Illusive Eden - He Pretends He's the Hero

The sun rising slowly, warmth radiates from the gleaming red and orange clouds.

The wings their hope, flock of birds soaring high, over the mountains, over the seas, over deserts.

The night travellers, opened the door to the daylight. And they shall draw up a trail, built a home, in the sweet scenery of the woods, where none intrudes.

The entrance of the train sedulous with people rushing out, the way, finally lightened. Getting off first, he places the luggages on the ground, a hand offered, she puts her own over his, carefully climbing down on the tiled floor.

Rhett picks the wheeled luggage, pushing along the black strolley with baby Rhean's diaper bag and other essentials holdings on the storage basket.

A maroon shawl with floral prints draped over her form, Neva amends the shawl, closing it over the serene, slumbering little Rhean on her chest, cradled in the white and grey colored carrier wrap.

It was for the best that she had him close in her embrace, fate forbid, if any brawl occured and they seperate. The loud announcements in the platform, hustle-bustle of the hectic pressing crowd, hands although engaged with the luggages, he walks keeping her safe and close.

His breath hitches, he was there far on the corner, peering through the slits of loud swarming people. Floating heart, creased brows, euphoric at her ethereal glimpse, crestfallen heart at the scene enfolding.

Dazedly he starts walking towards her; she's not so far away; he could still pull her closer. Shoulder knocking a stranger's, he's hushed and unconscious even if he's cursed.

"Raka!" The man he left standing calls for him. Pushing away the crawling people, wanting to stop him, his calls doesn't reach, as he's shoved behind further.

His steps flickering, he approaches her near.

A sudden touch on her shoulder flinches her—halting her steps, she turns her head to glance at him. A wavering gasp exhaling out her lips—her heart skips a beat.

"Ishmael," Neva whispers.

His orbs watery, he swallows down the lump formed in his throat tightly. Neva was before him, his dream, his everything.

She's the same, as she was back in the December—when he last saw her; perfect. She just stands there, her feet frozen.

As he reaches his hand to caress her face, a hard, heavy punch on his jaw has him stumbling back, his face snapped sideways. Neva gasps, eyes rounded in shock. Before Ishmael could register the force he just took, Rhett blows a strong punch on him again.

This time his strength wavers, crashing him down hard on the floor.

The crowd in astonishment of the turmoil, although, rushing in life, pauses a moment to glance upon the upturn of events.

What in the hell was going on early in the morn?

Neva's pulled away, shielded behind Rhett's towering frame. She lowers her gaze, terrified, embracing her little boy close to the chest.

The train starts running again, as does the world run without ceasing.

Ishmael has the corner of his lips bleeding. Standing up, he wipes the blood off with his thumb. He peeks through, staring at a panic-stricken Neva.

His heart pained at her distant, avoiding eyes.

A gun jagged at his head, his cold gaze regards Rhett. He tilts his head, "Look's like you were in a hurry to make a family." He taunts, a haunting gloominess in his eyes.

Rhett clenches his jaw. "Stop. Chasing. Us."

"Rhett," Neva pales like a paper. And when Rhett glances up, he sees a man standing in a distance, a pistol aimed at him. The man dares strutting towards them, stopping next to Raka.

He remembers him, as the right-hand man of Raka.

A silent attack from behind? He would've known if there were more guys.

Raka hovers the tip of the firearm in Zev's hand, lowering it down, his gaze riveted to Rhett, maintaining the eye contact.

Ripping away the stoned stare, he attempts to step towards Neva. "Don't you dare," He warns, his tone low and forbidding.

Ishmael, unfazed, with slow steps, he walks straight ahead—stopping right before him.

"A sniper up there could kill anyone here with a single wave of my hand." He reveals, and he could see his pupils contract.

People were going about their life, the crowd clearing out, the people around had distanced themselves from the boiling dispute.

The world must go on, and it wouldn't stop for some strangers cross fire.

Glancing at him once, he drives his eyes at Neva, closening to her. Rhett looks at her, his eyes tinted in grim rawness.

As Ishmael reaches for her arm, she flinches away—shivering in fright.

Her glossy, shaky eye balls tangled with his own, there shadows pain in his rugged orbs.

"Come with me Neva," he says, looking deep into her eyes.

"I've waited long enough, please, come with me." His voice broken, he felt his knees weakened.

Neva shakes her head, "Please stop playing me," She murmers out, her heart aching from beating unmercifully fast.

"I'm not playing you, I need you with me." He says, gradually coming closer.

Neva steps back, "No, let us leave, please.."

He halts his feet, his eyes softening, "I don't like to force you,"

Her heart numbs, his gaze turning chilled and emotionless, "But you'll hate me if you leave. Because I'll kill anyone in my way to you."

"I'll hunt you down in any place you get away." Ishmael declares, his voice ice-cold. His gaze maniac, she stiffens—unable to breath.

"You can try." Rhett nonchalant threats. He grabs her hand, drawing her away. "Let's go Neva."

She glances up at him—one last time at Ishmael.

They walk away... a perfect portrait of a sweet little family, as he stands there alone with dim eyes; silently dying inside.

"Shouldn't we stop Miss Neva?" Zev asks, confused at his Boss's chilled state.

"The next time we cross paths, she'll beg me on her knees to differ the present." He ruthlessly replies.

"Not even spare her child?" He asks, frowning. "No." Raka says, turning to leave.

"When did you arrange a sniper?" Following along, a puzzled Zev inquires once more.

"I bluffed." Raka returns, coursing towards the chopper.

Zev was baffled, so in the end; Agent Czar knew Raka lied?