𝐁𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐀𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚… 𝐀 𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐧. 𝐌𝐚𝐲 𝐆𝐨𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐥𝐥.
yandere ! geto x reader | purge a.u
you know you make me wanna
lift my heels up and
throw my head back and SHOUT
summary ; a judge sentences a man to life in prison. but on purge night, chains don’t matter. locks don’t matter. he promised her he’d come back.... and now, under the cover of sanctioned chaos, he’s here for her. and her family. because tonight isn’t about survival. it’s about revenge.
cws ; violence, blood, gore, home invasion, stalking, psychological horror, threats to family, murder, captivity, obsessive behavior, revenge themes.
the courtroom was packed. cameras clicked in the rafters, the low hum of whispers filling the air until the bailiff’s voice cut through— “all rise.” you entered with measured steps, robes trailing like shadows behind you, head held high. every eye in the room followed. you looked untouchable, carved from marble, authority wrapped in silk.
and then you saw him. the man in chains. wrists cuffed, orange jumpsuit wrinkled, hair falling wild into his face. yet his eyes never wavered. they followed you—hungry, burning—as though he’d been waiting for this moment.
they called him a murderer. a fanatic. a man who believed the cult he followed had chosen him as their holy hand of death. the evidence was endless—families torn apart, bodies displayed in ritual patterns, his voice captured on recordings whispering sermons to the dead.
the jury had already decided. the sentence was inevitable. still, when you looked down from the bench, it wasn’t hatred you saw in his stare. it was something worse. something colder.
“life in prison without the possibility of parole.”
the words rang out, final, heavy as stone.
he laughed. low. rasping.
“your honor… prison is just another temple. and nights like tonight?”
his chains rattled as he leaned forward, eyes catching yours, glinting.
the guards dragged him back, shouting over his voice. but the sound of it—smooth, unbroken—echoed long after he was gone.
and for the first time, in your courtroom of order and law… you felt afraid.
the sun was already lowering by the time you left the courthouse. the echo of the gavel still clung to your ears as you gripped the steering wheel tighter, eyes flicking across the streets.
the city was alive with frantic movement. people hammering boards over windows, dragging steel shutters down storefronts. families herding children inside. on every corner, armed patrols strolled casually, guns slung over shoulders as though they were accessories.
purge night preparation. the ritual everyone had grown used to.
you weren’t late—not yet. but you still needed a few last things, and the thought of stepping into your home with an empty pantry made your skin crawl.
so you turned off, tires squealing against pavement, and slid into the glowing lot of the local grocery.
the aisles buzzed with friendly chatter. a cashier laughed with a customer, an older woman hummed while stacking canned soup. a group of teens darted by with armfuls of snacks. everyone polite. helpful. kind.
but under it, a current ran sharp.
some shoppers already wore masks—cheap plastic, grotesque grins, animal faces with painted teeth. they lingered too long in the aisles, their eyes cutting toward you as you moved.
one leaned against a freezer door, mask tilted half-off his face, lips curling around words meant just for you:
“your honor’s lookin’ real pretty tonight. bet you’ll taste even better when the lights go out.”
a laugh followed, low and greasy, joined by another voice:
“shouldn’t waste time shopping. we’ll come take what’s ours later.”
your throat tightened. you quickened your steps, clutching a basket too tightly, tossing in bread, water, whatever your hands touched.
the cashier didn’t comment on your trembling hands as you slid your card through, didn’t acknowledge the masked figures whispering behind you. just smiled, cheerful as ever, and said, “stay safe out there, ma’am.”
you left with the receipt still warm in your hand.
outside, the first shadows were stretching long across the parking lot. the masks followed you to your car, their footsteps heavy on the pavement, their voices fading only when you slammed the door shut and peeled out, tires screaming against the asphalt.
the groceries rattled in the backseat as you sped home, heart pounding with one thought repeating, louder than the gavel, louder than the whispers:
you weren’t safe. not tonight.
you slammed the car into park, the garage swallowing you whole as the heavy door groaned shut behind. the engine clicked and cooled, but your pulse refused to slow.
your hands were still tight on the steering wheel when you saw the door burst open—your son, rushing out, eyes wide with excitement rather than fear.
you locked the car, fumbling with the bags as hiromi appeared behind him, steady and calm in the dim light.
