Combat Pass Bleach Novels & Stories

Too clean. The scent of bleach hits me first—sharp, chemical, stinging the inside of my nose. Antiseptic lingers heavily behind it, mixing into something cold and clinical. All the blood from earlier? Gone. The mess? Gone. The chaos? Erased so thoroughly you’d think the violence was nothing more than a bad dream. Except it wasn’t. And the two bandaged women in the living room are proof.

He needs me to be the ground under his feet right now. I school my features into calm certainty. Everyone moves at once. No shouting, no wasted motion. We’ve drilled the burn protocol, but the real version has a much sharper edge. Butcher grabs the jug of cereal and dumps it down the kitchen sink, following it with a heavy pour of bleach. Dom starts stripping the bed linens, tossing them into a pile to wipe down every surface we might have touched. "Leave the heavy weapons," I tell Max. "Take the sidearms. We travel sterile. Oba, you will dump the heavy artillery on your way out."

Byron laughed. "In that condition? Stop bluffing!" Said Byron. I finally saw an opening, i threw myself inside quickly then fell to the floor. "Ouch!" The room had white walls, and shelves filled with pills,medical tools and cleaning chemicals. I grabbed a bottle of bleach and waited for the guards to enter. "She is in here,hurry!" Said the first guard, making his entrance.

“Go on, darling. I’ll clean this up.” He leaned over his desk to pull out a container of wipes. I glared at him. “I thought you said you didn’t have wipes.” He laughed and turned the tube around. “I mean if you want to clean your vagina with bleach, be my guest.” He held out a wipe to me. “Here you go.” I pulled my shirt and bra up to flash him my breasts. “Asshole, now you can’t touch these.”

Like nothing. "You missed a spot," Killian said, pointing with the toe of his boot to a place near my knee. I moved to it, scrubbing harder, putting all my remaining strength into making it disappear. The bleach splashed onto my hand where the skin was already torn and raw. It burned like someone had poured acid on my flesh. I gasped, the sound ragged and airless, and jerked my hand back instinctively. "Silence," Carmina hissed. She raised her cane high above her head.

There should be more than thirty slices on his body. She was getting mentally drained watching this; she tightened her eyes, and tears streaked down her cheeks. When she opened it again, the soldier that had left before came back holding a bottle of bleach. Gia felt her world go off. The man opened the bottle and handed it over to Zayne, who turned to Aaron and lowered his head, saying, "This is the last stage of pain, severe pain." "Gia, shut your eyes," Aaron breathed, "don't watch this."

A white and smooth calf appeared in his sight, faintly revealing the fragrance of shower gel. The man's breathing was slightly heavier. When he saw the slightly swollen bruise, his breathing became heavy again. He turned his head with a straight face and rummaged through the drug bag. He took out the disinfectant and wiped it to her for disinfection. The drag did not hurt her, but she felt cold. When it stuck to her skin, Jessica trembled slightly and did not feel it anymore. Jessica lowered her eyelids and looked at Blake half-squatting in front of her to apply the medicine for her.

Taking a nervous breath I step over it, as I do the salt, the mountain ash and the glue burns to a crisp, breaking the barrier and allowing us to leave. But just as I look up to smile at Baylee I hear a gun go of, my heart freezes in fear as a small bullet flies across the room hitting the purple barrier surrounding Baylee, i hold my breath as it bounces of the purple glow and it hits me in the chest, the metal melts immediately but my temper rises.

That wasn’t what he was doing, but she’d probably see it that way. “I’ll go shower now, boys. When I’m done, you’ll bandage me up?” Blake nodded. He started going through the kits, taking out rolls of gauze and bandages, more iodine and rubbing alcohol, ointments and salves, needles and thread for stitching. He glanced towards where Prairie Rose lay sleeping, her breathing was steady. It was clear that whatever she’d been given was still affecting her, but it was more a drunken slumber than unconsciousness. He was pretty sure she’d be okay.

Two. The moment her boots hit the third pressure plate—the one calibrated specifically to her 54% Moore-line genetic markers—the vents hissed. It wasn't a cloud. It was a fine, invisible mist of pressurized silver-gas. "What—?" Bianca’s voice was a choked rasp. Through the night-vision camera in the tunnel, I watched her hit the wall. She clutched her throat. The rogues behind her were already on the ground, their lungs seizing as the silver particles shredded their respiratory linings.