Chapter 8

Enyo pulled out her phone and scrolled to Max's number. Max, where are you?

No reply. "Shit…" she muttered and pulled out her burner phone. 

She really didn't want to do this, but if Hemlock really kidnapped Max, she would have no choice but to ask the all-knowing for help. 

Before she could call, something pinged. It was a text from Max. She pulled it up and her heart dropped. It was a picture of her and Max, the first day they had walked home together. 

It pinged again and another image loaded. Max lay on the floor, unconscious. Then, the phone rang with Max's number. Enyo picked it up. "Hello?"

"Hey girlie!" said Hemlock's voice. 

"Hemlock!" growled Enyo, she started running to her house, "If you touch him, I swear on Father… I will kill you with your own poisons!"

"Chill out!" said Hemlock cheerfully, "I won't touch him if you do as I say."

"Okay?" asked Enyo. 

With her speed, she was already home. She slammed the front door shut and ran up. She ruffled through her closet and pulled out a box labeled Equipment.

"Meet me in five minutes at this location," said Hemlock. The phone pinged with the location, Grand Theater parking lot, floor three. 

Beep! Enyo hung up and threw her phone to the side in anger. She opened the box, revealing the all-black outfit and dangerous weapons in it. 

…

7 years ago

Enyo stood as still as she could as the seamstress walked around her, making adjustments. She gritted her teeth as the seamstress measured her. "Come on Enyo," said Cynthia, laughing, "It'll only take a few more minutes. Let the seamstress do her work!"

Enyo glared at Cynthia, "I've been like this for thirty minutes now!"

Cynthia laughed. If her eyes weren't red, they would be an icy blue. Cynthia was the eldest of all the surviving experiments. She was 36 years old. She could control the temperature around her, dropping it to sub-zero temperatures and negatively affecting her enemies. Rumor had it that she was married or had a boyfriend, and kids. No one knew for sure but the Father allowed it. 

"Done," said the seamstress, "Just wait a few minutes and we'll give you your uniform."

Cynthia smiled, "See, all done!"

Enyo relaxed her arms and groaned. "Come on!" said Cynthia, she grabbed Enyo by the arm, "Let's go get you some weapons, we'll be back for the uniform later."

The seamstress nodded, "See ya."

Cynthia dragged Enyo out of the room and through the long winding hallways until they reached the weaponry room. Cynthia pulled out her badge and scanned it. Welcome Cynthia, it said. 

Enyo frowned, "Are you sure? I thought I wasn't allowed…"

Cynthia rolled her eyes, "You're old enough now! You're like… ten years old."

"Exactly?"

Cynthia shrugged and walked in, "I'm sure it's fine!"

"How can I help you?" asked a monotone voice from the front of the room. 

Enyo looked and saw one of Father's workers standing behind a counter. Behind, she could see rows of guns and other weapons. "We'll take one pistol, one revolver, 10 boxes of ammo," smiled Cynthia. 

The clerk looked at Enyo with skepticism. Enyo tugged on Cynthia's sleeve, "Isn't that…" 

"Too little!" said Cynthia, "I know, we can't give you all guns!" 

"Ummm…" said Enyo, unsure, "Isn't that a bit too much? I mean I'm still kinda young…"

"Nonsense," said Cynthia, "I started shooting when I was seven! You're behind!"

The clerk stared at Cynthia as if she were a 400-foot tall purple platypus bear with pink horns and silver wings. "Ummm," said the clerk, "She's clearly underage, I won't give you guys anything." 

Cynthia turned and walked up to the desk, dragging Enyo behind her. She slammed her palm on the wood, cracking parts of it, "We'll take two pistols, two revolvers, 20 boxes of ammo," the temperature around them suddenly dropped a hundred degrees and Enyo shivered.