“honey, come on,” he urged, scooping up the heavier bags before you could. his voice was low but firm—the practiced tone of a man who’d done this lockdown dance too many times before.
together you rushed, groceries thumping onto the counter, bottles rolling. every second felt heavier, the shadows in the garage stretching longer. hiromi guided your son back inside, hitting the keypad with sharp precision.
the steel shutters dragged down over the garage, closing with a final shudder that left the house in darkness. one by one, the lights cut off. the hum of electricity died.
safe. sealed. suffocating.
you paced in the kitchen, shoes still on, arms wrapped tight across your chest. the bags were scattered half-unpacked, but you couldn’t bring yourself to touch them.
hiromi entered quietly, wiping his hands on his shirt, his expression careful.
“everything’s locked down,” he said. “we’re good.”
you nodded, but your body wouldn’t still. your eyes darted to the window shutters as if expecting them to rattle.
“what happened?” he asked gently, stepping closer.
the words came out sharper than you intended. “at work. during sentencing. he—” your voice cracked. “he smiled at me, hiromi. smiled. like prison meant nothing. like he was waiting for this night.”
hiromi’s brows furrowed, jaw tight.
“you’re safe,” he said quickly, but you shook your head, pacing faster, nails digging into your arms.
“the way he looked at me…” you swallowed, voice lowering. “and then at the store—people in masks, whispering things. threats. they knew who i was.”
the silence that followed was heavy. hiromi placed a hand on your arm, grounding, firm.
“he’s not getting to you,” he said. “not here. not tonight.”
your thumb hovered on the power button, trembling, before you finally pressed it.
the tv flared to life, a cold blue glow spilling across the kitchen and painting every shuttered window in sterile light.
“this is your emergency broadcast system announcing the commencement of the annual purge…”
the woman’s voice, flat and mechanical, filled the house. every syllable slid into you like ice water.
you stood frozen in the kitchen, remote clutched so tightly in your hand your knuckles ached. your son lingered in the doorway, eyes wide, clinging to his stuffed animal. hiromi placed a steady hand on his shoulder, guiding him closer, as though proximity alone could protect him.
“weapons of class four and lower have been authorized for use during the purge. all other weapons are restricted.”
the words echoed through the house, rattling in the spaces between your heartbeats.
“government officials of ranking 10 have been granted immunity…”
hiromi’s eyes flicked toward you at that line. your chest constricted. judges weren’t high enough for immunity. you knew that. he knew that.
the remote slipped slightly in your sweaty palm as the voice droned on:
“commencing at the siren, any and all crime, including murder, will be legal for twelve continuous hours…”
“police, fire, and emergency medical services will be unavailable until tomorrow morning at 7:00 a.m. when the purge concludes.
blessed be our new founding fathers and america… a nation reborn.
may god be with you all.”
the tv clicked silent, leaving only the hum of the screen. the blue glow seemed colder now, pressing against your skin like frost.
you didn’t realize you were holding your breath until it came out in a sharp gasp, the remote clattering from your trembling fingers onto the counter.
your son was crying softly against hiromi’s shirt, muffled little hiccups he tried so hard to hide.
outside, the world went still.
no cars. no chatter. no city hum.
you forced yourself to breathe, unclenching your fists until your knuckles eased back to color.
your son’s wide eyes searched yours, trembling lips parting as if to ask a question he didn’t want the answer to. you dropped down to his level, smoothing back his hair with a shaking hand that you tried to steady.
“it’s okay,” you whispered, voice low but firm. “we’re safe. the house is locked tight, no one’s getting in.”
he nodded, hesitantly, clutching his stuffed animal tighter.
behind you, hiromi grabbed the remote and flicked the channel from the dead-blue purge screen to the house’s security feed. four squares blinked to life on the tv—grainy black-and-white angles of the garage, the front lawn, the side yard, the back porch.
nothing moved but the wind teasing through the trees.
hiromi let out a quiet breath and sat back, his hand lingering near the panel of controls. “see?” he said. “everything’s sealed. we’re good for the night.”
you nodded, though your chest still felt tight.
groceries half-unpacked, cans rolling against one another, the soft crinkle of paper bags grounding you. the familiar rhythm of slicing vegetables, filling pots, washing rice—each sound steadier than your heartbeat.
you focused on the small rituals: knife against board, water rushing from the faucet, the stove’s soft click as the flame lit.
every motion whispered calm. control. normal.
if you just kept moving, if you just kept cooking, the world outside couldn’t touch you.
the scent of oil heating in the pan began to fill the room, warm and grounding. you let your shoulders drop, just slightly.
but even as you stirred, you couldn’t help but glance up—just once—at the corner of the room where the shutters sealed tight against the night.
as if someone might be standing just beyond them.
the kitchen filled with the soft hiss of oil, the rhythmic scrape of a wooden spoon against the pan. the smells of garlic and onion rose warm into the air, clinging to the closed walls of the house.
