Very Much, Pretty Certainly, Most Definitely, Not a Hero

Alex was sprawled out on the sidewalk.

He had been in that position for the last minute and a half actually, ever since the van sped off. After a few seconds of staring up at the sky, however, it occurred to him that he should probably get up.

There was no time to idly contemplate the fact that he got rolled up on by a group of angered bisexuals and got his shit kicked in. And yes, if he was asked what happened, that's what he would tell people without any goddamn hesitation—if only to see the looks on their faces.

"Ugh, maybe next time."

With a breathy hiss, Alex pushed his body into a sitting position on the uncomfortable sidewalk, an elongated groan escaping his lips the second he did. Blood rushed to his head all at once, and it caused a rhythmic throbbing.

Oh, and there was the pain the rest of his body was in.

The two main offenders were, one, the very distinctive caress of about, say, forty-thousand volts of electricity sent into his nerve endings. It was quite the experience, and new to him to be honest.

He had actually never been tazed before.

But wait, there's more.

He definitely could not forget the second 'fuck you' moment that happened, that which being the not-so-gentle love taps of a man who apparently had some deep-rooted anger issues—at him specifically.

Alex supposed his boyish charm simply wasn't powerful enough to repel attackers on its own.

Anyway, while absentmindedly rubbing his face in thought, he immediately winced upon coming in contact with the bruises he now sported. Although, somehow, his nose wasn't broken despite how many times he was repeatedly hit in the face.

Alex would like to think he was just that tough, but he was pretty sure it more had to do with his attacker's lack of skill rather than his own increase in endurance.

Basically, Mr. I-Taze-People-because-I'm-A-Little-Bitch didn't know how to punch.

Though, now that I think about it...

Wasn't that a little weird?

From what he knew of them, they were usually pretty proficient fighters. Alex was of course referring to the group of people who had attacked him, the ones wearing the unique outfit of red bandannas and black shades.

It wasn't hard for him to recognize them.

After all, they were the notorious gang that ran around committing crimes—known only by their self-proclaimed organization name.

The Red Devils.

"..." A beat passed before Alex shook his head, chuckling. "Nope. Still can't take that name seriously."

Nonetheless, the gang could now add a case of assault AND kidnapping to their ever-growing list of charges.

Good for them.

Alex frowned, his meaningless attempt at amusing himself having disappeared. It was because even when he closed his eyes, he saw the terrified face of Emerald as she was dragged into that van.

Not just that, but he could also still hear her desperate screams once she realized her safety was compromised.

Honestly, he wasn't really all that close with Emerald.

She certainly wasn't someone he would deem a friend by any stretch of the definition. She was just... there. And so was he. Before long, he guessed he just found himself deciding to take a crack at the willful girl, not for any reason except she looked like a fun person to mess with.

Yeah, that summed up a lot of what he did these days to an extent.

Because Alex wanted to, he did.

Sometimes good, sometimes bad.

He couldn't really be called a good, law-abiding, virtuous person.

However, today was different.

What happened today was different.

Today, Alex miscalculated, and not only dragged himself into the fire, but also someone who didn't deserve it.

Because he didn't see that prick with the tazer in time, he was swiftly taken down just like anyone else would be if they were caught off guard.

He was arrogant.

He believed there was a sort of safe space that would be a distraction from... the other things he did in his free time. But because of this arrogance, he was punished for it.

Had Alex accounted for the possibility of danger, had he assumed that everywhere was a spot lurking with danger, things wouldn't have escalated in the way they had.

He was only human, and humans failed when they rushed into things.

No matter the situation, those that did not plan for every eventuality were not guaranteed results.

If it was just him suffering for his lack of attention to detail, he would accept the loss.

Alex wasn't a perfectionist; he was just logical.

But because he wasn't a perfectionist, Emerald had taken a fall that could have been prevented had he TRIED.

She was taken because Alex didn't plan accordingly.

"Let's see if I can't rectify that..." He muttered in a breath, pulling a slim device from his pocket. It was a smart phone with a red case. He powered it on, the display lighting up without even the prompt for a password.

Suffice it to say, the phone was not his.

It had been... borrowed when he was getting mounted by an irate kidnapper. Okay, maybe that wasn't the best way to phrase it, but it wasn't exactly wrong.

The utter dumbass was likely too busy figuring out how to beat someone up for the first time to realize Alex was trying to get into his pants—er, metaphorically. Ah, but he guessed it could be taken literally as well.

Anyway, the phone was just asking itself to be swiped.

But that brought him right back to the fact that he just got into a literal gang member's phone without a password, because apparently, they didn't teach common sense like they used to anymore.

Is it stupidity, or just blind confidence?

Now, members of The Red Devils weren't criminal masterminds by any means, but they weren't braindead either.

Was he really dealing with one of them?

A member of a group so strict and disciplined that they initiate themselves by surviving ten minutes in a cage of rabid dogs? Alex didn't know about anybody else, but that sounded pretty fucking hardcore.

With these doubts in mind, he swiped on the phone to unlock it, and a screensaver popped up in front of him.

He stared at it unblinking for several seconds, feeling nothing but confusion. But that confusion slowly started to vanish as the gears began turning in his head.

"Oh you have got to be kidding me..." Alex deadpanned.

It was a picture of two people, a male and female pair, both smiling.

Although only one of them truly looked comfortable posing for the picture. Alex recognized the female, the white-haired girl. It was Emerald. However, he did not recognize the male. 

Or wait, hold on...?

Actually, he did look a little familiar.

There was a boy like this with slick brown hair that would occasionally orbit around Emerald, wasn't there?

He couldn't recall the name, but he did know that this guy was nearly always with her. He hadn't seen much of him anymore, however, not that he would have cared too much to remember anyway. Alex didn't really pay enough attention to things like that.

Either way, this was painting quite the picture. And honestly, if it wasn't so messed up, he would probably find it amusing.

But that's humanity in a nutshell for you.

"Hm, how 'bout..."

His fingers moved and the screensaver disappeared as Alex pressed perhaps the most important button on the phone.

A backlog of recently used applications appeared.

There were quite a lot of them.

He scrolled past the social media and games before landing on what he was looking for specifically. Messages. He clicked on the most recent one, revealing a message sent out fifteen minutes ago.

///

— We see her, where to?

Townsend Heights, lower level. No mistakes. —

///

Oh? 

Alex's eyes narrowed slightly.

He had a location now, which was a step above what a license plate could get him had he even looked, but that wasn't what especially drew his eyes.

His vision left the chat icons displaying the conversation, and instead roamed upwards.

The recipient's name.

It looked like just a first name, but upon seeing it, Alex grinned.

A pro would use a pseudonym for whoever they were conversating with. But, as was becoming increasingly apparent, he was quite literally dealing with a mangy mutt with his head in his ass.

So, seeing the dog talking with the infamous leader of the Red Devils himself, all but promising that he would be at a singular location at a singular time?

Well, that was cause for celebration.

Alex supposed it was only polite of him to pay a visit.

Someone's day was about to be ruined, and if he was meticulous about it, it wouldn't be his.

"Time to get to work~!" With a laugh that stretched his grin even wider, Alex leapt to his feet and took off in a certain direction.

…

…

…

Emerald opened her eyes blearily, her vision muddled with drowsiness, leaving what existed in her periphery only blurry and distorted. The first thing she could make out were the lights. There were a lot of them above her. 

Or... are they below?

Her head began to throb, making any complex thinking difficult. It was a sensation similar to a headache, but much worse. It felt like someone was squeezing her brain from the inside.

Assaulted with this phantom pain, Emerald tried to roll to her side, where she expected to find the cool embrace of her pillow, the softness of her mattress—anything at all that was familiar.

However, she found naught but air.

This caused her to suddenly become more aware of what was going on around her.

Her posture was upright—or rather, she was sitting upright in a chair.

A surge of panic welled up inside her and Emerald tried to leap to her feet unconsciously, but to her surprise, her body didn't obey her.

