"It's an organization of assassins," Harper said. "They call themselves Division. They train you to become the best assassin. I was just done with it. Done with killing and stealth and power-hungry leaders. So I ran. If they catch me they'll put me through so much pain I'll be begging for them to kill me and end it.
I helped one of my friends escape a few years ago. They captured him and tortured him worse and worse every hour, every day, until he was dead. And then they inflicted pain on me. Not as much as him, because I wasn't the one that ran away and they still found some worth in me, apparently." He shuddered just thinking about it.
Harper sighed. "Get away," he said. "We can't stay here forever, and now that they know about your house they'll be keeping it under constant surveillance just like they do for anywhere they have eyes on."
"Good," Crypta said. She popped a garage door open to reveal the oddest looking car one could ever have seen. It looked like a car that had been buried by a dumpster, but judging by the mischievous glint in her eyes, it was far more useful than it appeared.