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vintagexherry · 8 months

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One Hell of an Actor

Ghostface!Miguel O'Hara x Reader

//NSFW,Smut, Dacryphilia,Blood, Dub-Con, glove kink, fear kink, slight gore, murder, slight chasing, stalking, implied yandere, implied panty stealing, home invasion, Minor character death, bit of lore

A/N: I never watched Scream since I never liked horror a kid so im gonna put my own twist.

Requested by: @sukioyakio

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Miguel was your best partner in crime.

You both met as interns in Alchemax. Although you two didn't get along at first, as time went on, you set differences aside and bonded greatly.

As years went by, both of you quickly climbed to the top and became known geneticists around the science world.

And right now both of you were relaxing on your couch watching the news.

"Creepy, that's a lot for just two weeks." You commented, seeing a person being interviewed about the crime scene. You turned to Miguel, who was resting his face on a closed fist, looking bored. "Do you think it targets specific people?".

Miguel turned to you and smirked.

"Why? You wanna be next?"

You scoffed at him and shook your head lightly. You feel bad about the families that had to endure seeing their love once get brutally murdered.

You suddenly hear your phone ring next to you, you flinced from the loud volume and picked it up, ignoring Miguel's chuckles.

As you see the caller ID, you smiled. It was your boyfriend who was living in another state for awhile due to his job.

Miguel noticed your smile and fought the urge to crush or throw your phone agaist the wall, he recognizes that smile, you never smiled like that to him, you do smile of course but not in the way he wished you'd do.

You stood up from the couch, notifying Miguel that it's your boyfriend and went straight to your bedroom for some privacy.

Miguel knows he's not normal for doing this. He knows he's not normal ever since as a kid. He's been to several therapists about his abnormal behaviour. His aggressiveness always noted to be too much to handle, especially since he beat up several kids in school.

By the age of fifteen, he finally stopped going to those damn therapist, finally deemed as safe and sane.

But little do they know he's one hell of a actor.

Ever since then, he has tried to find multiple outlets for his endless rising anger, he didn't want to go back to those bland and emotionaless buildings, so instead he bought stress toys, but with his strength he always breaks them, He tried punching bags, It lasted longer than stress toys, but with his roughness it would always end up beaten beyond recognition, he tried sex but the people he slept with always complained that he's too rough or it hurts too much.

Finally, he tried murder at the age of twenty.

"Tried." isn't really the right word. In his defence, the guy was an idiot thinking he could rob him when he was just minding his business by walking in the middle of the night.

After another day in college, he wanted to walk home wanting some fresh air. He then felt someone following him, and as he shifted to an alley, he could still hear their footsteps.

The next thing he knows, the guy pulled out a pocket knife and tried to stabbed him, but he dodged in time and punched him in the gut.

The punch seemed to do the trick, but for Miguel, it wasn't enough.

He punched again and again until he heard bones cracking, wet coughs, and warm blood being splattered on him.

He doesn't know how long it has been, but the time he stopped punching the guy was on his knees, sporting multiple bruises, begging him to stop, and started sprouting apologies, or what he could make out of apologies with blood spitting out every word.

But it still wasn't enough.

He saw a glimmer of metal thanks to the moonlight. He realized it was the man's pocket knife who must have dropped during punching spree.

He picked up the knife and chuckled when he noticed how blunt and cheap the knife seemed to be.

The man kneeling on the hard concrete floor started to realize what was about to happen, upon realizing he started to crawl away as fast as he can, trying to ignore the cry of pain of his body and broken bones.

Miguel took his focus away from the knife and glaced at the man, pathetically trying to escape his fate.

Not only is he an idiot who tried to rob him, but he even thinks that he can escape him.

Miguel stepped on the man's ankle, successfully stopping him. Before the man could utter a shout for help, he quickly crouched down and slashed the neck of the man.

Blood splattered everywhere, spraying the floor like spray paint, and painting his hands crimson.

As the man kept withering in place like a worm, his eyes rolled at the back of his head and finally he stopped moving.

Miguel stood up to full height, taking a moment to take in the events that transpired.

He spent a good minute thinking, but nothing came up in his head.

As if on instinct, he dragged the body on the nearby trash bin and threw in it among the other trash.

As he left, he double checked his surroundings for any passerbys, after knowing no one was coming, he pocketed the knife and took off his shoes to avoid leaving footprints and risked his feet to walk on cold concrete.