No... wait.

Her body was straining, but it wasn't making progress. Despite willing the action, nothing happened.

W...What is...? 

This inconsistency snapped her further from her groggy state, and she blinked her eyes rapidly this time, trying to get rid of the trace amounts of water still there.

Emerald raised her left arm to assist in this, but once again, barely any leeway could be felt.

Her arm, just like the rest of her body, felt restricted, constrained. She looked down at her arm in perplexity, and her mouth fell open at what she saw.

"H... Huh?" A murmur of utmost confusion left her dry lips.

Heavy coils of rope were bound tightly around the purple of her jacket, and not just that, but the same could also be said about her boot-clad ankles as well.

As for her wrists and the length of her arms, she couldn't see them.

They were behind her, shoved out of sight by an invisible strength. This confused her even more, and before the panic could even properly set in, she willed her body to move one more time, as if with a sudden burst of strength, she would be able to rip apart the ropes.

But not only was this an impossibility, her body was simply too weak to even mount a proper effort.

Soon, Emerald was left completely out of breath from the strain. She suddenly became a lot more conscious of the difficulty of her breathing. The rope tied taut around her diaphragm only made this worse.

Letting out a breathy gasp, Emerald tried to fuel her voice. "I can't br—why is... I can't..." It was hoarse and weak, even to her own ears.

"Wakey, wakey sleepyhead~!"

But suddenly, a voice. A voice not her own.

Emerald froze.

The realization that she was not by herself should have filled her with relief.

She should have been glad that she was not tied to a chair in a place where no one could hear or see her.

But that was not what she felt.

No.

Knowing that she wasn't alone filled her with an inexplicable feeling of dread.

Her eyes, which had been so busy disbelievingly staring at the ropes bound tightly around her chest, slowly lifted up.

And in doing so, she became MUCH more aware of her surroundings.

This is...?

She was in a parking garage.

Emerald's head spun left and right, as much as she could despite her restrained form. There were the countless lights that lit up the concrete expanse before her, but that only revealed the lot to be almost completely empty.

Yes, not completely empty.

It didn't take her long to realize the existence of not just one, two, or three—but a dozen or so men surrounding her.

How she hadn't noticed them immediately likely stemmed from the fact that they were dead silent in the way they postured about.

It was enough to send a shiver down Emerald's spine.

Some of them were holding all sorts of blunt and sharp weapons, but they also had a more distinguishing trait, something that pulled something from the back of Emerald's memory. 

Red Bandannas...? 

Not just those, but black shades too. She was sure these were important, but she couldn't recall anything for some reason.

But for the moment however, she had no choice but to ignore this in favor of focusing on what was directly in front of her—or actually, who was in front of her.

"Yep, right this way, little missy. Good to see you finally managed to join us."

Unlike the men surrounding her, there was just one of them within the enclosed circle.

The man who had spoken both times was sitting in a chair just like her, but it was faced backwards, and his arms rested over the backrest.

He wore a white coat that trailed all the way down to his legs. It was unbuttoned, so it revealed his black jeans and gray shirt. But besides the coat, his hair was perhaps the oddest thing about him.

The long dark hair was fastened into a ponytail.

And furthermore, looking at his face, one that made out to be someone in his late twenties, she could see he was smiling in a merry way. Not at all creepy, but completely casual and polite.

Maybe he thought that he was putting her at ease with such a smile, but it disturbed her even more.

"W-What is this?" Emerald asked, a tinge of anxiety leaking into her voice.

The man sitting down looked gleeful at the question, his smile widening. "This? It's really quite simple. We so desperately need your help."

"H-Huh? ...I don't understand."

Emerald shook her head in confusion, not able to process the man's meaning. What could she help him with? And why did that involve her waking up in this strange place? "W-Why am I here? And w-who are you people?"

"Such skepticism...!" The man placed a hand over his heart in mock surprise. "Is that any way to treat the good samaritans that picked you up from school? Now what would your parents have to say about those horrid manners?"

"...?!" Her breath hitched.

Emerald wasn't sure what caused her stomach to wrench terribly, the fact that he had mentioned picking her up from school, or that he had brought up her parents.

But both seemed to present her with something she had briefly overlooked.

It was the portion of all of this that should have hit her the moment she hadn't recognized where she was.

Before... what had she been doing?

Her eyes trailed to the men surrounding her, what they were wearing. In waking up so suddenly, she hadn't immediately been able to place them.

But with the mention of school, memories came back, and the pieces began to slowly fit together in her head.

And it wasn't a welcome realization.

Emerald's skin crawled as she landed on one of them in particular.

Dressed the same as everyone else, though sporting brown hair swept to the left she swore she knew from somewhere else, was a man she found familiar.

Arms crossed and tapping his foot impatiently, he was leaning against a vehicle that was parked just outside their circle. She belatedly realized it was the very same one that had abruptly appeared on the street during her walk home.

And unlike the other two that had forced her into the van, this person—the one she had dubbed 'K'—had been the one who had been hiding inside with his concealed weapon.

Said weapon flashed in her memory, but so too did something else—something far more powerful that she couldn't believe had slipped her mind until now.

This person had used that weapon on someone other than her.

...Alex.

Just repeating the name in Emerald mind was enough for her to experience a flux of emotions.

The blond boy who she had been exasperated with while walking home.

The one who had noticed something was wrong before she did, who had actually tried to fight off her kidnappers to the best of his ability.

Who, despite having been sent to the ground in a seizing fit because of what they had done to him, mouthed off to all of them with that usual infuriating snide personality of his. It hadn't worked, and his failure left him beaten and bruised on the ground.

He might even have regretted getting involved at all. If Emerald was in his position, she certainly would have.

But...

A flicker of warmth rose in her chest.

He actually tried to save me...

Again, it didn't end up working, but he still tried.

He had tried to do something to protect her, even though he didn't have to, even though out of everyone, he was the last person she expected to.

Despite everything—how Alex acted towards everyone in school, how much of an uncaring asshole he played himself as—he still cared. He still cared enough to not want to see her taken.

And for some reason, even with her situation that was starting to scream danger and looking more hopeless by the minute, Emerald found herself... happy. She just hoped, wherever he was, that he was okay.

A chuckle drew her attention.

"Huh, you've got more balls than I gave you credit for, little girl." Ponytail was giving her an appraising look, tilting his head. "To be able to smile like that in a situation like this."

Huh?

Was she smiling?

Emerald brought up her hands to touch her face, before realizing once again that she couldn't move them. Ponytail saw the movement and snickered, causing her face to flush in embarrassment.

'K' on the other hand, only looked at her in silence. It was honestly starting to creep her out. And why did his hair look so familiar?

Ponytail suddenly cleared his throat.

"You asked me who we are, yes? I believe introductions are in order." He stood up from the seat in one sharp movement and bowed to her with one hand placed over his heart, in a formal greeting.

"My name is Travis. I'm what you call... a businessman, though my dealings are more... out of sight, if you catch my meaning." He winked at her, before lazily sweeping a hand around him. "As for my associates here..."

On cue, the men surrounding her started to leer at her, and from those who had their bandannas down, she saw smirks appear on their faces. A few of them whistled, and even laughed darkly.

Emerald couldn't help but stiffen as an uncomfortable sweat ran down her back, and it only caused Travis' smile to widen.

"Just think of them as the hired help. They're a bit antsy, but that's to be expected since they haven't been paid yet. Actually, no pressure, but whether they're paid at all is entirely dependent on you, Miss...?" Travis trailed off, looking upward, but then casting a quick glance to the side, at 'K'.

"What was her name again...?"

The other man didn't reply for a moment, but when he did, he clicked his tongue in what sounded like irritation.

"Emerald." he replied in a rather terse manner.

Now, Emerald wondered how this person even knew it, but she was also just as curious as to why his voice reminded her of something so close but still out of place.

This feeling confused her to no end.

