Seven Deadly Sins

Chapter Two

Into Hell


The Genetics labs were full of human and animal organs suspended in tanks of noxious smelling fluid. Death turned sheet white when she saw them, her throat working convulsively to keep from throwing up. She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, and the sharp pain helped her to think. She needed to calm down, slow her heart and her breathing, before she hyperventilated or tossed her cookies.

Death, you all right? Chaos asked softly in her mind. Apocalypse popped up, adding, Go lean against the wall, breathe through your mouth. It'll help. Trust me. It worked when I had a crap customer. Go on.

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Portman shook his head in dismay and disgust as she walked over to a nearby wall and leaned against it for support. What a wuss. Well, actually, maybe he could use this to his advantage in getting into her pants. She wanted him bad, too. Hell, he wanted her worse, probably. All that hot, slick wetness encasing his throbbing cock as he sank into her gorgeous body, fucking her long into the night... oh, shit, yeah.

Still, she was kind of a wuss.

Hey, shut the fuck up, dick breath. I don’t wanna barf on any evidence or whatever. And stop thinking about me without my clothes on! Don’t make me come over there and kick your ass!

What the hell… had he been imagining things? He was pretty sure she hadn’t said anything.

I’m a fucking telepath, dip shit. Boy, did she sound pissed. It was kinda turnin' him on. Oh, fuck, yeah it was. Her sounding pissed, her being pissed, was givin' him a boner. Maybe he should piss her off more.

Get out of my head. He felt her bristle like a pissed off porcupine, felt her anger rise to the surface of her mind like oil slicking the surface of a body of water. Her anger washed over him, warm and searching, wrapping around his body, caressing him like a lover. Anger could be passion, if you worked it right. Get out of my head, Death. Unless it's turnin' you on, that is.

Dude, you think I wanna be here? You need to wash your mind out with soap!

If Death was a telepath, Portman thought, and she was monitoring his thoughts at the moment, then he could… hey!

He sent her an image, or tried, of her luscious body impaled on his full, throbbing cock. She was wearing a tight black dress, the hem of which was shoved up around her waist, out of his way. She straddled his lap, fucking herself on his cock, moaning like some deliciously wanton thing, her hands roaming along his back while she cried out with every thrust of himself into her tight, wet heat.

"Harder, Portman, harder, oh, God, yes, yes, please!"

The zipper on the back of her dress was pulled all the way down, baring her smooth back, giving up her firm white breasts to his ravenous mouth, which closed around one of her nipples and suckled greedily. Her eyes snapped open and she screamed with pleasure, tears running down her cheeks because she'd never felt so deliciously full and complete in her life. Every flick of his tongue against her nipple, every fierce pull of his mouth on her breast, made warm, sweet wet soak into his pants and slick his cock. He groaned, fucking her harder, faster. She bucked her hips against him, moaning. Her black lace thong panties were around her ankles, and just the sight of her like this, her flesh craving his touch, his kiss, her body trembling, made him ever harder.

Her hands were tangled in his hair, holding his head in place as he feasted on her, as his tongue lapped at her nipple and stroked, stroked, as his teeth nipped, and he licked and bit and sucked at her. His hands were splayed across her back, pushing her closer as she writhed in pleasure. She was so very, very wet, and the sweet cream of her sex soaked his open trousers and wrapped around his aching shaft and oh, God, she was so hot and tight and wet and welcoming. Death's head was thrown back in ecstasy, and short, loud, cries of agonizing pleasure were dropping from her lips like rain. She rode him hard, letting him fill her to the hilt, letting his perfect cock hit every sweet spot inside of her, and he groaned against her breast and bit down so her blood stained his teeth as he came hard inside her, as she screamed with the pleasure of her orgasm, shrieked his name and cried, “Yes, oh, oh, oh yes, yes, YES!”

The image faded from both their minds, and he saw her eyes on him, wide and brilliant and bright with desire. Her lush lips were parted, sparkling with moisture as she wet them with the tip of her tongue, and she was breathing as if she'd just finished a hot round of sweaty, awesome sex or three. Maybe she had. Maybe his little daydream had given her the big O.

