"Come on! My little princess!" She heard her father's hearty and deep voice. She started running as fast as she could, her bare feet stepping into the damp soil of the garden. The little girl giggled, and her laughter mingled with her father's.
Mother reproached him, but it sounded more like she was being coquettish: "Aben—, you always spoil her too much."
"Helene Griggs." The face of Bourbon appeared. His face began to flicker. His face began to sway. His face turned into a distorted, blurry, undulating patch of light and shadow.
He kept repeating one sentence: "I'm here to help you. I'm here to help you. I am, here, to, help, you. I'm—here—to—help—you—"
Helene woke up.
The world made up of dots transformed into clear white, and the lingering bitter smell of disinfectant was a common feature of every hospital. The air conditioner was on in the ward, and someone had opened the window again. The cold and hot air currents clashed against each other in the whole room, creating a strange and sweltering heat. She found herself breathing heavily, and the dryness in her breath warned her brain that she urgently needed water.
(She huddled in the corner, filled with fear. The sweat on her hands was as cold as if it had formed a layer of frost. At the end of her line of sight, there was a glimmer of light, radiating endlessly, abandoned on this land, yet she couldn't feel a bit of heat. It was bone-chilling cold, as if drops of water could be squeezed out from between her limbs. The souls of the dead noticed this helpless little darling and gathered around, cheering, all maliciously looking forward to her joining them.
Death gave her a sinister sneer. He had already taken away Dickson and Alkemia, and Sherman's whereabouts were unknown. She would be the next one. Helene gripped the AK47 tightly. The handguard had become damp and sticky from being held for a long time.
Definitely, definitely...
As she was admonishing herself, the light and shadow flickered, scaring her so much that she hurriedly pulled the trigger in a fluster. The smooth metal collided with her delicate fingertips, but no fierce attack was launched. The rifle just symbolically fired a single bullet that hit the ceiling above and then fell silent.
The gun was empty and locked back. In despair, she dug out the last bullet, pulled the bolt, and loaded it – that was reserved for herself.)
"You're awake?" A pleasant British accent brought Helene back to reality. The girl sat up slightly and only then realized that she had been clutching the bedsheet tightly. Her fingernails had almost dug into the flesh of her palm through the clean white cloth.
The person who had spoken to her was Emilyka Macwill. Helene had heard of the great reputation of this campus belle of Yitland a long time ago. The beauty sat gracefully by the window. Her delicate figure was set off by the gentle breeze, and the silver tips of her hair swayed slightly.
Of course, she also wouldn't forget why Emilyka was here.
PTSD.
She stretched her legs towards the edge of the bed and slowly and carefully tied the laces of her boots, as solemnly as if she were going to a funeral.
Helene took out a Glock 17 from the bedside table. She pulled the slide back to chamber a round and saw the murderous look in her own eyes reflected on the yellowish cartridge case.
A murderous look as blue as the sea.
She checked it again. Each of the 13 bullets inside, once hitting the target after the bullet tip was sharpened, would make the human body burst open, resulting in something similar to a dumdum bullet.
At this moment, she remembered the hugs her father had given her. They were warm, powerful, and carried a faint smell of tobacco.
("You can check it." Bourbon tossed over an AK74M. "I mean no harm."
"I knew your father, Aben Griggs. I even held you when you were a baby. Later, we were both transferred to a unit called the 373 Combined Task Force."
"I'm here just to tell you the truth."
"About your father's death.")
Emilyka sat quietly by the window, the needle and thread in her hands flying slowly but meticulously. There was a faint smile on the corner of her mouth. The flowing sunlight and her silvery hair set off each other, casting a mysterious glow over her.
"Emilyka," she called her softly, "I have a question."
Emilyka stopped what she was doing and gently brushed aside the hair by her ear. In this movement, the band-aid on her hand was revealed: "I'm listening."
"If someone took away the most important thing from you, and now..."
Helene said in a low voice, "he's at your mercy, what would you do?"
The smiling corner of the listener's mouth withered and faded away as quickly as the winter jasmine facing a cold snap. Emilyka closed her eyes and pondered. When those captivating bright eyes opened again, her face was expressionless: "Are you serious?"
"…Yes."
She raised her hands, on which were the results of her work these days. Under the careful weaving of the girl, the high-quality nylon had become a net: "A friend of mine from China told me about a punishment called 'lingchi'. You put the fishing net over him, and then..."
The murderous look in her pupils solidified: "I'll make sure he dies a painful death."
(Father's laughter. Mother's laughter. Her own laughter.)
The memories echoing in her mind almost made her dizzy. Helene stood up and inserted the gun into the back of her waist. The gravity brought a sense of pressure along with it, which made her feel at ease.
(Laughter.)
Helene looked at Emilyka. She finally understood that what she was going to do was right. She made up her mind.