"Yes, Emerald." Travis nodded to himself. "As I said, I sincerely hope you will be of use to us."

Emerald frowned, almost grimacing. "I don't understand what you're talking about. How can I help you?" Her voice was so torn between confusion and fright that it broke a little as she spoke.

"Oh, we'll get there, don't worry."

Travis reached into the inside of his black leather jacket and pulled out a surprisingly effeminate phone. It was pink and the case was littered with sparkles. Wait... is that...? 

Her pulse quickened as she realized that it was her phone.

She swallowed nervously.

Emerald didn't need to ask how he had gotten it. It had clearly been taken while she was unconscious, along with whatever else happened while she was asleep, a fact she pointedly tried not to think about.

Travis fiddled with the phone for a few moments before putting the screen in front of her face. "Do you know what this is?"

She had to lean back to focus on what she was supposed to be looking at. The moment she saw it, however, the fact that he had somehow bypassed her password went forgotten.

On the screen was a picture, a phone number, and a name—all visible.

Emerald recognized it almost instantly, and with it came an overwhelming feeling of dread before she even understood why.

She had a feeling she would not like where this was going. And that was confirmed by Travis' next words.

"Your esteemed father has quite the comfortable position as an attorney, I hear." He then turned, gesturing to the rundown parking garage. "As you can see, our base of operations is in dire need of an upgrade, something I'm sure can be fixed with a very generous donation from a wealthy benefactor. Don't you think?"

They were... trying to steal from her dad?

That was ridiculous.

Her father was a kind person, but he would never give money to people of such shady character, especially if he found out what they did to her. Filled with such indignant reproach to the idea, Emerald didn't even consider how she played into all of this.

"M-My dad would never give money to someone like you," she said, trying to add as much bite into her words as possible, but her trembling lips failed her. It didn't sound quite as scathing as she hoped.

"Normally, I'm sure you would be right, Miss Emerald." Travis paused for a beat, before his grin came back full force with uncontrollable glee. "However, what do think would happen if his precious daughter were to be held as collateral? I wonder how much money he would kindly send my way to ensure your swift return?"

The color drained from her face, and she felt it too.

Of course.

She was so dumb.

Of course that's why she was here.

Emerald would hear about it in the news, or even in stories, but she never would have thought it would happen to her. She was being held for ransom.

She had been kidnapped so they could extort money from her family.

Emerald would never think of herself as a wealthy elite, but it was certainly true she was the daughter of rather successful parents.

Her dad was a lawyer, but her mother was also within the high echelons of society, being the CEO of a major corporation.

Many people would be envious of such a lavish life.

Emerald was no stranger to the attention it afforded her, and the constant barrage of comments that judged her immediately based on her status.

But in the past, that's as bad as it got—just comments.

However, this was the first time she had been put in a dangerous situation because of it.

"So what do you say?" Travis continued and her breathing became irregular, making it harder to calm her already spiraling-out-of-control nerves.

"Let's give dear ol' Daddy a call, shall we?"

He thumbed the phone and after a beat, a loud continuous dialing reverb echoed throughout the parking garage. He had put it on speaker, a fact that stuck out to her, but really, did it even matter?

Even if her father suddenly answered and she quickly blurted out that she was in danger, that wouldn't help anything considering that no one even knew where she was.

In fact, neither did she.

Emerald's eyes looked around the spacious parking garage in a desperate attempt to locate anything that might give her a clear indication of where in the city she was, if she was still in the city at all.

But there was nothing.

Posters and signs littered the walls in the distance, but they were too far away to see.

The sheer lack of cars in the lot made it impossible to check for any one company logo that showed up more than usual, dashing the hope she was in some well-known building that could be used as a landmark.

And putting the final nail in the coffin, her phone suddenly stopped ringing and the dial tone clicked.

"Oh, Em. I was just about to call you."

An older sounding voice picked up.

Her father's voice was so full of relaxation and demure joviality that Emerald bit back the sob that threatened to leak out the second she heard him.

She had that the number saved under 'Daddy', and she knew Travis was serious about trying to go through him in order to fill his pockets, serious enough that he resorted to kidnapping in order to do it, but still... she wanted to hope this entire situation was a joke.

"Emerald? Hello?"

She didn't want to believe that she was literal seconds from being the catalyst that would rip the tranquility beheld in her father's tone.

She considered maintaining her silence, but as she met Travis' expectant gaze and chilling smile, she had the sneaking premonition that such an action would be met violently.

And the last thing she wanted was to give her dad a heart attack by making him listen to her scream.

Emerald... just hoped this would all be over quickly.

"H-Hi Dad."

"There you are—had me worried there for a sec. School just got out right? Are you at home?"

Shame enveloped her, her stomach clenched, and she had the horrendous urge to throw up. "A-Ah, that's—I..." Emerald felt sick. She'd never felt so sick in all her life. This conversation. This situation. The entirety of it absolutely repulsed her.

"Actually, Mr. Summers, your daughter is with me at the moment."

With a crooked smile, Travis chose that moment to interject, and Emerald could not do away with the undeniable loathing she felt throughout her entire body.

How dare he?

How dare he come into her life and twist it around just for his own greed? She bit her lip as her father's silence stretched on, before he finally responded.

"...Who is this? A friend?"

There was a slight amount of suspicion in her father's voice, and she didn't know if she was surprised or disappointed that it didn't trip Travis up in the slightest.

In fact, his grin just grew wider.

The man about-faced and walked a few steps from Emerald, before looking at her over his shoulder.

"Well, I wouldn't quite call us friends just yet. Her relationship with me is a bit more... subservient at the moment. She scratches my back... and I agree not to carve up the delicate skin of hers," Travis said with that same faux polite tone, and Emerald couldn't help but cringe in disgust at the man's wording.

"…" 

There was a pregnant pause on the other end, but it didn't take long at all for Travis' barely hidden threat to be met with the reaction she was expecting.

The words that came out of the speaker were only slightly deafened by the loud crash that accompanied them.

"E-Excuse me? Who the HELL is this...!?"

Her father raised his voice in a way she had rarely heard before, but Travis simply clicked his tongue in mock disappointment.

"Mr. Summers... I'm appalled...! Your daughter's safety may or may not be compromised and your first question is who I am? Yikes, parents these days sure have their priorities straight..."

A loud intake of breath came from the other end of the phone. "Emerald! Can you hear me?! Are you okay?!"

Emerald opened her mouth to speak, but she cast a wary look at Travis before she did. Travis obliged her with a wave of his hand, stepping close to her once again. "Oh, by all means Miss Emerald, please, converse. After all, this won't work without all sides cooperating."

That smile, one that shifted from cruel to sanctimonious on a dime, was starting to give her goosebumps.

Nonetheless, Emerald wet her dry lips and spoke into the phone. "Y-Yeah Dad, I'm here. I'm just... doing all I can. I'm okay though. They want..." She looked at Travis and he nodded at her. "...They want money," she forced out, the words sounding disgusting in her own mouth.

It felt like she was the one dirtying her hands—the one extorting her own father.

"They took me from school... a-and I couldn't do anything, and I—" Her voice began to break.

No—absolutely not.

Emerald shook her head, trying to deny the fact that her eyes were beginning to fill with tears. 

No, calm down. Not now, not right here. I will not, I won't. 

The last thing she wanted was to break down like a little girl without her father.

"I... I-I'm sorry. I should have been more careful. I s-should have—" But a wretched sob escaped her all the same. "This is all my fault...!"

"No. This isn't your fault. The only ones to blame are the scum that took you. Don't worry Honey, I'll make this all go away soon." 

Her father was quick to soothe her, and it instantly wracked her stomach with even more guilt.

Because it was working.

She believed him. Or more than that, she desperately held onto his words—that it wasn't her fault, that she was the victim, that she wanted someone to whisk her away from all of this. And...

Emerald hated herself for feeling that way.

