Chương 211: B4. 11.2 - Rolling Credits

Deen and I leisurely strolled back to the store with the Last Freshie and Action Hero's corpse in tow. I had Action Hero's finger in my pocket, along with the frat boy's phones that I had confiscated. One more to my growing cache of souvenirs—the most prized would still be Deen's tooth. Maybe I could knock out more of her teeth someday and string them into a necklace. The night has finally quieted. Hopefully, there were no more last-minute arrivals.

I asked the Last Freshie if they had any incoming frat brothers, but there was no response. He was a husk. He didn't even react to walking beside his senior's corpse that I was dragging behind me. So fascinating to observe. Could I do this to other people? Like, just shock them into shutting down? Shell shock—this was similar to a depiction of shell shock I had seen in a World War II movie. But World War movies just sucked compared to Adumbrae War movies.

"What did you do to him?" I asked Deen, nudging my head toward the Last Freshie.

"I threatened him to follow us quietly," Deen said, "and not try to escape."

"Threaten him with what?"

"Being accurate about it, I didn't threaten him with anything. I told him that I'd give him a quick death if he didn't make any trouble. That's not a threat, is it?"

"You were implying a threat," I said, glancing at my oddball best friend. She was the twist character in this movie, turning out to be villainous under that beautiful façade. I couldn't believe I was walking next to a psychopath.

"Like, if he doesn't comply, he won't have a quick death. The opposite will happen to him." I wanted to say that a 'slow life' was the opposite of a quick death, but Deen probably wouldn't appreciate the dad joke. Also wasn't really appropriate for the scene.

"I wasn't implying anything." Deen passed her phone's light over my face. She stepped in front of me, blocking my way.

"There's blood on your forehead. Is that yours?" I squinted at the light, getting interrogation room vibes.

"Yeah… One of them managed to hit me. But it's fine because—""It's not fine," Deen sternly interjected.

"You got shot in the head! I shouldn't have left you alone."

"The bullet didn't penetrate my skull, okay? My body's really tough, way tougher than yours, so calm down."

"How can I be calm knowing that you could've died?" Deen kept the light on my face.

"Don't give me that 'I'm stronger than you' spiel. I know that. What if it were a shotgun that shot you? Your brain could've been blown right off. I'd have lost my best friend!" That last sentence—Deen just had to make my hypothetical death about her.

"If they had a shotgun, I wouldn't have faced them."

"Since they only had pistols, you thought it was fine to let them shoot you? Is that it?"

"I didn't let them shoot me," I said, though that was kind of what I did. A pretty cool scene, that was.

"Don't treat me like a child who doesn't know any better. Don't think that I've gone feral, like a rabid dog. I continuously fight for control of myself. And I'm winning."

"I-I know that," Deen hesitantly said. She couldn't help but wonder if I was really winning because I couldn't control my cravings for violence. She cleared her throat before walking again, beckoning for me to follow.

"We should focus on the cleanup. Check if everyone is accounted for." Taking charge was as natural as breathing for her.

"Uh, six people were riding the pickup truck." I resumed dragging Action Hero's corpse by one of his legs.

"Did Action—Uh, Enrico have anyone with him?"

"One friend. That's eight in total. The first six entered the store. Two escaped—I caught them."

"Good job, Deen," I said. From her tone, I knew that she wanted praise.

"I can always rely on you."

"Of course." Deen glanced at me.

"Did you kill all the—? Erm, no. Not that. I meant to ask if anyone is still alive in the—""That's just a roundabout way of asking if I killed them. Yeah, I killed the four people in the store. And I also killed Enrico. Well, maybe you did." I gave Deen the most determined gaze I could muster, putting on the facade that I was trying to be strong.

"This is the life of an Adumbrae. My life. You don't have to dance around the subject." Very dramatic.

"I was trying to be tactful. Then, you won't be offended by my next question—are you still hungry? We can save the brains of Enrico and Yves for you."

"Some kind of snacks for the road? Nah, I'm full. This will last me until Cecilia can whip something up."

"Okay… If you say so." Deen slowed her steps. She continued in almost a whisper, "The next time that you crave human flesh, I can offer my arm."

