Wattys Shortlist 2022 -
When she isn't looking, they call her the Princess of the Ghouls, but they haven't seen the assassination order on her secret identity: viper.
Stuck in Lake Darling, ruled by her father's gang, Vi has one objective... run awa...
this is a scr33nshot from my board called manics :
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The knowledge that Reid saw my body, with every black bruise and red mark wedged between every ropey muscle and scrawny rib, makes my cheeks heat with humiliation.
But what's worse, is they healed those wounds away with a machine. Everything. My ribs, my throat, the cuts and grazes, the bleeding in my eyes—they healed my stiffness, hell, I look as pretty as that stupid fucking doctor. But every time I'm reminded of how good I feel, and how shit I felt, it just... it makes me wan' throw a fit. How can I like what they're doing for me? They're the reason mum is gone. Guilt twists in my stomach. In a strange way I miss looking how I felt.
Now I hurt but I just can't pin where.
Thinking about it just rubs my nose in how little Lake Darling had... has?
I keep thinking like the city is dead; like it was fucking bombed and I'm done locked out of the walls that I spent my life sneaking through. Cold rage is worse than hot rage. It's cruel, like my city... it eats you alive and twists every good moment into a bitter poison.
They transferred us to a place called the residential wing which is just as lavish as the rest of the compound, but now we're waiting for clearance to go eat. We stand at the entrance of the dining hall that's filled with our friends like prison inmates who're locked out of our own lives.
"Hospital transfers clear." A soldier finally reports, and on queue other soldiers start uncuffing us, earning sighs of relief.
My soldier, a short guy named Corporal Jones, grabs my arms and programs my cuffs to release, hooking them to his utility belt before he turns to another person. Reid's hands hang behind his back but Corporal Jones moves further into the group which leaves me unsupervised. I slip a ring off my finger and take his wrists, but Reid looks at me accusingly, going tense, "What you doin'?" He snaps.
"Put your back to the wall," I order, looking sharply at the soldiers before I inspect the cuffs strapped around his veined forearms. None of the company branding is on the outside, but I need to know which manufacturer supplied the army because it'll give me a hint of which drop routes they're using.
My eye can't blink a read on the description of the cuffs, just that it's an unknown electronic device.
The control device blinks into a little passcode menu, but I wedge my ring into the feeder-mech and pry the cover back, feeling for the dead man's chip. He makes a noise of discomfort and arches his shoulders, "Vi." He hisses, eyeing the soldiers.
A younger kid with a mullet, acne, and black teeth, peacocks his dislike as he stomps around, accidentally bumping me but, unable to lose my hold on the cuffs, I stumble into Reid's back.
His arms are firm and hot to the touch, and my cheek brushes his shirt. My heart flips when his stride falls between my own legs for balance. On the inside corner of the chip reads, VD for Vertigo Designs. I accidentally hit the chip which defaults the cuffs, making them hiss as they release before I slip them into my pocket and step away. Fuck, I didn't mean to steal.