Vision blurred with tears, she saw Travis raise a hand in 'K's direction, opening and closing it several times mockingly. The other man didn't say anything, but she saw the part of the bandanna that was hidden twitch near the jawline.

Just like Travis, he also found the situation amusing.

Emerald didn't want to look at her other captors. She knew they were feeling the same.

Vulnerability washed over her, and she wanted to shrink down into nothingness. She wasn't even a captive anymore—she was merely the easily obtained bait for the true hostage.

Her father.

"So? What's it going to be? How... much."

The words held such barely constrained resentment that she could tell he was forcing himself not to say anything more—not without insulting her kidnapper and putting Emerald in even more danger.

But it seemed the change in tone amused Travis if his smile was anything to go by.

As he mulled the question, his expression turned contemplative, staring up at the ceiling. "Hm... That's a good question, Mr. Summers. Well, my motto is go big or go home, so..."

He paused for a beat.

"A million should do."

Emerald widened her eyes.

The men surrounding her stirred.

'K' gave Travis an indecipherable look.

There was also the audible silence of her father.

She was cognizant of all of this, despite her shell-shocked state. A... A million...? Her head fell, staring at the black paved ground with her mouth slightly agape.

It was no small number.

Emerald didn't particularly worry herself about how much money her father made, or how much her parents made in general, but such an astronomical sum was clearly above his means.

Maybe he could scrounge up the money after asking her mother as well. And maybe giving such an amount away would not put them into debt, but there was still an issue that cropped up way before all of that.

Emerald's heart felt like it had chipped.

It... isn't worth it.

"Hm... I'm not hearing any affirmatives. Oh? Could it be that's too much? Well, there's always the option of me extending her stay here for a longer period? I'm sure I could think of a few ways she could be useful—"

"No...!" the phone shouted. "...I'll do it."

Emerald raised her head up at her father's steely voice.

However, it wasn't laced with displeasure or reluctance—just quiet acceptance.

It was a voice that told her that he planned on agreeing no matter what amount Travis had given him.

She couldn't accept that.

"D-Dad don't!" The words escaped her mouth before she even realized. "Please don't! Not for me! Not for—"

Emerald didn't even get to finish before an unwelcome sensation erupted on the left side of her face, and she found her entire head jerking abruptly to the right.

For a moment, she didn't understand what had happened.

Not until the jarring feeling was replaced with something more recognizable. Pain. Her left cheek felt like it was lit on fire, and she tried and failed to endure it amidst the stinging in her eyes.

Emerald blinked tears away in a daze as she tried to come to terms with what happened.

Travis had struck her across the face.

She at first didn't even hear her father's panicked shouts as she processed that fact, nor her own garbled cries.

"—rald!"

Emerald had never been hit in her entire life, not seriously.

She had been spanked by her mother when she misbehaved as a little girl. She had even had her hair pulled when she got into a small fight one time, but even that was when she had been in Elementary School.

She had never broken a bone, sprained an ankle, or even so much as gotten a cut bigger than the time she had nicked her finger when helping with dinner occasionally.

It hurts. Ah—damn it, it hurts really bad.

Emerald's cheek had been hit, but that did not stop the stinging that seemed to light up her entire face.

She hissed at the pain, and she wanted to cup it some sort of half measure of self-preservation, but she couldn't even do that much.

So, she just writhed in her restraints and tried her best to bear it. But that was so unbelievably hard.

"Emerald! W-What did you do to her you son of a bitch!?"

"Apologies Mr. Summers. I just found myself feeling a bout of anger because Miss Emerald here was speaking out of turn, so I hit her. Ah, but I'm sure you understand. I'm sure you've knocked her around a few times as well. It's the only way kids learn anything these days."

He sounded so relaxed, and his voice was filled to the brim with that contrived politeness of his that Emerald was convinced he actually believed what he was saying, as if there was no way he was wrong.

"Don't compare me to you, you bastard! I've never raised by hand against her...!"

"You haven't?" Travis looked genuinely confused. But it only lasted for a beat before his expression turned into an amused one. "But it's not the worst thing in the world, is it? Roughing up her face a bit will at least scare the boys away, yeah? Heh. Well, most of them."

He took a moment to glance at where 'K' was leaning against the car, but before Emerald could think too deeply on it, Travis had already moved the conversation along. "But! Back to business. Do you feel like cooperating Mr. Summers, or do I need to keep adding bruises until you do?"

"S-Stop! I'll give you want you want, just... don't hurt my daughter anymore—or else the deals off!"

"Funny, as the only person with leverage in this situation, I'm pretty sure that's my line, but no matter. I'm glad to hear you're seeing it my way, Mr. Summers. I will send you the means of transfer. Hm... I'd pick up the pace a little though."

Travis sneered.

"Your daughter certainly isn't getting any safer. I have quite the rowdy bunch with me. Real Grade-A human garbage. A lot worse than me."

Emerald heard curses over the phone, and it was only after a few minutes of waiting that Travis received a chime from somewhere else. His coat. When he fished out his own phone, the abundantly pleased expression on his face did not go unnoticed.

"Ah~, that is a lot of zeroes. Always nice to see. It was a pleasure doing business with you sir."

"Now tell me where she is immediately!"

"Of course, of course~," Travis drawled.

In that moment, Emerald actually thought this nightmare would end.

She would be able to go home and see her family.

She thought she would be able to see her friends and hug them in relief.

She would even willingly talk to Alex and welcome whatever teasing he had waiting for her. Or... maybe he wouldn't. He had been hurt because of her after all.

Either way, Emerald wanted to find out for herself.

And in doing that, she would be able to forget that this horrid experience ever took place.

But things would not be so easy.

"—...Although, I never specified exactly when I would give her back, right?"

"Wha—?!"

Emerald went completely still, and for a moment, even forgot about the cruel sting on the left side of her face.

"Could be a few hours, could be a few days. But rest assured Mr. Summers," Travis' face turned bright; every bit of his disturbing cheer present in his expression. "We'll return her to you without fail... "

But the man paused, right before adding one last thing as an afterthought.

Emerald barely heard it amidst the abrupt ringing of her head, which had started the very moment her hopes for an escape from this situation fizzled out into nothingness.

"...What's left of her anyway."

"SON OF BITCH! I'LL KILL Y—!"

With a single tap of Travis's finger, her father's voice vanished, and the noise in her head intensified.

"Well, that's enough of that," he said calmly.

Emerald looked at him in a daze, with equal parts fear and uncertainty.

What would happen to her now?

What more could they want from her beyond her use as a hostage for ransom? This question burned her insides, and she didn't want to pay attention to the part of her that already felt like she knew the answer.

Travis slipped her phone right back into his jacket where it came from, and it was only because she was intently focusing on him that she took notice of something.

The second Emerald saw it, an item that she hadn't seen the first time, her heart began to thud anxiously. Along the folds of his clothing was the black stocky handle of a gun.

Is he going to kill me after all...?!

Fortunately, however, Travis' jacket closed, and the gun disappeared without him even giving it an ounce of his attention. He saw her expression and mistook the fear in her eyes, giving her a devious look.

It caused her to shiver unconsciously.

"Oh, sorry I didn't mention it, but you see, I had made a deal prior to negotiations." Travis tilted his head with a smile.

"W-What?" Emerald just barely got out.

"In exchange for giving up his share as well as providing when and where you would be the most vulnerable, I promised he could do whatever he wants to you. Man, you must have done something to him to get him so wound up. I almost feel bad, almost."

"W-What are you talking about?"

Emerald didn't understand what he was saying.

He kept mentioning 'he', but that didn't make any sense to her.

However, while she had no clue, she felt a rising feeling of dread once again lay claim to her. Her body felt ice cold, and she was so very close to going completely catatonic with all that had happened thus far.

Travis didn't answer her question though, instead, choosing to turn to one person in particular.

Emerald followed his gaze, landing on the one who had remained mainly silent the entire time she had found herself in this situation.

