The Last Kill

The After

Eleanor Vance is imprisoned, she had never been to prison, she didn't even dream that in all her lifetime she'd serve a sentence, and watch NexusCore get dismantled. Her dream had vanished into thin air, like it had never existed before. She had argued, struggled with the cops, bit the ones she could, but they held on stronger to her arms pressing her against the cop car as the cold metal clicked against her wrist. One officer calmly placed his hand on her head and gently shoved her into the car.

She could sit in her cage and remember when NexusCore was only a thought in her head, and then when it began taking shape, slowly, with every determination she built this thing up from scratch, and watched it go back to scratch again.

The Architect's primary cell was brought to nothing, and their operations have now totally been disrupted by Silas Volkov, but the ancient sect—The Architect, the thought, remained a threat. What exactly are they? What have they become? What does the future hold? These questions and many more lurk around in Silas’ mind, as he tries to take a good nap. Detective Miller was now hailed as a hero, he continued his investigation, and he gave his many thanks to Silas for the breadcrumbs he left behind.

•••

"Lena" Silas called.

"Love?" she replied, hesitating, and then adding more power to her strides as she met him on the front porch of their apartment.

He told her that there's a lot she needed to know, and that he was sorry he was going to tell her sooner, but it wasn't still late for him to, so he made her sit and listen. She wouldn't get angry. Lena wasn't that lady to get mad at her man, she would rather cry and walk away, but he hasn't done anything that would require a tear drop from her, has he?

He took a deep breath, and opened his palm for her, she placed her palm in his, it was smaller and softer, and fairer, he closed his palm with hers inside, his was hard and rough, like something made of tree bark, that hand has seen life more than anything that ever existed before it, it has strangled a fully grown man to the death, it has scattered, and properly fixed back an assault rifle in 1.60 minutes, it has done terrible things, but it has also held her and kept her safe, and that was all she knew, that this hand kept her safe, maybe it all wasn't that bad, maybe, he was capable of love many more times than it was capable of killing. She didn't know the man enough. She didn't care, though, she loved him, and to her, that was all that mattered. Silas began to tell her the things that had taken place before.

"My name is Elias Thorne." He said.

"Your name is what?" she asked, smiling. Maybe it's just a...just a what? Joke? She thought.

She listened, like it was a story he was telling.

And with every word that escaped from his mouth, she learned the truth about him, and his past. She couldn't contain the tears in her eyes, she couldn't stop them from flowing down her dress, she couldn't stop him from talking. How could he be so...so open to telling her all these? It was better when she didn't know she loved a killer, a murderer, a Mafia lord.

"But I'm not in the Mafia!" he tried to explain.

"I don't care, murderer!" she yelled. He tried to reach for her hand.

"Don't touch me." she warned, as tears rolled down her cheek. She sobbed like she had lost her man, like she had lost a child.

Their fragile connection was broken, and they fell apart that evening, but not out of malice; she understood the profound sacrifice he made for her and for justice. Silas found peace in accepting who he was and who he has become. He was no longer defined by The Ghost but by the choices he made in The Last Kill.

"I'm...I'm pregnant, Silas." She said.

Silas disappeared again, oh, he didn't go into hiding, he went into a life of nomadic self-imposed duty, using his unique skills to quietly dismantle other unseen evils, he worked outside the law but for a greater good. Not everyone would do that. He now chose his own targets, on his own terms. Not everyone would do that too, and life got better daily, but didn't get as much better as it would if Lena was there with him. Lena never saw him again, he didn't return for her, neither did he return for her boy, their boy.

•••

15 Years later, Silas is on a remote, windswept coastline, gazing at the vast, indifferent ocean. The blue spread in the sky, the white rushing with the waves, the green God used to paint the trees, the sand in their numbers, the sun, everything just told separate tales. The thick, grey smoke of his past, the vague images, the polluted screams, and the dusty nights had cleared, and he could now see the horizon clear, and endless, full of new shadows, new evil, new men coming for him. Costa is now 15 years old and Lena is a single mother, caring for her young. It's never peaceful for long, if only he could remember that. Once a Mafia, always a Mafia, and bullets don't drop without at least chasing after their target.