Might as Well Perish Together
I seemed to have lost a stretch of memory.
I couldn't remember how my in-laws cried when they arrived at the scene.
I couldn't remember how the police tried to calm me.
I couldn't remember how I got home.
Where was my baby?
In the hospital morgue? Or could I bring him home?
But that didn't seem like my baby either. I felt like I was in a dream, like maybe I'd wake up in five minutes and go pick up my child.
Or open my eyes and find him smiling beside me.
Or feel like everything could start over.
Like a video game — as if fate had a restart button. I knew perfectly well that was impossible, but every second, my mind kept rewinding, kept telling me to make different choices.
"I really am... such an unlucky person."
I sat on the floor, clutching my head, while Major lay beside me, gently nuzzling against me.
So unreal... I couldn't feel the deepest part of the pain.
So unreal — everything seemed to keep going as normal, except I started wanting to end it all, to be done with everything.
I was afraid of that real feeling crashing over me.
Like after my husband left — my mind had gone blank for a while.
Only late at night, lying in bed, did I remember every little detail about him, suddenly realizing that person was gone from my life forever, that I could never wrap my arms around him again.
I was so afraid... afraid of that feeling coming back.
I turned toward the balcony and stood up slowly.
Just jump.
Since nothing felt real anyway, maybe jumping would wake me up.
Suddenly, my phone buzzed.
I picked it up. A Judgment Tower notification.
"Protection mission invalidated: The suspect will be arrested by detective Adrian Cross at the industrial drainage outlet of the middle-lower Millbrook River in two hours. Sentenced to life imprisonment. Please await the next protection mission."
I stared at the screen, and in the end, I didn't jump.
Back at the coffee table, I picked up the mask.
I could have reduced the world's evil by one, but I chose to refuse.
If that's how it is...
Then I might as well become evil myself.
I didn't drive. Instead, I walked downstream along the Millbrook River like a zombie.
The police were already deploying their search, and patrols were stationed at nearby intersections.
Following the Millbrook River downstream would take me out of the city.
To the left was the river; to the right, a row of old suburban factories.
I checked every drainage outlet along the way but found no sign of Landon Hale.
So I turned my attention to the factories.
The quiet industrial zone echoed occasionally with the sound of stamping presses.
Inside the zone, many factories had shut down over the past few years — business hadn't been good.
The road was streaked with rust yellow, and scrap metal and nylon sheeting piled along the edges.
I stopped because I spotted a shuttered factory.
The gate was pushed closed but not locked, and the interior looked emptied out.
But mountainous scrap piles flanked the entrance, along with several rusted tools. If this place were closer to residential areas, scavengers would have hauled off the metal long ago.
A small side path led to the river — the other factories were blocked off.
Sirens sounded in the distance, drawing closer.
I'd already predicted this.
As the police closed in, he would flee the factory and try to hide in a drainage pipe, thinking he could escape. But in the end, he still wouldn't escape Adrian Cross's eyes.
I bent down and picked up a rusted screwdriver from the ground.
The flathead tip was broken in half, turning it from a flathead into a pointed spike — abandoned here all alone.
I walked to the gate and stopped.
Inside came panicked breathing, even though he was trying to suppress it.
So close...
I reached out and gently stroked the iron door.
Between him and me, only this thin barrier.
I pushed the door open.
He snapped up a hammer.
When he saw me, he froze, and didn't bring the hammer down.
I said, "Hey buddy, who are you? What are you doing in my factory?"
He looked panicked, tucked the hammer away, mumbled that he thought the place was empty, just looking around, and he'd be right out.
He tried to squeeze past me, clearly desperate to leave.
But I was already moving.
I grabbed his jaw and shoved his entire body backward!
When someone's jaw is pushed back, they lose balance. He fell hard, flailing his arms wildly. I snatched up the screwdriver and drove it deep into his stomach!
The rusted screwdriver sank in. Landon Hale was in so much pain he couldn't scream. He clutched his belly, and the hammer slipped from his grasp.
I picked up the hammer and said softly, "Don't move, or your skull gets smashed."
He trembled violently, gasping, and actually started crying: "I... I surrender..."
"Do I look like a cop? Do you think a cop would do this to you?"
I tossed the hammer aside and yanked the screwdriver out!
A screwdriver wasn't a proper weapon — it had no blood groove, so pulling it out took effort.
Blood gushed out. He convulsed violently, thrashing on the ground.
Since he was rolling around anyway, it saved me the trouble.
I pinned his head down, and before he could react, drove the screwdriver into his cheek!
Hmm?
Something blocked it.
I knew — his teeth.
I forced it in two more times. He tried to scream, but the screwdriver shattered his teeth, punching through one cheek and out the other, pinning his mouth shut!
Landon Hale tried to howl in pain, but with his mouth pinned shut, he could barely make a sound.
I pressed my palm against the screwdriver and said softly, "Do you know how old that child would be today?"
He whimpered, his voice barely audible, his whole body trembling, telling me he was sorry, that he truly knew he was wrong.
"Why apologize? Your apology is only because you fear the punishment coming. It's an excuse to escape responsibility. If you knew it was wrong, you never would have done it in the first place."
Sirens drew closer.
"Quick! Search the area, seal off every exit of the industrial zone!"
"Every factory must be checked! Watch your safety!"
The police were right outside.
One wall away from me.
I could hear Adrian Cross commanding.
I could hear their loud, chaotic footsteps.
So close.
Landon Hale tried to cry out, but with his mouth pinned, all he could manage was a weak: "Police... save me..."
"How ironic — a kidnapper begging the police for help. You can't even endure a fraction of the suffering you inflict, yet what you do brings people a lifetime of pain. Since your world has no concept of fairness, then I'll teach you what it means. Feel my pain, slowly."
I grabbed Landon Hale by the hair and hauled him up.
He was forced to kneel facing the direction of the police outside. His abdominal wound and the agony in his mouth made it impossible for his desperate cries to carry.
The air reeked of blood.
Mixed with his remorseful whimpers.
I knew... he didn't regret his crime. He regretted being clumsy enough to get caught.
I picked up the hammer he'd dropped and aimed at him.
I said softly, "Scream. Call them to save you."
"Po—"