Scene, In the Hideout
The hideout was quiet.
Too quiet.
Everyone could feel the air was… different.
Heavier.
Colder.
Like something was sitting on all their chests.
Emma sat on the couch — elbows on knees, eyes forward, not blinking.
The fight.
Valeria.
Roland.
Her father.
It was all mixing in her head — like static noise.
Knock.
Emma stood up without speaking.
She opened the door.
Selene stood there — dressed clean, composed, as if she hadn't stepped through the same hell everyone else had.
She gave a faint smile.
Selene:
"Congratulations.
Roland is gone."
Emma didn't answer.
No reaction.
Just a slow, tired nod.
Selene looked at her for a second — realizing Emma was hollowed out, heavier than yesterday.
Then she stepped closer, voice lowering:
Selene:
"May I come in?"
Emma stepped aside. No words.
Selene entered.
Diana was sitting at the table, hands clasped in front of her — face blank, but eyes swollen.
Mostang leaned in a chair backwards, cigarette half-burned, smoke forming soft ghosts above his head.
Both stared at Selene.
No trust.
No welcome.
Just eyes.
Selene sat down slowly.
Selene:
"I came because I have information.
About Vencor."
The room shifted.
Like gravity changed.
Emma didn't sit — she just stood, staring at Selene like a calm storm.
Selene continued.
Selene:
"Vencor knows you killed Roland."
Mostang's cigarette froze halfway to his lips.
Diana's fingers curled.
Emma didn't move — only blinked once — slow.
Selene leaned back slightly.
Selene:
"He's not mourning.
He's not angry.
He's… preparing."
Mostang scoffed — short, bitter.
Mostang:
"Heh. Preparing for what?
He scared she'll kill the next one?"
Selene looked at him.
Selene:
"Not scared.
Interested."
Diana exhaled through her teeth.
Diana:
"He wants to see her at her worst."
Selene nodded.
Emma finally spoke.
Her voice was quiet.
Steady.
Too steady.
Emma:
"He wants to see what I become."
Selene met her eyes — and for the first time, truly understood how deep Emma's calm went.
Selene:
"Yes."
Silence.
Mostang flicked ash.
Diana lowered her head.
Emma — still standing — turned slightly toward the window.
She spoke without looking at them.
Emma:
"Let him watch."
Her voice didn't shake.
It didn't rise.
It didn't burn.
It was cold.
Like a blade pressed against the world.
Emma:
"We move soon.
No one goes alone.
No one separates."
Diana and Mostang nodded.
Selene watched her — quietly — something like admiration in her eyes.
Not romantic.
Not obsession.
Just… realization.
She whispered, almost to herself:
Selene:
"You're already becoming something he can't control."
Emma didn't answer.
She didn't need to.
Because everyone felt it.
Valeria's death didn't break her.
It sharpened her.
Silence filled the air.
Diana spoke.
Diana: "Emma. You've changed."
Emma didn't respond right away.
The room was dim—only the lamp on the table lit their faces in soft gold. Smoke from Mostang's cigarette drifted upward in a slow, lazy trail. Diana leaned forward, elbows on her knees, staring at Emma with a seriousness she rarely showed.
Emma sat on the couch, leg crossed over the other, Her eyes looked tired—exhausted, even—but not regretful.
Diana's voice was quiet, steady:
"I never saw you like that, Emma. The way you handled Roland… you weren't just fighting him. You were destroying him.
Mostang told me, the corpse, was barely a corpse, you won't recognize it anymore."
Mostang flicked ash into the tray, not saying a word—just watching Emma like he was observing a bomb that hadn't finished ticking yet.
Emma slowly looked up at Diana.
Her expression: unreadable. But her voice—low, flat—showed a truth she didn't bother to hide.
Emma:
"Roland deserved to be erased."
Diana clenched her jaw.
"I know that. But the way you fought—Emma, it felt like you wanted him to suffer."
Silence again.
Mostang finally exhaled smoke, leaning back.
Mostang:
"She's changing… Diana. You feel it too, right?"
Diana didn't answer—she didn't need to.
Emma didn't look bothered. Didn't look guilty. Didn't even seem surprised they noticed.