He had spoken when she had woken up to give out her name, despite her having no idea why he was the only one to know it and no one else.

He had also spoken when she was getting kidnapped, to Alex who he straddled on the ground and beat.

He spoke in a way that suggested familiarity and recognition—Emerald realized this now.

This person, the one she had readily called 'K' for no other reason other than the fact that she thought that was the first letter of his name—who was he?

"W...Who are you?"

Thus, Emerald didn't even attempt to keep her question to herself.

From his position leaning against the van that they had all arrived in, he pushed himself off and walked towards her.

"Really?" he started, putting a hand on top of his head. "I would think that you would have at least recognized the hair by now." He ruffled it dramatically, and she squinted at the mop of brown that was swept to the side in an attempt at styling it.

Before Emerald even realized it, her heart began to quicken.

This only began to become more pronounced as the boy moved his hand from his head and took off the bandanna covering his face and muffling his voice.

There was nothing obviously notable from seeing the lower half of his face, but even so, she found herself freezing shock still.

His face was beginning to stir something in the back of her mind. Then, before she even had a chance to calm down, he removed the black shades covering his eyes.

"It's been a while, Emmy—is what the line usually is. But really, you're the one who's been completely blocking out my existence this whole time, right? Even though we both go to the same school."

No...

Emerald didn't believe it.

She didn't want to believe it.

There, staring at her with eyes dancing in pure delight, was the face of a teenage boy.

It was the face of someone she knew rather well, emphasis on the past tense. Yes. The face. The hair. The voice. The nickname he affectionately called her.

There was no mistaking it.

'K', it was short for...

"K-Ken?"

Her ex-boyfriend.

For the umpteenth time in the span of a few hours, it felt like Emerald's world came crashing down.

…

…

…

"Ah—ahhh..."

Joan yawned as he pushed her chair back, simultaneously stretching her arms high above her head.

Her workday wasn't even close to being over, but she was already tired.

But that was because of what she had been doing for the past hour and a half—paperwork. More so than the human element of the city, paperwork was the true enemy she had to fight daily.

Just thinking about her accursed foe gave her a brief lapse of deja vu, like it hadn't been too long since she internalized the exact same thing. It wouldn't be surprising if that was the case however; Joan was sure most of the off hours of her job consisted of her complaining about doing desk work.

It hadn't been long after her separation from Kara at the school that she headed back to the precinct to jump straight into the thick of it, and by that she meant the painfully tall stack of folders that needed to be put through the system.

Joan had long since stopped questioning why they couldn't just switch to full on digital.

Apparently, the veteran officers didn't appreciate when a newbie policewoman wanted to cut corners on something they had spent decades doing with or without complaint.

Joan would still complain in her head though.

And as if venting this fact, she slammed her elbows on her desk a little too hard, causing the Eiffel tower of incident reports to come crashing down all over the place.

The sudden accident must have been more audible than she thought, because she soon found all eyes on her—amused expressions and all.

Joan flushed slightly in embarrassment but tried to retain any semblance of composure and began the process of cleaning up her mess. She started this by grabbing the single folder that had landed in her lap.

However, she couldn't help but freeze upon seeing it.

The folders, just like all the others, had the same three things imprinted on the covers. First, the large, bolded letters which read: Police Report. Second, a small sticker near the bottom that either said the report was ongoing or concluded.

And third, a series of numbers and letters, not dissimilar to a license plate, stamped in bright red ink in the center—in other words, the file designation.

Designations were given to persons of interest in cases, ranging from roles being that of a bystander, victim, perpetrator, etc.

This one in particular read:

| POLICE REPORT |

YP_102

Case Ongoing.

Joan of course recognized the designation immediately, however not because she had memorized the millions of associated cases that she has seen on a daily basis—that would be impossible.

No, she was familiar with this one because it especially stuck out to her.

Absentmindedly, Joan opened up the folder.

It was considerably lighter than most of the others, and this was because the information inside was scant.

All that was present was a rudimentary analysis of the person in question, as well as a single photograph to identify them—not that the latter helped all that much.

Besides the blond hair, person's mask hid their face completely, and the longer Joan stared at it, the more she felt like she was being the one bored into by those soulless black orbs that made up his eyes.

Her eyes trailed upward to the name, or rather alias, on file behind the photo.

| Mask |

It hadn't been that long since she was in her superior's office discussing this very person, and even though a plan of action had been decided upon when it came to his case, she still couldn't help but wonder about the odd person.

Someone who had ACTUALLY shown up at a crime and had ACTUALLY put their life on the line to resolve it—with no casualties she might had.

Now, Joan was in no way supporting his actions as it was a clear violation of the law.

But once again, a familiar question tugged at the back of her mind. Just what type of person is behind that mask...?

"Joan!"

The woman literally jumped in her seat as her name was suddenly called, causing the folder and all its contents to fly off her lap. She was reminded with a sigh that the floor around her was still practically littered with documents.

But she could worry about that later.

Joan craned her head in the direction of the voice, responding tentatively. "Y-Yes?"

The person who had called out to her was stationed a few feet away, along a row of desks different than Joan's own.

They were cubicles, and in one of these spaces was a woman with dark brown hair, looking over her shoulder at Joan with an intent expression.

She had a headset on, and it took Joan no time at all for her to realize the woman was one of the many 911 dispatchers they always had on call. 

I believe her name was Janet, right?

"Joan, I'm getting two calls right now. I'm sending one to your line, okay?"

It wasn't so much a question as it was a preemptive warning. It was obvious what Joan's answer should be in a situation like this. This too was a part of her job, despite it not being something she was used to doing.

"Sure thing."

Her paperwork forgotten; she was already reaching for the phone on her desk. Joan put the receiver to her ear, and while she heard nothing for a while, there was then an audible click.

Now, on the other line was most likely someone in need of help, so Joan could only assume what type of tone they would take with her and how she could do her utmost to match it.

All kinds of people dealt with fear in different ways, and there was usually an abundance of that when it came to calling in emergencies.

So, Joan expected the voice to be frantic, hushed, and maybe even haughty or arrogant. That last one didn't surprise her as much anymore, given how many people preferred to hide behind their pride when asking for help.

Nonetheless, it was her job to deal with it in whatever way she could.

Joan took a small breath, then spoke.

"911, what's your emerg—"

"HOLY SHIIIIIT!"

—Her easily remembered and practiced sentence died in her throat as the loud voice deafened anything she was planning to say.

"YOU guys need to get over here right FUCKING YESTERDAY! These homies came rolling up in a van outside Townsend Heights and pulled out an unconscious girl! Now, either this is 'bring your knocked-the-fuck-out bitch to work day', or some serious shit is going down...! Admittedly, I'm high as a motherfucking kite right now, but Jared's weed ain't THAT good man! It's not!"

"..."

Joan blinked.

There were so many things wrong with what she had just heard that she didn't even know where to begin.

She did know, however, that a very nostalgic headache was forming, but she tried her very best to retain any semblance of professionalism and power through it.

Now, what the man had just said was certainly grounds for emergency, and truthfully, she should ask him to clarify more details of the situation, however, proper etiquette be damned, Joan said the first thing to pop in her mind instead, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Sorry sir, did you say you were high?"

"Damnnnn...! These guys look suspicious as heeeell...! Wearing red bandannas and all that shit! Is it Cult-Tuesday and no one told me? Hey, I know my bible, and these fuckers look like they read the good book of Satan before bed."

But she was completely ignored.

Was that for the best?

The good cop in her said yes.

The snarky girl that had to deal with people's shit for a living said no.

She needed to get things back on track.

"Sir, I need to ask you to calm down. Can you tell me again where you are—"

Joan suddenly froze.

"Wait, did you say they were wearing red bandannas...?!" She initially delivered her statement as calmly as she could, but that all changed as her tone rose several octaves—her initial stupefaction quickly turning to unrestrained apprehension.