What the hell was that? Her voice was soft and breathy. He winked at her, and her breath hitched in her chest.

Your clothes were still on.

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She scowled when he whispered in her mind, Your clothes were still on. Arrogant son of a bitch. She flipped him off and turned away, trying to catch her breath and regain her composure. How had he done that? How had he given her that kind of pleasure with a simple daydream?

Shit, I shouldn't even be thinking of having sex with that shit-faced whoremonger, what the hell is wrong with me? Struggling to cool the flaming heat in her flushed cheeks, she turned to watch the two men looking at the animals. I'm not gonna fuck him, because I'm not in love with him. I don't fuck people I'm not in love with. They don't have to love me, I’m not that demanding, it’s impractical, but I have to at least love them Still, Portman was gonna be a toughie. He was calling to everything female in her because he called to everything else in her. Because he was so overwhelmingly male, and the part of her that the C-24 made animal could smell him, smell his sex and his oh-so-masculine and ever present hungers.

Everything except my heart. What the fuck?

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Goat seemed entranced by the “heart” beating steadily in the jar of fluid and aimed his gun at it so Pinky could get a visual.

“Pinky, you getting this?” said Goat.

“Jesus,” said Pinky over the comm. “Very cool.”

“You are fucking sick, Pinky,” Death snapped, taking shallow breaths. She’d made the mistake of looking at the organs again, and even the burning heat of Portman’s fantasies couldn’t have drawn her out of it again for at least a few moments.

“Don’t be such a girl.”

“Shut the fuck up, you fucking gimp,” Portman snapped on the comm. link. “We got better shit to do than listen to you bitch.”

Goddamn it, just the sound of his voice made her body burn with the memory of that fantasy. She nearly fell to the ground, her knees were shaking so badly.

“Wow, four cusswords in two sentences, impressive, you little shit piece of-” Pinky began, but was interrupted by a very pissed off ex-whore.

“Dudes!” Apocalypse snarled over the comm. “I am trying to figure something out and the testosterone levels are starting to make me choke. Ya both smell like a pair of rancid testicles! Christ on a dying dinosaur in the desert! Both of you shut the hell up. Mama, you okay in there?”

“Fine,” Death replied. “I'm totally fine. And don’t call me Mama.”

“Yes, Mama.”

“Don’t call me Mama!”

"Yes, Mama."

"Brat."

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Death took a deep breath and stepped away from the wall. She could now focus on the nastiness of the Genetics labs and not on the strange, phantom sensation of Portman thrusting into her, filling her to the bursting point, driving into her like some delectably wild thing, hungry for all of her, starving for her, hitting every soft and sweet spot inside her.

The problem with that was, she couldn't handle looking at human organs, let alone a human corpse. But the strange thing was that she ate human flesh and drank blood, a taste for which she shared with Chaos. The sweet rush of blood down her throat, the hot, steaming taste of fresh, human meat in her mouth….

Apocalypse enjoyed it every now and then but not for every meal. Too much blood would unsettle her stomach. Although lately, blood had featured more and more often in her meals… and Death thought to herself that she wouldn't mind tasting Portman's blood, letting the hot rich life of him pump out of him and flow down her throat as his seed pumped into her while he thrust with bruising force...

Shit! Not again! Focus, Death, focus! Christ on a flying bicycle!

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Goat watched Death shake her head, as if to clear away the dizziness brought on by the strangeness of the labs, and turn around. A small, wiry little creature launched itself at the wall of its cage and Death nearly jumped out of her skin. When she regained her composure, she approached the animal and frowned, examining it.

“It’s infected,” Death observed, and Goat saw the wound on its neck.

Portman frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Death glanced up at Portman. “It’s infected. It was injected with C-24.” She gazed back at the animal and sighed. “Chaos, I found something you might like.”

“What?” said Chaos’s voice over the comm.

“A monkey.”

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Death put her shotgun down, letting it hang from the shoulder strap and seized several bars on the cage. She began to squeeze the bars with all her strength and they bent inward, creating a hole in the cage wide enough for the monkey to crawl through. Portman and Goat watched in apprehension as she stuck her hand into the cage and grabbed the monkey, pulling it out of the cage. It screeched at her and pounded on her hand, but to no avail.

