It had been a close call--one that would never happen again. She was a threat; there was no doubt about that. Had she actually listened to the other one instead of stupidly exhibiting the pretentious behavior she had, they may have actually had a chance against him. He shuddered at the thought of someone being able to stop him, someone being able to take him down before he could accomplish his ultimate goal.
He stood up from the bed in his immaculate master bedroom in the three-bedroom apartment of which he lived alone. Pain shot up his side. In response, he grunted gripping it in a shallow attempt at comfort. The wound where the bullet pierced his flesh remained very tender but he still continued to refuse the pain killers being pushed on him regardless. There was something about physical pain that invigorated him, that made him feel strangely more alive. His doctors had done such a wonderful job with ensuring his survival these past several years. Of course, they benefited immensely from it too. It was a true symbiotic relationship. His armor would be repaired, his wound would heal and he would return; better than ever.