"Hm? Yeah, red bandannas and black shades, in the parking garage underneath Townsend Heights. Why?"

Joan stilled, and her brain whirled a mile a minute.

If that was true and the men involved in this really were outfitted with that ensemble, then things just got more serious.

Given what she knew about those that shared that symbol—no, given what every police officer paying attention to their job knew—the group in question was not to be messed with.

The Red Devils were not your average petty criminals.

If they were involved, this situation was already above something she could look into herself.

Joan chewed her lip worriedly. Especially if it's a kidnapping...

A textbook case of kidnapping was one thing.

There was usually only one or two accomplices, and this often had to do with the kidnappers having personal ties with the victim.

But while these small members made it harder to track them, it also made the cases easier to deal with on account of how quickly the police could mobilize their forces to search for them.

Gang kidnappings, however, were an entirely different story.

Not only does the group mentality make the individuals more cunning when it comes to picking a place to perform their illegal conduct without detection, but gangs most often always have the numbers as well.

This makes retaliation through forceful means oftentimes unrealistic.

Simply throwing bodies at the problem until there was no more problem was not the smartest of solutions, and that's not even considering what could happen to the hostage upon their interference.

And then there's the location as well...

Joan couldn't forget about where the crime was taking place, Townsend Heights—a parking garage.

A building with such scant few exits and entrances would make storming it all but impossible. The kidnappers would certainly notice their arrival before they reached the hostage.

"Oh no...!"

Joan was so caught up in her thoughts, she almost missed the man's tense voice. Trepidation filled her heart as she unconsciously squeezed the receiver tighter. She was thus unable to keep the apprehension from flooding her voice. "W-What? What's wrong...!?"

"The man who looks like he's in charge, he...! He has a fucking ponytail broooo! Come on! That's just not right!"

Any and all feelings of dread rising within her died immediately as Joan literally wilted in her seat and sighed.

For some reason, and she couldn't recall why for the life of her, but a very strong case of déjà vu assaulted her.

"Sir, thank you for bringing this to our attention. We will get on it immediately. Please maintain a safe distance for now." Joan's voice was almost robotic.

"Lady, I'm already way ahead of you. I ain't fighting no crime syndicate unarmed. Heh, wait 'till I get my glock though! That'll be a different story!"

"Sir, if you do that, you'll be arrested along with the kidnappers," she supplied yet again with a voice lacking emotion—until her suddenly brow quirked up. Hm? Lady? Where have I...? The stray thought went unanswered as the man was swift to reply.

"Right, right. My bad. I of course meant all that hypothetically. I should head home."

"Of course, sir. Thank you again." With that last incredibly odd exchange, Joan put the phone back on the machine, ending the call.

She sat there in silence, contemplating all the information she had just received from the strange bystander.

It was by no means a small tip.

This was far larger than what she could realistically accomplish on her own.

If what the man said was to be believed, then a girl had been kidnapped and a select few people were aware of it. And Joan was among those people.

With a fire lighting her chest, she headed straight towards a familiar office.

She would bring this to the attention of the commissioner. Every second counted, and if she had energy to spare, she would work tirelessly to ensure that girl got home safe.

It was her job.

…

…

…

Have I heard that voice before?

Alex had such a thought, before shrugging it off. It really didn't matter. But... He tilted his head, and his blond locks fell in front of his eyes a bit. He stared past them at the hung-up phone with a slight amount of contemplation.

"I might have laid it on a little thick..."

Of course, he planned on sending in an anonymous call to the police from the very beginning, but it might not have been necessary for him to go full on 'I'm-High-off-my-Ass, Send Help' when calling in a kidnapping. But hey, everything's hindsight in twenty-twenty—Or wait, is it the other way around? 

Either way, Alex was improvising on the spot.

Sue him.

The same could be said about telling them about the Ponytail guy. He actually hadn't seen anything, much less their boss, however, he already knew the name and face of the person in question—Travis.

He had the wayward phone he had acquired to thank for that.

Well, the phone had just given him the name.

As for how Alex knew his face...?

A story for another time.

He dropped his phone into a backpack at his feet and nudged it with his foot closer to a green dumpster. He was in the small confines of an alley that overlooked a tall building across the street.

There were no cars, nor were there pedestrians for that matter.

The area was clear of unrelated people.

However, as Alex poked his out from the wall he was leaning against to get a better look at the perimeter of Townsend Heights, there were some related people in the vicinity.

"Three, huh? Quite a pitiful welcome committee..." he muttered to himself, eyeing the trio that stood guard in front of the parking garage entrance.

Alex looked down at the watch around his wrist.

The police will arrive in bulk in ten to fifteen minutes, give or take.

He had no idea how many people were in that building, but he was certain that it would be a lot more than what he was seeing now.

Should he expect thirty at most?

If there are that many, things would get tricky, especially if they were all clustered together.

There were ways to deal with that many, however.

He would just have to make use of the police more than he was comfortable with.

Hypotheticals would only take him so far, though.

It was time he got started. He lowered his watch-clad sleeve.

His clothes were actually entirely different from what he had been wearing earlier.

Instead, he was in a worn but familiar black dress coat, matching pants, and even a golden tie and belt. Then of course was his messy blond hair. He was certain he looked like a weirdo.

Though, with what he planned to do, it was necessary for him to look as abnormal as possible.

After all, it was a basic principle of humanity that when faced with something that lacked understanding, right before rejection, comes uncertainty. The first reaction would be faltering in the presence of the unknown. He would be banking on that.

But there was still one thing missing.

Alex reached into the backpack and pulled out the final touch.

It was circlish, no—ovalish in nature, completely white save for the scant hues of red, blue, and black. But these colors were just complements. The true attention would be on one thing and one thing only—the wide chilling red smile that did not cease as it stretched over the white canvas.

Alex affixed it to his face without delay, and not a word was spoken afterward.

"..."

Yes, not from him.

He pounced, and the first three victims' screams went unheard in the street empty street.

…

…

…

Around half of crimes were committed by those close to the victim.

Emerald never really had a very deep impression of that statistic.

Intellectually, she understood that, compared to a stranger, only someone close to you would feel stronger emotions than they would have otherwise—like pride and compassion.

But the opposite was also true.

Greed, lust, envy—these darker emotions are often bred from familiarity.

Personal connections make these more pronounced, more susceptible for them to spiral out of control.

Once again, this statistic meant nothing to Emerald.

It was simply something she would idly think about and frown within the safety of her own normal life.

But now, such a thing was no longer possible. Now, she was the victim.

"K-Ken?" she asked again, staring at the boy who she used to be romantically involved with.

"Hm? What's the matter, Emmy? You look like there's something wrong. How can I help?"

He replied in a voice that was just like how he used to talk to her. It was the same tone of sweet affection that was always there in the throes of their relationship.

She wanted to believe that there had to be some kind of mistake, and that Ken wasn't the one, couldn't be the one, who ACTUALLY aided and abetted her kidnapping. More so, that he had done what he did to Alex.

But even that was starting to make more sense now.

Not that Alex would know it because... well... he was him, but Ken absolutely loathed the boy.

His snarky personality did not mesh well with Ken's at all, and that wasn't even taking into account the fact that Alex would always be there to tease her in some way, the same way he did to everyone.

But Ken didn't see it that way.

He thought Alex was giving her his own kind of preferential treatment.

Even beyond the occasional guy that would talk her up despite knowing she was taken, it was Alex's actions that bothered Ken the most, thinking that the blond was actually trying to win her over through his antagonistic charm—which Emerald honestly would have found laughable if not for what it ended up doing Ken's mental state.

It had started off small.

He tried to take up more of her time, which Emerald found sweet at first because she thought they were getting closer.

But then he started accusing her of being unfaithful whenever she started declining him in favor of her other friends or even family—Alex not even a factor anymore.

Every action of hers began to be seen as an act of betrayal. Through this, he became controlling, spiteful.

So... Emerald ended it.