you clung to that rhythm.
the way steam curled lazily upward. the clink of plates as you set them on the table. the faint hum of the refrigerator kicking back to life, steady and constant.
behind you, the television flickered with the security feed. four gray boxes of grainy footage, each showing a different slice of your house’s exterior. the angles never changed. the picture never shifted. static shadows. swaying branches. nothing else.
hiromi sat near the screen, silent, his eyes never fully leaving it even as he spoke in low reassurances to your son.
the boy nodded, though his stuffed animal never left his arms. he climbed into his chair, too restless to sit still, legs swinging against the wood.
you placed bowls in front of them, the soft clatter of ceramic unnervingly loud in the quiet house. you forced your lips into a smile, though your hands still trembled faintly as you ladled food onto their plates.
“eat up,” you murmured, voice low, thin. “we’ll… we’ll need our strength tonight.”
they dug in slowly. hiromi with the steady motions of habit, your son with the distracted eagerness of a child too young to understand the weight of the silence pressing in from all sides.
you tried to eat too, but every bite felt like ash, your stomach coiled too tight to accept it. your gaze drifted to the shutters—thick steel, sealed tight—yet your mind insisted on filling in what might linger just beyond them.
outside, the world was gone. no passing cars, no streetlights, no neighbors laughing in their yards. only the occasional creak of the house settling, groaning like an old body in its sleep.
you chewed slowly, the scrape of forks against plates setting your teeth on edge.
and then the sound came—so soft you almost thought you imagined it.
a faint distortion across one of the security feeds. the garage camera blinked, lines of static racing down the screen before it cleared again.
hiromi glanced over his shoulder at it, jaw tightening.
“must be the wiring,” he muttered.
but you couldn’t shake it.
because the picture was clear again. too clear.
and for half a heartbeat, you swore you saw a shape—just at the edge of the porch frame, standing perfectly still.
but when you blinked, it was gone.
the steam wrapped around you, clinging to your skin, fogging the glass. for a few minutes, you almost believed you could wash it all away—the courthouse, the whispers, the announcement. the hot water rushed over your shoulders in steady streams, and you closed your eyes, breathing slow.
but then you heard it. faint at first, carried through the walls like a memory. the tinny jingle of an ice cream truck. a childish melody, warped and stretched by the night air.
you froze, water still dripping down your arms. the sound grew louder, circling the block. ding-ding-ding… ding-ding-ding… cheerful, wrong, echoing against steel shutters and locked doors.
and beneath it—laughter. high-pitched. shrill. the sound of children running, screaming in delight. except no children were outside tonight. not tonight.
your stomach turned. you yanked the water off, the pipes groaning in protest, and grabbed a towel. your movements were sharp, frantic—dragging on black sweats, pulling a white t-shirt over damp skin, tugging your hair back with trembling fingers. you stumbled down the hall, to your son’s room.
he was already curled in bed, clutching his stuffed animal. you kissed his forehead, lingering, whispering soft promises you weren’t sure you believed. “just sleep, baby. it’s all okay.”
he nodded drowsily, trusting you, and that nearly broke you. a voice called from below. “y/n!” hiromi. firm, steady. but laced with something else—urgency. you swallowed hard, throat dry. your feet felt heavy as you forced yourself down the stairs, one step at a time, every creak of the wood too loud in the silence.
and then you saw the glow of the television in the living room. the cameras. hiromi stood rigid in front of them, jaw tight, hand hovering near the panel. your eyes followed his. the front door feed.
grainy. black and white. and there he was. geto suguru. no mask. no attempt to hide. just standing in the dark, head tilted, eyes locked on the camera lens as if he could see straight through it—straight through you. and he was smiling.
the camera flickered, sharpening in the blue-gray glow.
geto stood there—calm, deliberate. a cigarette dangled from his fingers, its ember burning bright in the grainy feed. he raised it to his lips, inhaled slow, and then leaned closer to the lens. the smoke curled outward in lazy swirls, fogging the camera, like he was breathing into your house.
hiromi stiffened beside you, fists clenched at his sides. but your heart nearly stopped when movement flickered in the corners of the frame. shapes. one, then two, then more—stepping into view, masks gleaming in the porch light. grotesque grins, animal faces, hollow eyes. his followers.
they stood behind him in a loose half-circle, silent, waiting, their heads cocked like marionettes with cut strings. geto smiled wider. he lifted his hand, gesturing lazily toward the house as if addressing an audience.
