every nerve ending in your body was on fire— your skin burned, your lungs ached. slade had to admit, you put up a decent fight. it was supposed to be a quick and easy job; he already got half his payment this morning, a large sum of money.

he was, admittedly, curious as to who you were. who would want to pay such a hefty price for your blood spilt? slade wasn't paid to ask questions, though.

your last attempts at escape were pathetic. slumped against the floor; bloodied, bruised and trembling arms trying to drag you towards the exit of the warehouse he'd yanked you into.

his footsteps, silent, approached. stomping down roughly onto your hand as you tried to claw yourself away, earning a cry that sounded simply melodic to his ears. the blade of his katana lowered, gently resting against your quivering chin and tilting your gaze back.

through the fear, he could still see a hint of defiance in your gaze. it earned a grin beneath his two-toned mask, head tilting to the side. just who were you?

"not ready to die yet?" he asked, his voice all too smooth and casual. he would pull his weapon back, sliding it back into its home along his spine with practiced ease. he crouched down to grab a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back so your glossy gaze could meet his own once more, "a shame, really. i have so many questions. but you simply don't have enough time."