"That's private. But every man has his own tas-"
A deafening explosion suddenly rocked the Pink House, shaking the entire building to its core. The room shuddered violently. Panic erupted instantly. People trampled over one another, clawing their way toward the emergency exits, shoving and striking anyone who stood in their path.
Michael slipped into the chaotic mass. Shoulders pressed against him, crushing him from all sides, but he kept his composure. He maneuvered through the hysteria, broke free from the crush, and reached the evacuation door.
The Pink House groaned and shook again, worse than before. The crowd turned feral. Amidst the screams, the distinct crack of a revolver echoed twice. The few who made it through the evacuation door scrambled for their lives, their faces twisted in sheer terror.
Michael ran alongside them in the evacuation corridor. He glanced at a man running beside him.
"What the f*ck is actually happening back there?" Michael asked, not breaking his stride.
The man turned to Michael, gasping for air. Sweat poured down his forehead and neck.
"The mafia... they want out first," the man wheezed. "They're gunning down anyone standing in their way men, women, it doesn't matter."
Michael and the stranger kept sprinting down the hallway.
But just as the man turned to look at Michael again, a shot struck his chest. The man collapsed instantly, dead before he hit the floor. Michael didn't stop.
He glanced over his shoulder. His eyes widened. A man in dark sunglasses was sprinting after him, leveling a revolver in his direction.
Bursting into a wider hall, Michael ran in a zig-zag pattern, weaving between the marble pillars to throw off the shooter's aim.
Three shots rang out. They missed Michael but shattered the structural pillars. The damage was immediate; the ceiling groaned and began to descend. The large windows exploded inward, filling the air with jagged shrapnel. Shards grazed Michael's hand. He grimaced, clutching his hand, but forced his legs to pump faster.
Outside, a Xeon Car hovered into view just as the building began to buckle. The passenger window slid down. Mora leaned out, waving frantically.
"GET IN! NOW!"
Michael summoned every ounce of energy he had left. The roar of the collapsing building was deafening behind him. Seeing the exit, he lunged forward, leaping from the edge and slamming into the side of the Xeon Car. The vehicle dipped under his weight.
Behind him, the Pink House collapsed completely, swallowed by rising flames.
Mora began to engage the thrusters, but Michael spun around, his eyes locking on a shape lying in the middle of the road.
"Wait. Don't go yet."
Mora cut the engine. She stuck her head out the window. "What? Why?"
Michael ignored her. He hopped off the hovering car and walked toward the center of the street.
Lying there was Rossie. She lay motionless on the ground, having succumbed to fatal injuries. Her left hand clutched a bouquet of withered flowers with a single burning lavender in the center. Her right hand held a crushed detonator. Yet, her mouth was curved into a faint, frozen smile.
Michael fell to his knees. He bowed his head low.
He pulled her body into a tight embrace. In the distance, the wail of police sirens began to rise. Bystanders whispered, watching the man holding the corpse in the middle of the street.
Michael spotted a folded piece of paper sticking out of Rossie's pocket. He pulled it out and unfolded it.
His eyes widened as he read the handwritten note:
I have no purpose left to live. I am completely broken. But I hope to meet you again in paradise. There, you will know me as April again, not Rossie. And we... we will definitely have a better life there.
For the first time in his life, Michael wept. Tears streamed down his face, soaking the paper in his hands.
Spectre City Cops (SCC) cruisers screeched to a halt, surrounding him. Officers poured out, guns drawn.
"Hands in the air!" one officer commanded, inching toward Michael, who was still cradling Rossie's body.
Michael didn't look up. He folded the note and tucked it safely into his pocket.
"Sir! Hands up!"
The officer stepped right behind him. Michael spun around. With a sharp twist, he overpowered the officer. The cop screamed. The other officers opened fire, but Michael hauled the screaming policeman up, using him as a shield against the incoming fire.
Michael snatched the dead cop's pistol. He moved with terrifying speed, taking down the remaining officers with precise shots. They dropped one by one.
Only one officer remained. He dropped his weapon, trembling, and raised his hands.
Michael holstered his gun and walked up to him. He grabbed the cop by the throat. The officer flailed, punching Michael's arms weakly, but Michael's grip only tightened. The cop's face turned blue. He gagged, begging for mercy, but Michael squeezed harder.
Finally, the officer went limp.
Michael let the body drop to the asphalt. He straddled the unconscious man and began to strike him.
He didn't use a weapon. He used his fists.
He struck the man's face with brutal force. Again. And again. He didn't stop, his rage fueling every blow.
Mora, witnessing the carnage, gunned the Xeon Car and sped to his side.
"Michael, we have to lea-"
"Put April in the car," Michael interrupted. His voice was a low, guttural growl.
"But she's-"
"Put. April. In the car! Do you hear me?!"
Mora looked at his face, grim and contorted in madness. She swallowed hard, said nothing, and scrambled out to load Rossie's body into the back seat.
The sound of helicopter blades chopped the air from the south.
Michael stood up, leaving the fallen officer behind.
He climbed into the Xeon Car beside Mora and slammed the door. Mora engaged the engines. The car shot upward, accelerating until it was nothing but a blur against the skyline.
---
Back at the Indi(e)go garage, Mora lowered the Xeon Car gently. The door sealed shut behind them.
Without a word, Michael carried Rossie's body out to the backyard.
"Where are you taking her?" Mora asked, following him.
Michael stared blankly ahead. "Get me a shovel."
Mora ran to the storage shed, grabbed a shovel from the dark corner, and brought it to him. Michael began to dig. Mora stood by and watched.
He dug through the night. He didn't stop until the sun began to peek over the horizon. When the hole was deep enough, revealing a small, dark underground chamber, he asked Mora to help lower the body.
They descended into the cramped, cold space. Michael stood over the body for a long moment, head bowed, clutching the shovel. Then, they climbed back up.
Michael was drenched in sweat, his body trembling with exhaustion, but he forced himself to fill the grave. Mora watched the sunrise, the warm light bathing Spectre City, contrasting sharply with the cold earth Michael was packing down.
---
A month had passed since April died...
Mora's phone buzzed on her desk. The date read April 20, 2113. The time was 05:37. She silenced it and walked out to the backyard.
Michael was there. He was standing over the unmarked grave, holding a bouquet of tulips with a single lavender tucked in the center.
Beside him stood Raden.
Mora approached them. She watched Michael place the flowers gently on the mound of earth. She hugged him tightly for a few minutes, then let go.
Raden placed a hand on Michael's shoulder. "She was a good woman. I believe that. Let people say what they want, but I trust you completely."
Michael nodded, managing a weak smile. "Thank you. I'm grateful someone understands her."
As the sun fully rose, illuminating the yard, they headed back to the office.
Mora sat down and looked at Raden.
"So... are you ready for your first mission?"
Raden's brows furrowed, but a confident smirk spread across his face.
"Yeah. I think I'm ready."