“look at her. my perfect little judge, hiding in her box. thinking she can lock me out.” your breath caught. his head tilted, cigarette smoke spilling from his lips, eyes locked on the camera—on you. “tonight, you’ll be mine. i’ll take you apart piece by piece until you understand. you belong to me.”
then his voice sharpened, cold. “but first…” his smile stretched too wide.
“we’ll get rid of your bitch ass husband.”
hiromi moved instinctively toward the panel, like he could shut the feed off, but geto’s laugh cut through—raw, manic, loud enough to make your skin crawl. he dragged the sound out, shaking his head, teeth flashing as the followers behind him started to clap, slow and mocking.
“don’t worry, sweetheart,” he rasped, grin splitting his face. “you won’t even miss him. i’ll make sure of it.” the camera crackled, static shivering across the screen—yet even through the distortion, his eyes stayed locked, piercing through the glass, as if he was already inside.
your pulse thundered in your ears as you tore yourself away from the screen.
“hiromi,” you hissed, voice sharp. “the guns. vests. now.”
he didn’t argue—he knew better. he disappeared into the hall closet, the sound of metal and zippers echoing in the tense silence.
you bolted up the stairs, two at a time, heart breaking with every step. your son was still asleep, soft breaths rising and falling as though the world outside hadn’t shifted into hell.
you lingered in the doorway, your shadow spilling across his small frame.
your chest ached as you leaned down, pressing a trembling kiss against his cheek.
“mommy is going to kill people tonight,” you whispered, voice low and steady, though your throat burned. “you need to stay locked in here, baby. no matter what you hear.”
your fingers brushed through his hair one last time before you pulled away. the bolt slid into place on his door with a heavy clunk. final.
you swallowed hard, steeling yourself, and hurried back downstairs. hiromi was waiting in the living room, bulletproof vests slung over one arm, rifles in the other. he shoved one into your hands, his eyes grim but unwavering.
side by side, you strapped the armor across your chests, the Velcro tearing through the silence like thunder. outside, faint at first, came the sound of fists against shutters. slow. deliberate. testing. you loaded the gun, chamber snapping shut, your breath ragged but steady. and then—pop.
the lights blinked. once. twice. and then died. the house plunged into eternal darkness. the television hissed static before collapsing into silence. the hum of the fridge choked off mid-breath. everything went still.
then the chanting began. low. muffled. inhuman voices rising from the yard, filling the air with a rhythm that made your blood run cold. and through it all—his laughter. geto’s. rich. manic. unbroken. rolling in from the shadows like smoke, promising the night had only just begun.
the house was suffocating in its silence after the power cut, the dark pressing in against the steel shutters like a living thing. you adjusted the straps of your vest with trembling hands, forcing your breathing to steady. hiromi stood beside you, his own gun loaded, the gleam of determination in his eyes even as sweat clung to his brow. both of you knew what was coming, and neither dared to speak it out loud.
the first strike against the shutters rattled the entire house. it wasn’t a full attack, not yet. more like a test. a fist dragged along the metal plating with a harsh screech, followed by the slam of something blunt against the steel. you could hear them outside, their footsteps circling the house like wolves stalking prey. every sound was amplified in the darkness—boots crunching against gravel, whispered laughter, the low groan of metal bending under pressure.
then came the chanting. it started low, almost like a hum, but quickly swelled into something rhythmic and menacing. dozens of voices, some distorted behind masks, others raw and unrestrained, joined together in an eerie chorus that made your skin crawl. words blurred into guttural sounds, but you understood the intention clearly: they were calling for blood. they were calling for you.
and over the chant came his voice, clearer than the rest. geto didn’t need to shout—his tone carried, steady and deliberate, weaving itself through the dark like smoke that refused to be ignored.
“judges pass sentences from their pretty little chairs,” he taunted, his voice laced with amusement. “but tonight, darling, the trial is yours. you’ve judged so many… now it’s my turn.”
you tightened your grip on the rifle, glancing at the screen still faintly glowing from backup power. even in the grainy feed, you could see him standing at the center of it all, cigarette glowing in the dark, his followers spread around him in their grotesque masks. his smile never faltered.
“i’ll be merciful,” he continued, tilting his head, smoke curling upward as he spoke. “i’ll only make you watch once… when i slit that husband of yours open like the pig he is.” his laughter burst out sharp, manic, rising over the chanting of his cult. it wasn’t just the sound of amusement—it was possession, delight, certainty that he already owned this night, and you along with it.
you swallowed hard, chest aching with the weight of fear and fury. the sound of your son’s soft breathing upstairs echoed in the back of your mind like a clock ticking down to midnight. you could feel your legs tense, the adrenaline sharpening every nerve. you knew the barricades wouldn’t last forever, not against so many.
this wasn’t about if they got in. it was about when. the first sound came from upstairs. faint at first, but unmistakable. a door creaking. a soft thud across the floorboards. your stomach dropped, eyes widening as you turned to hiromi. he was already looking at you, his face pale in the glow of the security monitors.