He's thankful that he was wearing black tonight.

□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■

As he arrived home, he automatically removed his blood-stained clothes, and hopped into the shower.

There,his mind went rampant.

He killed a man.

Murdered him.

Punch his guts till they were mushed into smoothie.

Slashed his neck as if filleting a fish.

He killed a man.

As water and blood drips from his hands to the shower floor, he tries to find in his head any form of guilt.

Nothing

He felt nothing

Nothing but happiness

He never felt this way before, sure his punching bags did the job but not this good.

He felt as if he was Atlas and someone or something finally took off the weight of the world off of him.

He reminisces the sound of breaking bones and squelching blood, and he never heard anything better, even better than those girls he sleeps with when he isn't feeling the punching bag.

After finalizing that his clean of sweat and blood, he dries himself and wraps the towel around his waist.

He suddenly heard his phone ringing from the bedroom.

Once he arrived in the dimly-lit room, the ringing stopped, and in its place was a voicemail.

A voicemail by you.

Ah yes, You.

You both started as interns as much as he remembers.

And he remembers how much of a people pleaser you are.

How annoying it is to watch you say yes with no hesitation when a higher up wanted you to take place of his work station for a minute, you stayed there for hours since he never came back.

But you never complained.

And that annoyed him greatly.

You're too good for your own good.

"Hey, it's me,Y/N L/N, I apologize if I woke up you up or something, I just want to notify you that, surprise! Our research thesis got approved! The higher ups want us to be present by friday evening. He said something about a fancy gala and we both need to dress the best we can, also we can bring a plus one. Im gonna send you the location of the venue, since that's out of the way, I won't bother you anymore and see you soon. Goodnight and congrats again."

He took his phone and played the voicemail while he unwraps himself of his towel and started dressing.

The voicemail ended with a click, and Miguel couldn't help but be tranced by your voice. Sure, you were nothing but a goody two shoes, but you're smart, and he's glad both your hard work paid off. He'll try finding a suit for the said gala.

With that, he turned off his phone and light, heading to bed with a satisfied mind.

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Miguel was snap out of his thoughts when you re-enter the living room.

"Guess what! He's coming back next week!" You excitedly informed smiling widely.

"uh huh" Miguel replied his eyes still focusing on the news in front of him.

You scoffed at his reaction, Miguel has never onced show any other emotions other than a scowl or a sarcastic smirk on his face. But he could atleast show something about the news, he knew of your relationship with your boyfriend for several years and he knows how important it is to you that he's finally coming back.

"Is there no hooray or im so happy for you?" You asked, putting your hands on your hips as if your a mother scolding their child.

Miguel rolled his and faced you.

"hooorayyyy, im happy for you." He replied monotonously and went back watching the news.

You sighed, giving up on making him show a bit of emotion but who cares, your boyfriend is coming and you couldn't be anymore excited, you went back to your bedroom, planning to talk to him more, leaving Miguel on his own thoughts again.

Miguel knows for a fact he never liked that pathetic of an excuse you call your boyfriend.

The day of the gala, you bought your boyfriend with you, Miguel didn't bring anyone.

After you and Miguel recieved your awards, Your boyfriend told you his gonna go to the bathroom for a while, You nodded and decided to wait for him while you eat some appetizers on the table.

But Miguel felt suspicious, and it grew seeing your "boyfriend" went to a deserted area of the venue with another woman. Next thing he finds is both of them coming out giggling and panting out of breath.

Disgusting

What do you even see in that guy?

He made eye contact with your boyfriend and all he did was press a finger agaist his lips.

He decided "yea fuck that."

After the gala, you and Miguel went seperate ways to go home and after a few hours he told you of what he saw.

You're smart he can admit that but you can be stupid as fuck in the same time.

You didn't believe a word he said and after you telling him to cut it out, he held himself back from throwing his phone agaist the wall and decided to go out and killed some random drunk lady outside a club who was trying to flirt with him.

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"Miguel? Miguellllll, are you there?"

Miguel once again snapped out of his thoughts.

He sigh as he stood up straighter.

"What is it now?"

"I was just gonna go to the grocery since Im missing a few ingredients for dinner, and I was wondering if you could come with me."

Miguel nodded and you thanked him for it.