“MONKEY! MONKEY, MONKEY, MONKEY, MONKEY, MONKEY, MONKEY, MONKEY!”

“She said it was infected,” Portman alerted the rest of the squad. “Should we kill it?”

Death, Chaos, and Apocalypse were all shocked to hear what he said. He was actually being smart for once. And annoying.

Can't you leave shit well enough alone, Dean Portman? Death snarled in the Corporal's mind.

But you said-

I know what I fucking said! Jesus, you really are a dip shit!

Well, excuse me, Ms. Hide-the-Salami!

What the hell did you just say to me? Don’t make me kick your ass, Portman!

I bet you’d like me to make you suck my-

Shutting up now.

You’re so easy. He made sure she didn’t hear that last part, though. The entire mental conversation happened in about thirty seconds. Ah, the joys of telepathy.

“Infected? Chaos, you are not going to have an infected monkey as a pet,” Sarge said firmly over the comm.

“Oh, come on, Sarge,” Chaos growled.

“No.” Sarge’s voice was firm.

“But it’s my monkey,” whined Chaos in a high-pitched voice.

Death sighed. “Don’t worry, Chaos. I’ll get you another one when this is over with.”

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“Don’t worry, Chaos. I’ll get you another one when this is over with.”

“If we survive,” Portman pointed out. He had to point it out.

Death glared at him, abso-fucking-lutely fed the fucking fuck up, and socked him hard in the gut. He doubled over in pain and started groaning, trying not to hurl as his stomach screamed at him for the abuse. Jesus, who knew a woman who could fuck like that could hit so hard?

“Lucky it wasn’t your fucking gonads.” Portman turned white. He liked his balls just the way they were, thank you so much.

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Death looked over at Goat, who was smirking at what she'd done to Portman, and she hesitated before asking, “What do we do with the monkey, then? The cage is completely useless.” Fuck, I never think first. Crap. This is totally my fault. I hope we don't have to kill it. I like animals. Hell, I love animals. More than people. I don't want to hurt any of them.

“Kill it,” ordered Sarge.

Oh, no, no. No, I can't, I... it's helpless. It's completely helpless.

"I mean it, Death," Sarge replied. Death snarled at him under breath.

Death continued to stare at Goat and he stared back down at her. She knew he was wondering what she was going to do next. She blinked several times and swallowed hard before reaching for her pistol. The monkey started screeching louder than ever as she aimed the gun at its head. She looked around without moving her head to find Portman watching her.

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Portman watched Death from where he lay hunched on the ground, still recovering from the sucker punch to the gut. Death put the gun to the tiny animal's head. She looked about ready to cry. He suddenly felt so bad for her, realizing she must be one of those girls that loved cute, cuddly animals, and even though that wasn't very practical, it made him feel sorry for her. She glanced down at the monkey again, her hand shaking just a little. She really, really felt bad about doing this.

It's okay, babe, he thought, and she glanced back up at him. His voice was no longer pure desire, pure sex, but merely gentle comfort. It didn't matter, though. Her eyes stabbed into him, desperate eyes. No one had ever looked at him like that before, ever, in his life. She swallowed hard, bit her lip.

It's not okay. I don't want to do this.

I'll do it for you. And he would. He didn't want her hurting like this. It made no sense to him, why he cared about her happiness, especially after her refusal and his Death inflicted pain, but it made his gut clench to see her like this. Maybe that was the punch to the gut, but who gave a flying fuck? He would kill the fucking monkey, if it was so difficult for her.

I can do it.

Are you sure?

I can do it, Portman. There were defiant tears in her voice.

All right, babe.

She pulled the trigger.

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She and Goat both closed their eyes as the bullet killed the animal and she had to force herself to open her eyes again.

Death especially liked monkeys.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “If only there had been another way.” Death set the monkey’s carcass back in its cage, put the pistol back in its holster on her belt, and turned to face the rest of the room, wiping the blood and bits of monkey off her hand onto her pants. “Check for wounds on their necks. If they’ve got a wound, they’re infected and must be killed. If not, leave them alive.” Please.

