“Bride? What’s your status?”

Phosphorus’ voice hardly registers in The Bride’s head as she stares down at the target. Her target. She should kill you, she knows. Her finger would only have to push down just a little harder on the trigger and you’d be nothing more than a stain on the carpet for her to discard and never think of again.

Except… she knows she’d never be able to stop thinking about you. You’re no ordinary target, no, you’re a kid. So, so young. Far too young to be exposed to the cruelty of the barrel of her favorite pistol.

With a barely contained growl, she shoves her gun back into her holster and bends down to get on your level.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, kid,” she manages, a small furrow forming in her brow at how terrified you look, “Don’t scream.”

She reaches out to grab onto your tiny body, then lifts you with her as she stands up. You fit comfortably in her arms. God, you really are tiny. She bites back a comment as she storms out of the house, her mind racing to try and come up with an explanation for the rest of the team.