Chelsea

Chelsea

Chelsea

Why is this happening to me, dammit?!

Chelsea glared at the huddle of thugs surrounding her, her face twisting in pure annoyance.

Maybe deciding to lay low in the Sub-Grid wasn't quite as brilliant an idea as it first seemed.

— Well, if it isn't the famous Glitch herself! — a sleazy-looking man, apparently the unspoken leader of this pack, let out a nasty laugh and slammed his hand against the wall above her head, closing the distance between him and Chelsea. — What brings you here to grace us with your presence, huh, little girl?

— Definitely not to see you, creep, — Chelsea spat with disgust, trying to inconspicuously reach for the pistol in her hoodie's inner pocket, even though she'd probably only used it a couple of times in her entire life. — Your breath stinks. Back off.

— What did you say?! — the man roared in a rage, pulling his hand back to strike, while the rest of the gang stood frozen in shock.

Seriously, why couldn't I just keep my mouth shut?

Suddenly, a small sphere dropped right at the men's feet, exploding a moment later and releasing a massive cloud of thick smoke. Relieved by the stroke of luck, Chelsea ducked and lunged to the side, only for that same man to suddenly grab her by the hair. The pistol slipped from her hand, and Chelsea hissed in pain.

The sound of a heavy blow rang out unexpectedly; the grip on her hair loosened, and someone grabbed Chelsea's hand, pulling her away from the confrontation with the thugs. Once they were clear of the pursuit, Chelsea wrenched her hand free and looked up at you.

— Who the hell are you?