Goat nodded and Portman struggled to get to his feet so he could accompany Goat to check the other animals. Death took a deep breath to settle herself and crossed her arms, leaning against the wall.

Mama?

Get out of my head. I'm pissed.

I love you, Mama.

I know, Apocalypse. I just need a Dead moment. A moment of nearly complete and utter solitude. She would never be completely cut off from Chaos, which was how she liked it, but now, right then, she needed the closest thing to that.

'Kay, Mama.

Don't call me Mama. But Apocalypse was already gone.

Death hadn’t wanted to kill the monkey. It damn well near killed her to butcher the defenseless animal. How could Sarge have been so merciless? How many times had he put their pets down himself, because they'd gotten some kind of illness that could’ve been cured with just a bit more effort? She clenched both fists, fury burning through her veins.

Death could see into her twin's mind, see how she felt. Chaos was close to tears, and was mentally cuddling in Goat's arms and sharing memories of Sarge's cruelty from their childhood with him. The connection between the two lovers was almost as deep and intense as the connection between Chaos and her sister.

Death knew that for some reason, Chaos felt like any monkey that came into her possession was like her own child, maybe because Chaos couldn’t easily have her own children, and she was afraid to be responsible for something so precious and fragile as a human life. Monkeys were the next best thing, apparently. And Sarge had already killed three of the ones in Chaos’s possession.

Death wondered when her sister would get to stop being a hired gun and live her life how she wanted. Oh, what the hell, it didn't matter right now. They had to fix the Olduvai situation first.

Staring across the room, she saw Portman shoot a dog. Mad glee shone from his eyes, making her a little ill. What the hell had she gotten into?

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“Son…” Portman shot at a bulldog. The bullet lodged in its brain, killing it instantly. He heard Death's breathing hitch in her chest, which made his own chest feel a little tight, but he ignored both the sound and the feeling.

He let his rage out, where he could lose himself in it without hurting anyone. The best outlet for sexual frustration, besides sex and yanking it like a monkey in a mango tree, was blood shed. It got your blood up, eased all your body's tension, gave you release. If Death’s tight, wet body didn’t offer him the release he needed, then maybe killing would help.

“Of…” Another dog dropped to the floor of the cage. Portman grinned, his teeth shining like a shark's grin in the eerie lighting of the lab. Annoyingly, he didn't get a hard-on until he glanced back at Death, whose eyes were huge in her face, glittering brightly as she watched him. Her breasts were heaving as she sucked in air. His boner got a tad bit bigger with every sexy breath she took. He turned away and aimed at another animal with a bloody neck.

“A…” A second monkey was murdered then.

He heard Death gasp softly, almost like she'd orgasmed and had to keep from screaming. Or like she was horrified at his behavior. Why did that make him a little uneasy? He glanced at her, and hissed a little when his cock grew even harder at the sight of her. He jerked his head away from her and back to the large wolf-dog staring out of its cage at him, baring its teeth. Its neck was bloody.

“Bitch…” His bullet embedded itself right between the half-breed dog's eyes, and Portman saw Death flinch a little. He spat blood onto the floor, and Death gazed up at him, her eyes big in her face. She looked disgusted. Shit.

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Portman spat blood onto the floor, and Death gazed up at him, her eyes big in her face. This was the man her body wanted her to fuck. The man with blood on his lips, madness in his eyes, death in his hands. She watched him from behind her eyelashes, and wondered briefly about what little sanity she had left. She could still feel his oh-so-delicious cock inside her, throbbing and pulsing as he emptied himself inside her body. She almost wanted... no, there was no almost. She just wanted to feel him inside her while she kissed his chest, licked his hot skin slick with sweat and blood and fury, and let him pour his fury into her body with the glorious essence of his sex.

Oh, shit. She needed to get over this quick. Now she was startin' to freak herself out.

I need to get laid. A nice uncomplicated fuck. But... not with him. I don’t think I could do that, not after what I’ve just seen...

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Goat cast a glance across the room and rolled his eyes.

“Why are you such a complete and total asshole, Portman?” inquired Death, reaching down to open one of her belt pockets, grab five shells, and insert them into her shotgun. She stroked her shotgun after she'd loaded it, and Portman felt his cock get hard. If only she'd stroke him like that.

