The rain lashed against the windshield of Stalone’s unmarked sedan as they screeched to a halt in front of Dr. Jiller’s clinic. Regina was out of the car before it fully stopped, her hand gripped tight on her service weapon.
"Regina, wait for backup!" Stalone shouted, but she wasn't listening.
They burst into the office. The air still smelled of bitter almonds, but the sanctuary was a wreck. Files were scattered like snow, and the desk was cleared. At the far end of the room, the floor-to-ceiling window was shattered, the heavy velvet curtains whipping in the cold gale.
"He’s headed for the industrial sector," Stalone yelled, pointing toward the silhouette of the old clockwork factory rising like a jagged tooth against the skyline. "He’s trying to disappear into the noise!"
The Stand-Off
They found him on the third floor of the factory, standing on a rusted catwalk suspended over massive, grinding gears. The air was filled with a constant, rhythmic clack-clack-clack of the machinery.
"End of the line, Thorne!" Stalone roared, his gun leveled. "Put your hands where I can see them!"
Thorne Jiller didn't look like a prestigious doctor anymore. His hair was wild, his eyes bloodshot. He looked at Regina, and a slow, cruel smile spread across his face.
"You shouldn't have come, Reggie," Thorne purred, his voice carrying over the mechanical thunder. "You’re already part of the machine."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the Silver Bell.
The Execution of the Command
Ding. Ding. Ding.
The sound sliced through the roar of the factory. Regina’s body jerked as if she had been hit by a high-voltage wire. Her gun arm dropped. Her eyes, once sharp and focused, turned into two glassy, violet voids.
"Regina? What are you doing?" Stalone shouted, his voice laced with sudden panic.
Regina didn't answer. She began the walk. One, two, three, four... tilt. She walked toward Thorne, her movements fluid and haunting. Thorne reached out, his hand stroking her cheek as she reached him. He thought she was coming for protection, a slave returning to her master.
But as she reached him, Regina’s hand moved. She didn't embrace him. She drew her weapon and leveled it—not at Thorne, but at Stalone.
The Puppet’s Betrayal
"Reggie, put the gun down!" Stalone pleaded, his own weapon trembling. "He’s in your head! Fight it!"
"The velvet is soft," Regina droned, her voice a hollow, chilling melody. "The master’s will is the only law. The disease must be purged."
"Good girl," Thorne whispered in her ear, his hand resting on her shoulder. "Kill the detective. Show him how perfect you’ve become."
Regina didn't hesitate. She fired.
Stalone dove behind a heavy iron pillar just as the bullet sparked off the metal. Regina moved with the lethal precision Thorne had programmed into her during their "sessions." She didn't fire wildly; she moved with a rhythmic, calculated gait, suppressing Stalone’s position.
"Regina, stop!" Stalone yelled, but he could see it in her eyes—there was no one home.
She vaulted over a conveyor belt, her movements a blur of dark lace and cold steel. She was no longer a rookie cop; she was a biological weapon. She lunged at Stalone, the two of them crashing into a pile of wooden crates. Regina pinned him with a strength that shouldn't have been hers, her fingers closing around his throat while her gun pressed against his temple.
Thorne stood on the catwalk above, laughing, the silver bell glinting in the moonlight. "Finish him, Reggie! Purge the past!"
ns216.73.216.98da2
and then Add to home screen.