“you stay here,” you whispered, your voice low but urgent. “i’m going to make sure they aren’t near him.” he started to protest, but the look in your eyes silenced him. you bolted for the stairs, feet pounding against the wood, every step ringing louder in the suffocating dark. the house above felt too quiet, too still, as though it were holding its breath. then you heard it.
giggling. high-pitched, girlish, wrong. the sound trickled down the hallway like a melody, echoing between the walls. doors creaked open, then slammed shut, one after another, a cruel game of hide and seek.
your breath caught in your throat, the weight of the rifle heavy in your hands as you stared down the hallway. the girl’s mask glowed with an eerie pulse, the led lights cycling through colors, throwing fractured shadows across the walls. it was disorienting, almost hypnotic, the way her digital smile stayed frozen while her body tilted side to side like a doll waiting to spring.
her voice was muffled but clear, sweet and mocking all at once, dripping through the filter of the mask. “you’re even prettier up close,” she whispered, her laughter bubbling out high and thin, like glass about to shatter. “no wonder he wants you all to himself.” she giggled again, the sound curling up the walls, filling the hallway with something that made your skin crawl.
you took a step forward, the floor creaking beneath your weight, and tightened your grip on the rifle. every part of you wanted to scream, to fire, to make it stop—but you couldn’t risk waking your son. you swallowed hard, forcing the terror down, forcing your voice to steady. “where is he?” you demanded, though your voice wavered at the edges.
the girl’s head cocked further, almost unnaturally far, as though the question delighted her. “he’s watching,” she sing-songed, twirling a knife in her gloved hand like a toy. “he sees everything. every move. every breath.” she leaned in closer, her mask flickering with a stutter of light before settling into a glowing, blood-red smile. “he’s waiting for me to bring you to him.”
your chest constricted as your ears strained for any sound—your son’s breathing behind his bolted door, hiromi’s footsteps below, the faint murmur of chanting that still seeped in from outside. the house was no longer safe. it was infested, violated.
and as you stood frozen in the hall, the girl giggled once more and raised her free hand, tapping two fingers against her mask in a mock salute. “come along quietly,” she cooed, her words sharp as glass beneath the childish tone, “and maybe i’ll let your little boy sleep through the night.”
your hands steadied on the rifle, the tremor in your chest forced down beneath years of discipline. you had prayed it would never come to this, that the training, the hours at the range, the muscle memory drilled into your body were just precaution. but standing here, facing the girl in the glowing mask, you knew this was the night you had always been preparing for.
she stepped closer, the knife in her hand flashing beneath the flickering light of her mask. the air was thick with her giggles, her voice so falsely sweet it made your skin crawl. you didn’t flinch. instead, you breathed in deep, centering yourself, finger sliding firm against the trigger.
the instant her foot crossed the line of shadow on the floorboards, you fired.
the blast tore through the silence, deafening in the narrow hallway. the girl jerked back violently, the mask sparking as the red smile shattered into fragments. she crumpled to the floor, her laughter cut off in an instant, her knife clattering from her hand and spinning across the wood.
you didn’t have time to breathe before you felt the shift of air behind you. instinct surged through your body like lightning.
you spun, rifle raised just as another figure lunged from the side room, mask glowing neon green. she shrieked as she swung a jagged pipe toward your head, but you pivoted sharply, catching the weight of her attack on the edge of your weapon. with a grunt, you shoved her back, stepping into her swing rather than away from it.
before she could recover, you drove the butt of your rifle forward, slamming it hard into her face. the crack echoed through the hallway, sharp and brutal, as the mask split against the impact. her body staggered, legs folding beneath her, and she collapsed in a heap at your feet.
you stood over her, chest heaving, rifle still raised, the smell of gunpowder clinging to the air. the hallway was quiet again, save for the ringing in your ears and the faint static hum of the broken mask sparking on the floor.
you didn’t shake. you didn’t falter. you adjusted your grip on the rifle, eyes narrowing as you stepped over the bodies.
for the first time tonight, the house didn’t feel like a prison. it felt like a battlefield. and you were ready to kill to keep it.
the ringing in your ears hadn’t even faded when another sound split the silence.
your son’s voice, sharp with terror, calling for you.
your heart lurched, the rifle nearly slipping from your hands as you bolted to his door. you pressed your palm against the wood, leaning in close, your breath ragged.