Oh, God...

Portman didn’t answer Death's asshole question, just sighed and turned away from her. If she thought he was such an asshole, why did she almost let him kiss her in the corridor earlier? Why had the image and feel of him inside her turned her on so badly? He wasn't an asshole. Or at least, not a complete and total one. Why did her low opinion of him make his chest feel tight?

“You don’t have to do this. In fact, you didn’t have to do this.”

“What?” Portman spun around and frowned at Death. What the hell had that meant?

“The only reason I’m here is to protect you. To make sure you don’t do anything stupid. If you die, it’s my head.” The confused look on Portman’s face told Death he had no idea what she was talking about. “Never mind. You’ll find out soon enough, anyways.”

Is that the reason she's with me? Because she's on orders? Is she seducing me to keep me around?

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Goat straightened up after shooting one last dog and gazed at the other two. “We’re good,” he said. “Come on.” He walked over to the doorway and didn't wait for Portman and Death to exit before marking the wall. He patrolled the corridor, waiting for whatever was going to happen in the lab now that he was gone. Something was up, and they needed to get whatever it was out of their system.

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Portman tugged on Death's braid, gently. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, but that was it.

"Are you all right, babe?" She looked like a walking dead girl. He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her, comfort her, but if he tried, she'd probably put a knee in his gonads, and he couldn't do anything for her without them, no matter how asexual.

"Don't call me babe, shit brick. And I'm fine. Get away from me." He flinched, but hid it well.

"I'm sorry about the monkey." He wasn't sorry about it dying. He was sorry about how much it had upset her.

"No, you’re not. And what the fuck was wrong with you back there?" Death demanded, gesturing to the dead animals. He heard tears in her voice, but saw none on her face or in her eyes. Brave woman. Strong. "What was with the shooting? I saw that fucking hard-on, shithead! How could you get turned on by slaughtering innocent animals?"

"It wasn't the animals." His voice was soft. He didn't want her to hear the desire in his voice, the husky need that made his fingers curl and his cock itch to sink balls-deep inside her. God, he wanted it. He needed to be inside her, feel her glorious, wet warmth around him. He had to gentle her into it, though. He had to be so gentle, or he'd get shoved back to square one. He didn't have that kind of fucking patience. "It wasn't them."

"Then what the fuck was it?" She snapped, fury in her voice now along with the tears. It was too much. He made his move.

His mouth slammed down on hers, brutal, devoured hers, and he sucked her tongue ruthlessly into his mouth, plundering her soft recesses with his tongue, nibbling against her soft lips with his sharp teeth. She whimpered and moaned, clinging to him as his tongue thrust into her mouth, hungry and wanting to taste all of her but being forced to settle for this meager sample of her sweetness. He was practically eating her, his teeth drawing blood from her soft lips, sucking the air and saliva and blood from her mouth. Her hands were in his hair and his groin was shoved hard against the heat between her legs. He could feel her want for him even through the layers of clothing she wore. His hands were everywhere, his touch so light she writhed against him, wanting more, wanting it all.

"It was you. God, woman, you make me so fucking hard. Can you feel it?" He ground his hips against hers. "Feel that?" He grabbed her wrist and pressed her hand against his erection. "This is all for you, honey. This is all for you. You like that? You want it inside you, fucking you?"

She sighed, whispering, "Yes. Oh, yes."

“Jesus, Death,” he moaned, his mouth descending to the side of her neck, just beneath her ear. His tongue caressed her soft skin, his teeth nipped and nibbled and bit at her, and he could feel her pulse, the rushing of her blood beneath her skin, in his mouth. His tongue rose up to caress the pearly shell of her ear, and she shuddered. “Jesus, I wanna fuck you. I wanna fuck you ‘til you scream, till you beg, till it hurts us both. I wanna be inside you, so deep, forever.”

“Portman, yes, yes, please,” she whispered, voice soft and needy and hot, and then he was kissing her again.