Predictably, he had not taken it well.

They argued over it in heated fights, but thankfully none of them were physical, save for a time where he had grabbed her wrist hard enough to cause a bruise.

Soon after, he calmed down enough to, although begrudgingly, come to terms with their breakup.

They were still friends, but in the loosest sense of the word. Even so, she thought things were getting better. Emerald thought that for the both of them, this was the best-case scenario.

And now, she saw just how wrong she was for thinking that.

Because as much as she told herself that Ken wouldn't do something like this, there was a part of her just as vocal telling her just the opposite.

"There it is. There's that same look in your eyes whenever you're about to betray me." Ken frowned.

Emerald maybe would have felt surprised if she was any less scared and hysterical.

"W-What are you talking about? You had me kidnapped you psycho!" The words came out before she could stop them, and she gave rise to the anger that had been steadily building up. "A-And not only that, you got my father involved too! And... And Alex, you—"

"Don't say his fucking name...!" Ken took a threatening step toward her.

Travis whistled in response, but it went ignored.

Emerald's mouth reflexively clammed shut, and upon seeing this, Ken's lips curved upward. She instantly felt disgusted with herself that she just gave him that foothold.

Yes.

This was the kind of person Ken really was.

If he wasn't able to control her in any remote way, he wouldn't be happy.

And after being apart from him for so long, she learned to forget this hellish feeling of anxiety that was born from his presence.

But here it was again, proving he still had his mark on her.

But, as if a switch had suddenly flipped, Emerald opened her mouth again.

"He would have won, you know."

Ken froze, and she saw his face as it articulated his confusion. But his eyes abruptly narrowed, and his expression twisted into a grimace that made it clear he knew what he was talking about. "What...?" The sudden fluctuation of his voice so obviously spiked.

What... What am I saying? I need to stop talking, don't say another—

"H-He broke that guy's nose, right? I-Is he in this group by the way? I'm sure he could attest to how much it hurt. I-It sure sounded like it did."

But Emerald kept going.

Her heart raced in fear, and every inch of her brain screamed at her to stop talking.

Out of the corner of her eye, she even saw one of the assorted bandanna-clad thugs bristle in obvious reaction to her words.

He even started to walk towards her, but a single hand raised from an unlikely source stopped him.

Travis didn't even look at the member of his outfit, only at her, amusement etched on his features.

Emerald didn't know why he was suddenly lending her aid considering how unconcerned he was about hurting her before, but she let it fuel the confidence brimming within her, a confidence that she certainly shouldn't be feeling at the moment.

She really should have stopped before she dug herself even further into the hole she was making, but she didn't.

She knew she was seconds away from a world of pain she couldn't even fathom—the slap childish in comparison.

Even so, Emerald brought her gaze right back to Ken who was undergoing a terrifying mix of emotions, spelling her demise in ways crueler than the last.

But it was in seeing these emotions she so easily caused that proved an assumption she had.

Ken was scary—she acknowledged that.

What he could do to her in her helpless state was undoubtedly terrifying.

However, she knew him.

That couldn't be said of Travis, nor any of the other men who assisted in her capture.

Emerald only knew Ken, and that gave her surprising clarity to her situation.

He was only acting on emotion.

He did all of this because he wanted to get back at her in some way.

He wanted to control her like he used to.

And if it was anyone else, if a stranger like Travis wanted to do the same thing, she would have likely frozen up in fear, and submissively accepted any and all abuse thrown her way.

But for Ken, it was different.

For him, Emerald found she didn't want to.

A shaky breath escaped her, and she just barely surprised a mirthless laugh. So, it's like that... Yes; Even if it ended up backfiring on her, she didn't want to give Ken a single inch of satisfaction.

"I-I wonder how soundly Alex would have knocked you on you're a-ass if you didn't attack him from behind with a weapon? N-Not to mention your friend holding him down. Did you get scared? I-Is that why you used the taser?" Emerald wet her tongue and swallowed. "D-Did you not think you could win in a fair fight?"

That was the clincher.

Followed by a roar of unrestrained rage, faster than she could blink, Ken surged forward and grabbed her by her hair.

The sudden attack took Emerald by surprise so much that a startled gasp escaped her mouth, and she writhed in discomfort, her eyes closing tight.

She felt his fingers dig into her scalp, gripping her hair in a tight grip—so tight that the discomfort quickly turned to pain. All she could do was wince and groan at the jarring sensation.

Emerald cracked her eyes open a smidge to see Ken's face looking down on her with unimaginable fury.

He looked absolutely livid, especially with the way his mouth stretched into an animalistic snarl she had never seen on anyone before.

Fear having long overwhelmed her, Emerald just idly wondered what he was going to do to her.

In his state of rage, what would the most satisfying form of pain he could inflict on her in this very moment?

He was no doubt how thinking of the same thing.

After all, that's what people did when they were angry, right?

They wanted others to emphasize with that anger by having others suffer. That's what it came down to—how would he make her suffer?

Emerald got that answer almost immediately.

Ken cocked his fist back, making use of the other hand that wasn't holding her hair in a vice.

He was going to hit her.

She didn't know if she should be relieved that he hadn't chosen to use the taser, but that wouldn't stop him from using it at any time afterwards. That's right, Emerald realized with no shortage despair.

There would be an after.

This wasn't some one-and-done thing where it ended after a single time.

He would hit her, and nothing would stop him from hitting her again. And again, and again, and again. And then maybe he'll get bored of that and do something else to her, some extraordinary horror she couldn't even imagine.

How much pain would she endure until this was all said and done?

Did she make the right decision?

Was angering the boy who already had reason to be angry really the best call?

Her available options were already completely and utterly abysmal, but Emerald had a feeling she just made things even worse for herself.

She simply braced.

It was all she could do to prepare for a blow she could not avoid nor look away from. Her shoulders seized up. Her heart hammered in her chest. Her throat was already as dry as a desert. And... and... she felt a hollow feeling in her chest.

No, beyond anything else, that feeling was the most physically jarring. It was not foreign though.

In truth, Emerald had felt it from the very moment she woke up in this place, slowly creeping up on her.

It was there; she just never had time to focus on it. One thing after another, through either pain or fear, distracted her from it.

But now? Emerald realized what it was.

Her eyes stung, that stimulus that so readily accompanied a fresh set of tears.

I... hate this...

She hated all of it.

The resignation she had no choice but to accept, the tainted black heart of hers that was so tired, so very tired, the lack of control she had from the beginning and now, near the end.

Emerald... just wanted one thing.

If she could ask for anything at all, it would be an easy way out.

If she could just disappear, one way or another.

Even if she didn't return to where she wanted, that would be fine too. At least then, everything would be over.

And. 

In no time at all.

Everything went black.

Her time was up.

Emerald hadn't even seen the fist move.

.

..

…

Except there was no pain that came with it.

...Huh?

It was Emerald's assumption that she had blacked out from Ken's singular strike, so why was it that she didn't feel anything?

Her nerves weren't even screaming at her in the same way that they had when Travis struck her.

Another factor that proved she hadn't passed out was that she could feel herself blinking. But she couldn't see. Her vision had been plagued with total darkness.

Why... why can't I see...? 

Frightened at this sudden change, Emerald even began to think she was having some kind of mental breakdown due to her stress levels—only complemented by the slight amounts of head trauma she had endured.

However, this worry was soon proven meaningless.

"W-What the hell?!"

Ken's voice was the first one she heard save for her own frantic breathing. This was soon followed by many other cries of alarm, that which Emerald could tell was the rest of her kidnappers.

They too had lost their sight and were making a fuss over it.

And since there was no way something like mass blindness was possible, she jumped at the most likely conclusion.

Emerald looked up, where she thought the ceiling was.

The lights... did they all shut off? 

It was the only thing she could think of.

The odds of that happening right as she was about to get attacked were so low that it was disheartening, because despite the chance she had been afforded, she couldn't even make proper use of the collective panic to slip away.

