The Badlands
Adrian Cross's hand drew closer and closer to my mask.
I turned my head with difficulty, trying to push him away with what little strength I had left.
But I was nearly spent.
Hemlock, equally battered, suddenly snarled at Adrian Cross: "Stay away from her!"
"And if I don't?"
Adrian Cross glanced at him, but his hand kept moving.
"Back off!"
Hemlock roared again, and from somewhere found a reserve of strength. He lurched to his feet and threw himself at Adrian Cross.
But what good would it do?
With that injured body, he could accomplish nothing.
He grabbed Adrian Cross, but was easily pushed away. Before Hemlock could fall, Adrian Cross seized him by the hair and said icily: "So eager to come to me? Then I'll deal with you first."
He produced handcuffs, forced Hemlock to the ground, and wrenched his arms behind his back!
Already injured, Hemlock let out a scream of pure agony. His whole body shook with pain, yet he kept twisting around, trying to fight back, again and again.
He thrashed like a wild animal, growling, resisting.
I felt a flash of fear—Hemlock's arms were twisted at an angle that shouldn't have been possible. If this kept up, they would snap!
But he kept fighting, berserk, until Adrian Cross grabbed his hair again and smashed his head against the ground twice!
Even then, Hemlock wrenched himself free, rolled over, and threw a right hook at Adrian Cross with his uninjured hand!
"I said—stay away from her!"
Adrian Cross blocked it, but the impact still knocked him sideways. Hemlock seemed to erupt with strength he shouldn't have had. He stumbled forward, tackling Adrian Cross, driving his knee into the man's head!
I knew this was only buying time. In this state, Hemlock couldn't possibly beat Adrian Cross.
But I didn't understand.
I didn't understand why he was protecting me so desperately.
Adrian Cross deflected two blows, then shoved Hemlock aside.
Hemlock rolled over to me, pulled himself up, and grabbed my hand.
"I'll get you out of here..."
He swayed on his feet, his white shirt covered in dust. It had been torn open in the scuffle, revealing what should have been a clean body—but instead, a long scar ran diagonally from his collarbone down to his abs.
I stared at that scar, my heart skipping.
Such a devastating wound. How had he survived?
We weren't moving fast. Adrian Cross was already closing in.
But Hemlock didn't stop. He threw himself at the pedestrian exit, pushing me toward the stairs first.
Then he turned and positioned himself between me and Adrian Cross. I couldn't see his expression, but I could guess.
Beneath that mask, his face must have been twisted with fury.
Adrian Cross slowed his approach and said coldly: "Do you really think you can stop me?"
Hemlock murmured: "In games where my life is on the line, I've never lost. You haven't drawn a gun this whole time—you're not carrying one, are you? If you don't have that kind of weapon, why should I fear you?"
I looked at Hemlock's back, hesitated for two seconds, then turned and ran.
I was grateful he'd saved me.
But this wasn't the time to play hero. I had a child to raise—I couldn't throw my life away over a moment of emotion!
I burst out of the exit and saw a small truck parked by the street.
Valerian and the escort stepped out—of course!
Since I'd clicked "complete mission," they'd come to collect the bodies!
I pointed down immediately: "Hemlock is in trouble!"
Valerian and the escort quickened their pace. With this many people, as long as Adrian Cross didn't have a gun, there was no way he could stop us.
But when we ran back down, I froze.
Hemlock was fighting like a feral beast—on the offensive!
Adrian Cross was forced back step by step by this suicidal assault. Every time he landed a solid punch on Hemlock, the man absorbed the pain and kept coming.
No defense—only attack.
On the surface, Adrian Cross appeared to be losing ground, but over time, Hemlock would inevitably be worn down.
Suddenly, Valerian charged in!
Like a magic trick, he produced a stun baton and drove it toward Adrian Cross!
Adrian Cross was mid-fight and probably hadn't expected Valerian to appear. But he still threw a punch that connected with Valerian's jaw!
His fist and Valerian's stun baton arrived at the same time.
Adrian Cross went down from the shock. Valerian collapsed too, knocked out cold by the punch.
Hemlock finally stopped. He stood there panting, looking down at Adrian Cross.
I felt a surge of anxiety—maybe even regret.
I didn't want them to hurt Adrian Cross. He was a good man underneath it all.
But before I could voice this, the escort walked right past Adrian Cross and hoisted up Harlan Duke's body.
Hemlock didn't go after Adrian Cross either. He simply said to me: "Let's go. Help me with this."
I asked: "Are you going to let Adrian Cross go?"
"Sin Hunters don't harm innocent people."
He said it simply, then hauled the unconscious Valerian to his feet. I helped support him.
Once we were up top, the escort told us: "Adrian Cross could wake up at any time. Your identities may already be compromised."
I asked: "What do we do?"
He said: "Come with me first. We need to get somewhere safe. Don't sit in the front passenger seat—escorts can't let anyone see the route, not even Sin Hunters."
He opened the back of the truck. Inside, a dim bulb cast faint light over Dylan Garrett's body and the unconscious Warren Briggs.
I remembered Valerian whispering earlier, asking if I wanted to know where escorts took these criminals.
I was still hesitating when Hemlock spoke up: "Get in. The escort's route is the safest—no police can trace it."
"Fine..."
I climbed into the truck. They tossed the unconscious Valerian and Harlan Duke's body inside—it was getting cramped. Hemlock climbed in too.
