The other hand was folded back, a long telescoping blade extended from the base of Mannequin’s palm. The blade was pressed to the neck of the gray-haired doctor, so she had to stand on her tiptoes, her head pressed back against his chest.
Ahh. “Now, now, Skitter, don’t do anything funny or the doctor gets it.”
I didn’t have a chance to move, to speak, or to use my power before he retracted the blade. It slid across her throat, shearing through the skin, and arterial blood sprayed forth to cover some of the ground between us.
…I guess he didn’t care about using the doctor as a hostage after all.
I suppose it makes sense. There’s not much bugs can do against his casing, and he knows that.
She collapsed to the ground.
You will be forever fondly remembered by the members of your wrestling club.
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