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His tongue was in her mouth again, exploring her, tasting her, memorizing the ridges on the roof of her mouth, dancing and tangling with her tongue, stroking and thrusting. She bit down on his flesh in her mouth, not to hurt him never that but to draw blood, just a little. She wanted the salt taste of him in her mouth. As his blood came, he bit her tongue as well, calling a tiny well of blood. Their blood mingled in their mouths, a mirror of far more intimate things. At the taste of her, Portman pulled her hard against him, and she cried out against his mouth, feeling his desire, his throbbing need for her. She could taste it, and it made her want more, so much more.

"Fuck me, Portman," she moaned against his lips, "oh, God, please, fuck me, please!" She gave a soft cry before he consumed her mouth and soul and heart and mind in another soul-searing kiss that drugged her and pulled her mind down into his fantasies, his hopes, his softest and lightest wishes.

Suddenly, she felt the soft rub of silk sheets against her skin, as if she lay on her back in a bed, with Portman lying above her, his weight on her body warm and reassuring, his glorious heat and hardness nestled between her thighs, waiting oh-so-patiently for her to be ready, and the sweet, caressing scent of vanilla candles burning, the taste of red wine and dark, melted chocolate and Portman’s blood and sweat and heat on her tongue, and she was surrounded by soft, crimson silk, and he teased her and tormented her, rubbing himself against her wetness, making her sob with the pleasure of it, caressing her face and her throat and body so gently, then finally Portman kissing her throat, taking her pulse in his mouth and sheathing himself inside her, thrusting hard, no holding back, groaning and growling, telling her in his sex-roughened voice that she was tight, wet, soft, sweet, hot, perfect, baby, oh, babe, you goddess, babe, and she was screaming for more, for all of him, for everything, oh, Portman, oh yes, please, pleasepleaseplease yes, oh, yesss!

Then she was back in her body, in Portman’s arms, gasping and sweating and shaking, staring up at him in shock. They were back in the Genetics lab, with their clothes on, as if nothing had happened, but their bodies told them otherwise.

“Holy shit….” Portman whispered. Just the sound of his voice made Death hunger for him inside her again. She pressed herself against him and moaned, and he clutched her to him and captured her mouth in a hungry kiss.

“Fuck me, Portman," she whispered against his lips, her body shaking. "For real this time. Fuck me now.” At the word “fuck,” his dick twitched in his pants, she felt it. He groaned and grabbed her by the shoulders.

"God, babe, I want to, I do, but..." She kissed him, hoping it would make him throw his caution to the wind, but suddenly he thrust her away from him, breathing hard. "Shit, do you want me to come in my pants again?"

"It would soothe my feminine ego." She smoothed his hair down. "I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me, I-" He kissed her gently, a soft command to stop her rambling, to calm down and come back to his arms, if only for gentle romance instead of rough passion. "Stop it," she cried in a whisper, pushing him away. He snagged her hand when she would’ve left him completely, caressing her knuckles with his thumb. The look on his face was killing her.

"I shouldn't have kissed you at all,” she said softly, staring at her combat boots, “much less like my tongue wanted to make friends with yours. I don’t know what that… that thing was, but I… now I... get away from me, please. I can't think with you standing so close."

Oh, God, make it stop, make it stop. I’m not like this, I’m strong, what is this? I want him on my tongue again, want to feel him around and inside me again, want to know him, be so close to him again, but it’s all physical, nothing more, and what the flying fucking hell in a hand basket is wrong with me? I want him to hold me close and kiss my cheek and rub my back and tell me it’s all okay, we’ll get out of here. Why? He’s nothing to me, I’ve never met him before. Why am I like this? Portman, kiss me, fuck me, hold me, love me, I want it, I want it, please- STOP! I don't want to think these things anymore, God damn it!

"Death-" His voice was pleading.

"Please..." She bit her lip until it bled. She stared up at him with big, beautiful eyes, and she could hear his thoughts.

I don’t know what’s happening, his words echoing in her mind, but I just want to make you happy. What can I do to make you happy? I want to take away your pain. How can I do that for you, Death? Please, let me do it, just tell me how. I don’t know what this is, but, babe, please, I just want you to be happy. Please, I don't know why I even care, but I want-

"Please, get away.” She whispered, struggling not to stop her ears. She knew it wouldn’t help, the voice of sweet tenderness was in her head. She tried to ignore the lancing phantom pain in her chest that so closely mirrored Portman’s at her words. She was hurting him, she didn't want to do that, but he needed to get away from him, she needed to get clear of his warmth and gentility and appeal. She wished he could hold her, but she needed to think.

