Chapter 14 I am a villain

Emerlda strode into the sterile police station, the fluorescent lights casting a harsh glare on her determined face. Detective Remez, a man perpetually burdened by the weight of unsolved cases, awaited her in a conference room. An unsettling array of surveillance cameras adorned the ceiling, their tiny red lights like malevolent eyes.Remez gestured towards a chair, his voice flat. "Mrs. Borstov. Please, have a seat." He slid a manila folder across the table, its contents a grim tableau – crime scene photos of the bombing, each one a stark reminder of the devastation she narrowly escaped.As Emerlda stared at the photos, a flicker of something akin to despair crossed her features. Remez misconstrued her silence. "Mrs. Borstov?" he prompted, his voice a touch sharper. "I was inquiring if you have any new information that might aid our investigation."Emerlda's gaze remained fixed on the photo of a mangled steel beam, once part of her company's headquarters. Slowly, with a deliberate grace that belied the turmoil within, she flipped the photos facedown. "Unfortunately, Detective," she replied, her voice a low hum, "I have nothing to offer."A tense silence descended upon the room, broken only by the hum of the fluorescent lights. Then, Emerlda leaned forward, her eyes glinting with an icy resolve. "However," she continued, "I am here to collect the bomb fragments. Every scrap, every twisted piece of metal."Remez's posture stiffened. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple. "Mrs. Borstov," he began, his voice strained, "this is a highly classified case. The evidence isn't readily available to—"He was cut off by a curt laugh that escaped Emerlda's lips. "Classified?" she scoffed, the sound devoid of humor. "Detective, as the intended victim, I believe I have a vested interest in this investigation." Her gaze flicked towards the cameras, her voice dropping to a low growl. "Besides, thanks to a certain someone with exceptional digital dexterity," she added, throwing a pointed look at Daniel who stood discreetly by the door, a ghost in the machine, "we've already bypassed your little surveillance net."Remez's face drained of color. The weight of Emerlda's scrutiny, coupled with the revelation of their compromised security, was a suffocating pressure. He cleared his throat, attempting to regain control."Mrs. Borstov," he said, his voice regaining a semblance of authority, "I understand your frustration. However, these are complex matters that require meticulous investigation. Patience is paramount."Emerlda's eyes narrowed. Patience, it seemed, was a commodity in short supply.Emerlda pushed back from the table, her posture radiating an icy resolve. "Detective Remez," she began, her voice a silken snare, "my patience has worn thin. By the end of the day, I expect all the evidence you've gathered at the bombing site on my desk."Remez's face flushed a deep crimson. "Mrs. Borstov," he sputtered, his voice laced with a mixture of anger and fear, "threatening an officer is a criminal offense. Let us handle this investigation according to protocol."Emerlda's gaze turned glacial. "Never," she said, her voice a low growl, "interrupt me when I'm speaking again. You'll find yourself singing a different tune within the next thirty minutes."With that, she swept out of the station, leaving Remez reeling. The air crackled with unspoken threats, and a cold dread settled in his gut.The moment Emerlda left the police station, Remez's phone buzzed with a notification. It was from his daughter's school. Blood drained from his face as he read the message – a bomb threat, located in the bathroom adjacent to his daughter's classroom.Then, his phone rang again. An unknown number. A cold, emotionless voice filled his ear. "This time, Detective, the bomb won't be in a building. It'll be in her satchel."The line went dead before Remez could even stammer a response. His mind raced, desperately trying to connect the dots. Was Emerlda behind this? The threat she issued in his office echoed ominously in his mind.He scrambled back to the station, shoving the Borstov villa case file at his superiors, demanding they review the footage of his meeting with Emerlda. But when they pulled it up, the video was a horrifying parody of the original. Gone was Emerlda's