Page 136 of Eternal

AZRA

“Can’t Pretend” by Tom Odell

Present

M usic. Loud. Laughter and screaming.

Moans even.

It was the first thing that hit me when we stepped out of the office.

The party was still alive. People were drinking, like nothing was wrong.

They smiled. They smiled while they screamed.

I saw red. Literally. Everything was red, the lights, carpet, their bodies in my mind.

I started walking. Fast. Gun in one hand, knife in the other.

I don’t even remember how we got back downstairs. Only the images. The memories.

The model behind the glass, now crying quietly on an old man’s lap. He was touching her. She was whispering, “ Please stop. ”

So I shot him. Right between the eyes. Red splattered across her face.

That’s when everything snapped.

Damir was already behind me, putting a bullet through another man’s skull. Strangling one who tried to run. Then the screaming started. Panic. Chaos .

They realized this wasn’t part of the show.

Someone ran. Someone begged.

And the next man I saw, some asshole in a gold suit with champagne in his hand, looked at me confused. Like he didn’t understand why I was aiming at him. I shot him too. In the head.

And I felt it. Their eyes on us. The fear. The understanding. They finally saw it. This wasn't a theater. This was a slaughter .

I moved through them like they were nothing. My blade slashed someone's throat as he screamed past me. I shot a man who tried to run toward the exit.

Damir was beside me, silent, methodical. Clean. Efficient.

I reloaded without thinking. My hands were steady. I think I get it now. I understand it clearly.

I was what happens when the weak grow teeth.

Another one tried to crawl behind a table almost naked. I kicked it over, dragged him out by the hair, and emptied a bullet into his screaming mouth.

They begged. They cried. I didn’t care. I didn’t hear them. It didn’t make sense.

Innocent ?

Them? Innocent?

Paying to be here. Drinking, laughing, knowing what goes on behind the glass walls.

No .

If that’s innocent, then I’m guilty. So guilty I should make it worth it.

Not enough. Not enough. Not enough.

We reached a hallway behind the lounge, velvet ropes and private access. Damir kicked a door open.

Inside: five of them.

Naked. Watching the stage through a one-way mirror. Laughing. Getting off to it. Old men, heavy-bellied and drunk, one jerking himself off, the others too stunned to move.

I walked in and shot the one standing first. His head snapped back and slammed into the glass.

“No,” I said, stepping over a fallen glass, “You don’t get to finish.”

Another tried to scream. I silenced him with a slash to the mouth. Teeth scattered.

One begged, sobbing, piss running down his thigh. I kicked him in the face. Then lower. Again. Until he crumpled. Until his sobs turned to choking.

Then I stepped on him. “You wanted to see pain?

My heel pressed into his chest, right over the bone. They were soaked in blood, slipping slightly with the pressure. “That’s why you came here tonight, right?”

He tried to crawl backward, smeared in red, gasping like he still had a chance. I stepped down harder, and he shrieked.

Behind the glass, two girls were clinging to each other. No older than seventeen. Dressed like toys, eyes wide, glitter and mascara streaked into something sick. They were crying harder now, not only from fear.

From knowing they were part of this.

From realizing it.

From the blood on the floor and the bodies falling.

From me .

“You wanted that pain.” I whispered, leaning closer. “You wanted those tears.” I crouched down, meeting his eyes, tilting my head. “Here it is.”

I cut his dick off pushing the knife deeper and deeper to slice it. It was messy, uneven.

I let him bleed, screaming into the rug.

Damir stood by the door. He watched, cold and quiet, and opened the next door for me. Another hidden room. Another coward hiding. Another bullet.

He was cleaning my path.

I reached a set of tall glass doors behind the main floor. I kicked them open. Inside, they were all there.

Girls. Boys. Men. Women. Some costumed, some stripped bare. All of them were frozen.

“Go,” I barked. “Run. Now . Don’t look back.”

They hesitated, then ran. Some paused to thank me. One girl looked me in the eyes, tears streaking mascara down her cheeks. Like she knew me. Like we’d both been there once. Like I wasn’t saving her, I was finishing the job someone else never did.

“Thank you.”

That was it. The final crack.

That bastard raised them here. Sold them as kids. Now he uses them as adults. Groomed stock.

I turned, spotted a camera high in the corner, and shot it twice.

“They’re gone,” I said to Damir.

“Then we go up.”

We climbed the velvet staircase, guns ready. Nothing on the first floor. The second looks bigger. The hallway upstairs was quiet until the end.

A massive room with glass walls and a screen the size of a wall showing the party floor.

And there he was.

Jenkins .

He turned, trying to slip out the side door.

“You’re not going anywhere,” I said.

Damir shot both guards clean through the head before they could draw.

Jenkins backed away, shaking, mouth opening with excuses already pouring out.

I shot him in the knee. He screamed.

“You sold children,” I said. “You watched. You got off to it.”

He whimpered, crawling and I stalked forward.

“You’re going to die slowly.”

I grabbed him by the throat and slammed him into the glass table. It cracked. I did it again. And again. Until the glass started leaking blood on the ground.

“You thought you were untouchable?”

“They were willing! They loved it! It was art?—”

Art . Fucking Art.

I broke his jaw before he finished the sentence, slamming his face into the corner until it caved.

“You thought no one would come for them?”

I stabbed his chest.

Again.

Again.

Over and over until his blood was in my hair, my mouth, soaking my hands.

Damir stood behind me, watching . He didn’t stop me. He never would.

I stood over the mess, chest heaving. My rage was spent, but I still felt the hum in my bones.

I was breathing too hard.

The body was at my feet. What was left of him. And I stared at my hands. Red , soaked, trembling.

“Did I save them?” I asked. My voice didn’t sound like mine. “Did I save at least some of them?”

Damir was already in front of me. His hands were on my arms, steadying me, grounding me. I hadn’t even realized I was swaying.

“You did,” he said. “ You did. ”

I laughed. Or maybe I cried. It felt the same.

My knees gave. He caught me before I hit the ground, like he always did.

“You did well,” he murmured, brushing blood-soaked hair from my face. “It’s over. Come on, partner. Let’s go home .”

Close your eyes. Forget. Close your eyes. Forget.

“Hey,” he said, voice low, grounding. “Look at me.”

I did.

“You did what they deserved,” he said. “Now breathe. Come on.”

He was warm, solid. I didn’t even realize I was crying until he pressed his forehead to mine and whispered, “ Azra… You did so fucking well.”

I nodded, like maybe if I agreed, I’d stop shaking. But I didn’t.

He pulled me gently, leading me out. My legs barely moved, but he didn’t rush me. Step by step, he got me to the car.

The air outside felt sharp, too bright. Like the world didn’t match what was still echoing inside me.

He opened the passenger door and sat me down. Buckled me in like I was glass.

Then he opened the trunk.

I watched through the windshield, chest still rising too fast, as he pulled out two red gas canisters. No words. No hesitation.

He walked back in.

The whole building lit up less than two minutes later. Orange. Violent. Final .

He came back to the car, and started the engine.

“Let’s go home.”

Yes. Home .