The Director, Mako, stood before them—smiling faintly beneath that pristine visor cap, hands still in his coat pockets like he was out for a late-night walk.
None of the five moved.
Their bodies were locked in place, not by force, but by something far more paralyzing—instinctual terror. Even Bobo, towering and bloodied, kept his distance. Luce's fingers twitched near her gun, but never grabbed it. Amelia's breath caught. Ryosuke's jaw tightened, his eye twitching. For once, the Phantom of Hiroki looked uncertain.
Only Mikey stood firm. His breathing was heavy. Hands trembling. But the gun was raised—aimed at Mako.
Mako didn't blink.
Mikey's eyes darted—just once—back toward Payne, still writhing on the ground.
He turned his gun to take aim at Payne.
Then—
BANG!
The shot rang out clean, loud, final.
But Payne didn't drop.
Mikey's eyes went wide.
The bullet never landed. In its place—a hand.
Outstretched. Open. Gloved fingers gently gripping the air in front of Payne's face.
Mako now stood directly in front of Mikey.
He hadn't moved. Or at least—it hadn't been visible.
Like lightning.
Instantaneous.
"I can't have you do that," Mako said, his voice like ash and gravel in wind. Raspy. Calm. Lethal. "As much as I hate him… can't have you killing him. Not yet."
Mikey growled and tried to pull the gun away.
It didn't budge.
Mako's grin widened.
A pulse ran down his arm. The veins on his hand lit up blue, crackling with arcs of pure current. Tiny sparks burst from his palm to the gun.
Then—
Sssshh—HSSST!
The metal began to glow red.
"Shit—!" Mikey jerked, trying to let go.
Too late.
The gun hissed and crumbled to ash between their hands, the barrel splitting and collapsing into dust that drifted off on the night air.
Mikey stumbled back, clutching his scorched hand.
"What the fuck…"
The others said nothing.
Even Ryosuke took a half step back.
Mako just looked at them, those unnatural yellow eyes scanning each of them in turn like a bored god surveying insects.
Then—he chuckled.
A quiet, broken, wheezing giggle. Like something dead had tried to laugh.
He turned, his back to them, and walked slowly through the group. No one stopped him. No one even breathed.
They parted like curtains before a storm.
Payne groaned behind them, one hand clutching the blood-soaked wound in his gut. "You're late, Mako," he coughed out.
Mako didn't turn—just slid his hands deeper into his coat pockets and kept walking.
"That's what you get for calling me," he muttered. "What was I—your third, maybe last option?"
Payne stayed quiet, gritting his teeth.
Mako stopped, now just feet away, still facing away.
"Too busy, weren't they? The others?" he said, tone drifting into mockery. "Kael's probably curled up next to the Chancellor's boots. And Mei…" he laughed dryly. "God knows what my sister's doing. Probably dissecting a friend. Or a pet. Or both."
He paused.
"And Ludovico…"
The name hung in the air like a threat.
Payne's face twitched.
Even wounded, even bleeding—he bristled at the name.
Mako turned, slowly, and walked back toward him. Still hands in pockets. Still grinning.
He squatted low, meeting Payne eye to eye.
"Oh, that's right." His tone dipped low, dangerous. "You're scared of him, huh? Heard you killed a few folks just for saying his name too loud." He cocked his head. "Sad."
He stood and let out a cackle—raspy, unhinged.
"Pathetic."
Payne hissed and staggered up to his feet, one leg barely working, blood seeping between his fingers.
"Shut your goddamn mouth and do your job!" he barked. "Kill these fucks!"
Mako turned to him slowly, a glint of amusement in his eye.
"Why?"
"Because it's your fucking job!"
That made Mako laugh even louder—vile and high-pitched, echoing down the length of the dock.
"Who said you're the boss of me, Payne? Huh?"
"Just fucking do it!"
But Mako only stared at him like he was watching a child throw a tantrum.
"You think I showed up to help you?" he said, voice suddenly quiet again. Dangerous. "You think I came down from the clouds to save the day?"
He turned away, facing the distant fires burning on the horizon. Somewhere, far off, bullets echoed into the night.
"I just came to take a look around," Mako said softly. "See how badly you fucked it up."
He laughed.
"Oh, and Payne… buddy… you fucked it up bad. Hahaha!"
He spun and strode back to him, this time with purpose. Got right in Payne's face, noses almost touching.
"What do you think 'He Who Shall Not Be Named' will do when he hears about this?" Mako whispered.
He leaned in even closer.
"Ludovico, I mean."
Payne's jaw clenched. The name stung like acid.
Mako smiled again—serene, haunting.
He turned.
And looked across the dock, eyes locking onto something else.
Jöten.
Payne's breathing was ragged, one knee wobbling beneath him. Blood leaked through his fingers, but his rage—his ego—burned hotter than pain.
He bared his teeth. "You listen to me!" he snapped. "I will not be ignored by a child!"