threatening demeanor, replaced with a cordial conversation. The timestamp had been meticulously forged.Time was running out. Panic gnawed at his insides. He bypassed protocol, dashing to the evidence locker and grabbing the box containing the remnants from the Borstov villa bombing.He stormed into Emerlda's villa, fury contorting his features. He flung the box on the table, his voice ragged with accusation. "How dare you!" he roared, brandishing his service weapon.Emerlda, seated calmly at the table, sipping from a cup of coffee, barely flinched. She placed the cup down with a delicate clink. "Detective," she began, her voice devoid of fear, "think very carefully about what you're doing. Consider the consequences, not just for me, but for your family as well."Remez's finger twitched on the trigger. The line between righteous anger and desperate act blurred before his eyes. Who was he aiming at – the potential villain or the possible victim caught in a web of manipulation?Disgust contorted Daniel's face as he scrolled through the data files. "No wonder you've hit dead ends, Detective," he muttered. "This is a bureaucratic labyrinth, not an investigation. A colossal waste of taxpayer funds, if I ever saw one."With a practiced flick of his wrist, he transferred the data onto a secure drive. He then presented the box containing the bomb fragments to Remez, who accepted it with a mixture of shame and trepidation."My apologies, Detective," Emerlda offered, her voice laced with a hint of regret, "for resorting to such drastic measures. But it seems drastic measures were necessary to impress upon you the gravity of the situation, and the urgency of uncovering the truth."Remez's jaw clenched tight. "My family," he growled, his voice thick with barely restrained fury. "Threatening my family was a line you shouldn't have crossed."Emerlda's gaze remained steady. "Detective Remez," she countered, her voice a steely whisper, "consider yourself fortunate to still be drawing breath. You are in no position to lecture me on morality."A tense silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the rhythmic hum of the air conditioning. Finally, Daniel spoke, his voice deceptively mild."Enough posturing, gentlemen. We have a common enemy here. Let's focus on finding them, shall we?" His eyes, however, held a glint that remained unreadable.As Remez stormed out, barely suppressing the urge to slam the door, Daniel reached into the box with lightning speed, pocketing a single, seemingly insignificant piece of shrapnel. A sly smile played on his lips as he turned to Emerlda."I believe I have an old friend who might be able to shed some light on this," he announced, his voice devoid of the concern that flickered in his eyes. "With your permission, of course."Emerlda merely nodded, her own motives shrouded in an enigmatic silence. Daniel left, disappearing into the night, his true allegiance a mystery waiting to be unraveled.

A week later

he metallic tang of blood hung heavy in the air, a sickening counterpoint to the sterile hum of the lights. Emerlda stood frozen, the robotic limb holding the bloodied dagger an extension of her own rage. Her emerald eyes, usually filled with a steely resolve, flickered with a horrifying confusion."Do I want to be the villain?" she rasped, her voice a broken whisper echoing in the vast room. "If you'd asked me when I was flesh and blood," she continued, her voice rising in pitch, "the answer would have been a resounding no."A humorless laugh escaped her lips, brittle and tinged with despair. "I tried," she choked out, the single word heavy with the weight of past betrayals. "I tried being good, playing by the rules. But they just kept…" Her voice trailed off, replaced by a strangled sob.Through her blurry vision, she saw them – two figures sprawled lifelessly on the cold floor. Their identities remained obscured by the shadows, a deliberate choice on the author's part to heighten the suspense. Were they the ones who wronged her? Or innocent bystanders caught in the crossfire of her vengeance?Emerlda slumped against the wall, the dagger clattering to the floor with a metallic clang. Her robotic arm, usually a symbol of strength, now felt like a heavy burden. As she sank to the ground, the weight of her actions settled upon her like a shroud.

