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Chapter 19 - Chapter 19 - Time

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[Scene: Vencor's Penthouse — Midnight]

The room was dim, only lit by the pale blue glow of the city outside. Rain tapped lightly against the window as Vencor sat back in his leather chair, swirling a glass of red wine.

A man in a dark suit stood before him — one of his informants, clearly nervous.

"Sir," the man began carefully, "we've… received word. Emma Elarat has started gathering people. She's building a squad — trained, armed, coordinated."

Vencor didn't react at first. He just tilted his head slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching.

"…A squad?" he finally repeated, voice calm but sharp.

The informant nodded. "Yes, sir. Mostang, Diana, Celeste, Valeria, even a young recruit named Kane. She's training them herself. Looks like she's planning—"

The man's words were cut short by Vencor's sudden laughter. It wasn't loud — it was quiet, cold, almost… amused.

"Emma Elarat…" he said between chuckles. "Building a squad."

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, eyes glowing faintly under the dim light.

"She's still pretending she can fix things. Still pretending she's in control."

The laughter faded, replaced by a smirk.

"Let her gather her toys. Let her train them, mold them, fill their heads with her ideals…" He took a sip of his drink, the glass clinking lightly. "Because when the time comes… I'll break them. One by one. Starting with the weakest."

The informant swallowed hard. "Should I keep an eye on her movements?"

Vencor turned his head slightly, smiling darkly. "No. Let her think she's invisible. I want her to believe she's winning."

He leaned back again, eyes half-closed, the reflection of lightning flashing across the window behind him.

"Because when she finally realizes she isn't…"

He smirked. "That's when she'll understand what real despair feels like."

The sound of thunder rolled in the distance as the scene faded out — his laughter echoing faintly.

---

[Scene: The Hideout — Evening]

The dim room smelled faintly of metal and dust. Emma sat at the edge of a table, head slightly lowered, eyes fixed on the map spread before her — a map littered with gang routes, red marks, and Vencor's known territories.

The door creaked open.

Mostang entered, coat still wet from the rain.

"Emma," he said quietly, tossing a folded file onto the table. "Got what we needed."

Emma looked up, expression calm — almost unreadable. She picked up the file, flipping through the pages. Inside were photos, coded notes, and surveillance reports.

"Vencor's been moving his men," Mostang continued. "Expanding fast. He's got new faces around — mercenaries, not locals. He's not hiding anymore."

Emma's fingers paused on one page — a grainy photo of Vencor, smiling. Her eyes narrowed slightly.

"…He knows," she said flatly.

Mostang nodded. "Yeah. He knows you're building something."

A long silence filled the room.

Then Emma closed the file and stood up. "Then we move smarter. We don't rush."

Just as she said that, the door opened again.

Kane stomped in — sweat still on his forehead, frustration burning in his eyes.

"Why can't I go on missions yet?" he snapped, looking straight at Emma. "I'm not weak! I can handle myself!"

Diana followed right behind, arms crossed. "He's not ready. He still makes basic mistakes."

Kane turned toward her. "You just don't trust me!"

Emma's gaze stayed steady, her voice cold and calm.

"Kane."

The tone alone froze him.

She walked slowly toward him.

"You think this is a game? You think killing and surviving in the field is something you can train away in a week?"

Kane gritted his teeth but said nothing.

Emma's eyes softened just slightly — barely noticeable. "You'll get your turn. But not until I say you're ready. I won't let another kid die just to prove a point."

The room went quiet. Even Diana looked a bit surprised by her words.

After a moment, Kane nodded reluctantly. "…Fine."

He turned away, fists clenched, walking toward the back room.

Diana sighed. "He's got potential, but he's too emotional."

Emma didn't answer — just stared at the photo of Vencor again, expression unreadable.

The rain outside grew heavier.

---

[Scene: Midnight — Downtown Slums]

The air was thick with smoke and rain.

Streetlights flickered weakly, their glow stretching across the wet pavement.

Kane's footsteps echoed down the alley — quick, nervous, but determined. His knuckles were wrapped, blood already staining the bandages.

He whispered under his breath, "I'll show them… I'm not a kid."

Ahead, a group of men stood outside an old bar — six of them, all gang members. Tattoos, bottles, knives hanging from their belts.

He clenched his fists and stepped forward.

"Hey!" he shouted.

The gangsters turned, grinning at the sight of a lone teenager.

"You lost, kid?" one mocked.

Kane didn't answer — he just lunged forward, punching the closest man in the gut.

The man barely flinched.

The next punch came from behind — a heavy blow to Kane's back that sent him crashing into a trash bin.

He gasped, clutching his ribs.

"Not bad for a kid," another laughed, drawing a knife. "Let's play."