The interior fell quiet. He dug out a medical kit from a corner, unbuttoned his shirt, and started applying liniment to his injuries.
I noticed his left arm was deeply bruised, turning purple.
He applied the medicine carefully, then struggled to reach his back.
I took the liniment from his hands, poured some into my palm, and pressed it against his wound.
He grunted in pain but held still.
The liniment smelled sharp, mingling with the faint scent of laundry detergent on his clothes—clean and simple, like the white shirts he always wore.
I asked: "Where did you get those injuries?"
"Someone who was less than human left them. He's dead now."
"Oh."
I sensed he didn't want to elaborate, so I let it go.
After I finished, Hemlock leaned against the wall to rest. Valerian finally came around, groggily asking: "Where am I?"
I said: "You got knocked out by Adrian Cross."
"I think I remember that..."
He sat up, rubbing his face, then whimpered: "That hurts..."
I gave him a look.
This guy was really weak.
Valerian crawled over to the medical kit, picked up the liniment, and called out to Hemlock: "Hemlock, you're injured, right? Want some medicine?"
Hemlock glanced at him and said nothing.
"Ignoring me again..." Valerian turned to me. "Do you need medicine?"
I said flatly: "Can I apply it in front of you two?"
"Good point!"
Suddenly, the truck lurched, and a strange sensation came over me.
It felt like we weren't on a road—it felt like we were on a boat.
The escort opened the back doors: "You can come out and stretch. We'll arrive tomorrow morning."
I looked out and realized we were indeed on water—the truck was on a ferry, surrounded by darkness.
Hemlock picked up the liniment and asked: "Want me to put some on you?"
I said coldly: "No, I'll do it myself. You go on down."
"You can't reach your own back."
"I said I'm fine!"
"Oh."
He didn't push it. He simply got out. Valerian followed.
I unbuttoned my shirt and found my body covered in bruises.
Adrian Cross didn't pull his punches.
I applied the medicine myself, then stepped out. I asked Valerian about the car left in the parking garage—was it a problem? He said it didn't matter; it was an operational vehicle meant to be abandoned if things went south.
I nodded, then tossed Adrian Cross's jacket into the water. It was a police jacket—I was paranoid about tracking devices. Besides, I still had my sports tank on.
The night air on the ferry was cold and crisp, but refreshing.
Hemlock was looking at the moon from the railing. He noticed me and started unbuttoning his shirt. I interrupted: "I don't want it. Thanks."
He'd gotten the shirt halfway off and now stood there awkwardly, not sure whether to finish or button back up. Finally he said: "I thought you might be cold."
"Thanks for the thought, but I only wear my husband's clothes."
He buttoned back up without another word. I took off the mask to breathe more easily, then asked Valerian: "Where are we going?"
"To a place specifically built for evil people."
"What place, exactly?"
"You'll see when we get there. It'll blow your mind!"
I nodded. Then I noticed another ferry approaching from the distance, slowly heading toward us.
The two boats came alongside each other. Hemlock crossed over to the other vessel, leaving us behind.
I asked Valerian where he was going. He shook his head: "No idea."
I watched Hemlock. Once aboard the other ferry, he didn't look back. The boat gradually moved away until it disappeared into the night.
"Such a strong man, and still he got injured..." Valerian mused. "It's a shame about your husband's case, though something feels off."
I asked: "What feels off?"
Valerian said: "You've done a mission now. You noticed that Sin Hunters can almost predict everything, right?"
I nodded—that part was impressive.
Judgment Tower's intelligence had accurately foreseen what would happen with Harlan Duke and his daughter. It was like prophecy that couldn't fail.
Valerian continued: "So why would Judgment Tower send Hemlock into a burning building to save your husband?"
"What?"
"Think about it. We can predict nearly everything. If we wanted Hemlock to save your husband, there were three options. One, prevent the fire from starting—that's the safest. Two, stop Derek Kane from tricking your husband—also very safe. Three, charge into the inferno to save your husband—that's the most dangerous... Why did Hemlock choose the most dangerous method, even getting injured as a result?"
I listened, and found it hard to accept.
His logic was sound—something didn't add up.
A cold voice sounded behind us: "Do you have a death wish? The Emperor is not yours to discuss."
Valerian jumped. I turned—it was the escort.
He said sharply: "It's possible that when a Protection mission triggers, no Sin Hunter is close enough to respond in time. By the time Hemlock arrived, it may have been too late. Judgment Tower handles countless cases—it can't be perfect every time."
Valerian couldn't help himself: "But—"
"No buts. You should learn to keep your mouth shut. You're not strong, but you're far too curious."
Valerian immediately fell silent. He changed the subject, turning to me with curiosity: "Why does a girl like you have so many scars?"
I said casually: "Some are from my parents. Some are from other people."
"Why would your parents beat you like that?"
I stared out at the darkness.
Yeah.
Why would they beat me like that.
I still vaguely remembered that cold winter.
I can no longer recall what my birth parents looked like.
That day, a woman asked me for directions. I helpfully told her the way. She took my hand and said she didn't know how to get there—could I walk with her?
I thought doing a good deed would earn me praise.
I walked and walked with her, thinking about how happy everyone would be when I got home, because I'd helped someone.
After that, my memories went hazy.
I only remember my favorite braids being cut off, my head shaved smooth like a little boy's.