“Death-”

“Stay away from me."

"Death, please-"

"Leave me alone!"

She rushed out of the room, Portman calling after her. When she made it to Goat, he merely watched as she caught her breath and scrubbed her mouth with the back of her hand. If he saw tears in her eyes, he didn't comment, just let her regain her composure.

What's wrong, Death? Her twin whispered hesitantly in her mind.

Chaos, now is not the time.

Did Portman do anything to upset you?

No. Now, please leave me alone for right now.

We're here if you need us, Apocalypse murmured in her delicate and kind way, as she did when she knew that her friend needed encouragement and gentility, plus her own whacky brand of cuteness. Death sent no words, only a cloud of gratitude. The girls slipped out of her mind, and left her to her strange discomfort.

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Portman closed the door to the Genetics lab and joined Death and Goat, the latter of which ignored him and the former of which refused to meet his gaze, and clenched her gun with white-knuckled hands. He sighed and managed not to swear. He saw how kiss-swollen her lips were, how tense and white she was. She looked so... unhappy. Damn it, that was gonna piss him off. He didn't want her to be upset.

It was going to be a very, very long mission.

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They hadn’t walked twenty feet down the corridor when Pinky told them there was another room to the north, past Genetics. The men entered first and Portman stared down at the holding cell there.

“What the hell is that?” inquired Portman. Goat laughed.

“You never did time, Portman?” Goat asked.

“What?”

Chaos had somehow heard the conversation over the comm. and said, “You never did time? Wow.”

“I don’t bloody believe it,” Apocalypse chimed in.

“It’s a holding cell,” replied Goat, a grin appearing on his face.

“Bullshit. What makes you think that?” Portman stared challengingly at Goat.

“Touch it.”

Portman bent over and touched the side of the cell. Electricity quickly traveled up the wall and zapped him. He stepped back, crying out in pain.

“’Cause the walls are electrified.” Goat’s grin was much wider now.

Portman scowled at Goat. “You asshole.”

“Electrified walls?” Death inquired from behind them, stepping up between them. “What the fu…” She saw the holding cell and let out a whoop of joy before launching herself into it and pressing up against the wall. It began electrocuting her and she seemed to be enjoying it.

“What the fuck?” cried Portman, watching in half-horror and half-surprise as Death continued to press up against the wall.

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Death welcomed the strange, numbing pain in her body as the electricity fried her body. Pain was something she knew, something familiar that she could take, and not have to worry about what the hell was happening to her. As her skin blackened and burned, she saw Portman staring down at her in shock and horror. Even in the agony she was in, his gaze made her stomach flutter. Or that could have been her digestive acids boiling in her stomach. She was pretty sure it was Portman, though, damnation.

What the hell are you DOING? Chaos’s shriek was high-pitched and furious.

I need this.

Leave her alone, Chaos, four other female voices chimed in. The younger of the twins ignored them and continued to yell at her sister over their psychic link. Death tuned her out, her brilliant blue gaze locked with Portman’s.

Baby-

Don’t freak out. Even as her alarm bells shrilled in her mind, she tried to soothe him. I’ll be fine.

Death-

Hush. I’ll be fine. Now, stop staring at me! You’re ruining my fun.

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“Reaper, we got a problem,” Goat alerted Reaper and the rest of the team. “Death just jumped into a holding cell and is now enjoying being electrocuted.”

“The lucky bitch!” Chaos and Apocalypse cried over the comm.

“Wait,” Chaos said slowly, “I’m supposed to be pissed at her.”

“For a dumb as shit reason,” Apocalypse pointed out.

“It is not a dumb shit reason!”

“Girl, don’t even argue with m- bad guy! Buh-bye, back in five!” Apocalypse and Chaos vanished from the comm. conversation like cigarette smoke on the wind.

“She’s still there,” Goat reminded Reaper.