They surrounded him. Rain poured harder. Kane tried to stand, swinging wildly, but each movement was slower — weaker. His punches were too desperate, his form collapsing.

One of the men kicked him in the side, sending him to the ground again.

"Pathetic."

The knife was raised — and then—

CRACK.

A bottle shattered across the attacker's head.

Everyone turned.

From the darkness, a silhouette emerged — calm, steady, and familiar.

Emma.

She stepped into the light, her skirt brushing the wet ground, eyes sharp like glass.

"Get away from him," she said coldly.

The gangsters hesitated — but one smirked, "You think you're scary, lady—"

Before he finished, Emma moved.

Fast.

Her knee struck his face, her hand twisting his wrist until bone cracked. She spun, slamming another man's head into the wall.

Three down in seconds.

The last two rushed her, but she sidestepped, grabbed one by the collar, and threw him into the other. The crash echoed through the alley.

She grabbed Kane's arm. "Get up. Now."

He groaned, trying to speak, but she pulled him with force — no hesitation.

Gunshots suddenly rang out behind them — reinforcements.

"Run," she ordered.

They sprinted through the rain, down the narrow streets, jumping fences, turning corners.

Kane's lungs burned, blood dripping from his lip.

Finally, they reached a quiet backstreet. Emma stopped, letting him drop against the wall.

Kane panted, shame filling his eyes. "I just… wanted to help."

Emma looked down at him — silent for a moment, then said in a low voice:

"You can't help anyone if you're dead."

Kane lowered his head.

Rain continued to fall, soaking them both.

Emma glanced toward the street — still alert, scanning for danger.

Then quietly, almost to herself, she said:

"You're lucky I followed you."

She turned away, starting to walk back.

"Next time you pull this, I won't save you," she added coldly — but her tone carried something else beneath it: worry.

---

[Scene: Back at the hideout – midnight]

The door slammed open. Rainwater dripped from their clothes as Emma and Kane stepped in.

Everyone froze.

Diana stood first. "Emma, what—"

But Emma raised her hand. "Not now."

Kane walked behind her, head low, anger trembling through his fists. He didn't even look at anyone.

Emma stopped in the center of the room, turned to face him.

Her voice was cold — deliberate.

"You almost died tonight," she said. "Because you didn't listen."

Kane's jaw tightened.

"I was trying to help—"

She cut him off, eyes narrowing. "Help who? Me? Or your pride?"

Silence.

The sound of rain outside filled the room.

Emma stepped closer, her tone sharper — a calculated strike meant to wound, not out of cruelty, but to shake him awake.

"You wanna die like your sister?"

The words hit harder than any punch.

Everyone froze — even the air seemed to stop moving.

Kane's eyes widened — fury, pain, grief all twisting together.

And then he punched her.

A sharp hit to her stomach.

Emma didn't move to block. She took it — fully.

Her body folded slightly, breath escaping her lips. But she didn't retaliate. Didn't even flinch after.

Valeria's eyes went wide — "Emma!" she shouted, stepping forward—

But Mostang's hand shot out, gripping her arm.

"Don't," he said quietly. "She meant to do that."

Diana looked at Emma, confused and tense, but she could see it — Emma wasn't angry. She was calm.

Unmoved.

Kane stood shaking, eyes red, his knuckles trembling. "Don't ever say her name again," he said hoarsely.

Emma slowly straightened up, wiped the blood from her lip, and answered softly —

"I said it so you'd remember why you're still breathing."

Her words silenced the room again.

Then she turned her back to him, walking toward her corner of the hideout.

"Go rest," she said, voice low. "We start again tomorrow."

Kane stared after her — hatred and confusion mixing with something he didn't want to admit: guilt.

Diana exhaled quietly. "You knew he'd hit you?" she asked.

Emma sat down, unbothered. "Yes," she murmured. "Now he'll think before he acts."

Mostang smirked faintly, lighting a cigarette. "You're a dangerous teacher."

Emma didn't respond — she just stared into the dim light, her expression unreadable, but her eyes… almost sad.

-----

[Scene: The next morning – early dawn light seeps into the hideout]

The rain had stopped.

The air was quiet — heavy, but calm.

Emma was already awake, sitting on a wooden crate, quietly cleaning her knife — the same calm, cold precision she always had.

Her ribs still hurt from Kane's punch, but she didn't show it.

Kane walked in slowly from the back room.

He looked like he hadn't slept. His eyes were swollen and tired.

He stood there for a few seconds, not knowing what to say.

Everyone else — Diana, Valeria, Mostang, Celeste — stayed quiet, pretending not to notice the tension.

Kane finally took a step forward.

"…Emma."

She didn't respond. Just kept wiping the blade, checking its edge.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I shouldn't have done that. I just… lost it."

Still silence.

Kane's voice broke a bit.

