The Death Squad

The air in the living room of the Death Squad mansion hummed with the usual chaotic energy. Ace and Felix, bless their idiotic hearts, were attempting another one of their 'pranks' on me and Viola. It mostly involved them being loud enough to register on the Richter scale, but they called it 'stealth'. Viola and I just exchanged a weary glance, stifling our laughter.

Then, my phone rang. The sound sliced through the din, and in an instant, the room fell silent. Even Rio, our usually boisterous German Shepherd, perked his ears, his intelligent eyes fixed on me. It was Mark, my foster father, calling. I let it ring, savoring the last few seconds of peace before picking up on the final chime.

"Hello?" I said, my voice as flat and emotionless as a barren landscape. The voice on the other end was not Mark’s. It was thin, reedy, laced with forced sympathy. "Ashlynn? *Sniffle* I have to tell you something, kid... I'm so sorry..."

My mind immediately went on high alert. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. "Who the hell is this?" I demanded, my voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl that left no room for argument. This was going to be a long day.