM!!!"
He grabbed Matthew by the hair, lifting him off the ground before slamming his face into the wall. The impact left a bloody smear on the cracked plaster, and Matthew's cries of pain were muffled by the hand gripping his skull.
"Your belief that you're a pure race, your supremacist thoughts—they disgust me," the man said, his voice rising with anger. He released Matthew, letting him slump to the floor, before delivering two swift kicks to his knees.
"CRAACKK!! CRACCKK!!...AARRGGHHH!!!!...*Sob*… stop please…*Sob*…I'm sorry~"
The sickening sounds of bone breaking filled the air, and Matthew screamed, his body writhing in agony, he cried and begged for forgiveness, that just lasted for a few seconds.
"You… you don't know who you're messing with!" Matthew choked out, his voice trembling with fear and desperation. "HYDRA will—"
The man cut him off with a snicker, the sound dark and humorless. "Dietrich Voss and HYDRA? Don't worry. They'll get their due soon enough."
Matthew's eyes widened in shock. This man knew about HYDRA—knew about *Dietrich Voss*—and yet he dared to do this? The thought was unfathomable.
"CRUNCH!!! …. you should worry about yourself first, Nazi-wannabe…this night I going to be very long for you…" Before he could process it further, the man's boot came down on his hand, crushing it with a sickening *crunch.* Matthew's screams echoed through the bar, but no one was left to hear them.
"Huh? What?" Michelle Amanda woke with a start, her body stiff and her mind foggy. For the first time in years, she had slept deeply, free from the nightmares that usually plagued her.
"AARRGGHHH!!!... he…he's dead? hold on a minute," But the sight of the dead body in front of her brought her crashing back to reality. She screamed, scrambling backward until her back hit the wall. The memories came flooding back—the man in black, the blood, the violence.
She stumbled to her feet, her heart pounding as she ran out of the generator room and into the bar. The sight that greeted her made her stomach churn. She doubled over, vomiting onto the floor, her body trembling as she took in the carnage. The bar was a slaughterhouse, its walls and floors drenched in blood. Bodies lay scattered like broken dolls, their limbs severed and their faces frozen in expressions of terror.
And then she saw him—the man in black. He stood at the far end of the room, his dark form silhouetted against the dim light. At his feet lay Matthew White, the man who had tormented her for years. His body was broken, his limbs twisted at unnatural angles, his face a bloody mess. He groaned weakly, his eyes filled with pain and fear.
"You're here?" the man in black said, his voice calm but carrying an edge of authority.
"Y…yes, Sir…thank you…" Michelle nodded; her throat too tight to speak. Still, she thanked the man for saving her. And then, she stared at Matthew, her hatred for him burning like a fire in her chest. This man had taken everything from her—her freedom, her dignity, her hope. And now, he lay helpless before her.
"This is Matthew White," the man said, his voice steady. "The man who has tortured you for years. He's evil, Michelle…. He's enslaved, killed, and sold mutants like you without a hint of remorse. He's taken so much from you—from so many others."
Michelle's hands clenched into fists, her nails digging into her palms. She had known what Matthew was capable of, but hearing it laid bare like this made her blood boil.
"I left him like this for you," the man continued. "You have every right to take everything from him."
He held out a gun, the metal glinting in the faint light. Michelle hesitated for a moment, her heart racing. Then, with a resolve she didn't know she had; she took the gun. Her hands trembled as she pointed it at Matthew, but her eyes were steady.
Matthew's eyes widened in terror as he realized what was about to happen. "No… please…" he croaked, his voice barely audible.
"BANG!!.... ARRGGHHH!!! BANG!!...DIE!! DIE!!...DIE!! BANG!! BANG!!BANG!!" Michelle pulled the trigger. The first shot echoed through the bar, followed by another, and another. She screamed, pouring all her anger, her pain, her frustration into every pull of the trigger. Fifteen shots rang out, each one reducing Matthew's head to a pulpy mess of flesh, bone, and blood.
"Hah! Hah...Sob~…AAHHHH!!!!"
When it was over, Michelle stood there, breathing heavily, the gun still smoking in her hand. She felt no remorse, no guilt—only a strange, hollow relief, as tears flows down her cheeks.
---
A few dozens of minutes later, Michelle stepped out of the bar, the cool night air washing over her. The man in black was waiting for her, his presence as imposing as ever, dressed in that fear inducing armor, the only thing that made him looked and seems human and nice, were the umbrella he was holding, as he stood waiting in the rain. She approached him, her voice trembling as she spoke.
"Thank you," she said, her eyes filled with gratitude. "You gave me my freedom. My life back"
The man nodded. "You are dead to the world now…. life for people like us…people with special abilities…are harsh and hard in this world, Michelle…. a lot of people wanted us dead or be experimented, this is the truth of our world…"
Michelle nodded silently to the man words, the few years she was enslaved to that bar, were enough to made her learned the harsh truth. She had just escaped one agony only to be faced with a new one that perhaps would let her ended up the same as before.
"What should I do, sir?" Michelle Amanda asked worried but earnestly.
The man stopped, and said, "There's someone out there who can help you rebuild your life…. They were just like you and me…. Special…. Go to Xavier's School for gifted youngster…"
Michelle's eyes widened. "Xavier's School for gifted youngster? Gifted as in mutants?"
"Yes," the man said. "It's a safe place…. probably…They can help you, building your life back..."
Michelle hesitated, then smiled faintly, tried to veer a little bit from the heavy topic. "I… I took some cash from the bar. Figured I'd need it."
The man chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "Smart move…always prioritize yourself…and also never easily trust anyone…live like that and you would be just fine, Michelle…"
Again, they walked briskly in the rain, Michelle stopped and turned to him. "Who are you?" she asked, her voice filled with curiosity.
The man paused, then turned to face her.
"I am.... Wraith," he said, his voice echoing with finality. Then, without another word, he stepped into the shadows and vanished, leaving Michelle alone in the night.