In the car.
Total silence.
The meeting had just ended, but what they had seen... it didn't end in their minds.
Jonas drove without a word.
In the back, Claremont, Malik, Jeanne, and Torres were still sweating. Not because of the heat. That kind of sweat that doesn't come from the body, but from the heart. The one the soul releases when shaken.
What MI-GHUMI had done back there... it wasn't normal. Not human. Not acceptable.
But it was real.
The car kept moving, alone in the night, headlights cutting through the darkness. Then Claremont, too nervous to stay silent, chose to speak:
— Eh... well, that was... very interesting, huh...
Silence. No response.
He insisted, trying to convince himself:
— I still wonder if it's a good idea to execute my plan with Ilya Roskarov. I don't know how he managed to... to rip the other guy's head off... But maybe it was something supernatural...
Whispers began to be heard.
Everyone was looking for an explanation. They wanted to understand. They needed to understand.
But me... I had seen everything.
— Calm down.
They all turned to me, except Jonas who stayed focused on the road.
I slowly removed my mask.
— It wasn't Ilya Roskarov who tore off that head. It was the girl next to him.
Eyes widened.
Jeanne frowned.
— You saw her do it?
Malik added, tense:
— Are you sure, Natsa? Certain?
— Yes. It was just... too fast for you.
New whispers.
Claremont clenched his teeth, thinking fast.
— The girl next to Roskarov... She's not a normal kid, right?
I nodded.
— No. She's an old acquaintance. Her name is MI-GHUMI.
Silence. Then the whispers exploded.
— What?
— You know her?
— Are you trying to make yourself look interesting?
— Did you work with her or what? Or with the Roskarovs?
I calmly raised my hand. Immediate silence.
Then I spoke, in a neutral tone:
— We haven't seen each other for two years. She was an old friend. Before, in her old job... she was a serial killer. They called her... the Devil of Darkness.
Silence fell again.
But this time, it was not relief. It was shock.
That name... everyone knew it. In Marlha, it haunted the streets like a bloody urban legend.
Claremont let out a small nervous laugh.
— Wow... So it was that kid? I expected a much older woman.
— Don't underestimate her. Even with all our security... I think she can kill you, Claremont. In an instant.
He swallowed slowly.
— Well...
Malik sighed, almost to himself:
— I've never seen that so-called Devil of Darkness. I always thought it was a man...
Jeanne stared at me.
— How did you know her?
I answered calmly:
— She tried to assassinate me. Anyway. That's not the point. What I saw today is another MI-GHUMI. She's... different.
Claremont frowned.
— You think she won't recognize you? Two years isn't that long.
— That's true. But with her... you can never be sure. MI-GHUMI is strange, sometimes.
Jeanne resumed, more strategic:
— You think you can corrupt her? Make Ilya Roskarov vulnerable?
I stayed silent for a moment, then:
— I don't know. I need to talk to her.
A pause.
— Where will Ilya Roskarov be tomorrow? There's a good chance she'll be with him...
Claremont nervously tapped his finger on the front door and then said, almost reluctantly:
— Natsa, tomorrow we have to leave. It's not the right time!
I looked at him, calm but firm eyes.
— I know. But I have to talk to her. It's important... Besides, it might protect you in a way.
Torres, silent until then, turned his head toward me.
— Why do you think it's so useful to talk to her?
I took a second before answering, weighing every word.
— Because, originally, MI-GHUMI, even back then, always lived in darkness... but not necessarily by choice. We pushed her to do it. We locked her in that universe. I want to know if that's still the case now. Because now, she's in a mafia. And that's no coincidence.
Jeanne, hesitant, softer voice:
— And if it goes wrong? We know she's your friend, but you're on different sides now. Imagine she...
I cut her off sharply:
— Impossible.
She jumped, eyes wide open.
— How?
I sighed. My gaze returned to Claremont.
— Please, Claremont. I really have to talk to her. It's very important.
He crossed his arms, looking tense. Then, in a wary tone:
— Honestly, Natsa, I almost have doubts now. All this is too fast. I'm even afraid that you might, in a way... be an accomplice with this MI-GHUMI. So let's keep it simple: I'll only allow you to go if you're accompanied by someone here to check. Otherwise, I refuse.
I answered without hesitation:
— No problem. I'll go with Jeanne then.
Jeanne blushed immediately, caught off guard.
— Me? Well... you chose me so fast, huh, Natsa?