"Wait, what? Your arm?"

"I know you'd much prefer brains, those of regular humans. But I'm not going to let you become a Purple Bloom. This will be the last time you're eating brains, go it?"

"I'm not—!" I shook my head. My brain couldn't handle Deen's craziness.

"What was that about your arm?"

"You heard me. If Adumbrae hunger pangs torment you, you'll have to content yourself with my flesh. Consider it as weaning from human brains. I'll train you to—""You're going to train me like a pet when it comes to food?" Deen sighed.

"Don't twist my words, Erind. I don't—Ugh, the smell…" We had reached the store. The stench of death wafted out of the window. Deen knocked on the wooden wall.

"Are you one hundred percent certain that the four people inside are dead?"

"Yep, unless they can survive without their heads," I replied, reveling in Deen's disgusted expression. She wiped her face in a blink, stopping her thoughts from manifesting outwardly. Such fun messing with her. But I also couldn't help but suspect that she might be messing with me. Deen couldn't be that crazy to feed me her own arm. Right…? This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

"What about their phones?" she asked.

"Got them all in my pockets. I literally folded and crushed them. I thought of leaving them inside, but then I remembered that the memory chips are super tiny. Like, the chips inside might still be intact. We'll find somewhere else to throw these phones. What's left of them. Prudent, aren't I?"

"You are." Deen patted my head.

"I should find the destroyed phones that I've thrown."

"If you say 'good girl', I'll slap you."

"Showing signs of aggression," Deen said.

"Maybe you're still hungry.

"I don't want to eat your arm. Speaking of eating, I have an idea for disposing of the bodies." I glanced back at the Last Freshie. It was probably fine to talk about secret stuff with him right there. Not like his brain would process what he'd hear.

"I'll transform into—""Enough eating people," Deen cut in.

"I'm going to sew your mouth shut if you keep insisting on it."

"It's to hide the bodies," I protested.

"Are you suggesting that we bury them? That's a lot of work. And the police will probably find the graves, unless we bring the bodies elsewhere."

"Let's ask Cecilia if she has any ideas," said Deen.

"She should be an expert at hiding bodies in this area." Cecilia jumped out like a jack-in-a-box after Deen opened the trunk.

"You took your damn time! I almost died in there."

"You had enough air," I said.

"And it's not like it's hot in there." I recalled a true crime episode where kidnappers hid their hostage victim inside the trunk. However, they stupidly left their car in the afternoon sun, and their hostage got oven-roasted to death.

"It is cramped," said Cecilia, struggling to pull her hefty bag out of the trunk.

"You'd do well to remember the frailty of this body of mine, much more than the average human. Fifty-eight percent—""You're changing the numbers," I said.

"But point taken. We'll take better care of you next time. A much roomier trunk lined with velvet."

"Do what you have to do, Cecilia." Deen tugged the chain. The Last Freshie sprawled in front of Cecilia.

"Give him anesthetics before you drain his spinal fluid." Cecilia rummaged in her bag, pulling out pointy stuff.

"What makes you so sure that I brought any?"

"Don't play games with us," I said.

"We know you have stuff there that could knock people out." Of course, it was just a very educated guess by very educated girls. And we were proven right. Cecilia stabbed the thick needle of a massive syringe into the Last Freshie's arm. The pain must've dislodged some emotional blockage in his brain because he let out a high-pitched yelp and pushed Cecilia away. Deen grabbed the flailing Last Freshie before he fled.

"Thirty seconds," Cecilia said over the screams. She had a bemused expression as she stood, brushing the sand off her clothes.

"Please let me go!" pleaded the Last Freshie. His desperate efforts to escape were nothing to Deen's superstrength. All he achieved was to look like a child having a tantrum.

"I don't want to die! Please!" Deen maintained a steel mask while restraining the Last Freshie. Her morality button had switched off. The Last Freshie began to slur his words. His struggles weakened until he stopped moving. Deen didn't release him yet, letting several more seconds pass to make sure that he wasn't just pretending and that the anesthetic did take effect.

