Hunched over with his hands still bound, his head a bit low, William was cast into the dimly lit interior of the SUV. A faint glow from the interior light of the vehicle made his skin appear pale, almost ghostly, and his eyes an unnatural red as they fluttered closed, something off in the calmness of it all. The woman opposite him still watched, her face carefully blank, but he could feel her eyes lagging a second longer this time, perhaps caught by curiosity, perhaps by something she couldn't quite place.
He met her gaze, raised his brows, and she frowned, her mask faltering for just a moment as he looked back. Now speaking in a hushed tone, his voice was measured and soft, yet the weight of it had the space shrink instantly. "You don't know what it's like. to be seen as a monster," he said, his voice steady, yet laced with such a sorrow within him deep, deep to the core, so very real it pulled on something deeply buried inside of her. "To walk into a room and see everybody flinch every time, as though it's some instinct they can't control. To know, deep down, that they might be right to feel that way."
Her face softened, surprise flickering across it, but he didn't back down, pushed even further, steady gaze and all. "Do you know what it's like to be alone, really alone?" He continued his voice barely above a whisper, the weight in the words almost painfully vulnerable. "You might think you do-you might think you've seen a lot, even been through worse. But imagine living every day without a single person who cares about you, who sees you as more than a weapon, a threat."
"Imagine spending years watching others get on with their lives, having people around them who love them, and knowing you'll never have that." His voice went back to a murmur; his words seemed to carry the weight of the ache of loneliness he had kept buried for so long. "Everyone who ever showed me kindness is gone," he said, catching his voice as memories rose unbidden. Every person who ever managed to see past what I am, who actually saw me for me. Gone. And I wonder sometimes if it is because I don't deserve it.
Maybe they're right, that I am just a monster, and anyone who tries to love me pays the price.
She swallowed, and a shadow of discomfort crossed her features as he held her gaze, his voice still soft yet laced with a quiet force that pulled on her despite knowing she should brush it off. She shifted slightly, her composed expression slipping as she tried to look away, but he didn't let her get away, his words reaching her like an unspoken plea. "I didn't choose this, you know," he said, his eyes clouding dark with a sorrow she couldn't look away from. "I didn't ask for any of this. If I could change it, I would. I would give anything to be free of it… to have a life that isn't tainted by fear and death." His voice cracked, the barest fissure in his tone as he looked down, clenching his bound hands. Anything, to be like everyone else have friends, to go to school without everyone's eyes following me like I was some dangerous thing. But I don't get to choose. To be able to live without adopting a facade."
I never did. His gaze lifted back to hers, and she was caught, unable to look away as though he pulled her into his world, into the pain he'd held locked down for so long. "I get it, though," he said, his voice softer now, almost resigned. "I understand why you're doing this. You think you know me, think you know what I am."
"But you only know the story they told you, the things people say about me when they think I'm not listening." He fell silent, eyes searching hers, his face a haunting confluence of vulnerability and defiance. "But that's not who I am. I'm more than the Red Wraith, more than a weapon, or a curse, or whatever label they want to put on me. That is what I have been trying to prove to myself for so long, even when no one else would see it. I'm just… me."
A boy who's made mistakes, who's lost everyone he ever cared about, but who just wants to be something other than this… shadow they've painted me as.
The hardness in the woman's face faltered; her expression softened despite herself. She shifted uncomfortably, her posture relaxing as she looked at him eyes no longer cold, but touched with an empathy she hadn't allowed herself to feel before. She cleared her throat and finally looked away as if she needed to regain her composure, but that flash of vulnerability in her eyes could not be denied.
William watched her, quiet-faced but with a glint of hope in his eyes, small yet unmistakable. He could see the hesitation in her, a crack in her armor, the uncertainty she had tried to veil. And he knew he had touched something deep inside her, something she hadn't expected to feel.
"I didn't want any of this," he whispered, the admission falling from his lips in a quiet desperation. "I didn't want to be the Red Wraith. I didn't want to be feared. All I wanted was… a life of my own, a chance to be someone worth knowing, worth loving. Is that too much to ask?"
In one flashing moment, the mask fell entirely from the woman's face, her eyes gentled, a sheen of sorrow reflected in their depths. She opened her mouth to say something, but the words faltered, unspoken, as she struggled for control, to remember her mission, her purpose.
As the silence stretched on, William's hope began to wither-that faint glimmer of humanity in the woman's eyes fading back into cold detachment. She finally blinked, her features hardening once more to settle into that unyielding mask he had seen when she first captured him. Her gaze went steely; her body language changed as if she were putting an impenetrable wall between them, one he could no longer reach.
He felt his frustration twist, sharpen, into the flash of anger that simmered under the hurt. He'd tried, hadn't he? He had put himself out there and laid his fears bare, and for what? She hadn't budged. She'd let him bleed his emotions dry, watched him open himself up, and in the end, she'd closed herself off without a second thought.
The anger flared, and with it, a dark, familiar confidence welled up from inside—a reminder of the power he possessed, the force that had once made him a name whispered in terror. He straightened, his head canted so his gaze could meet hers full-on, his red eyes glinting with an edge of menace. When he spoke, his voice was calm, and controlled, yet held an unmistakable, razor-sharp threat.
"You think I'm powerless here, don't you?" he said, each word deliberate. His voice came low but held the dangerous weight of simmering intensity seeming to fill the air. "You think that because I let you bind my hands and put me in this car, that I'm at your mercy. That I'm some scared little boy, helpless and weak. But you're wrong."
She held his gaze, her expression taut, but there was a flicker of something- perhaps surprise, perhaps the smallest hint of wariness.
"I have tried to be reasonable with you," he said, his tone steady, yet laced with a chilling undertone. "I have tried to make you see reason that I am not some sort of monster they say I am. But if you are so bent on believing in the Red Wraith… perhaps I should remind you of precisely what that entails." His voice dropped to a near-whisper now as his words curled through the air like smoke.
Her eyes flashed, but he felt the subtle shift in her stance, the tiniest pull of tension in her shoulder. "You want me to be afraid of you?" she said, her voice firm, but her fingers clenched just a little on the seat edge, giving her away.
"Oh, I do not care if you are scared," he said, a faint, dark smile touching his lips. "But I think you will care if I stop cooperating." He leaned forward, his eyes locking onto hers, unblinking. "You know I could slip out of these binds if I wanted to. I could leave you here, in the middle of nowhere, wondering if I'll come back. But maybe that's not enough for you."
The moment drew in, taut as a wire between them, stretching with each second. He let the words hang, filling her mind with the implications of what he had said. Trained she might be, confident in her control over him, but he also knew the edges of doubt he could stir within her, the primal sense of danger his mere presence could provoke.
He leaned back, the silence settling like a shroud as he gave her a long, hard stare. "Do you want to see what happens when I stop trying to be 'reasonable'? Because if you keep pushing me, I promise, you won't like what you see."
She drew in a slow, measured breath, her gaze firming as her mind worked through his words, but the tension in her stance told him enough. She was shaken, if only a little, her confident edges chipped. She wasn't afraid yet. But he'd seen the flicker of wariness, the glint of doubt in her eyes. And as he held her gaze, he let his own intensity burn into her, a silent reminder that no matter how tightly she tried to control him, he was still a force she couldn't quite contain. In the quiet, he could sense satisfaction in it, a grim realization that he could continue, that he could force her to experience fully the terror he'd spent years avoiding. And while he might have preferred her sympathy, he knew a bitter triumph in knowing that if nothing else, he could make her 'fear' him.