"She was everything I had. When you said her name… it just— it hurt."

Emma finally looked up.

Her expression wasn't angry. It was calm. Distant.

"I know," she said softly. "That's why I said it."

Kane frowned, confused. "What?"

Emma stood up, set the knife down.

"When pain controls you," she said, "you become the same as the people who made you suffer. You lose yourself."

She stepped closer, her gaze sharp but not cold.

"I don't need you to be sorry," she said. "I need you to be stronger than what hurt you."

Kane looked down, breathing shakily. "I… I'll try."

Emma nodded once.

"Good," she said simply, walking past him toward the exit.

"Training starts in an hour."

As she left, Diana leaned toward Kane with a small smile.

"That's Emma's way of saying she forgives you."

Kane blinked, watching Emma's back disappear outside.

"…She's really something else," he muttered.

Mostang smirked from the corner. "You'll learn. With her, forgiveness never sounds soft — but it's there."

Valeria crossed her arms. "That's her way of love, I guess."

And Kane finally smiled faintly — a mix of relief and respect.

He whispered to himself,

"Yeah… she's tough. But she's right."

-----

[Scene: Hideout – early morning]

The hideout was quiet except for the faint hum of the power generator. Emma was standing near the monitor, arms crossed, ready to begin Kane's next round of training.

Just as she was about to speak—

BZZT– the screen flickered.

Static filled the air. Then a loud, broken signal.

Emma's eyes narrowed.

Lines of encrypted code flashed across the screen—distorted, almost corrupted. But she recognized the pattern instantly.

VENCOR.

Her blood ran cold.

"...No way."

Valeria, who was sitting lazily on a bench nearby, looked up. "What's up?"

Emma didn't answer immediately. She typed something fast on the keyboard, trying to trace the source. But before she could, the screen went black—then displayed a single message in red:

'We're not done, Emma.'

Emma's pupils contracted.

She turned sharply. "Valeria. With me."

Valeria stretched her arms and smirked. "Alright, my equal," she said casually, getting up and cracking her neck.

Emma was already heading for the exit. "Diana. Train him."

Diana blinked, halfway through her breakfast. "What?"

"Train Kane," Emma repeated, voice sharp. "If I'm not back, keep him focused."

Diana sighed deeply, pushing her plate aside. "You're lucky I like you, Emma," she muttered.

As Emma and Valeria left the room, Kane frowned. "Where are you going?"

Emma didn't turn back. "To remind a ghost that I'm still alive."

The door slammed behind her.

Silence followed.

Diana glanced at Kane and exhaled through her nose.

"Alright, rookie," she said, standing up. "You heard the boss. Let's make sure you don't die next time."

Kane scratched his neck awkwardly. "...She's terrifying even when she's gone."

Diana smirked. "Welcome to the squad."

They followed the warped signal into the lungs of the city — a dead warehouse by the river where the fog curled thick and everything smelled of oil and old flames.

Valeria moved like she owned the dark, boots whispering on the cracked concrete. Emma was quieter; only the faintest click of her fingers on the phone betrayed the rhythm of her mind. The static from the corrupted broadcast still burned in Emma's head. We're not done, Phantom.

The big metal door groaned as they shoved it open. Inside, shadows pooled between rusted machinery and stacked pallets. The only light came from a single strip bulb swaying overhead, cutting the room into silver and black.

Near the center of the floor was a body.

It wasn't anyone they knew — a courier maybe, or a low-level scout — but the way he'd been left was deliberate. He'd been staged in the middle of the floor like a grotesque marker. His throat was torn; the blood had been used to write on the concrete beneath him in jagged letters:

I KNOW WHERE YOU ARE.

Valeria let out a low sound that was almost a laugh and almost a curse. "Of course he left a note. Of course he did." She stepped closer, fists unclenching and clenching again. "He's poking at a hornet's nest."

Emma crouched, not touching the body, just taking everything in with the clinical calm that made people call her a monster and respect her all at once. She checked the lettering — knife-scrape, not written with a finger. The angle of the cuts. The residue on the concrete. The boot prints leading away: heavy, polished—mercenary-style. Not a sloppy gang job. Vencor's signature, or someone who wanted Emma to think it was.

She lifted her head and met Valeria's eyes. "It's bait," she said, voice soft and flat. "He wants us to panic. Wants us to run. Or wants to see what we do."

Valeria's face hardened. "So what? We run at him and break his jaw? Or walk away and let him think he's already won?"

Emma stood, cloth-stiff and unshakable. For a breath she looked almost small — the haunted girl in the abandoned house — then the mask slid back on, cold as glass. "We don't run. We control the distance. We turn their message into a map for our hand."

