I licked my lip and tasted blood. This was not going according to plan.
Should I mention to The Specialist that I was the good guy and therefore I needed to win? Yeah, I didn't think it would help.
My biggest issue was the Skinwalker that was watching from the rafters overhead.
I couldn't bring out my ribbons with it around, or else my long-held secret would be revealed. Even if I didn't care about that, I didn't want the first…person… to see me like that to be a Skinwalker.
But what could I do? I was hanging by my arms in the middle of nowhere, ish, and I had no idea what was to come.
Mind you, I probably could have guessed.
The punch to my face was not the first one, The Specialist continued to deliver some good shots to my face and ribs.
"I take it you are into voyeurism?" I said when the poor man took a break from punching me to take a drink of water.
He paused from bringing the bottle to his lips to stare at me in confusion and I took a look around at the three bodyguards and one crow. I never even noticed them coming in, let alone providing refreshments.
Why didn't they offer me one?
"What? Scared of little old me?" I asked. Next to ribbons, sarcasm was my weapon of choice.
He rolled his eyes, clearly not taking me seriously. Although to be honest, I wouldn't take me seriously either.
"I believe I asked you a question," The Specialist said.
I hummed and opened my mouth, "Is it possible to call you something other than The Specialist? It is a real mouth full in my head."
He let out a low chuckle, "I believe you called me Sweets before, I'll accept that one," he said.
"Sweets? I guess it is better than Steve," I replied. A punch to the ribs left me spinning in circles.
"So, Sweets, when are you going to empty the room? Or at least get rid of the bird," I asked. I could take torture, I could take the unknown, but I could not stand being in the same room as a Skinwalker.
Sweets gave a signal and the men around him left. The bird, unfortunately, stayed. "There, now it is just you and I. Now, what were you doing there and why did you bring your dogs?"
Did he really call the wolves dogs? Like, was he being sarcastic like I sometimes am and just wanted to poke fun at the wolves? Or did he actually think that they were dogs?
Since I didn't know, I just kept my mouth shut.
Apparently, that was the wrong move.
I hear the swoosh of a knife being unsheathed and I closed my eyes as I felt the sharp blade slice through my ribs.
That was the first slice of the knife. The second one was when he cut my shirt from top to bottom, putting my black sports bra and tattoos on display.
"Ooh, impressive ink. Do you think they will stay if I start cutting off your skin?" Sweets asked, the smile on his face sending a shiver down my spine.
Then he proceeded to do just that. Changing the direction of his knife, he removed the first section of skin from my neck.
My ribbons pulsed frantically, trying to reattach what was just removed, but I refused to let them. The crow still looked on. I couldn't show who I was.
"Now, why were you there?" The Specialist asked again.
"Out walking my dogs," I replied. I guess I answered the question wrong again because another piece of my flesh fell to the ground. Man, if this was school, I would definitely be failing.
Blood splashed on his pants and shoes as he refused to back away from me.
"I would like to point out that if there was a drain in the floor, it wouldn't be such a bitch to clean up after," I pointed out, trying to be helpful. In actuality, I didn't like seeing my blood pooling on the ground like that.
My hands started to get cold as the blood continued to flow out of me and onto the floor.
"What's with the gun if you were just walking your dogs?" Sweets continued his line of questions.
"Self-defense, it is New York after all," I tried to smile.
This time, a piece of skin from my cheek fell.
The ribbons trembled. But still, I did not give in.
"Apparently it didn't do you much good," said Sweets, running the blade down my torso, looking for the next patch of skin.
"Apparently not," I agreed, waiting for the pain to come.
One good thing about being cold? After a while, you couldn't feel the pain anymore.
------
Sweets took his time, asking me one question after another.
For every question I didn't answer correctly, another patch of skin was taken off.
I'm sure that if I looked down, I wouldn't have any flesh left on my body. As my head hung down out of sheer exhaustion, I saw the muscles of my chest move with every breath I took.
"Huh," I whispered to myself.
"What did you say?" Asked Sweets, turning around from where he was cleaning his knife.
"The medical books have it right, the muscles really do look like that," I answered.
"You know you are crazy, right?" He chuckled, turning his back on me and heading to the door.
"I guess I've lost my head a few too many times."
The creaking of the door opening let me know that The Specialist had left, the cawing of the crow told me that it followed.
I was finally alone.
I closed my eyes and let my entire body relax.
The ribbons went crazy sewing me back as much as they could. When I ran out of ribbons, the threads from my shirt took over, creating flesh where there was none, and muscles where they had been cut off.
My shirt that was hanging off of my arms was quickly reduced to nothing more than black threads, my pants quickly went next.
It had been years since I was last like this, years since I felt this pain, this level of cold.
It was times like this that I understood how alone I truly was. It was just me and my ribbons, I didn't need anyone or anything else.
I let myself doze off as the ribbons did their work. Might as well sleep before the next round of questions.
-----
Sitting in a darkened office at Knights Securities, Viktor rubbed his forehead. This thing with The Specialist was giving him more of a headache than he thought it would. Maybe he should have been paying better attention to the humans around him.
All of a sudden, a sharp needle of pain sliced through his head. His fingers twitched and he was forced to stand up.
The Hunt was calling him, but who was his prey?
He left the office quickly, his guards falling into step behind him.
They never spoke, never asked questions. They knew that until the Hunt was satisfied, Viktor Van Helsing would not acknowledge anyone or anything.
They boarded the convoy of SUVs waiting for them outside, their guns in hand. Viktor got behind the wheel of the lead vehicle and took off.
Where they were going, no one knew or cared. The Hunt was on, and the Van Helsing always got his prey.