She just spoke plainly.
Emma:
"If I didn't kill him the way I did… I wouldn't be alive right now."
Her voice hardened—like steel cooled in ice.
Emma:
"I don't have the luxury to be soft anymore."
Diana looked to the floor—she knew Emma was right. But her voice came out small:
"…I just don't want to lose you."
Emma's eyes softened for just a moment—just a flicker, like a shadow passing through.
She placed her hand gently on Diana's shoulder.
Emma:
"You won't."
But Mostang watched Emma's eyes.
He saw something Diana didn't.
A storm.
A growing hunger for violence.
A side of Emma that was waking up—one that might not go back to sleep.
––
Emma:
"How is your mother?"
The moment Diana heard the question, her expression froze.
Mostang stopped mid-inhale, cigarette halfway to his lips. The quiet in the hideout shifted—heavy, like the air thickened between them.
Emma didn't ask with pity.
She didn't ask to comfort.
She simply asked—as if checking a status. Calm. Steady.
Diana's eyes lowered. Her fingers curled slightly on her knee.
She swallowed once before answering.
Diana:
"…Same. No response. Doctors say there's no new progress."
Emma didn't look away. Her gaze was direct, unwavering.
Emma:
"Does she still recognize you?"
Diana shook her head slowly.
Diana:
"They said even if she wakes up… she may not remember anything. Or anyone."
There was no tremble in Emma's expression. But there was a silence—one that felt like she was analyzing, calculating something deeper.
Mostang exhaled smoke, letting the haze fill the space.
Mostang:
"…Tch. Sounds like those doctors are idiots. They've been saying the same thing for years."
But his tone didn't carry anger.
It carried resignation.
Diana forced a smile—a broken, hollow one.
Diana:
"It's okay. I visit her when I can."
Emma stood up.
Walked to Diana.
And—quietly—placed her hand on Diana's head.
Diana's breath caught.
Emma rarely initiated this kind of contact.
Emma's voice was low, almost gentle—but not soft.
Emma:
"If there is a chance she can wake up… I will find it."
Diana's eyes widened, a shine forming—but not tears. Not yet.
Diana:
"Emma… don't promise that."
Emma didn't move her hand.
Her expression was calm, almost frightening in how certain she sounded.
Emma:
"I don't make promises."
Her hand dropped.
Emma:
"I state outcomes."
Mostang stared at Emma—
And for the first time since Roland died…
He realized it.
She wasn't just changing.
She was beginning to decide the world, rather than react to it.
----
Outside the hideout, across the street, in the shadow of a cracked wall, Selene watched.
Arms folded. Jaw clenched.
Her eyes were locked on Emma's hand—on Diana's head.
That one quiet, gentle gesture.
Something Emma never gives easily.
Selene's fingers tightened until her nails dug into her palm.
She whispered to herself—low, trembling with a twisted mix of jealousy and possession.
Selene (muttering):
"…Why her…? Why her?"
She watched Diana look at Emma with that quiet admiration—respect—trust.
The kind of trust that comes from living shoulder-to-shoulder with death.
The kind of bond Selene wanted.
No—craved.
Her breathing grew shallow.
Selene:
Fuck. Emma… you don't even know what you do to people.
You don't understand how you change us.
How you change me.
She remembered the first time she saw Emma fight.
The precision. The ruthlessness.
The way her eyes were empty—yet burning.
Selene fell in love with that monster.
Not despite it.
Because of it.
And Diana?
Diana had that place.
That closeness.
That touch.
Selene's jealousy warped into something darker.
Hungrier.
Selene:
No one deserves you, Emma.
Especially not her.
Especially not anyone.
Her voice dropped—soft, intimate, obsessive.
Selene:
You're supposed to be mine.
Only mine.
She stepped back from the wall, eyes burning with certainty.
Not emotional.
Not impulsive.
Decided.
If Diana—or anyone—stood between her and Emma?
Then they were an obstacle.
And obstacles…
Selene smiled faintly.
…are meant to be removed.
She then Glances one last time at Emma.
Selene:
"Gosh. I wanna lick ur pussy open."
And then she walks. Just like that.
Chapter end