Celine tipped her head back and breathed in the night air, thrills running along her skin. Red and blue lights painted the belly of the city, the usual ambience filled with the shouts of commanding FBI.

    Behind her, Mark struggled in his binds—fully awake—wrists behind his back and ankles bound. He still hadn't forgotten the knife Blank had given him; held it in his hands tightly as he shuffled his body towards a concrete block to hide his back.

    Blank watched idly, suffocatingly quiet. He stood by the rooftop door, figure blended into the shadows.

    "You know," said Celine, tilting her head at the cop cars strewn below, "for someone who seems to care so much about you, Mark, he sure is taking his time."

    She stepped back from the edge of the roof and turned towards the bodyguard, smiling coyly at him.

    "It's been thirty minutes," she said, stopping feet before him. Her eyes pierced through his. "It's past due I kill you."

    "Well, you won't," spat Mark with disdain, pressing himself closer to the wall. The knife dug into his back. "Then you wouldn't have a show."

    Celine's black lips curled up, smile widening. "You're quite right, Mark," she said smoothly, as if talking to an idiot. "It's no fun without pulling a few heartstrings."

    A com went off, and both Celine and Mark glanced at Blank. It was easy to forget he was there with how quiet he was.

    Blank rose the com and pressed the button, waiting patiently. Agent Rios' voice came through.

    "Hey, I'm not getting any sign of Wilma," she said. "Isn't she supposed to be with Warfstache?"

    Celine's brows furrowed. "I told her to stay in the lobby."

    "Well, she isn't here," said Rios. "Should I go to the next phase? Nelson's getting suspicious of me already, and if I don't kill her quick—"

    "Contact Odetta," said Celine, "and have her update us immediately."

    "Copy that."

    Celine's fingers twitched at her sides, and Mark swallowed, feeling the shift of energy in the air. The woman's anger was palpable. He thought of making fun of her plans going sideways, but the sound of Amy's name made him think otherwise.

    He swallowed.

    "You're going to kill Agent Nelson?" he said.

    Celine took a deep breath and composed herself, glancing over her shoulder. She enjoyed the worry consuming Mark's face.

    "It's necessary," she said, turning back to Blank.

    "You—you can't do that," said Mark, clutching the knife at his back. "She's FBI, if you kill law enforcement—"

    "That didn't stop me from hurting Director Kjellberg," said Celine cooly. "Did it?"

    Mark's face paled, the name sparking in his head. He remembered that night like it was yesterday—the three of them (him, Abe, Amy) heading into the empty precinct. Finding the Director's body draped in his chair, eyes carved out. And the moment it all went to chaos, Celine trapping him inside the room, a hand shoving over his mouth with a rag full of chloroform.

    He was glad to know Agent Nelson was alright. But what about Detective Abe? He heard gunshots... couldn't discern the screams as he lost consciousness.

A new voice from the com snapped him out of his thoughts.

    "Edwards is on the way up, ma'am," said Odetta.

    "Any sight on Warfstache?"

    "None," said Odetta. "You might have to suffice with that, miss. Agent Nelson was having trouble with another Detective at the precinct. He might've screwed up plans already."

    Celine's eye twitched. "Make sure Edwards gets to the roof," she ordered. "And when you do, get Warfstache up here."

    "Affirmative."

    The com clicked off, and Celine glared at Blank, fingers twitching at her sides.

    "Ready your gun, Blank," she told the man. "Edwards isn't going anywhere."

———

Your time's running thin, chimed Celine's message on his phone.

    Dark was one flight of stairs away from the rooftop. Despite the ache in his body, his heart pounded faster, adrenaline infecting his system.

    "I've got this," panted Dark, stowing his phone away. His fingers graced metal along his belt, and he swallowed. "For Mark," he told himself, sweat rolling down his brow. "For Wilford."

    Dark slid the gun from his belt with heavy hands, the metal glaring up at him. His own words from what felt like ages ago rang in his head.

    'I don't want to kill anyone.'

    Dark heaved for breath and went up the last flight of stairs, his senses ringing to their full height. As much as he didn't want to use the weapon, he'd have to.

    The steel door to the roof came in sight, leering at him.