“baby, it’s me. i’m right here,” you whispered, your voice trembling despite the iron you forced into it. you heard him sobbing on the other side, muffled hiccups between his cries. “listen to me. you’re safe in there. remember what we talked about? no windows, no way in. you’re safe, sweetheart. mommy’s not going to let anyone hurt you.”
his little voice cracked, filled with panic. “but i’m scared!”
you closed your eyes, forehead pressing hard against the door, every muscle in your body screaming to tear it off its hinges and hold him. but you couldn’t. not tonight. not with the footsteps in the halls and the corpses cooling at your feet.
“i know, baby. i know. hide in your bed, under the blankets. keep your stuffed bear with you. don’t come out until i say, okay?” your throat burned as the words came out, hushed and trembling, but you forced them steady at the end. “mommy’s going to take care of this.”
he whimpered but didn’t argue. you heard the faint creak of his mattress as he crawled back into bed. you thanked god you’d had the foresight to build his room like a vault—no windows, thick doors, bolted locks. it was the only thing keeping your heart from shattering completely.
you drew in a sharp breath, steeling yourself, fingers flexing back around the rifle. you took one last lingering touch of the door, as if you could pour your strength through the wood, before pulling away.
that’s when you heard it.
a grunt. low, guttural, strained with effort.
your blood froze, then surged hot all at once. you spun, boots thundering against the floor as you sprinted back down the stairs. the walls shook with the sound of struggle—the crash of something heavy toppling over, a sharp gasp of pain followed by another guttural growl.
you tightened your grip on the weapon, your pulse roaring in your ears.
your son was safe for now. but hiromi—hiromi was fighting for his life.
and you were running straight into the storm.
you reached the bottom of the stairs just in time to see hiromi struggling beneath the weight of a masked intruder. the man had driven him into the wall, knife pressed close to his throat, the steel glinting as hiromi strained to hold him off.
there was no hesitation. you lifted the rifle, centered the sight, and fired.
the blast echoed like thunder in the confined space. blood sprayed across the wall, warm droplets misting your skin, coating your arms and shirt. the intruder’s body jerked violently, collapsing in a twitching heap. crimson pooled across the floor, seeping toward your feet.
hiromi stumbled back, panting, his eyes wide as he looked at you. not at the body, not at the blood, but at you.
“where the hell did you learn to do that?” he demanded, his voice cracking between shock and disbelief.
your chest rose and fell, lungs burning, adrenaline surging through every nerve. you forced your expression flat, shaking your head quickly. “that doesn’t matter right now.”
but before you could say more, the heavy pounding started. fists. boots. battering the front door with relentless force. the shutters shuddered, rattling in their frames, the steel groaning as if ready to split.
“open up and stop wasting my time!” he roared, his words booming through the walls. “i’ll gut your husband first, i promise. nice and slow, so you can watch. i’ll make you beg me to kill him faster.”
hiromi’s face twisted with anger, confusion, and something closer to fear. he turned to you sharply. “why is he so fixated on killing me and not us?”
you exhaled heavily, the truth bitter on your tongue. “because…” your voice dropped, eyes hard as you met his. “…he’s been obsessed with me for years. always lingering at hearings, sending letters, watching. it’s me he wants. and he’ll cut through anything to get to me.”
hiromi froze, his jaw tightening as he stared at you like he was seeing a stranger. “and you still took on the case? knowing that? putting our family at risk?”
you rolled your eyes, fury sparking through your veins even in the chaos. “no—you don’t get to do that. don’t you dare make this about—”
the argument shattered as glass exploded behind you.
the screen doors leading to the pool buckled inward, shards raining across the floor. a figure in a cracked porcelain mask tumbled through, moving fast and low, blade gleaming in the dark.
you whipped around, but they were already on you.
the man was massive, his broad frame nearly blocking out the light of the broken glass as he charged. his porcelain mask glowed faintly in the dark, its blank face more horrifying than any grin. you barely had time to lift your rifle before he lunged, one gloved hand clamping around your arm.
he dragged you across the floor like you weighed nothing, your feet scraping against shards of glass. you screamed as he swung you toward the open pool, your body crashing into the water with a violent splash. the shock stole the air from your lungs, the cold pressing against your skin as you sank beneath the surface.
you kicked upward, thrashing, breaking the surface with a gasp. water streamed into your eyes as you swam toward the edge, clawing your way up, coughing and choking. your gaze snapped toward hiromi—he was locked in a savage fight with the brute, fists flying, grunts of pain echoing as blood smeared across both of their faces.
you dragged yourself out, palms burning against the cement, lungs heaving. your fingers reached out blindly, searching for your rifle—when suddenly a hand tangled itself in your hair.
the yank was brutal, your head snapping back as you cried out, the woman’s voice shrieking above you.
