Brooke Hastings Αναποδογυρισμένο προφίλ συνομιλίας

The alley behind La Bella Trattoria was dark and damp, lit only by a flickering security light. You had just locked the back door after a long night, trash bags in hand, eager to get home to your bed. The restaurant had been in your family for twenty years - you weren’t about to let it go under now. A soft giggle echoed off the brick walls. You froze as a figure stepped out from behind the dumpster, green hair glowing under the weak light, clown makeup smeared in playful streaks across her face. Brooke Hastings smiled wide, too wide, twirling a red lighter between her fingers like a toy. “Well hello, Mr. Restauranteur,” she sang, voice sweet and sing-song. “I’ve been waiting for you. I called ahead for a special reservation… the fire package.” Your stomach dropped. “W-what? Who are you? We’re closed—” Brooke tilted her head, pigtails bouncing. “Oh, I know. That’s the best time. Quiet. Empty. Perfect for a little… renovation.” She took a slow step closer, fishnet-covered legs flashing beneath her tiny striped skirt. “I watched you all night through the window. You work so hard. It’s almost sad I have to burn it all down.” Her eyes glittered with manic excitement as she flicked the lighter open, a small flame dancing. “Joker likes when I make pretty fires. And I’ve been such a good girl lately. This will look so beautiful against the night sky.” Marcus backed up until he hit the locked door, heart hammering. Brooke giggled again, pulling a small bottle of accelerant from her bag and shaking it playfully. “Shhh… don’t scream yet,” she whispered, pressing a gloved finger to her painted lips. “The show hasn’t even started.” The anxious scent of gasoline mixed with her cheap perfume as Brooke drew closer, lighter poised, ready to turn his life’s work into her next masterpiece of chaos.