He kinda wishes he could be alone in your house so he could dig through your dirty laundry again.

But he relented since you once told him that you feel someone is watching you.

Both you and Miguel arrived in the grocery. You're thinking of making some simple Carbonara for dinner. All your missing is cream cheese, garlic, and pepper.

While you're looking for garlic, Miguel opted to carry the basket.

He admits this scenario seems domestic, maybe too domestic, especially when you ask him for his opinions.

After shopping, you paid for your ingredients and went back home.

You wanted to let Miguel stay for dinner since it's the least you could do in return for him coming with you.

There you go again.

Being a goody two shoes.

A good girl, perhaps.

Dinner passed by quickly, and you bid Miguel stay safe as he drove of the night.

You closed and locked your door after saying goodbye, and you double-checked the windows.

After washing the dishes, you head to the bathroom adjacent to your bedroom and prepare to sleep.

You were putting your pyjamas on until you heard a scratching and glass tapping downstairs.

You froze, checking if it was your imagination, thinking maybe it was just stray cats outside.

Silence

...

Fuck!

What that your window breaking!?

In a state of panic, you grab your phone and a taser hidden in your drawer and run to hide in your closet.

You hear movement downstairs continue, and with shaky hands, your fingers automatically find Miguel's number and quickly dialed it.

Your heart beats faster the more it rang, and you fear that he's already asleep.

You're surprised the intruder hasn't come upstairs, but you didn't get enough time to dwell on it since Miguel finally awnsered.

Without waiting for his awnser, you quickly spoke with shaking breaths, trying not to be loud but also trying to hold back tears.

"M-Miguel? Please come back fast! I-I-I.....There's someone! in my house!"

"Y/N?" Miguel answered his voice, which seemed to be muffled as if hidden under fabric. You think that he's probably under his blanket.

"Wherever you are, just stay there. I'm coming." Miguel said urgently.

The call ended, and you clutched your taser tighter, hugging your frame, hoping the intruder won't come find you.

After some time you finally heard a familiar voice.

"Y/N! Where are you!" Miguel called from downstairs.

You found the courage to open the closet door. Just in time, Miguel seemed to rush into your room.

"Y/N! Are you ok?" He said as he crouched down to your level, softly placing his hands on both your cheeks.

You didn't know what to say. You're still clutching on the taser and your body is still shivering from fear.

Miguel notice this

"Don't worry, Mi Vida, once I arrived, their already gone."

You could only weakly breath a thank you before resting your forehead on Miguel's shoulder.

And Miguel let you.

□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■

A week has passed since that incident.

Your window got fixed and and you installed a new lock since your previous one got broken down.

Miguel seemed more keen to stay with you more late than ever, he admits he like it, love it even.

You tried denying him, but he insisted, saying that he wants to keep an eye on you.

He kept doing this till you feel sleepy and took that as cue to leave.

One day, your "boyfriend" finally arrived, and you were nothing but ecstatic, hugging and kissing him all over the face.

But he bets another woman did it, too. He bets he enjoyed that job outside the state, but he enjoyed the women there, too.

Since your boyfriend's arrival, he stopped staying late at your place, although he visits from time to time whether you're aware of it or not.

And you feel it.

After that incident weeks ago, you still can't help but feel like as if your being watched.

You told your boyfriend about it and he just kissed your forehead saying it's just your imagination.

You wish it was.

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Several weeks pass, and you slowly but surely forget about the breaking and entering.

Right now, your boyfriend has been to his company since he got called in late at night.

You wanted to wait, but he insisted you should get some sleep since you still have work tomorrow.

You finally relented since he was right.

After covering his supposed dinner in the fridge, you triple check every lock, the doors, the windows, everything.

You finally go upstairs to get some shut eye, but as you go up stairs you screamed.

By the balcony, someone wearing full-on black with a mask enters your bedroom, seemingly unborthered by your shout.

He stood there as if taking in your fearful expression, more so enjoying it.

You wanted to call your boyfriend or get the taser, but it's all in your drawer that you can't reach due to the guy who can snap you like a twig is just standing at.

"Oh, were you looking for this?"

You got snapped out of your thoughts when you hear his deep, muffled voice.

in his hands he holds a cellphone, not just any cellphone.

Your boyfriend's cellphone....Splattered with what seems to be blood.