A few days earlier

Daniel, a ghost in the digital world, traced the bomb's components back to a murky online marketplace. Following the trail, he arrived at a single buyer – a name and a location: Elena Petrova, a resident of the sleepy town of Kirillov. What didn't fit the profile was Elena's profession. A talented sniper, according to intel, living a seemingly normal life in a quiet town.Meanwhile, Emerlda visited her son at the hospital. The boy, still unaware of the full extent of their loss, clung to his mother's robotic hand with surprising strength. As she left, a storm raged within her – grief, anger, and a burning thirst for vengeance.Kirillov was a stark contrast to the bustling city they'd left behind. Here, life moved at a glacial pace, making it easy to track someone like Elena. Their target worked at a dimly lit bar at night, transforming into a seemingly ordinary woman by day, seeking solace in a therapist's office for an hour each afternoon. Daniel, a silent observer, meticulously logged her every movement.For Emerlda, the days were a whirlwind of training and therapy. Michel, initially hesitant about augmenting a weapon of vengeance, found himself pulled into Emerlda's fierce determination. He helped her adapt to her bionic arm, a marvel of engineering that was as much a part of her now as the anger festering within. But beneath the growing strength and precision, a flicker of her former self remained. Horrific images of the bombing flashed behind her eyelids whenever she closed them, fueling her rage but also leaving a bitter aftertaste in her mouth. To quiet the demons, she took medication, a crutch that worried Daniel more than anything.Night fell over Kirillov, and the hunt began. Elena emerged from the bar, her face etched with a weariness that belied her lethal skills. Emerlda, her emotions a volatile cocktail, watched from a distance. The woman they were about to confront wasn't just a target; she was a chilling reminder of the world that had taken everything from her.Daniel materialized beside Emerlda, a flicker on the edge of her vision. In his hand, a holographic display projected the image of Elena Petrova, the sniper. Her face, etched with a weariness that belied her deadly profession, held a hint of something akin to sadness."Boss lady," Daniel said, his voice a neutral hum, "I found her. Tailor-made for your brand of justice, if that's what you choose."Emerlda stared at the projection, the image a stark contrast to the two gleaming daggers she meticulously polished on the table. Each glint of reflected light held a promise of retribution, but also a chilling reminder of the path she was on."Sometimes," she began, her voice a low murmur, "I wonder if there ever was a chance at happiness for me. Fate," she spat the word like a bitter pill, "has always had a cruel sense of humor, weaving a tapestry of tragedy from the threads of my life."Her voice hardened. "Can you believe it, Daniel? In those final moments, trapped in that burning hell, the last image seared into my mind was my mother's lifeless body…dangling from the ceiling like a grotesque marionette."A raw tremor ran through her, a flicker of vulnerability in her steely gaze. Even a being augmented with advanced technology couldn't entirely suppress the human capacity for pain. Though no tears escaped her eyes, the emotional turmoil churning within threatened to crack the facade she so carefully constructed."Human or… this," she gestured towards her robotic arm, "I have limits. But I've pushed them past the breaking point."The next day, Emerlda found herself in a starkly different setting – the waiting room of a therapist's office. Under the assumed name of Mrs. Burns, she sat ramrod straight, a stark figure in a black jumpsuit and boots despite the stifling heat. Long sleeves and gloves hid the telltale signs of her transformation.The therapist, a woman with a relentlessly cheerful smile, ushered her in. "Good morning, Mrs. Burns! I believe this is your first session. I'll be taking notes here in my pad," she gestured towards a notepad and pen, her smile unwavering.Emerlda forced a smile in return, the gesture feeling alien on her face. The therapist's sunny disposition felt like a mockery of the darkness that coiled within her."Wonderful," the therapist continued, oblivious to the storm brewing beneath the surface. "Let's start with introductions. Why don't you tell me a little bit about yourself, Mrs. Burns?"Emerlda's gaze flickered to the window, a sliver of blue sky mocking the turmoil within. Here, in this sterile room, she was expected to play the part of a grieving widow, a concerned citizen seeking solace. But the truth, the burning need for vengeance, threatened to consume her. How long could she keep this act up?Emerlda locked eyes with the therapist, her gaze a fathomless well of concealed emotion. "I am Maria Burns," she replied, the name a flimsy mask for the tempest raging within.The air in the room grew thick, a strange pressure radiating from Emerlda. The therapist, Dr. Lewis, shifted uncomfortably, her smile faltering for the first time. "Of course, Mrs. Burns," she stammered, struggling to regain her composure. "How can I help you today?"Emerlda's gaze drifted towards the window, where two birds pecked persistently at the glass, oblivious to the drama unfolding inside. "Doctor," she began, her voice a low contralto, "how curious. A therapist of your supposed renown, practicing in such a remote location. Quite a change from your previous clientele in, say, a town two states over, wouldn't you agree?"Dr. Lewis' facade crumbled. Her eyes widened