    Just for tonight.

    His hand wrapped around the handle, lingered there, and pushed.

———

An uneasy quiet fell over the lobby, interrupted by the occasional shuffle of feet.

    Rios eyed Agent Nelson from behind carefully, pinpointing any weak spots. It was foolish of the woman to keep her back on her—but in a way, she did trust Rios, after all. That trust was beginning to break, though. Rios could only stall Nelson from getting in the middle of things for so long.

    The gun in her grip felt heavy.

    That's why she'd have to end it quick.

    Agent Nelson pressed the button to an elevator, tapping her gun against her thigh. She was deep in thought—about Detective Abe, or Mark, Rios didn't know—but it was enough pause to give her a vantage point.

    Rios took a deep breath and exhaled, raising her gun.

    She had actually grown to like Agent Nelson; never found it prideful to kill another woman. But Celine's orders were law, and if she didn't follow through, there would be consequences.

    A cry came from the hallway, and they both startled, breaking from their thoughts. Rios whipped her gun towards the noise before Agent Nelson could see where she was really pointing it at.

    "You hear that?" breathed Nelson, meeting Rios' eyes.

    Agent Rios narrowed her eyes and nodded, hands tightening around her gun. Could it be Wilma? she thought, following Amy into the hallway from behind. Maybe that's why she was MIA?

In the middle of the hall, a door was half-open, specks of blood smearing the floor. Amy glanced over her shoulder, and Rios gave her a nod, encouraging them forward.

Amy neared the door, ushered them behind it for cover, and swung it open.

———

The night air whooshed over Dark the moment he opened the door, steel cutting into city black. The moment he swung up his gun, aiming at whatever target he'd lay eyes on, time slowed.

    He saw Celine first—her figure at the edge of the roof, silhouetted by the city glow; her eyes, cutting into him, as she looked over her shoulder.

    He saw Mark next—the panic on his face, his open mouth shouting:

    "WATCH OUT—!"

    And a blur in the corner of his eye.

Metal bashed the side of his head, he stumbled aside, and like that, time crumbled around him. Dark blearily aimed the gun towards his attacker—met shadowed eyes, the glint of light on metal, and then heard it before he felt it.

A gunshot, the explosion of light, and then the pain tearing up his leg, sending him down on his knee. Dark pulled the trigger on his attacker, but Blank's hand was right there on his wrist, forcing his hand up towards the sky. The bullet shot in the air, leaving Blank unharmed.

Dark growled through the pain, glaring up at Blank. The man disarmed him with ease, leaving him empty handed, wounded, and defeated. And just like that, it was over. Dark barely had time to comprehend it all when a pleased laugh met his ears, sharp and cutting like knives.

"You're just too easy, Mr. Edwards," said Celine, offering her hand towards Blank. He set Dark's gun in her palm, and she tested its weight, heels clicking as she walked towards him. "But what a shame..."

    She pressed the hot metal against Dark's throat and tipped his chin up, smirking down at him. He glared at her with all the hate he could muster, panting hard through the pain.

    "Such wasted potential," she said, eyes glinting. "A man at the very top—with all the power and money he could ever want—without the strength to keep it all to himself."

    Dark bared his teeth at her and huffed. She was right, and he hated that she was. All this time, and he'd been protected by other people. First Mark. Now Wilford. They had been risking their lives for him, and what had he done? Accepted their help and cowered behind them.

    It was time he protected those he cared about.

"Say what you want, Celine," Dark spat, suppressing the shakes in his body. "You've done your damage. So end it." He leaned into the gun, breath ragged. "I'm what you want, aren't I? So kill me. Free Mark, leave Wilford alone, and kill me."

    "Oh, he's talking big now," said Celine with amusement, brows raising. "No, no... I may want to kill you, Mr. Edwards, but where's the fun in ending it so soon? After all, your boyfriend isn't here, yet. No point in starting the show without a full audience."

    Celine pulled back and nodded at Blank, eyes alight.

    "Keep him down," she said.

———

Wilford gasped for breath on the floor, clutching his leg.

    "Fuck!" he cursed, curling in on himself. "Goddamn it!"