Jonas, keeping his eyes on the road, slid in a mocking tone while looking in the rearview mirror:
— Watch out, Jeanne. Natsa is only twenty, and you're in your thirties. You should be careful what you're trying to do there!
A burst of laughter erupted in the car, contagious. Malik laughed, even Torres gave a discreet smile. Jeanne gave Jonas a dark look. And I... didn't give a damn about all that.
The laughter gradually died down, and Claremont resumed, becoming serious again:
— Good. Ilya Roskarov will be at a church not far from here tomorrow at ten o'clock.
Malik blinked, surprised:
— A church?
— Yes. That's what he told me, anyway, when I announced our planned departure. He will have... a prayer to say.
Claremont stroked his chin, thoughtful, eyelids half-closed.
— Now that I remember... The Roskarovs may be arrogant, cruel, merciless, but they are all devout Christians. They worship God better than anyone...
I looked at him for a long time. My expression didn't change. But deep inside, something tensed.
They worship God, huh...
The next day – 09:58, in front of the Nuestra Señora de los Dolores church, outskirts of Mexico City.
Morning light filters through the church's tarnished stained glass. The air is calm, almost too calm. A man walks slowly, dressed in a long ivory coat, a black rosary wrapped around his left hand. Beside him, a young woman. With a straight, military step, but calm. It's MI-GHUMI.
Ilya Roskarov.
The priest, an old man with thick glasses, stands at the threshold. He smiles with familiarity tinged with some discomfort.
Priest: "It's... as usual, my son."
Ilya Roskarov (calm): "Inside, it's empty?"
Priest: "Yes. Everything is in order. You can enter, there's no one. Just how you like it."
Ilya slightly nods, then brushes the priest's shoulder in a sign of respect.
Ilya Roskarov: "Thank you. May the peace of God be with you."
He turns to MI-GHUMI, stops for a moment, then points to the door.
Ilya Roskarov: "Wait for me here. It will be quick."
MI-GHUMI nods without a word. She stands straight, arms crossed in front of the porch. The priest quietly slips away through a side door.
About thirty meters away, behind a stone wall and a row of bushes, Natsa and Jeanne crouch, hidden.
Natsa (whispering): "Wait for me here. I'll go alone."
Jeanne (dryly): "No way. Remember why I'm here? You're watched. So wherever you go, I go."
He looks at her for a moment. Then sighs.
Natsa: "Fine."
He gently pulls on the strap of his mask, fixes it on his face with a methodical gesture, then nods toward the bushes.
Natsa: "Stay low. And follow me."
They move closer. Silent. Every step controlled… until Jeanne trips, her foot caught in a root, and falls forward with a crash of leaves and branches.
MI-GHUMI sharply turns her head.
Her cold eyes widen.
MI-GHUMI: "…You. The woman from yesterday. The one with Claremont."
She steps forward. Then suddenly, she leaps forward, fist ready to strike.
MI-GHUMI (furious): "Are you spying on us?! Answer!"
But before the blow reaches Jeanne, a sharp noise rings out — a shockwave explodes, scattering leaves and dust into the air.
Natsa is there.
His foot blocked MI-GHUMI's. The impact is so violent that Jeanne is blown backward, falling into the bushes, groggy.
The two fighters fall to the ground, on guard. Face to face.
Their eyes lock.
MI-GHUMI: "Two intruders? Hmph. Whatever. It doesn't change anything."
She attacks without waiting.
Strike to the side, Natsa dodges.
High strike, he parries but steps back.
Spinning strike, he blocks with his forearm, but the seams of his gloves tear under the pressure.
His muscles vibrate. He barely breathes, chaining parries. Each blow from MI-GHUMI sounds like a muffled explosion against his arms. She strikes with the cold rage of someone who no longer questions.
Finally, he jumps back. Lands on his knees. Tense.
He raises a hand toward her. Palm open.
Natsa (panting): "Wait..."
MI-GHUMI (suspicious): "What are you trying to do?"
He slowly removes his mask.
MI-GHUMI sees his face.
She stops.
Her pupils dilate. Her breath catches. A wave of heat rises to her cheeks.
MI-GHUMI (trembling): "Na... Natsa?!"
She drops her guard. The seconds hang suspended.
Then she runs.
And throws herself into his arms, like a kid who has found something she never thought she could see again.
MI-GHUMI (almost crying): "Natsa!!!"
Natsa (soft but firm voice): "Glad to see you too... MI-GHUMI."