Flashback
The flashback opens under a cold, endless rain.
A small house sits alone at the edge of the city — its lights flickering, its windows cracked.
Inside… silence.
Then footsteps.
Soft, steady, deliberate.
Emma — younger, maybe Fifteen — walks through the dim hallway. Her boots leave red marks across the tile floor.
Behind her, the sound of a body collapsing. A mother. A father. A child.
Her knife drips. Her breath shakes.
She doesn't even try to wipe it off.
She steps outside. The night air hits her face — cold, heavy, and wet.
Rain falls harder, washing crimson streaks down her hands, turning the puddles beneath her feet red.
She looks down.
Her reflection in the water is unrecognizable — blank eyes, trembling lips, blood-stained face.
For the first time, she realizes what she's become.
Her fingers twitch. The knife clatters to the ground.
> "I'm… sorry," she whispers.
The word barely leaves her lips before her knees hit the ground.
Rain keeps falling.
She presses her shaking hands against her face, as if she could scrub the blood off her soul.
Her voice breaks — a sound of guilt and quiet despair, swallowed by the storm.
> "I didn't want to…"
But no one hears her.
No one answers.
Only thunder — and the rain that keeps trying, and failing, to wash away her sins.
Rain still falls as Emma walks back toward Vencor's mansion — every step heavy, water dripping from her hair and jacket.
The world feels gray, quiet, dead.
She pushes open the tall metal doors. Inside, the air is cold and smells of smoke. Vencor stands there, waiting — hands behind his back, eyes sharp with that cruel smirk.
Emma stops in front of him, her boots soaked, her expression blank.
Vencor looks her over.
> "You're late," he says. "Did they resist?"
Emma doesn't answer right away. She just stares at the floor — at the faint reflection of herself in the polished tiles. Her voice, when it comes, is quiet, lifeless.
> "Mission accomplished."
Vencor chuckles, circling her slowly like a predator.
> "Good. You're learning. No hesitation this time?"
Her eyes flicker — the smallest tremor of emotion — but she hides it.
> "No… hesitation."
He leans close, whispering near her ear.
> "That's my girl. The Perfect One."
Her jaw tightens. She wants to scream. To tear his throat out. But she doesn't.
She just nods.
As Vencor walks away, Emma stays still, the rainwater dripping from her hair to the floor, mixing with old stains of red.
----
Emma stands in the middle of a dark, empty street — the moonlight spilling across the wet pavement. Her hands are trembling, still warm from the blood she just spilled. The night wind brushes against her face, cold and silent.
She just murdered another family.
Her phone rang.
She answers. It's vencor.
Vencor: "The next corner. Near the supermarket. There is a white house. That's your next target. Don't misbehave."
She's silent. Her hand trembling. She declines the call without saying a word.
The phone falls from her hand, hitting the ground with a dull clatter. Vencor's voice keeps echoing faintly through the speaker before it cuts off.
Emma's lips part — her voice barely a whisper, choked and broken.
> "I wanna go home…"
Her steps slow, her eyes dull, empty. The weight of every life she's taken crushes down all at once.
> "I never wanted this…"
The rain begins again — soft at first, then heavy.
She looks up at the sky, her tears blending with the rain.
> "Mom… Dad…"
Her voice cracks.
"Can I let this go? Can I escape this?"
Her knees weaken — she drops down onto the soaked ground. Her reflection in a puddle looks unfamiliar. A stranger wearing her face.
> "I wanna die," she whispers, the words trembling. "And never come back."
Lightning flashes across the clouds.
Her hand moves toward her chest — as if trying to feel her heartbeat — but it feels faint, distant, almost not there.
> "I don't… wanna exist anymore."
And for a moment — just a second — Emma Elarat, isn't a killer. She's just a broken girl in the rain, begging the world to stop hurting her.
Chapter End