What a lovely shade of red.

The ceiling of the basement swam in a hazy blur of cerebrospinal fluid. It created a shimmering halo around the dusty bulb. Teeth, fat, and blood dripped onto concrete, her skull leaking buckshot as it knitted together. Forcing a blink faded the hue to a softer pink.

The pain was paralyzing in its blazing intensity as her body rebuilt itself—but that wasn’t new.

Her narrow frame spasmed for oxygen, shrapnel clogging her windpipe. A gargled wheeze preceded her chest arcing off the floor. A spurt of coagulated blood shot out of her mouth, broken molars shredding her esophagus before popping into view.

They always ended up in the lungs.

A thick, burning clot rose up her throat, triggering an urge to cough. She struggled to roll over, wanting to use gravity to help it along. A lurch from her core sent a spattering of pellets to the floor. Dull, copper lumps stood out amongst the carnage.

She preferred birdshot. It was prettier coming up.

Her depth perception returned while she gagged, a sticky red floor coming into focus below her. Muffled laughter accosted the her senses when the tubes in her ears reconnected.

“St–ill having fun, huh?” she croaked.

Another deafening blast from the shotgun added a jaunty high note to her anthem of anguish, nerve splitting pain shooting up her leg from where her foot had been turned into hot mincemeat. She hissed a curse. Rotating her leaking ankle she watched muscles and tendons crisscross over the damage before a new foot emerged from the mess.

“Fucking freak show, man. What do you think would happen if we sawed her in half?” asked the balding idiot, picking wadding out of his ear.

The woman sniffed hard, wiping clumps of sticky blonde hair from her face before she pulled herself into a sitting position.

“You would have me and half of a dead body to deal with. I wouldn't recommend it, Houdini.”

“Shut up or I’ll blow your head off again!” growled the bearded man, aiming the barrel.

Shivering, she rolled her eyes and took in the dusty surroundings. She dug a finger into her ear, attempting to dislodge what she suspected was a shard of jawbone.

“You wanna waste good ammo on me, that’s your right. You do you, Buddy.”

A fresh spray of pellets tore through her arms, legs and chest. Her eardrums shattered, the blast disintegrating her over-shirt as gunpowder seared her nostrils. Falling back on the concrete she sighed, pleased to find her head cushioned by a pile of grey matter, providing a small comfort as she writhed through the pain. Fresh dermis ripped open to ooze beads of molten metal on the floor, her uncompromising body pushing foreign debris through muscle and skin with no regard for the pain it caused.

Heavy footsteps above knocked dust into the air, adding a haze to the scene. The wooden staircase groaned under the onslaught of someone running down it.

“What the fuck, Jerry? You want the fuzz on our ass? Stop shooting in the God-damned house!” shouted a tattooed man. His skin paled as he entered the basement, highlighting the details in his ink. “Jesus Christ. What the hell did you do? Oh God—is that part of her brain? I am not cleaning this up.”

The woman snorted.

I don't see your entrails in Architecture Digest.

“What happens if we get raided?” the man barked. “It looks like Bloody Sunday down here! You were supposed to just watch her.”

The bearded man slung the gun over his shoulder. “We’re torching this place anyways. What difference does it make? Plus, how can you expect me to resist? Man, you gotta see this. Shit’s wild.”

He moved to the woman’s side as she remained slack on the floor. She had learned long ago that bracing was a waste of energy, choosing instead to enjoy the relief a spongy piece of frontal lobe was giving her head at that moment.

The light changed when he stood over her. An ejected casing clipped her cheekbone, promising more fun and games. She blew out a frustrated breath. She was disappointed she didn't get to see her eyes before they got replaced—it was the only interesting part of a ‘Vincent Vega’.

Slowly she turned her head and looked up into the twin voids of the shotgun.

“Before we go again, could you tell me what color my eyes are?”

Glaring down the barrel, the man took aim, a wicked smile visible on either side of the sights.

“They were green.”