"And I'm done here," Rize said with an innocent smile, one that looked completely out of place given the carnage behind her.
Her crimson-red tentacles twitched lazily, slick with blood, as she calmly retracted them back into her spine—completely unbothered, as if the threat of an attack didn't even exist.
And it didn't.
The entire room was drowned in silence, save for the low hum of broken alarms. Every living soul inside had already been reduced to mangled slices of flesh.
The room was unrecognizable painted in gore, littered with shredded, butchered corpses so violently torn apart they were no longer identifiable. The air was thick with the stench of blood and death, suffocating in a way that would send most people retching or running. This wasn't a scene the average person could even look at, let alone stand in.
What had once been a high-security research and development facility armed to the teeth now resembled a massacre site left behind by a deranged serial killer.
At the doorway, Taskmaster leaned casually against the frame, one hand on his chin, watching with calculating eyes. He wasn't reacting to the carnage. He'd seen his fair share. But the girl in front of him the one skipping playfully through the carnage in a dress that was once white but now dyed deep red in blood she was something else.
Rize hopped over dismembered limbs with a bright, innocent smile smeared across her blood-soaked face, her movement childlike, her joy disturbingly pure.
"So, Sensei," she said sweetly, stopping a few feet in front of him with both hands pressed together in a pleading gesture, "did I prove myself?"
There was something in her tone a desperate, almost childlike need for recognition—as if all she wanted was praise for the nightmare she had unleashed.
Taskmaster narrowed his eyes slightly, his internal through cold and crisp: Hmph. Guess I was right about my observation.
From his observations, Taskmaster had concluded that the girl's mind was severely damaged—fractured to the point where she struggled to maintain a stable sense of identity. From his perspective, she was far from mentally sound.
So she can be easily used… but I have to be careful about how I use her, Taskmaster thought grimly. After all, I don't plan on dying while trying to train this monster.
"I said don't call me that. Call me Master," he corrected her sharply.
"Okay, teacher!" Rize chirped cheerfully.
"…Not that either," he said, this time louder, irritation creeping into his tone.
"Okay, guru!" Rize beamed, clearly missing the point—or ignoring it on purpose.
"I said Master, damn it!" Taskmaster snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation.
Sometime later, two figures emerged from the ruined facility—none other than Rize and Taskmaster.
"Ahh! My eyes!" Rize cried, shielding her face as the sunlight hit her for the first time in what felt like ages. She rubbed her eyes furiously, squinting against the blinding brightness like a vampire seeing daybreak.
Taskmaster, meanwhile, silently clicked a button on his wrist device, unlocking his car remotely. His visor shifted slightly as he turned to glance at Rize. She was still massaging her eyes, clearly disoriented, but at least—thank God—she was no longer drenched in blood. He'd managed to scavenge some clean clothes for her to wear, mostly tactical gear from the dead guards inside.
It wasn't out of kindness. He just didn't want her bleeding all over the leather seats of his car.
As the car come into his view.
"You done yet, drama queen?" he asked flatly, his voice muffled slightly through his skeletal mask.
Rize gasped, placing both hands over her heart as if he'd shot her there instead. "Drama queen? Master, I am deeply wounded."
"Not as much as the people you left behind," he muttered under his breath, before opening the door again. "Get in the damn car before I change my mind about dragging your crazy ass out of there."
"I do look cool in this outfit, don't I, Master?" Rize said, striking an exaggerated pose in front of the rearview mirror
Taskmaster, already buckled in the driver's seat, let out a long, soul-weary sigh. "Just get in the car."
Rize gasped dramatically. "How heartless, Master! How can you ignore the beauty of this outfit—your padawan's outfit!" she cried, placing both hands over her chest like a wounded heroine in a tragic opera.
He didn't even look at her. "First of all, stop calling yourself my padawan. Second, if you don't get in this car in five seconds, I'm leaving you here ".
Rize giggled and skipped toward the passenger side. "Aww, you do care," she whispered, climbing in and slamming the door with a grin. "Don't worry, Master I'll grow on you. Like a tumor."
Taskmaster muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a prayer for patience.
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