Deep Down Your Black Heart

Music: Out Of My Mind by Reuben and The Dark

The night crawled painfully into dawn, stretching each moment into an eternity. The soldiers, weary and disillusioned, began to vacate their posts one by one. Their vigilance waned under the weight of exhaustion, their eyes drooping with the false assurance that nothing would happen. River's silence was deafening, like a mother whispering to a deaf child—calm, quiet, but ultimately fruitless.

Inside the Dawson mansion, slumber claimed its inhabitants. Emily had fallen asleep on the couch, her face etched with the fatigue of restless thoughts. Mavis lay beside her on a makeshift mattress, her body curled protectively against hers. In the master bedroom, Mr. and Mrs. Dawson clung to their own fragile sense of peace, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing beyond their walls.

Four contracted guards lingered outside the mansion's front entrance, their postures slackened from a night spent on high alert. The sleek copper armor they wore shimmered faintly in the dim light of dawn, the matte finish edged with a gleaming gold trim that denoted their allegiance to the prestigious Baki Guard Distribution Corporation. Their identities were masked by the detachable helmets and featureless black visors, an intentional barrier between their duty and personal lives.

The tension in the air was palpable, though none of the guards dared voice it. The faint creak of a distant branch swaying in the wind was enough to send shivers up their spines. Then, it happened.

Two guards vanished, dragged into the shadows by long, serpentine braids that slithered with a life of their own. The air was rent with their muffled screams, swallowed by the predatory silence before the others could fully react.

"What the fuck was that?" one of the remaining guards hissed, his voice trembling beneath the mechanical distortion of his helmet's comms.

The shadows seemed to close in around them, thick and oppressive.

The remaining guards gave chase, rounding the corner only to find their missing comrades unharmed, standing as though nothing had happened. Their long swords drawn, glinted ominously in the faint light, the sharp edges whispering of death. Confusion rippled through the group like a cold wind.

They had dressed up in the guards' clothes, and dumped their bodies in a nearby trash bin all within a moment's time

"They're here! We need to report to Mr. Dawson," Hound said, his tone laced with just enough panic to sell the act. His fingers twitched slightly, betraying a simmering impatience.

"Stick to the script," Hound whispered harshly to Argent. "The other times had no consequences, but one wrong decision could destroy everything, including us."

Argent gave him a curt nod before turning away. 

Hound's heart pounded as he followed the guards inside.

(At the Base)

"I trust my informant," Bleak teased from his position, leaning casually against the wall as if the chaos outside had no claim on him.

"And I still do. I'll pay him a visit to hash out the details. Hold down the base," Erlin barked, throwing on his jacket with an air of urgency before striding into the night.

(Binge's Chamber)

The elites of Rivermirror gathered under the suffocating air of Binge's chamber—Binge himself, Blanc, Gazier, Evee, and Lucas. The atmosphere crackled with unspoken tension, the kind that seeped into the lungs and made breathing difficult.

"Lucas, in charge of the funds, delivered. What of the rest of you? Any updates?" Binge's voice cut through the noise like a scalpel, demanding precision.

"To limit the number of lives that will be sacrificed, I went hunting with Gazier's team. Not a lot, but enough cores to fuel your prototype for a couple of months. With steady hunts, no lives would have to be unnecessarily risked," Evee reported, her tone calm but edged with a defensive undercurrent.

Lucas sneered, his face pale and worn from the events of the previous night. The dark patch covering his ruined eye did little to conceal the torment beneath. "You would rather put the lives of your own on the line than those rich bastards?"

Blanc, ever unshaken, tilted his head slightly. "To my knowledge, you befriend these… bastards."

The room fell silent, the weight of Blanc's words pressing down on Lucas like an anvil.

"We were promised the package would be here by now, weren't we, Blanc?" Lucas finally spat, his spite barely concealed. "And yet here you are, empty-handed."

"You know damn well my plans changed," Blanc replied coolly, his unseeing eyes unwavering.

The argument flared like wildfire, their voices escalating until Binge slammed his hand on the table. "Enough! What is the meaning of this?"

"Let's just say we have a rat among us," Blanc said, his words like venom.

The room stilled, every pair of eyes turning to Lucas. He staggered back, his mouth opening and closing as if searching for words that wouldn't come.

"He is a danger to our cause. My sources tell me the base is littered with armed soldiers. No one knew of the operation but us and our subordinates. For this betrayal, I propose an execution," Blanc continued.

Evee's gaze sharpened. "Do you have a replacement? We need funding, after all."

Blanc's lips curled into a cold smile. "I have just the person in mind."

All heads turned to Binge, who gave a solemn nod. In the span of a breath, Blanc's cane transformed into a gleaming blade. Guided by heat signatures, he closed the distance with inhuman speed, his sword slicing cleanly through Lucas' neck.

The body crumpled to its knees first, blood pooling around it like a macabre offering. Then the head fell, rolling to a stop at Binge's feet. No one flinched, their gazes fixed on the grisly scene before them. The marble floor bore the stain of Lucas' treachery, a fitting reminder of the price of disloyalty.