Silence.
Then—
Mako turned his head.
Slowly.
Like a predator hearing a mouse squeak.
"What," he said softly, dangerously, "did you just call me?"
The tension snapped like wire.
Mako stormed forward, boots crashing against the dock like thunderclaps. In an instant, he was face-to-face with Payne—towering over him, yellow eyes glowing under the brim of his white visor.
"I am almost three hundred years old," he hissed. "I have lived seven of your lifetimes,!"
His voice wasn't raised. It didn't need to be. It vibrated in the air like a tuning fork of violence.
He leaned in, breath chilling, skin electric.
"So watch your tone, young man. Know your place. You bug."
And then—
SMACK.
It looked like a light slap.
But the sound was like a whipcrack.
And Payne's body buckled—slammed to his knees like gravity had spiked. His eyes went wide. His lip split. He coughed blood.
"That's better," Mako mumbled, a dry chuckle rolling from his throat.
He crouched slowly, folding himself down with eerie calm, and stared at Payne beneath the shadow of his cap—those glowing serpentine eyes burning through the dark.
"You think any of us like you?" he whispered. "We all hate you. Every last one. Even Kael—and he'd suck up to a trash can if it meant a pat on the head."
A quiet, rasping giggle escaped him.
"You're nothing."
His voice was nearly gentle now, which made it worse.
"Nothing. Just a bug. An ant. An ant…"
He leaned closer. A smile formed—too wide, too calm.
"...beneath our boots."
He patted Payne's cheek again, this time even softer—mocking.
"Don't worry, it's not just you." He tilted his head, eyes narrowing with disgust.
"It's all of you. You normal people."
He spat the word like poison.
"Filthy. Loud. Ugly little things."
Mako stood tall again, brushing nonexistent dust from his coat sleeve. His voice echoed faintly into the silence that followed.
"Born to be ruled… or worship. At least my church agrees with that last part."
He cackles.
The five behind him remained frozen—wounded, stunned, breathless. Even Ryosuke looked shaken. Bobo's fists were clenched, trembling. Luce had tears in her eyes—frustration, rage, and fear all mixed. Amelia's knife hand had gone limp.
Only Mikey still stared, breathing slow, eyes locked on Mako.
And Mako…?
He didn't even look at them.
He just stood over Payne's broken form, basking in the silence, letting his presence stretch like a storm cloud overhead.
A Director.
A god among insects.
Mako turned.
His boots padded softly across the dock, but every step tightened the air around the five of them. A pressure. An instinct. Predator approaching.
They all tensed—Ryosuke's grip on his sword tightened, Bobo's fingers twitched, Luce's breath caught mid-chest, Amelia's jaw clenched so hard her temple pulsed.
Only Mikey didn't flinch.
Behind them, Payne still knelt—bleeding, broken, seething.
His pride hadn't bled out with the rest of him.
It never would.
His trembling fingers reached for a pistol lying in the grime. He dragged himself up with a groan, straightening his spine in defiance.
"Fuck you!" he spat.
BANG!
The shot rang through the night—
And bounced off Mako's temple with a soft, almost embarrassing thunk. Like a pebble flicked at a wall.
He didn't even blink.
The bullet rolled down the side of his face and hit the wood with a dull tink.
Mako stopped. He was now thirty feet away. He turned, slowly, looking over his shoulder like someone mildly annoyed a fly had landed on his shoulder.
He chuckled.
"You shouldn't have done that."
Then, with a flash of blue light—
CRACK!
Mako vanished in a flicker.
In the blink of an eye, his hand was around Payne's throat.
The air crackled with static.
"Go for a swim," Mako muttered.
It wasn't even a throw—just a lazy release of his elbow, as though brushing something off his coat.
But Payne was launched.
Screaming, tumbling, flailing—his silhouette twisted and shrank as he rocketed miles across the ocean. A distant splash barely echoed back to them.
Silence followed.
The wind rustled.
Then Mako turned back to them. Calm. Hands back in his pockets.
"Sorry about that," he said with a smirk. He didn't mean it.
It was all a game.
He walked through them slowly, passing each one like they were statues in a gallery.
Ryosuke held still, sweat rolling down the side of his cheek. His blade stayed in its sheath. For once.
Bobo didn't breathe.
Luce's hands twitched as though ready to pull tools that wouldn't save her.
Amelia barely blinked.
"I've had enough fun for tonight," Mako murmured, eyes scanning the sky. "Seen what I needed to see."
"You can all leave now. Survive. Die. Attack me. Don't attack me." He shrugged. "You're so… insignificant, it doesn't matter."
He passed Mikey last.
And stopped.
Then… backpedaled.
His head tilted.
A brow raised.
He leaned in slowly, uncomfortably close.
Sniff.
Sniff.
Mikey didn't flinch. He didn't step back. Didn't breathe.
