Maarg, for all his bravado, to be honest, had no idea of what had exactly happened. But seeing the chilling interaction between Sammy and Andrew – the death stare, Andrew's sudden understanding, his bandaged arm – he knew enough. Sammy wasn't someone who would get angry at someone just for existing; her rage, when it came, was precise and earned. And as far as he knew Andrew, he was an egoistic person, prone to speaking without thinking, yet now he looked quiet and weak, shrinking under Sammy's gaze. The sheer terror in Andrew's eyes was a far more potent confession than any words. Maarg didn't need telepathy; the scene screamed its own grim story.
He let the silence hang for another beat, letting his own dramatic declaration settle in. Cobra's wary gaze, Jack and Gabby's expectant faces, Carla's confusion – all eyes were on him.
Maarg, keeping his confident act up despite the churning in his gut, snapped his fingers. He pointed directly at Sammy, whose gaze remained fixed and lifeless. His smirk vanished, replaced by a cold, hard stare as he looked Cobra directly in the eyes. "What did you do to my friend?"
Cobra's initial composed demeanor wavered for a split second, a flicker of irritation crossing his face before his expression settled back into a carefully neutral mask. He didn't flinch from Maarg's stare. He took a slow breath, his gaze moving from Sammy's still form to Andrew, then back to Maarg.
"What I did, young man," Cobra began, his voice surprisingly calm, almost weary, "was what needed to be done to save her." He glanced briefly at Andrew's heavily bandaged arm, a silent acknowledgment of the violent confrontation that had just transpired. "Sammy... she was in a state of extreme distress. A mental break, brought on by the horrors she endured."
He paused, letting his words sink in. "Imagine a mind pushed beyond its limits. We've seen it before, countless times. People who see too much, who do too much. They either collapse into catatonia, becoming unresponsive husks that simply waste away, or worse..." Cobra's eyes hardened, "they snap. They turn feral, violent, dangerous to themselves and to everyone around them. Like a rabid dog, they attack friend and foe alike, consumed by their own terror and rage. I've had to put down too many good people who fell into that abyss, screaming their own names as they tried to tear my men apart."
He looked back at Sammy, a strange mix of pity and resolve in his eyes. "What she experienced, what she was about to do... it required intervention. This state she's in," Cobra gestured vaguely at Sammy's emotionless face, "is a necessary measure. It's not a cure, no. But it keeps her safe, and it keeps her from harming others, and herself, until... until we can find a way to bring her back. She's stable now. She's here. She's alive."
Cobra folded his hands on the table, his gaze piercing. "So, Maarg. I ask you: what would you have done?"
Cobra's challenge hung in the air, cold and definitive. Maarg was about to respond, to choose his next words carefully, when a voice, devoid of its previous flatness, cut through the quiet.
"Why are you only telling half of the story?" Sammy said, her eyes, previously empty, now blazing with a terrifying, icy intensity. Her gaze was fixed directly on Cobra. "Are you afraid of them, Mr. Kai?"
The impact was immediate and absolute. The guards at the door visibly stiffened. Andrew, already cowering from Sammy's silent wrath, flinched violently, his eyes darting between his mother and his father. Jack and Gabby sucked in sharp breaths, their expressions a mix of stunned disbelief and dawning fear for Sammy. Carla gasped, her hand instinctively reaching for Cobra's arm.
Kai. The name itself was a thunderclap in the room. Cobra, the feared leader of the Vipers, the man who commanded through respect and terror, was only ever referred to as such by his wife, Carla. For anyone else to utter his true name, to disregard the carefully constructed persona of 'Cobra', was not merely a breach of protocol; it was a direct, unambiguous challenge to his dominance. Sammy's words weren't just an interruption; they were an accusation of cowardice, a blatant questioning of his judgment, and a defiant demand for the truth. Whether he would lie to save his son or reveal the whole, brutal story.
Cobra's face, usually so composed, contorted for a fleeting moment into a mask of pure, unadulterated fury. His jaw clenched, a vein throbbing visibly in his temple. The silent, powerful leader had just been called out by his own "rescued" captive, in front of his son, and in front of strangers he was trying to impress. The temperature in the room plummeted further, the air thick with unspoken threats.
The room froze. "Kai." The name, his true name, was almost never uttered aloud, save by his wife, Carla. Everyone else called him Cobra, a mark of respect, a testament to his dominance, forged in fear and power. For anyone else to use it, especially in public, was a direct, undeniable challenge to his authority, to his very identity as the Viper's leader. Sammy's words weren't just an interruption; they were a gauntlet thrown, questioning his judgment, his honesty, and whether he would dare lie to save his son, or tell the whole, terrible truth.
Cobra's eyes, previously narrowed in calculation, widened minutely. The carefully constructed mask of control began to crack. The faint smile that had played on his lips vanished, replaced by a chillingly predatory glint. The air in the room, already thick with tension, dropped several degrees. His gaze, sharp and dangerous, fixed on Sammy.
Carla, sitting beside him, gasped softly. Her hand, which had already been reaching for his arm, now tightened into a desperate grip, her knuckles white. Her eyes darted from Sammy's unnerving calm face to Cobra's raging face, a desperate, unspoken plea for him to control his anger, to not escalate the situation further. Fear for Sammy, fear for Cobra's volatile reaction, fear of misjudgment, was etched on her face.
Andrew, caught between Sammy's chilling gaze and his father's sudden silence, visibly recoiled under the sheer intensity of Sammy's stare. Yet, as the full weight of Sammy's defiance landed on Cobra, a dark, almost imperceptible gleam entered Andrew's eyes. His fear, replaced by a dawning, terrible hope. If his father's fury consumed Sammy and these outsiders, then his dark secret – the true reason for his bandaged arm, for Sammy's brokenness – would surely remain hidden. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched his lips, a chilling counterpoint to the raging storm brewing in the room.
Maarg's confident smirk faltered for the barest second. A jolt went through him at Cobra's sudden change in attitude. He hadn't expected her to speak, let alone deliver such a potent, targeted blow. A flicker of something akin to admiration, quickly overshadowed by immense dread, crossed his face. He instinctively tensed, his eyes locked onto Cobra, trying to gauge the depth of his fury, calculating escape routes in his mind.
Jack felt a protective surge tightening his guts and a fresh wave of shock. His eyes, still calm scanned every possible threat and locked onto Andrew. and his hand clenched around the spoon he was holding.
Gabby, ever the picture of controlled readiness, remained outwardly impassive. Her eyes, however, became sharper, more intense, darting between each player at the table: Sammy, Cobra, Andrew, Carla. She processed the sudden, explosive shift, her posture subtly adjusting, her muscles tensing, ready to move, to defend, at the slightest sign of an impending attack.
Even the two guards by the door stiffened. Their hands instinctively moved to their weapons, their eyes fixed on Cobra, awaiting the command that might plunge the room into chaos.
The king had been challenged. The silence was no longer heavy with unanswered questions, but with the ominous weight of a coming storm.