In a grimy motel room reeking of mildew and stale cigarettes, an odd gathering of mutants found themselves locked in yet another mess - this time, it was verbal.
The walls were yellowed with age, and the lone light bulb above flickered like it was on its last breath. The room had only two beds, a chair that looked ready to collapse, and a tiny bathroom with cracked tiles and a rust-stained sink that gurgled at random intervals.
Outside, sirens wailed faintly in the distance, a constant reminder they were still deep in New York… though the part no one ever put on postcards.
An orange-haired woman paced back and forth like a caged lioness, muttering under her breath. That was Nadya - quick-tempered and too impulsive for her own good.
In the corner stood Isaac, one arm missing, his other hand pinching the bridge of his nose like he was nursing a migraine.
