Bounty Hunter [REWRITTEN VERSION]

Chapter 2: Go To Hell, West

MAIZE

It was well after midnight by the time Maize pulled up to the March Springs—a two-story rustic apartment complex that, in all honesty from the outside, looked as though it had seen better days. Though that wasn't much of a concern for the bounty hunter. At least the interior wasn't too bad. The apartments themselves were rather small and a little on the dainty side, but then again, Maize had never cared too much about having 'nice' things.

Besides, the place was affordable. And—most importantly—no one bothered her. What wouldn't seem like a lot to someone else, was just enough for her.

She parked her ride along the side of the building, making sure to avoid the dry cracks in the pavement, before she headed inside, through the small front, and directly towards her apartment.

As soon as she closed the door behind her, she turned and assessed every square inch of the room, checking for anything out of place—an old force of habit. Only a few rays of moonlight entered the room from the shuttered window across from where she stood. The single desk that rested against the wall was cluttered with stacks of copied case files—also 'borrowed' from the 88th precinct. Maize paid no mind to the mess as she crossed the room and threw her helmet on the chair, next proceeding to remove her jacket, letting it fall heavily over the chair's arm with an unusual amount of weight—which was mainly due to the number of gimmicks hidden inside. Once she finished stripping out of the rest of her clothes, she made her way over to the bathroom and stepped into the shower, turning the nob and sighing as hot water began to wash over her stiff muscles. She lifted her head to meet the spray, closing her eyes against the falling droplets.

Then, for a brief moment, Maize was no longer in her apartment. But instead, standing in a familiar room, a familiar presence by her side. Unconsciously, her hand felt for the scar on her left shoulder, an aged wound from long ago. She stiffened. And then it was gone. Just like that, the image faded. Leaving Maize feeling cold despite the heat of the shower.

Stupid reminders, she mentally cursed.

Once she washed she switched off the water valve and quickly stepped out of the shower, drying off and throwing on an easy pair of pants and shirt before she turned to gaze in the mirror, bracing her hands against the sink counter. Her reflection stared back. Eyes cold and hard.

Stupid reminders.

When will they go away?

* * *

THE NEXT MORNING

Maize rolled up to the 88th precinct on her bike. She hung her helmet off the seat carelessly before striding confidently into the department. Many—random civilians and officers alike—stopped to glance at the bounty hunter, decked in rough black, as she walked through the entrance. They were ignored.

Besides, it wasn't like the amber-eyed woman was a stranger to the people inside the precinct. Most—if not all—knew of the ember bounty hunter, truth of the fact being Maize had brought in more of the wanted criminals that most of the top detectives, combined. Though there was an emphasis on the 'most'.

The honour of highest arrest record—much to her distaste—belonged to the department's prodigy, Alec fucking West.

Maize didn't exactly like him all that much.

And as if unintentionally summoned by just the mere thought of his name alone, Mister Satan Spawn himself appeared before her.