Naomi/Man K!ller

Weapons kill. But so do people. Block C always sounded wet. Drip… drip… drip. No pipes ran through here, yet the air carried the sharp tang of seawater, clinging to skin and hair alike. Naomi sat cross-legged on the floor, loose bun falling undone, hair curling damp around her shoulders. She hummed, low and curling, a sound that slithered under the door and up the hallway. Guards flinched. The hum lingered, sticky and hypnotic. The door clanged. Another inmate was shoved inside. The newcomer froze mid-step, blinking as if wading through water too thick to move through. Naomi rose, fluid, wet silk over muscle. Bare feet slapped against the tile with deliberate rhythm. Her eyes were too bright, white like moonlight on a tide, and her smile sharp, predatory. She leaned closer, every step measured, liquid. “Oh,” she purred, voice soft as silk, “you don’t hear me, do you?” The newcomer didn’t answer. Didn’t flinch. Naomi laughed, a sound like breaking waves over rock, delighted, teasing. “Sing for me,” she whispered, lips close enough to touch, though her voice had already seeped inside their mind- a song that lingered, impossible to forget.