"Nat, you've changed." Bella looked genuinely hurt.
"You're the one who changed!" Natasha snorted. "Last time you touched me in the bathroom, you didn't look like this, hmph!"
Just as they were about to decide who would finally get up and grab the beer, a faint sound drifted down from the second-floor hallway.
Someone was there.
Bella had long since instructed Violet not to show herself when people were home. The little ghost was an extreme shut-in—forget helping, she barely moved even when bored. As for Shaw, she'd already left Los Angeles. After recovering part of her memory, she'd gone roaming and had agreed to meet Bella in San Francisco.
Right now, there should only be Bella and Natasha in the house.
That sound didn't belong.
The two exchanged a glance, instantly reading the same conclusion in each other's eyes.
Intruder.
Without a word, Bella reached under the sofa and pulled out an M1911. With a flick of her wrist, a sharp tactical straight knife appeared in her left hand—both trophies from 006.
At almost the exact same moment, Natasha ditched the controller and produced a Glock 17 from beneath the chair.
They both aimed at the stairwell.
Then—simultaneously—they froze.
Bella stared at Natasha. "...How did you hide a gun under the chair? When did you do that? What if Charlie comes back and gets scared?!"
Natasha stared right back. "You were showering just now. You couldn't have had time to hide a gun. Wait—where did your gun come from? And that knife—whoa! That's an Italian Maserin! A famous tactical blade! Let me see it!"
"Like hell! Is this the time?" Bella hissed. "And you're way too knowledgeable. Normal people don't just recognize Maserin knives."
Natasha realized she'd slipped. She clapped a hand over her mouth and stammered, "S-school... teachers taught it!"
"Did your teacher come from the French Foreign Legion?"
They both lowered their voices, eyes locked on the stairs.
"...Where else did you hide weapons?" Bella whispered. "If there are multiple intruders, we need to be prepared."
Natasha hesitated, clearly weighing how much to reveal, then sighed. "There's a grenade launcher in my bedroom closet. You?"
"...Automatic rifle under my bathtub."
Natasha's eyes went comically wide. "How do you have that kind of weapon? You don't even have a gun license!"
Bella widened her eyes right back. "You're not even old enough to apply for one!"
They both turned their heads away in unison.
Natasha thought smugly: Good thing I didn't tell her about the two grenades under the shoe cabinet.
Bella thought calmly: And she doesn't need to know about the RPG launcher under my bed.
Fighting spiders and crocodiles? Bella had experience. Home invasion? First time.
Natasha was the same. She'd absorbed tons of theory during her "extra lessons," but this was also her first real encounter.
On paper, they were tactical geniuses. In practice, two absolute newbies.
Bella's imagination ran wild. She pictured Proxima Midnight bursting in—spear flying, Bella dodging, catching it midair, then coordinating with Natasha for a flawless counterkill.
They both shook their heads at once.
Get real.
They decided to wait and let the intruder reveal themselves.
Then—
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Someone pounded heavily on the front door.
"Help me! Please help me! Open the door! We ran into bad people! Please—help me!"
A frantic, panicked cry echoed through the house.
Natasha glanced at the stairs, then at the door. "...I've seen this trick before. Really clumsy."
Bella hesitated. "But what if it's real? I'll check the door."
She peered through the peephole.
A young woman stood outside, shoulder-length hair, leather jacket. There was blood on her forehead. She looked terrified, glancing back repeatedly as if something horrible was chasing her.
"Is there something I can help with?" Bella called through the door.
"Please open up! A bad man is chasing me! I beg you—please save me!"
When there was no immediate response, the woman started banging on the door harder.
Bella turned back to Natasha.
Natasha pointed at the stairs, then the door, then slowly holstered her pistol—her lips curling into a playful smile.
Oh? A live-action role-play?
Bella sensed the woman's overflowing malice through her psychic perception. Between calling the police and handling it herself, she chose the latter without hesitation.
Too stupid. Whatever happens next is on you.
Her bathrobe had pockets. She casually stuffed the pistol inside.
"Expression! Expression!" Natasha mouthed silently.
Right. Bella realized her face was too calm.
She rubbed her cheeks and instantly switched on her acting skills—wide-eyed, innocent, sweet, and just a bit slow.
The moment she opened the door, the woman outside shoved her way in violently.
Another woman followed close behind.
At the same time, a fierce-looking young man with rings pierced through his ears and nose emerged from the second floor.
The three of them entered, immediately scanning the house—its layout, its exits—looking at Bella and Natasha the way wolves look at lambs.
"Aren't... aren't you asking for help?" Natasha stammered, perfectly playing the role of someone scared but still clinging to hope. "The phone is over there..."
Her acting was flawless—fear, confusion, hesitation—all layered perfectly. An Oscar-worthy performance.
"Call the phone? Hahahaha!" The leading woman burst out laughing and flicked open a folding knife.
"You idiots don't know this, do you? Ten years ago, a murder happened in this house. Someone pretended to be injured, asked for help—and then killed two girls. One fat, one thin."
She licked her lips.
"Today, it's your turn. You two are the stars of the show."
Using sympathy as bait to commit crimes—this kind of person was the absolute worst. Parasites that rotted the moral backbone of society.
A few young idiots, having half-understood an old case, decided to reenact it for thrills and bragging rights. In their warped minds, it was "cool." A story to show off to friends later.
They had no idea—
They'd just chosen the worst possible house.
And the worst possible victims.