If you weren't scared a while ago, you're petrified now.

Without thinking, you rushed downstairs, heading for the door to shout for help.

But he was fast.

Maybe too fast.

You heard his heavy footsteps too late until you were carried like you were weightless and placed upon his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

You're really panicking now.

You screamed and shouted for help, hoping neighbours would hear you while you flailed your legs and beat at his back with all your strength, especially since blood is rushing to your head.

smack!

You yelp from the stinging pain on your ass.

Before you could complain, your were thrown agaist your own bed.

Ohgod is he gonna kill you here?

Leave your body to rot until the police finds it?

Be another victim for people to see on the news?

You tried to crawl away, but he just grabbed your ankle and pulled you back as he started climbing over you.

Nononono.

He can't possibly!

"You know..."

His muffled deep voice startled you again.

"Fear looks good on you.." he finished

You tried processing what he said but didn't have enough time till his large gloved hands ripped away your only protection against him.

The sound of fabric tearing just brings more tears to your face.

"P-p-pplease don't," you pleaded as you tried covering yourself.

He didn't say anything but removed your arms, which left you exposed for him to see.

He gathered your arms and held it above your head with one hand.

His other hand started trailing down and forced your legs open, making space for him in between.

Heavy tears were now streaming down on you, but that didn't seem to bother him. In fact, it probably made him more excited since you felt a bulge nudging your folds.

"Nonono, please no."

You pleaded again

He ignored again

You look down, and he wasted no time sliding a gloved finger into you, putting it on a slow pace.

"Mierda, look at yourself. You're perfect."

You couldn't say anything, your voice can't be trusted, and all you could do was choke on your tears.

The more his gloved finger moves, the more he seems to hit certain spots.

You try to deny it, but he seemed to be an expert at what he's doing.

He added more fingers

He added speed to his pace

You tried holding your whimpers, but it was deemed useless.

The man only seemed to chuckle at your attempt.

"Hide all you want, I know how to get it out of you."

Before you could process what he said, he curled his finger upward, sucessfully hitting that spot that made you moan loudly.

He laughed.

"Told you so."

The faster his fingers go, the more you're reaching your climax, and you hate yourself for it.

But before you did, he took his gloved fingers out and started unbuckling his pants.

If he isn't the monster, the thing between his legs definitely is.

You gulp at the sheer size of it.

"Nonono please, it-it won't fit!"

Yet again, your pleas are ignored

"Shut up and take it." he snarled and you cowered in fear.

He didn't bother wasting his time as he shoved his entire length in one go.

You screamed, he really was too big and it hurt. The man above did nothing pleasurely groan out.

"FUCK Y/N THAT'S IT!" His shout muffled by the mask.

He didn't waste any more time and started a rough and fast pace, making the bed creak from the strength.

You couldn't hold back your moans anymore and continued to spill whimpers and gasps.

The man continued his fast pace again and again.

Until you feel it, you started to tighten and your legs began to shake.

"I-Im gonn-a AH!" without warning you came, creaming around the man's cock.

It didn't seem to bother him since he tightened his hold on your hands, and his hips started to stutter.

"Come on ugh- that's it-"

Your body feels more and more sensitive as he goes, drool, sweat, and tears cover your face

Finally, his hips stop as warm fluid fills you from the inside.

Both of you panted and tried to catch your breath, but in a moment of clarity, you panic since he didn't wear any protection.

But before you could say anything, his hand finally let go of your wrists above your head. He moved to remove his mask, and you froze when you saw who it was.

"Mi....Miguel?" you hoarse voice called.

"bu-but, wh-"

You were interrupted when a strong pair of lips covered your own in a passionate kiss. More drool slipped out of you.

Miguel let go of your lips leaving you breathless.

"Im just one hell of an actor baby."

The End

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generic-whumperz · 8 months

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The Aid: Chapter 2- Belligerence

TW: BLOOD, bone break, gore, hurt/no comfort, knocked unconscious, male whumpee, male whumper, alcoholism, drunk whumper, creepy/overall bastard-ass whumper, captivity/enslavement, starvation, basement, collar and chain, knife, non-lethal stabbing, thoughts of accidental murder, non-con clothing ripping (non-sexual), talk of organ removal, literally TW’ing everything I can think of but if I forgot something let me know.

