Page 100 of Fatality

Though my artist brain definitely isn't appreciating the smell coming from that dumpster.

I take a step back and look at the garage again.

Is this the place or not?

Those initials could stand for anything like it could just be a garage owned by some guy named Chris Vicomte.

I roll my eyes.

Like a garage down here would just happen to belong to someone with a name like that.

I swear, sometimes my brain goes completely off the rails.

I turn and start walking away, it's probably not the place.

“Make sure you find that fucker! It's been a week,” a voice echoes through the street, impatient and angry. “I wanted it done yesterday!”

A door slides open, then slams shut with a heavy thud.

I freeze mid-step, my heart skips a beat.

That voice.

I found him.

My disappointment twists into a feral grin.

“Well...” I pause. “Guess who came back first, freak?”

I whisper it more to myself than anyone else.

Maybe even to the maybe-corpse in the dumpster I almost walked away from.

I look back at the garage.

This is it.

I scan my surroundings, searching for something that would hurt him to lose.

My eyes land on a car parked outside the garage doors.

I remember that car. The same one that crashed into Elyas and me.

His car.

It looks expensive, very expensive. And very, very inconvenient to repair.

I glance around again, looking for a weapon, I need something heavy, something I can really swing.

That's when I spot a steel bar.

“Fuck yes,” I mumble, walking over to pick it up.

It's heavy as hell.

“Payback's a bitch, Evren.” I test its weight in my hand. “You came to my place.” A grin spreads across my face. “So, I'm coming for yours.”

I wait until no one is outside the garage.