Mako's grin widened.
"Fascinating…"
He tilted his head, as if seeing something under Mikey's skin.
"Name," he whispered. "Tell me."
Mikey's eyes locked on his. Fury radiated off of him in waves.
"Why in the hell would I give it to you."
His voice cracked like firewood.
He could still see it—Payne's body flying into the sea. The kill ripped away from him. He'd had him. Dead to rights. The man who'd hunted people, haunted him, murdered his parents, ruined lives—gone, flung like trash.
Mako had taken it.
Taken the one thing Mikey needed.
And now he stood here, grinning like a child.
Mako laughed. A rasping, vile sound that filled the whole dock.
He looked genuinely delighted.
"You don't fear me," he said softly. "I can tell."
He studied Mikey's face again, eyes narrowing in intrigue.
"And your scent… it reminds me of—"
He paused. Then laughed again, brushing it off.
"Whatever."
He stepped back and looked over Mikey's cuts, bruises, torn clothes, swelling eye.
"Still just an ant."
And then Mako turned fully, walking past him without a glance.
He stopped once, just long enough to glance over his shoulder.
"I'll allow it this time," he said, voice like frost. "Because I'm feeling nice."
The air around him buzzed.
"But next time… bow when you're in my presence."
Then he crouched slightly—hands still in his pockets.
Electricity began to gather, arcing around his coat, crawling up his boots, snapping around his shoulders.
BOOM—
With a sonic crack, Mako launched skyward in a vertical burst of lightning. The shockwave blasted out across the dock, knocking the five of them backward like leaves in a storm.
By the time they looked up—
He was gone.
Only the clouds above still glowed faintly blue.
With the Director gone, silence fell over the dock like a shroud.
No more lightning. No more thunder. Just the wind… and the smoldering wreckage.
The five stood still, breathless—ghosts under a ruined sky.
Then Luce turned.
Her gaze locked on Elliot's body, crumpled and still beneath the red haze of emergency alarm lights and flickering flames.
Her knees buckled before she even made it to him. She collapsed at his side, fingers trembling as they reached for his hand, his shirt, anything.
"Elliot…" she whispered, voice breaking. "No… no, no, God…"
A sob burst from her chest, jagged and raw. The grief hit her like a flood. Everything she'd held back… now crashing through. Her whole body shook.
Bobo limped toward her, dragging his leg like dead weight. He knelt beside her, voice hoarse.
"Luce… we gotta go…"
She turned to him, eyes red, soaked with tears.
"No!" she choked out. "I'm not leaving him here!"
Her fists beat weakly at his chest.
"We are not leaving him—he was our—he was our friend—"
Bobo didn't speak. He couldn't. He just wrapped his good arm around her waist and lifted her, gently but firmly.
"Let go of me! Bobo—don't you dare! We can't just—don't you fucking dare!"
She kicked, thrashed in his grip, screaming through tears.
Bobo cried with her. Quietly. His lips trembled. His eyes couldn't stop leaking.
"We gotta go," he whispered. "We gotta go, Luce…"
Amelia had collapsed to her knees, fists clenched at her sides. Her breath came in sharp, tiny gasps, eyes locked on Elliot like she could will him to move.
"Eli…" she whimpered.
Ryosuke came beside her, his limp subtle but real. He didn't speak at first. Just brushed the back of his hand against her arm—then rested it there.
His voice was low. Barely above the wind.
"We have to go… Amelia."
A single tear ran down his cheek as he helped her up. She turned into him, arms wrapping around his chest. She didn't speak. Just held on.
Together, they walked away, step by broken step.
Only Mikey remained behind.
He stood frozen at the side of the dock, staring at the dark smear of blood where Payne had lay.
Where he should've died.
Where Mikey had him.
His fists clenched.
His breath came in hot, ragged bursts.
I had him...
Mom...
Dad...
I fucking had him…
His hands trembled as tears slipped down his cheeks—hot, angry, relentless.
He dropped to his knees and screamed.
"FUCK!!"
His voice cracked across the water, echoing into the open black.
Him!
Always him!
I'll gut him!
Payne!
His shoulders shook, whole body rattling like a dam about to burst.
Bobo stood behind him, Luce still slumped over his shoulder, sobbing into his back.
He looked at Mikey, voice barely holding together.
"…Kid…"
He swallowed hard.
"We'll get him…"
His voice cracked.
"We'll get the bastard. Eventually…"
Mikey didn't respond. Couldn't.
But slowly, painfully, he stood.
They all did.
And together—shattered, bleeding, burning inside—they limped toward the Rescue Sub waiting at the end of the dock. Its lights flickered like a final beacon through the smoke.
Each step felt like a mile.
Each breath tasted like metal and ash.
Broken.
Physically.
Mentally.
They disappeared into the steel belly of the sub.
And the dock—silent and stained with blood—was left to burn in the dark.