12.19 PM. 13th January 2018. Two of Spades.

Three tiring nights had he endured the calamitous discomposure in Manhattan.

It started off infuriatingly simple—as means of population control, a certain virologist resolved it was beyond imperative that even mother nature needed a helping hand to prevent herself from collapsing. Thus, the virus was created. Randomly mutating into each host—predetermining whether their respective well-beings live long enough to see themselves suffer, or hastily perish in despondency.

The pathogen, which was genetically modified for extreme bioaerosol conditions, first broke out in the busiest day of all year—the Black Friday.

No more than one month after it had introduced, Manhattan's general hospitals were overflowing with victims of the said plague with horrendously anomalous symptoms—one could only glare agonizingly.

And after two months, riots started to fill the dreary streets.

The ever brilliantly vibrant and exuberant Times Square—transformed into an atrociously fiendish war zone. All under the unceasing snowfall as if the whole globe wasn't there to aid.

Or rather, the main base of Heaven Phoenix. Where she and he had spent their last three nights full of tension in the air.

On the fourth, he decided a proper confrontation was in order.

"I need to get one thing straight," he retorted, "why did you come with me?"

No, he wasn't asking why she elaborated on such substantial matters—genetic engineering and recombination were her cups of tea, and no one in Manhattan knew it better than him. He was, in fact, asking why she chose to be in the same base as him.

"Weren't you the one who tried so hard to push me away?" he continued.

"I guess…I was too selfish."

And there it was. His long-awaited answer for as long as one could remember. His triumph was now in reach, if not in his grasp as of yet.

"Did it feel good?" he asked.

"…what felt good?"

"When you crushed me. Bet it felt good, didn't it?"

She averted her gaze, escaping from their straining eye contact, and made her way to her assigned corner—leaving the man with a loss for words, before continuing their works on what the United Nations called them for.

All that's left was his good intentions—while keeping on his covert love's good side.