The Mystic Sisters have a good racket going.
One’s a punisher for hire, taking clients down into her dungeon and beating them within an inch of their lives.
A few days later, they see the fortune-teller sister, the one who read bruises instead of palms.
Sometimes, guys go into the dungeon but don’t go to the fortune-teller. Other times, they see the fortune-teller, but they got their bruises elsewhere.
And then, well, one day, the punisher limps into her sister’s house. She’s got two black eyes.
“Save the bullshit and just get me some ice,” she says.
Punisher
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