in a mixture of fear and something akin to recognition. A tremor ran through her hand, causing the pen to clatter to the floor. "Who… who the hell are you?" she stammered, her voice barely a whisper.With a controlled movement, Dr. Lewis lurched forward, her trembling hand reaching for a drawer beneath her desk. Her office, once a haven of soothing colors and calming scents, now felt like a cage closing in on her. Every disconnected phone line, every strategically placed object, screamed of paranoia."A concerned citizen, perhaps," Emerlda replied, her voice devoid of malice but laced with a steely resolve. She remained seated, a stark contrast to Dr. Lewis' frantic energy."I don't know who you are," Dr. Lewis hissed, retrieving a gun from the drawer, "but get out of my office now!"Emerlda sighed, a sound heavy with disappointment. "Here I was, hoping for a genuine conversation," she said, her gaze flickering back to the birds at the window. "This world seems to have a warped sense of irony, wouldn't you agree, Doctor? People who are supposed to heal become the very source of destruction."A tense silence stretched between them, broken only by Dr. Lewis' ragged breaths. Emerlda continued, her voice a chilling monotone. "How many lives have been lost because of your…treatments, Doctor? How many pushed to the brink by your manipulations?"Dr. Lewis, her face contorted with a mix of fear and anger, kept the gun trained on Emerlda. "Get back! I won't hesitate to use this!"Emerlda's lips curved into a humorless smile. "Don't worry, Doctor," she replied, her voice devoid of fear. "The safety is still on."Dr. Lewis' eyes darted towards her gun, a flicker of betrayal crossing her face. She lowered the weapon, the clatter echoing in the room. Emerlda watched her, a predator assessing its prey.A wave of exhaustion washed over Emerlda. "Give me a break," she muttered, her voice barely audible. The facade of strength wavered for a brief moment, revealing a sliver of the vulnerability simmering beneath.The therapist slumped lifelessly against the back of the chair, a crimson stain blooming on her white blouse. The discordant chirp of the window birds mocked the violence. Emerlda, her face devoid of emotion, straightened the woman's body, a chilling sense of detachment radiating from her.The door creaked open, announcing the arrival of the sniper. The receptionist, oblivious to the carnage behind the closed door, glanced up from her manicure, barely registering the woman before ushering her in with a practiced smile.Elena Petrova, the sniper, pushed open the door, her professional gaze taking in the seemingly empty office. Then, she saw it. A crimson tableau painted across the plush couch.Emerlda.Elena's heart hammered against her ribs. This wasn't supposed to happen. But there she was, the woman whose death she'd been contracted for, reclining calmly, two deadly daggers glinting in her hands."Elena Petrova," Emerlda's voice rang out, a chilling echo in the confined space. "Who hired you?"Elena's mouth went dry. Betrayal twisted in her gut. "Why waste my breath explaining the job to a corpse?" she spat, desperation lacing her voice.In a blur of motion, she drew her gun, firing a barrage of bullets towards the couch. The deafening roar filled the air, punctuated by the metallic clatter of spent shells hitting the floor.Across the room, the receptionist bolted, shrieking in terror. Her scream echoed through the hallway as she triggered the building's evacuation alarm.Emerlda, unharmed, rolled off the couch with a predatory grace. The bullets had embedded themselves in the wall behind where she once sat."Who hired you?" she repeated, her voice low and dangerous.Elena, her gun empty, ripped a small pocketknife from her holster. Panic choked her voice. "Go to hell!" she snarled, lunging forward.The ensuing fight was a whirlwind of steel and fury. Emerlda, augmented and seemingly unfazed by the knife wounds Elena inflicted, countered with brutal efficiency. A savage ballet of violence unfolded in the therapist's office.Finally, Elena lay crumpled on the floor, a crimson stain blossoming across her chest. Gasping for breath, her eyes locked on Emerlda's."You…you're unkillable," she rasped, a hint of grudging respect flickering in her gaze.Then, with a final effort, she spat out two words that sent a tremor through Emerlda: "Bob Matthews."Emerlda stared into the sniper's fading eyes, a tapestry of agony woven across her own. Life ebbed from the sniper's body, a chilling counterpoint to the frantic hammering of Emerlda's own heart."Is this… what you truly wanted?" the sniper rasped, her voice a mere whisper.Emerlda's gaze flickered to the two bodies sprawled on the floor, crimson blossoming across the sterile white of the therapist's office. Her own robotic arm, once a symbol of hope, now felt like a monstrous appendage, slick with blood."Do I want to be the villain?" she echoed, a hollow laugh escaping her lips. "If you'd asked me when I was alive, filled with naivete, I would have scoffed. I clung to the delusion of good versus evil, a childish game with deadly consequences."A strangled sob escaped her, a raw eruption of grief and fury. "I tried," she choked out, "I tried to be good, to play by the rules. But they just… shoved it all down my throat, my kindness, my hope. Until there was nothing left but this…" she gestured at the carnage around her.A bitter smile twisted her lips. "So, here's the answer to your question. They want a villain? Fine. They'll have one." Her voice hardened, a steely glint replacing the anguish in her eyes. "I'll be the villain they deserve."