"There we go…" Cecilia rubbed her hands.

"I need lights. Can you girls—?"

"Move to the other side of my car," Deen said.

"We don't want you to be seen from the road. And I have a flashlight here," she added, searching the truck. Cecilia rolled out a mat containing a bunch of tools, some silver stuff, their wicked forms glinting. She also took out tiny cylindrical containers and lined them next to the Last Freshie. She knelt over his slack body, lit by a cone of white from Deen's flashlight—the only light for miles, even if the car covered us.

Might've been safer to do this inside the store, but Deen probably wanted to avoid the foul smell. So far, we have been fortunate that no other vehicle has passed by the road.

"Hold it steady, dear," Cecilia muttered, not looking up.

"And keep it low." She turned the Last Freshie on his side with much effort, arranging him to be in a fetal position, and pulled up his shirt to expose his back. Deen adjusted her grip on the flashlight.

"How long will this take?" she asked with a bossy tone.

"As long as it takes to do it right." Cecilia's trembling fingers moved with contrasting precision, choosing another syringe. She pressed her thumb into the small of the unwilling donor's back.

"Here, between these vertebrae. I'll help myself to unadulterated neural nectar." Cecilia drove the long needle with a huff. A dull pop echoed as the needle pierced deeper into the Last Freshie's spine. The Last Freshie let out a muffled groan into the sand. Besides that, he had no other reaction. Not even a flinch. The general anesthesia should block the sensation of pain, right? Science wasn't my strongest suit. Too much stuff I didn't care about.

"There we are…" Meticulously, Cecilia's fingers wrapped around the syringe's plunger. She began to pull backward. A clear fluid crept up the barrel of the needle. With a swift jerk, Cecilia extracted the needle. She held the cylinder up to the flashlight's beam, ignoring the dark blood pooling on the Last Freshie's back. She smiled, gave a satisfied nod, and deposited the liquid in another container. Then, Cecilia went in for another stab.

"How much do you need?" Deen asked.

"It's not a question of how much I need," Cecilia replied.

"It's whether you want to kill more people. The answer is no, I'm assuming. And so, I'll extract as much as I can from our unwilling volunteer right here. His contributions to my survival won't be forgotten."

"Can a person die from loss of spinal fluid?" I asked, observing with great interest. The role of a mad scientist was enticing, reminding me again of my experiments with insects. I'd just fake the science bits with made-up jargon.

"The procedure won't cause death if performed precisely," Cecilia explained.

"But excessive draining will lead to the brain sagging."

"I don't need to be a scientist to know that's deadly," I said as Cecilia extracted another full syringe's worth of spinal fluid.

"You're sure he won't wake up?"

"He won't," said Cecilia.

"Even if he does, there are neuromuscular blockers in my concoction, rendering him motionless even if he regains consciousness."

"That sounds like unnecessary cruelty," Deen said.

"If you were so opposed to cruelty, you wouldn't have delivered this specimen to me," Cecilia said with a judging chuckle.

"You know what I will do to him. The moral high ground is not yours to step on in this situation. This donor had friends, didn't he? But they are not around. I can guess the reason why. In fact, I don't have to guess. One of them is right here." Cecilia pointed at the car. No, at something underneath the car. I bent down to check. The shadowy form could only be a body.

"Who… is this?" I pulled the body out from underneath the car. A super dead Skull Tattoo Bro! I glanced at Deen. She shrugged.

"I had no choice. He attacked me while I was guarding their truck." As much as I wanted to be the one to kill this bastard who insulted me, Deen probably had more right to his life than I did. Or did Skull Tattoo Bro insult me more than her? Not a surprise that Deen killed a human because I knew she had done it before—she had killed some of the 2Ms' goons during the docks mission. One could argue that the docks mission was a different thing. Still, a kill was a kill.

And she must've also killed Action Hero's friend. We're now partners in crime. One thing to hide a criminal family member or close friend—many would do that instinctively despite knowing it was wrong, even if that was an Adumbrae. A whole different thing to actually kill someone. An insanely huge leap most people wouldn't do, even for a loved one. And Deen was willing to do it for me with no hesitation.