The Pink Knife & Cleaver

Mila and Sasha stood in the basement car park. Fluorescent lights. Buzzing. Cold cement. Mila with her knife. A jagged silver thing with a pink handle. Strange and childish.

Sasha’s finger was history — the worst pain she had ever experienced. Unkempt. Matted hair.

Fuck. Fuck. Fucking hell… she teared up. Red eyes. Puffy cheeks. She held a kitchen cleaver in the other hand.

“Okay let’s start… I’m bored…” Mila said.

There was no escape. Sasha had to kill this Volkov bitch.

Jackson… I can’t die yet… Not until I see you again.

Mila lunged at Sasha — her knife between the eyes. Sasha dodged but the second strike grazed her shoulder.

“Tsch!”

Mila’s wrath! Another strike!

Sasha caught Mila’s wrist with her burnt hand. The knife aimed at Sasha’s neck. Shark eyes. Shark toothed smile. So fucking evil.

“Coward huh?!” Mila shouted. Eyes glared. Flared. Baring teeth.

“That’s all I see…” Sasha said. The acid from Sasha’s finger made contact with Mila’s wrist.

“Ahhh!” Mila reacted to the battery acid. Looking away for a moment. Sasha swiped with her cleaver.

A thug ran and took the blow. His forearm catching the blow. Blood bursting. Mila pulled back onto the floor. The look of disgust on Mila’s face as she hit the floor.

“FUCK YOU!” She screamed.

Sasha’s eyes wide. She took the moment to run. Staggering out of the apartment complex.

She was burning, bleeding, bathed in sweat. Dying.

She called 911 before stumbling into the gutter.

Jackson… I need you…