Emerald consoled herself that it would have been a fool-hardy endeavor anyway, even if she wasn't tied up.

Even providing that she could run, she wouldn't know where an exit was.

She might have even tripped on her own feet right off the bat because she had been sitting for so long.

The fact that she could rationally point out her own increasing shortcomings did nothing but increase her growing pessimism.

"EVERYONE SHUT UP!"

Travis' voice suddenly tore through the anxious atmosphere, shocking her to the point that her shoulders jumped slightly.

Not once had the man raised it before now.

Perhaps even his subordinates thought the same because they all quieted down in an instant, allowing him to speak.

"Now, I don't have a clue what just happened, but if you wait a moment instead of squabbling about like children, the lights should—!"

In the midst of his speech, the lights flickered back on, illuminating the parking garage once again. Emerald was at first blinded by the sudden change but after blinking a few times, her strain disappeared.

She immediately homed in on Ken first, who was the closest to her. But even more than that, a feeling of self-preservation guided her as well. She wanted to gauge his mood.

Fortunately for her, the sadistic expression on his face had waned quite a bit, replaced with confusion as he looked around.

However, Emerald wasn't sure how long that might last.

For the time being, however, she matched him and looked at her surroundings.

She immediately became aware of the men still flanking her on both her left and right sides, and she was sure that remained true for behind her as well.

But as her gaze fell to those in front of her, where she expected to find Travis, her heart felt like it completely stopped.

"...?!"

Emerald didn't even have time to express her surprise as the ponytail wearing man came barreling towards her with similar look of shock on his face.

She tried to veer out of the man's way despite knowing how little good that would do.

But?

As Travis got closer, she realized something, and it was affirmed by Travis completely missing her and colliding with someone else.

"Gghf?!"

Ken couldn't do anything at all as he was all but tackled by the slightly older man, and he fell to the ground in a heap with Travis right on top of him.

Emerald's first thought was rather crazy.

That this was a sudden act of betrayal on Travis' part.

But not only did that not make any sense at all from a logical standpoint, it was even disproven by the very next words that left Travis' mouth.

"WHICH ONE OF YOU JUST FUCKING KICKED ME?!" He disentangled himself from Ken's collapsed form, all but roaring in rage as he did so. His head snapped backwards, seemingly eager to catch the culprit.

Not with so much bloodlust, but Emerald also tore her widened eyes from the livid man, looking front once again.

As Travis said, it made a lot more sense for someone to have kicked him from the only direction that would have sent him tumbling into Ken.

And that someone would have had to be one of the people who stood behind Travis in the impromptu circle they had formed. And for the second time in the span of a few seconds, ideas of betrayal came to her.

But, once again, she was wrong.

"..."

Emerald stared, and she stared some more.

Looking past the forms of the grounded Ken and Travis, for a second, she didn't understand what she was seeing.

She even blinked a few times, thinking maybe that she was hallucinating.

However—no.

The sight before her did not change.

There, standing where Travis had stood previously, was a peculiarity. And behind this peculiarity, was the limp bodies of two men. They were two others of Travis' outfit. Both had black shades and red bandannas.

Whether they were dead or not didn't even cross her mind, instead, what Emerald was trying to grapple with was the fact that she did not hear any sounds of a struggle that could have led to the two's odd state.

And that led to the main thing, the peculiarity—no, the sharply dressed blond with the smiling white mask, twirling something in his hands.

Who... Emerald's began to ask, surprise palpable.

However, Travis asked a different question.

"How did you get my—?!" His face reeled in shock as he reached into his jacket pocket frantically, looking for something that he no longer had.

And this brought Emerald's attention briefly past the man's absurd appearance, and instead on what he was holding—no, deftly spinning along one of the fingers of his black gloves. She instantly realized what it was, and upon doing so, gasped.

It was Travis' gun, the one what should have been safely tucked away in his jacket pocket.

How had this man taken it? No, how had he taken out two of Travis's number as well? But Emerald widened her eyes in realization a second later. 

No way... the... the lights...?

The masked person abruptly stopped spinning the firearm and brought it in front of his abyssal black eyes. He looked to be staring at it appraisingly. And Emerald was one amongst many who stared at him with bated breath.

She wondered what he planned to do with it.

Thoughts of a shootout were quick to fill her mind, and so too did the undeniable terror that came with it.

If gunshots started in place like this, with her right in the thick of it, without a single way of moving, her chances of being unscathed were abysmally low in her mind.

A nervous sweat began to trickle down her face and Emerald licked her lips to stave off the dryness she felt, as well as her complete lack of saliva.

It was human nature to take a situation and imagine the worst-case scenario—only to then keep imagining such scenarios until you were white in the face, too scared to move, or both.

That's what Emerald was currently doing.

She was imagining the worst thing that could happen to her in the coming seconds.

She was thinking of all the ways this could go wrong.

So her stomach dropped as that person cocked the gun—

CLATTER.

...Forward?

"...?"

Instead of backward, he cocked it towards the firing hole, and the top part—she didn't not know what it was called—came clean off and was sent clattering loudly against the asphalt below.

Emerald could only stare dumbly at the broken part.

Now, her knowledge of guns wasn't masterful or anything, but she was fairly certain that top part? It wasn't supposed to come off like that. Had he made a mistake? Wasn't it supposed to be cocked backward?

Belatedly, Emerald realized that no one attacked the blond yet, despite having clearly lost his advantage in the situation he somehow thought was a good idea to involve himself in.

After all, no sane person—ignoring the fact he was wearing a mask for a second—would steal a gun from a group of criminals and then expect to get out unscathed WITHOUT using it.

It was just plain suicidal.

Almost as suicidal as a kidnapped girl trying to rile up the one who likely wanted to do the most unspeakable things to her.

And Emerald was certain only she was that stupid.

These thoughts were shooting off in her head as she stared forward.

But even then, the artificially faced man wasn't done.

Before anyone could deign it possible to snap out of their flabbergasted states and make a move, he performed his next action, dropping the gun to the ground with a dramatic showing, but not before ejecting the hidden magazine into his glove palm.

Then, with one hand, he thumbed a small golden piece of metal at the top of the magazine, pushing it out of its cartridge.

Ching.

The bullet fell to the ground, as did the next one that rose up.

And the next.

And the next.

And the next.

In full view of everyone present, one by one, all the bullets hit the ground in the same way the other parts had, and with that mask remaining silent the whole time.

He did not talk, and because of the mask, it was also impossible to see his face.

Thus, it took Emerald way too long for a certain epiphany to blossom in her mind.

Unbidden, she swallowed nervously.

But as it dawned on her, so too did it dawn on her captors.

Little by little, starting from the twitching eye of Travis, and then the not-so-subtle bristling from Ken, and even a few furious and grimacing expressions among the rank and file, each and every one came to the conclusion, a conclusion so ludicrous that Emerald was starting to rethink her assumption that she was the dumbest one in the room.

"Y-You... yo--u...!" Travis started to say, but not before the owner of that creeping red smile left one last gift in his wake.

A gloved fist rose, and initially it looked like he was showing off the watch that was there, but that turned out not to be the case.

His other hand rose as well, and he started to perform a truly odd action.

The other hand mimed a sort of crank, as if pulling an imaginary lever in a jack in the box. And little by little, the thing he was 'constructing' rose for all to see.

Everyone—Emerald included—simultaneously twitched in disbelief.

But the blond just stood there wordlessly as he continued flipping everyone the bird, accompanying it with a single tilt to his masked face.

And with such a provocation, it could only be met with one reaction, one that seemed to occur as if a volcano had erupted.

"K-K-K—"

Travis couldn't even speak he was so angry, his facial expressions twitching in clear rage.

"KILL HIM! KILL HIM NOW! I WANT THIS FUCKER UNMASKED AND HIS CORPSE RIPPED TO MOTHER-FUCKING SHREDS! NOOOOOWWW!