“Well get her out!” Reaper shouted angrily into the comm., ignoring the women. He was extremely protective of Death, like she was a little sister to him. He wasn’t ready to deal with her like this because she was being masochistic again.

“Can’t. You’re the only person she’ll listen to besides Chaos.”

“Fuck.” He hadn’t intended to swear over the comm., but it wasn’t like it mattered, anyways. “I’m on my way.”

Death never relented and was sighing deliriously. No one knew why she enjoyed being electrocuted, except Nemesis, who wasn’t available for questioning at the moment, but it was just something she did. She always recovered- no matter how many volts hit her heart, it never stopped- but that didn't mean the others didn't worry about her. Reaper was one of the only people who could get her to stop. Chaos was speechless, though. Why did Death have to keep getting into these situations? It pissed Chaos off.

Reaper burst into the room several minutes later and stared down into the holding cell in horror as Death’s skin began to turn black. “Death! Stop that!”

“No.”

Chaos entered the room just as suddenly as Reaper did and leapt down into the holding cell. She seized Death by the back of her suit and jerked her away from the wall. Chaos’s face was twisted into an expression of fury and she threw Death to the ground mercilessly. She pinned Death to the ground and growled a warning at her.

“If you EVER do that again, I will MURDER you, you hear? I swear to God. I'm tired of you doing this. I don’t care how depressed you are about… whatever the hell.”

Death stared blankly up at Chaos and a smile eventually donned on her face.

“You don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

Death looked at her sister as Death's dead, black skin was slowly replaced with healthy, live skin. The look of fury quickly faded from Chaos’s face as she realized what her sister was talking about. She stepped away from Death, her jaw dropping in shock.

“You have it, too. That's why you can heal like you've always done...”

Death was grinning wickedly as she climbed to her feet and dusted herself off.

“You should be grateful,” Death said, but this time, she didn’t sound quite as confident.

“Grateful? I….”

Chaos stared in horror at her sister while she thought back to thirteen years ago.

They were on Olduvai with their parents. They came to the window overlooking the archeological dig, watching their parents struggle with something. Why couldn't they be out there, too? They were eight years old, they could take care of themselves, or so they thought.

A huge boulder had plummeted down, crushing their parents beneath its weight. The twins screamed in horror and ran to Dr. Carmack’s office. For weeks after, they refused to leave his office, no matter how the other staff pleaded with them. Finally, when Death had become silent and despondent, and Chaos had cried silently for days, Death had made a decision. Her younger sister hadn't known of the content of this decision, only of its making.

The day after the older girl had made her decision, something had caused Chaos to fall unconscious and she'd woken up later to see Death holding a needle just inches away from her face. She'd cried out and kicked Death in the chest, causing her to fall backwards. There was a stinging pain in her left arm but she assumed it was from the pins and needles feeling of being oxygen deprived.

Now she knew better.

-------------------------------------------------------.

Chaos hadn’t forgotten about Apocalypse, either. All three of them had the C-24 in them.

“That’s why my blood is black, you fucking bitch!” Chaos smacked Death across the face, leaving a purple bruise for about five seconds before it healed. “I don’t believe it! You are fucking demented! Apocalypse, too? Why?”

“Not all of it’s black.” Death narrowed her gaze. “And Mom and Dad were dead.”

I wanted us dead, too, was what Chaos thought she was going to add, but didn’t.

“I know that, but I wasn’t stupid enough to go to those lengths!” Chaos retorted defensively. “I could have sworn the blow to my head was an accident, but now I know it wasn’t… and what about Apocalypse?”

“Well, when she came to us in high school, what, five years ago, so badly hurt?” What Death meant was, did her sister remember their friend's very narrow escape from a man bent on destroying her in every way possible. Chaos jerked a nod. She and Death heard everyone listening over the comm. with bated breath. “She would’ve died if I hadn’t given it to her.”

Chaos paled. Apocalypse was like her sister. She couldn’t imagine her dead.

“I remember… she was hurt, cut up real bad-”

"I don’t think we should be talking about that over the comm., do you?” Death asked seriously. Chaos looked pissed, but nodded. “Let’s get out of here.”