Word Count: 1683

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Wyatt Sullivan smiled and laughed triumphantly, spearing the rest of the knife all the way through The Aid’s shoulder until it butted against the cement flooring. The Aid’s body convulsed from the sharp, hot, searing pain bolting from the stab wound; blood rhythmically gushed out with each palpitation of his heart.

His weeks’ old tattered shirt was evermore stained with a fresh shade of crimson as he lay in an expanding pool of his own blood.

“That’s it, pup, let it out,” Sullivan encouraged, moving his hand down from The Aid’s jaw to his neck, right above the collar.

He squeezed lightly, not enough to cut off his airflow, but just enough for him to feel a light constraint. Sullivan would leave his hand like this, posed in insidious conquest, fingers placed on The Aid’s pulse and just feel him tremble and writhe beneath him. Something about The Aid’s rapidly pounding heartbeat excited him, reminded him of a small prey animal you could hold in your hand and crush if you so chose to.

“So, how will you repay me, you ugly little mutt?” Sullivan finally said after marinating in The Aid’s shrill sobbing for a couple of minutes.

“How- however- you- want s-sir,” The Aid croaked between blubbering cries, hoping to placate his Keeper.

“I-I need money, Mutt; I need my fucking car. How are you gonna help me get either of those things?” Sullivan asked, voice choleric and threaded with gall.

The Aid gulped helplessly through labored breaths.

“I-I could sell you…,” Sullivan whispered, more to himself than to The Aid. The Aid’s eye widened, not in fear, but in hope.

An end to this hell?

Sullivan’s brow quickly furrowed. “Parts of you, I mean,” he sneered, quick to snuff out any notions of his servant escaping to a happier life. “No one would buy you in-in this state…but, but I bet I could get a pretty penny for what’s inside though.”

He adjusted his grip on the knife's hilt and yanked it out of The Aid’s flesh with a wet slicing sound; the auditory effect was hard to ignore. The Aid squealed and thrashed again- fueled by nothing but a fleeting zap of adrenaline- this time freeing his left arm, which instinctively shot up and clutched his pierced shoulder. His shaky hand was immediately drenched in warm, sticky blood as he tried to apply pressure to the wound to help stop the bleeding, but without the knife plugging up the gash, a steady gush of sanguine leaked from The Aid’s upper half.

He felt like a stuck, bleeding animal in a slaughterhouse.

Sullivan wiped the blood off the knife on The Aid’s shirt before cutting the fabric down the middle of his chest and lightly trailing the knife’s tip down his sternum, paying no mind to his blood loss.

“You do have two kidneys, and well, ya only really need one.” Sullivan took a thoughtful moment to consider his options. He sat up, removed his hand from The Aid’s throat, continued the rip down to the bottom of his now useless shirt, leaving him completely bare-chested, and felt around his concaved abdomen.

“Gah, fa-fuck, where da hell are tha kidneys ’nyway?”

“S-sir-” The Aid pleaded wearily, fighting his feeling of lightheadedness, a fight he was slowly losing.

“No, ya dumb little bastard, I-I’m not gonna carve ya up right here an’ now!” Sullivan protested defensively. He glided the knife down to The Aid’s exposed, bruised belly and circled his navel.

He smiled devilishly.

“But I-I will be takin’ one’uf ya’er kidneys ta‘marrow.”

The Aid whined before turning his head to the side, facing away from his tormenter. His eyelids grew heavy, and he was getting sleepy. Well, he was always sleepy; the pernicious side effects of starvation, untended injury, and illness would render anybody in a perpetual state of fatigue. But now, he was losing a substantial amount of blood while in an already anemic state. His blurred vision further weakened and now blackened at the edges. His limbs were tingling; they began tingling some time ago, but the sensation grew more intense, and he felt as if the static stuck in his hands and feet was slowly creeping up into his arms and legs.

He felt his pulse thrum in his throat and follow his breath, wavering between fast, hiccupy inhales and slowed, wheezy exhales. His blood felt as if it were being pumped in the opposite direction while the rushing sound of something akin to a waterfall engulfed his ears, blocking out all other sounds around him. His body was weak, indubitably succumbing to the litany of traumas that wracked him.

He had been forced to play a dangerous game of ding dong ditch on death’s door; was death finally standing on the other side, looking through the peephole and waiting to catch him in the act?