    The blood was pouring fast, the pain soaking his clothes. He kept pressure and panted hard, cursing the ceiling. He'd torn off some cloth and wrapped it around his shoulder—which had also been shot—but he only had so many options. So much time.

    He wanted to curse Wilma and beg for her to come back at the same time. She didn't understand, of course she didn't understand—but she also had every right to take her anger out on him. And sure, he knew he deserved to get shot for what a shitty brother he'd been, but now—now was not a good time. Not when he could hear the echo of gunshots above. Not when he knew Dark was most likely at the receiving end of those shots.

    He forced himself to sit up and grit his teeth through the pain, so focused he didn't hear the footsteps coming into the room. When he glanced up, two agents were there, guns pointed. He recognized the brunette one—Detective Abe's partner.

    "Oh, bugger," he growled, about to raise his uninjured arm when he remembered he was using it to keep pressure on his thigh. "I'm unarmed! Drop those goddamn things, will you?"

    When Agent Nelson recognized his figure behind the desk, she lowered her gun. "It's you..." she breathed, blinking through the realization. Conflict stirred in her chest. Detective Abe would have apprehended him right then and there—he was so close. All this time, cracking down on his case, shouldering the role of the precinct's joke, and he was only feet away. And wounded, for that matter. On the other hand, there were greater things at stake. Like Mark's life, who she'd grown fond of, and the threat of Celine succeeding in all this.

    Nelson's chest panged.

    What would Detective Abe do?

    Agent Rios crept into the room, gun still pointed. She eyed the four dead bodies strewn across the bloody floor and clicked her tongue. "Looks like Derekson's taken care of," she said. Amy had been so stunned by Wilford's presence she didn't even notice.

    "Look, arrest me later, will you?" cursed Wilford, struggling to sit up. "I need to find Dark. Celine's going to kill him if I don't do something—"

    "You're in no state to do anything," said Amy, snapping out of her thoughts with a glare. "We'll take care of it."

    Wilford huffed out a laugh, clutching the desk to help himself up. He looked like a wreck, his pink hair a mess over his eyes and blood staining his clothes. Celine would tear him apart without effort.

    "This is our mess, agent," he said. "We're running out of time, so stay out of it—"

    Agent Rios stepped forward and swiveled her gun towards Amy, pointing it at her chest. "Edwards is already up there, Warfstache," she said, eyes pinned on him. His brows furrowed with confusion, looking from her to Nelson. "Your time's already up."

    "Rios?" said Amy, hesitantly raising her gun. "What are you talking about?"

    Rios dug her heel into Wilford's injured leg and sent him to the ground with a shout. Wrong bled in the air.

"It was nice working with you, Nelson," she said, eyes cutting into hers. "Say hi to Detective Abe for me, will you?"

Rios grabbed Wilford by the collar and shot Amy right in the chest, dragging him out of the room as Nelson's body collided into the wall. She didn't look back—didn't hear her gasp as she crumpled to the floor—only focused on Celine's orders, on keeping Wilford controlled.

Rios summoned an elevator, dragged them inside, and kept her gun pressed under Wilford's jaw, the metal still hot.

"The fuck was that?" managed Wilford, glaring at her the best he could. She stood behind him, arm wrapped tightly around his throat. "You just killed your own teammate."

"I'm not FBI," said Rios, finger kept tightly on the trigger. She gave a sour smile and met his eyes. "I'm your escort."

"I could kill you right now," he growled.

"You could," said Rios, raising her brows. "But you don't know where Celine has your man. Oh, and—it's an honor, by the way."

The elevator pulled to a stop. The doors slid open.

"It's not everyday you get to watch men undeserving of their power fall to their knees."

She pushed him forward, up the last flight of stairs, and shoved him out the steel door, where he stumbled onto the rooftop and fell to his hands and knees, clutching cold concrete. The air around them seemed to cool.

"Wonderful," came Celine's voice, wicked. "Everyone's here."

...

HWOO, these chapters are both so intimidating and exiting to write. Only two more chapters left, my friends... ISN'T THIS CRAZY AHHHH

Thank you so much for reading, and have a wonderful day/night!

Love, Vic xoxo