“you killed my daughters, you bitch!”
her spit hit your cheek as she slammed you against the ground, your body jolting with the impact. pain shot up your spine as you groaned, forcing your eyes open. across the pool, hiromi staggered, his knuckles bloodied, the brute’s massive hand closing around his throat.
you twisted, your hands groping for anything, and finally found her foot. with a violent jerk, you yanked her off balance. the woman screamed as she toppled forward, crashing into the pool with a resounding splash.
gasping, you rolled to your side, muscles screaming, eyes darting back to where your rifle lay just out of reach.
you stretched for it, chest heaving, but before your fingers could curl around the metal, a sharp tug yanked at your ankle.
you looked down, horror flashing through you as the woman surfaced in the pool, drenched hair plastered across her maskless face. her eyes were wild, her lips peeled back into a twisted grin.
“if i go under, you’re coming with me,” she hissed, giggling manically as her nails dug into your skin. with a hard pull, she dragged you backward, your body sliding across wet cement before you tumbled into the water with her.
the cold swallowed you whole, the pool churning as both of you thrashed beneath the surface.
the water closed over your head, icy and suffocating. bubbles exploded from your mouth as the woman’s nails raked across your skin, burning lines down your ankle and thigh. you kicked violently, but her grip was iron, her laughter vibrating through the water like a distorted echo.
she clawed upward, her face inches from yours, eyes wild, lips pulled back as she bared her teeth in the water. her hands fumbled for your throat, pressing down with the weight of pure hatred. black spots pricked at your vision, your lungs screaming for air.
but something in you snapped.
your fingers curled into fists, then shot upward, grabbing her hair in both hands. you yanked hard, slamming her face into your knee with a sickening crunch. a burst of blood clouded the water, billowing out in thick, crimson ribbons that swirled around you like ink.
she thrashed, still laughing through the choke of bubbles, clawing at your arms. you ignored the sting, forcing her head down, shoving her deeper beneath the water. she bucked and writhed, her nails tearing strips of flesh from your forearms, but you didn’t let go.
you tightened your grip on her hair, pressing her face harder against the pool floor. your knee pinned her chest, grinding her body into the tiles. the water around you turned darker, blood seeping from her broken nose, her mouth open in a silent scream as more red fanned outward.
bubbles poured from her lungs, the sound gurgling, desperate, frantic. her kicks slowed, arms weakening. still, you pushed harder, every ounce of fear and rage coursing through you.
the last of her breath escaped in a violent rush, her body spasming before it began to twitch less and less. her eyes rolled back, lips parting, more blood seeping from her mouth to mingle with the water.
you stayed there, holding her down, until she stopped moving entirely.
your chest burned, vision flashing white as you finally shoved her limp body aside and kicked upward. you broke the surface with a ragged gasp, sucking in air so sharp it stabbed your lungs. water and blood streamed down your face, dripping into your mouth as you dragged yourself to the edge of the pool.
hauling your body over the ledge, you collapsed on the cement, coughing violently, spitting up water laced with the metallic taste of blood. behind you, her corpse floated facedown, hair fanned out in a red halo that bled into every ripple of the pool.
you wiped your mouth with the back of your trembling hand, chest heaving. your rifle was still there, inches away, glistening with mist. you grabbed it with bloody fingers, forcing yourself back to your knees.
your son was locked upstairs. hiromi was still fighting for his life. and you—soaked, blood-smeared, feral—were ready to kill again.
you staggered from the pool, every muscle screaming, water and blood dripping from your clothes in a grotesque mix. the rifle weighed heavy in your hands, slick with your grip, but steady. the sounds of struggle echoed from the living room—furniture crashing, hiromi’s grunts growing weaker, the brute’s guttural growls vibrating through the walls.
you moved fast, bare feet smacking against wet tile as you burst through the doorway.
hiromi was on his knees, chest heaving, his face swollen and bloodied from the brute’s fists. the massive man loomed above him, porcelain mask cracked but unbroken, knife raised high. hiromi’s arm twitched as he tried to lift his weapon, but it fell from his grasp, his strength spent. his eyes rolled, fading in and out, his body swaying like he was seconds from collapsing completely.
the rifle snapped up, your breath sharp in your throat as your finger squeezed the trigger.
the shot tore through the room with a deafening crack.
