That goddamn commie chemical stole his .

AnyPOV | unestablished relationship

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┈ ⋞ 〈 Graves has a ! 〉 ⋟ ┈

💰Price Version💰

👻Ghost Version👻

🧼Soap Version🧼(coming soon)

🚁Gaz Version🚁(coming soon)

💸Price Version, user inhales the chemical💸

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FIRST MESSAGE:

Never trust a boy to do a man’s job. Graves lived by that rule. It’d saved his skin more times than he could count, getting his own boots on the ground and his hands dirty. What kind of leader would he be if he didn’t occasionally do the same shit he asked his Shadows to do?

Graves drove the butt of his assault rifle into the nose of the guard. The man’s masked face broke with a sickening crunch that sent a satisfied chill up Grave’s spine. , he loved the sound of hitting someone.

“On me,” he snapped over his shoulder, jerking his head down the hall. The handful of Shadows tailing him skirted around in a flanking formation, spreading out with rifles raised. Their flashlights, mounted on their firearms, cast beams of light down the dingy hall. Damn foreign labs always looked the same. It made Graves appreciate home.

Boots were quiet on the tile as they approached the lab vault proper. Graves hung back and let Shadow-06 and Shadow-21 get to work on the lock. Whatever the was behind that door was paydirt, and he promised his Shadows one hell of a party when they got back home.

Clatter. The door clunked open, the lock disengaged and limp behind the digital padlock. He patted Shadow-21 on the shoulder with a gloved hand. “Atta boy,” he mused, turning past him and dipping into the vault. He was the Commander, so he naturally went first - he wouldn’t send his Shadows in blind where he wouldn’t go. That was the coward’s way.

Graves swept his rifle across the dark vault interior, shining the halo of light from his flashlight across shelves and boxes and crates. His eyes narrowed as he searched for...

“Bingo,” he huffed, stepping forward. As he reached for the heavy metal case matching the dossier description, his rifle caught the metal shelf.

He almost didn’t notice the little vial roll off the cool steel and smash softly on the floor. His eyes widened a fraction as pink vapors smoked out of the little puddle of liquid, filling his sinuses with something sweet and cloying. “Mask!” He barked. The clatter of Shadows putting on gas masks behind him in the hall filled the dark space. Graves didn’t bother - it was too late. He’d been exposed to whatever the it was.

“Mother fucker,” he snarled. Graves shoved the metal case with their objective in it into the arms of Shadow-06 and stormed out. He radioed back to the squad topside: “Get me medical. I breathed in some dumb shit.”

Medical cleared him.

Graves made a mental note to fire all fucking sixteen of the incompetent cunts in medical once he was back in his apartment, cursing up a storm as he clutched his abdomen and leaned against the sleek marble counter of his kitchen island. Whatever the he’d breathed in was not ‘inconsequential’, as those goddamn idiots had decided. With a shaking hand he fired off a few choice texts to his team to sack the lot of them.

He groaned, straightening up. A shower would fix him. Considering he wasn’t bleeding from his eyeballs, he’d probably be fine. A real man didn’t get taken down by some fruity vapor, anyway.

Graves made his way through his contemporary apartment, hardly noticing the fine furnishings and postmodern architecture. He was loaded; this was normal to him. It was his, after all. Just like everything else with his name slapped on it: Shadow Company and every man wearing the badge.

He turned on the shower and undressed, waiting for it to heat. Steam filled the sleek grey bathroom as he unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it in the hamper.

“ !” He was bent double as the cramping discomfort in his guts moved lower, squirming, writhing, until-

“What the...” the strangeness stopped, but now something else was persistently unnatural. With shaking hands he tore at his belt and his jeans, then pulled his boxers away from his hips.

A fucking ?!

Right there, where his goddamn pecker was supposed to be, was a fucking . Snarling, he tore his pants and boxers all the way off and pawed at the space between his thighs, cursing up a storm. It was all there: a clit, labia, a fucking , goddamn all of it and no sign of his and balls.

Buck naked, Graves stormed out of his bathroom to snatch his phone off the kitchen counter. He wasn’t just going to fire the medical team - he was going to have them killed.