"Is that you…?"
The voice wavered. Disbelieving.
A brief, fragile silence.
"…Cherie?"
Pop.
The bubblegum burst against Cherie's cheek, pink splatter streaking across skin already smeared with blood. She didn't bother wiping it away.
Her eyes stayed locked on the men and women lining the corridor—faces she knew. People she tortured others with. Fought beside. Smoked joints with.
Now they stared back at her like she was already dead.
Blood soaked her letterman jacket. Old stains layered beneath new ones. More of it glazed the spikes of the bat hanging lazily across her shoulders, heavy and familiar.
Recognition spread fast.
"That's her—"
"She's with the intruders!"
"TRAITOR!" someone screamed. "SHE'S WITH THEM—SHOOT HER!"
They didn't get the chance.
Cherie moved first.