the brute’s body jolted, the mask fracturing as the bullet punched clean through his chest. blood erupted in a spray, a wet burst that spattered across your face, your arms, your clothes. chunks of flesh tore loose, some sizzling as they hit the pool water behind you, turning the surface into a violent swirl of crimson and meat.
he staggered back, a strangled groan tearing from his throat before he collapsed hard, the tiles shaking under his weight. his blood spread fast, seeping across the floor, pooling into the water still dripping from your clothes until the entire room stank of iron.
you stood there trembling, not from fear but from the raw adrenaline roaring through your veins. your finger twitched on the trigger, eyes wide, chest heaving as you stared down at the corpse. there was no remorse. no hesitation. nothing left but the pounding of your heart and the acrid burn of gunpowder in your nose.
behind you, hiromi sagged against the wall, his eyes glassy. his chest rose and fell in shallow, erratic bursts, his body trembling with the last of his strength. he looked at you—at the blood painted across your face, at the rifle steady in your hands—and his lips parted as if to speak. but only a rasp escaped, broken and weak.
you turned to him, shoulders shaking, the rifle lowering slowly. your body buzzed with the high of survival, the horror of what you’d done, and the unshakable truth that this was only the beginning.
outside, the pounding grew louder. geto’s laughter carried through the steel shutters like smoke, mocking and delighted, as though every kill you made was part of the game he had written for you.
the pounding at the front door grew louder, shaking the steel shutters in their frames. hiromi’s head lolled against the wall, blood dripping down his chin, his eyes fluttering half-closed. you crawled toward him, one hand pressed to his chest to keep him conscious, the other still gripping your rifle so tightly your knuckles burned.
“stay with me,” you hissed, your voice trembling but fierce. “you hear me? you don’t get to give up. not yet.”
he blinked at you, dazed, his lips parting. “you… you’re not the woman i married…” he rasped. “what the hell have you become?”
before you could answer, the pounding stopped.
silence settled thick and heavy, pressing into the house like a weight. for a moment, the only sound was hiromi’s ragged breathing and the slow drip of blood pattering onto tile. you held your breath, rifle raised, waiting.
then came the sound that froze your blood.
the unmistakable groan of a door hinge.
and then your son’s voice, small and terrified, calling out through the house. “mommy?”
your heart crashed in your chest as you whipped toward the stairwell. the bolt—how had the bolt come undone? you had locked it, you knew you had.
but the security feed flickered to life on the darkened screen, static buzzing before the picture cleared.
geto stood in your son’s room.
he was a silhouette at first, broad shoulders, hair falling loose around his face, a faint ember glowing from the cigarette between his lips. the smoke curled lazily as he reached out, his hand brushing over your son’s small head, fingers curling through his hair with the slow intimacy of someone touching a possession they already owned.
your son was crying, clutching his stuffed bear, his little body trembling as geto loomed above him.
“look at him,” geto purred, his voice deep, smooth, cruelly calm. “perfect little lamb, just like his mother. such soft skin. such frightened eyes.” he leaned down, pressing his lips to your son’s ear. “he even cries the same way you do.”
“don’t you touch him!” your scream ripped through the house, raw and feral, your body surging toward the stairs before hiromi’s weakened hand caught your arm.
on the monitor, geto’s smile widened, teeth gleaming in the dim light. he tilted his head at the camera as though he could see you watching.
“if you want him back, darling,” he said, voice dripping with mockery, “then you’re going to have to come take him. but first…” his eyes slid down, narrowing on the lens, and his grin stretched sharp, unhinged. “…i think i’ll slit your husband open, just like i promised. right in front of those innocent little eyes.”
your son whimpered, burying his face into his bear as geto chuckled low, the sound rolling through the speakers like thunder.
hiromi tightened his grip on your wrist, his face pale, sweat dripping down his temples. “why…” his voice cracked, weak and raw. “…why is he so fixated on you?”
you swallowed, your throat dry, tears stinging your eyes but your voice firm as steel. “because i thought if i ignored him, he’d fade away.” your jaw clenched, your voice sharpening into a growl. “but he didn’t. he grew bolder. he wanted me then. and he wants me now.”
hiromi’s eyes burned into you, full of disbelief and fury, but before he could speak, geto’s laugh exploded through the intercom, manic and victorious. “tonight, my sweet judge,” he hissed, stroking your son’s cheek as the boy whimpered, “you’re going to learn what it feels like to be sentenced. and you’ll beg me to make it quick.”
ong i was stressed editing this..
ANDD I NEED YOU MOREEE THENN EVERRRR.. SO pt 2?
