Sorrow paced around the warehouse waiting. The irony of his name vs. the smiley face painted on his sack mask wasn’t lost on Lucy. She wondered what his next move would be. She didn’t wonder long. Sorrow pulled out a thin knife from his plaid suit and threw it into the darkness. A large man in a black mask dove out. The cut across his trench coat proved Sorrow’s knife connected.

Sorrow shrieked a pretentious laugh and threw knife after knife at the stranger. The man avoided most of them but a few slashed through his kevlar vest. “Miller always did have a good arm.” The man thought.
“How long shall we play Ryan?” Sorrow asked.
“Ryan?” thought Lucy.
“Your sick Miller.” The man responded. Sorrow laughed hysterically and leapt into the air with two large knives.

The man arched left dodging a knife. One hard kick later and Sorrow was down. Lucy cried. Sorrow laughed.
“Dusk, may I introduce to you, the mother of my unborn child.” Sorrow giggled. Even through his mask, you could tell Dusk was having a bad day.

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