She straightened and spoke into the dark, orders already forming. "Valeria, you and I will leave a track that looks like panic — make it sloppy and loud. Mostang gets the burner channels; tell him to leak a fake safe-house location that traces back to us. Diana, pull Kane and hide him now. Celeste, get med supplies ready at the fallback. If they move on the fake, we ambush the first wave and trace the courier back to its source."

Valeria's smirk cut the dim. "Love a good trap. My equal likes to bait the lions."

Emma's gaze found the bloody message again, then the body. She knelt for a second, close enough to hear the river through the warehouse cracks. No words. Just the small ritual she'd learned in the empty years — a single, private moment where memory and duty met.

Then she rose, voice low and hard. "Tell Vencor I know he's still breathing."

She let the threat hang between them like a blade.

Valeria cracked her neck, amused and vicious. "Tell him we're awake."

Emma tapped the concrete with one fingertip, a calm, final motion. "And tell him this: Come find us."

She turned and walked out of the warehouse first, shadow swallowed by shadow, already plotting the moves that would turn a mutilated message into an opportunity.

They moved fast after her — all of them moving into motion: the ragged team, small and wired, about to answer a provocation with a plan.

Suddenly.

The air split apart with sirens.

Red and blue lights flashed through the cracked warehouse windows, slicing across the bloodstained concrete where Emma had just finished tracing the trap.

Valeria's smirk died first. "Emma…" she said, voice dropping low.

Emma's eyes darted to the side — headlights approaching. Too organized. Not just police.

Then a shadow stepped out of one of the vans.

Vencor.

Her breath caught for half a second. His smile was the same — sharp, lazy, cruel.

And behind him? Officers armed and ready, but their faces afraid.

Emma grabbed Valeria by the wrist. "Move."

They bolted through the back door, glass shattering behind them as gunfire screamed through the metal walls. Emma's instincts took over — every step a calculation, every breath measured. They burst into the night, their boots splashing through puddles as the fog swallowed them.

Around the corner — Mostang and Kane were waiting. Celeste had the med bag slung on her shoulder. Diana turned from the van she'd hotwired.

"GET IN!" she shouted.

Emma slid into the seat first, pulling Valeria in beside her. The engine roared, and they tore through the industrial district — bullets chasing sparks against the metal frames.

"Where to?" Mostang shouted from the back.

Emma didn't answer immediately, scanning the corners of the street, calculating routes. "East," she ordered, "toward the docks. Lose them before the bridge."

But Vencor was already there.

A black SUV cut them off, crashing sideways into the street. His men stepped out, calm and unhurried — as if they knew they had all the exits covered.

Diana slammed the brakes, cursing.

"We're boxed in!" Kane shouted.

Emma's jaw tightened. She scanned the road — too narrow to fight, too open to hide. "No," she said, low. "We're not dying here."

She turned to Diana. "Go left, under the bridge. Now."

But Diana looked at her — then back at the team.

Her eyes softened with that same reckless, protective spark Emma remembered from childhood.

"Emma…" Diana said quietly. "Go without me."

Emma froze. "What?"

"I'll draw them off. Buy time. You'll never make it with me slowing you down."

Before anyone could argue, Diana jumped out of the van, slamming the door shut behind her.

"DRIVE!" she yelled.

Emma's heart twisted. Valeria reached forward to grab the wheel — Emma's hand trembled, just once — then she pressed the accelerator herself.

Outside, Diana sprinted into the open road, drawing fire. She didn't shoot back. Didn't even attack. She dodged.

Bullets whipped past her, slicing her jacket, grazing her arm, but she kept moving, fast and unpredictable.

She ran across cars, sliding over hoods, spinning between cover, forcing the police to chase her instead of the van.

Inside the vehicle, silence fell — broken only by the engine and the distant thunder of gunfire.

Kane's voice cracked first. "She's—she's gonna die!"

Emma's eyes stayed on the road, expression unreadable. But her knuckles turned white on the steering wheel.

Valeria looked back, biting her lip. "Your friend's insane."

Mostang muttered under his breath, "She's doing it for you."

The van hit the bridge. The sirens faded. The smoke behind them rose like ghosts.

Emma finally exhaled — slow, controlled — then whispered,

"…She bought us time. Don't waste it."

And though her tone was calm, her eyes reflected the fire behind them — distant flashes of blue and red swallowed by darkness.

Diana stood proud in the middle of the street — smoke drifting around her boots, sirens wailing.

Her eyes, calm yet burning with quiet rage, locked onto the flashing lights ahead.

She didn't flinch when bullets cracked past her shoulders; she only shifted slightly, her movements fluid, precise — dodging without thought.

Her breathing steadied.

Her fists tightened.

If this was what it took to buy them time… then so be it.

Her expression didn't waver — serious, fearless.

She was ready

Diana: "same scene back then from elementary school, but different situation."

Chapter end

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