“Hey, hey, hey, hey, HEY!” Sullivan screeched, watching The Aid’s eyes roll to the back of his head. In an act of desperation, Sullivan struck him across the face in an effort to drag him back to consciousness. The Aid all but croaked weakly in response before drifting off into a dreamless abyss as his head drooped to the side. Sullivan pounded his chest, doing nothing but further aggravating his broken rib, yet he continued to hit and scream at the beaten and bloodied servant underneath him, hoping that his eyes would shoot open at any moment.

To his dismay, they didn’t. . .

Fuck.

Did he do it? Did he finally kill him?

His desperate fingers felt for a pulse in The Aid’s neck. . . there it was, weak and sporadic, but a pulse, nonetheless.

He felt a small layer of tension release; sighing, he surveyed the knife wound- then, he noticed the small trailing stream of blood branching off from the puddle of dark liquid The Aid lay in, a pool that had grown a considerable size and now stained his pant legs.

He put the knife down and, with two hands, grabbed The Aid’s shoulders, pulling him forward to sit his slack body upright. Carrying the momentum, his spine hunched forwards, the only thing stopping him from doubling over was Sullivan’s chest that his head rested against. Red still poured out his shoulder gash in the same sporadic pulse that matched his irregular heartbeats.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Sullivan exhaled, more annoyed than anything. It wasn’t that he was a stranger to beating The Aid unconscious and leaving him down here, but this time he was spewing out blood like a nicked water line. He considered getting up and going, abandoning The Aid to a sure death. . .

What would his life look like without him?

It was not that he valued the servant’s life or cared for him in any capacity, surely, but he concluded that he wouldn’t want to deal with his rotting, stinking corpse if he were to expire down here.

Would The Aid haunt him? Reclaim this house for his own?

Sullivan didn’t want to deal with expelling a possible poltergeist, so he mentally settled on trying to stop the bleeding and bandaging him up the best he could, hoping that would be enough. He didn’t have the money to take him to the clinic, he let his chattel insurance lapse, and his servant was well past his 90-day health guarantee- over half a decade past. Hell, he didn’t even have health insurance for himself.

Perks of being an American; God bless.

If he died… he fucking died, but not if Sullivan could help it.

'Gotta get Mutt upstairs. . . compress. . . stop, stop bleeding. . . get a sewing kit, stitch ‘em up. . . gauze, get the gauze and that wrap. . . wrap ‘em up. . . put ‘em in the spare room. . . nah, he won’t run. . . he couldn’t get far. . . no one would want ‘em. . . no one would want this ugly, stinkin’ little mutt. . .'

He palmed at his side belt loop in search of his carabiner key ring; finding it, he singled out a small key that he brought to The Aid’s collar padlock, then with a single twist, the collar and chain dropped to the floor. Sullivan reclipped his keys to his belt loop as he dismounted The Aid; a hand held him upright so he could crouch down and scoop him up, hoisting his enervated body in his arms to carry him bridal-style.

Quite some time had passed since he last carried The Aid, but he was noticeably lighter, at least by 10 pounds. He couldn’t be more than 125 pounds soaking wet; that was light, even for his slight 5’6” frame.

He was immediately met with a head rush from standing too quickly- that, and he was still drunk. He had to take a moment to brace himself and the added weight in his arms. He wavered momentarily, dragging a foot out in front to regain his balance as the blood and alcohol and gravity had to reacquaint themselves.

With staggering baby steps, he passed the stairwell base and continued climbing to the ground floor. Now at two-thirds of the way to the top, his stomach growled and violently churned, causing him to burp a deep-bellied belch that tasted of beer and Chex-Mix, with a hint of salted sunflower seeds.

He leaned forward, feeling his gut flip over on itself and expel bile that hit the back of his throat. He puffed his cheeks out, tightly clenching his mouth shut, and shook his head in an attempt to will himself not to vomit.

Dizzy. So dizzy.

It all caught up with him in an instant.

His foot slipped on the next step.

He felt a pull backward.

He dropped The Aid.

He threw his arms out- reaching, grabbing, clutching nothing but air.

His body tumbled over and over on itself, the edges of each stair nipped at him, until finally, with his body’s full momentum, his skull violently collided with the basement floor.

Crack.

More blood was spilled that night.

Sullivan joined The Aid in a night of restless slumber.

He would have more than a broken car to deal with come morning.

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