This was not just her own business.
For mother.
For father.
For her, the final moment had arrived.
(Hugs, the solid muscles giving a sense of security.
Like a sun.)
"Where are you going?" Emilyka called out to her.
"To the headquarters. I have to go find Instructor Wilson Hercules." Helene replied casually.
Emilyka lowered her head and got busy with her work again, only muttering: "Goodbye."
("My name is Wilson Hercules, madam." The man knocked on the door of the apartment. The water on his boots was shining. There was always countless rain in London, which was really annoying. "I think I had the honor of meeting you at a party. That's where you met Aben."
"Oh, yes, I remember you. Would you like a cup of black tea?"
This man is so annoying. Helene thought to herself. She watched the rain running down Wilson's trouser legs and turning the carpet dark. Dad wouldn't choose to come home on a rainy day. "That would make the house as wet and muddy as slime." — That's what Dad said the last time he came home.
She stared at Wilson, baring her baby teeth like the little kitten downstairs, making a growling sound in her throat.
"Your daughter is really cute." Wilson forced a stiff smile, like an old stone statue in Greenland.)
She opened the door. Outside the door stood a little girl with curly flaxen hair and pupils as clear as the sea. She was biting her thumb and looking at her pitifully.
The little girl asked in a childish voice: "Where is my Daddy?"
( "…On behalf of the 22nd Special Air Service Regiment, I'm here to inform you that your husband, Captain Aben Griggs, was killed in action on June 22nd. Our regiment offers our sincerest condolences…"
Mother didn't say a word. In the terrible silence, she realized that she had already fainted.)
Amid the sound waves, the little girl gradually became transparent and turned into disappearing light and shadow. Groups of trainees walked past her, and the content of their conversations unavoidably rushed into her ears and touched her heart.
They were all longing to go home.
Home…
(Warmth.)
Helene raised her palm, where the lines crisscrossed.
(Drops of water.)
There were conspicuous scratches on her skin, and she realized that they were remnants of her dream.
(Drops of water stretched into long thin lines and fell onto the carpet. They seeped down. They split into tiny molecules, seeping down infinitely, passing through the plush surface, falling with the swinging of the lines until they touched the fibers and shattered into endless black…)
She raised her head. Eventually, she became expressionless, with only the memories swirling in her mind. The changes in the world couldn't reach her ears anymore.
(There used to be many people here. They told her their grief one by one, but none of them cared about the pain in her heart. She was almost numb, silent and still. The visitors shook their heads and sighed one by one, and then left.
It was raining again. The rain washed over the church. She hated, no, loathed the rain. The rain had destroyed everything for her. It was raining when Dad left, and it was also raining when Mom left… The rain rushed over the rotten wood of the centuries-old church and poured onto her.
It was so cold.
She thought of Dad's hugs again. They were warm, powerful, and smelled of tobacco.
It was so cold.
Mom, I miss you…
Now she was all alone. She hugged herself, longing for the warmth that was already gone.)
Helene walked down the corridor. She saw another version of herself running ahead, looking back from time to time. A machine gunner who was talking to a doctor glanced at her curiously, and she could read the fleeting surprise on the gunner's face.
The other Helene turned the corner and signaled her to follow.
Helene took a step forward. The past version of herself was dressed in plain clothes and stood out so conspicuously among the people in military uniforms. For no reason, she thought of the Ugly Duckling by Andersen, and the swan that was so out of place among the ducks.
That was Mom's favorite story.
("Wilson Hercules," Bourbon handed her a cup of black tea, "he's a scoundrel. At that party 18 years ago, he was just as smitten with your mother as your father was. He coveted her, but he failed. So he held a grudge."
"…I saw him kill your father with my own eyes."
"…He's approaching you just because you're your mother's daughter.")
Someone was saying sorry.
Was it meant for her?
She ignored the impetuous person and continued to follow the other Helene.
(Someone pushed open the door of the church.
The rain was pattering loudly, and at the end of the view, the figure was lonely.
Wilson's face was etched with exhaustion. She saw the resemblance to herself.
"From now on, I'll be your guardian, Helene.")
She saw the door of the headquarters. Tao Zheng and Peggy were on guard again.
(The face of Bourbon.
"Everything you've lost is because of him, Helene."
"You don't even realize how much you look like your mother…"
"For your father, child."
"Do you know what you should do.")
She stared at the fireplace. The flames were rising sinuously, turning into distorted foul air. From time to time, little sparks jumped out of the fireplace, collided in the air, let out a "crack!" as they burned out and then disappeared.
The face of Wilson.
"Where are we going?" She asked him. The airport was crowded with people.
Wilson flipped through the newspaper: "Yitland."
"Don't be afraid, child… I promised them that I would take good care of you."
"Swear on my life.")
Helene had already rushed into the headquarters one step ahead of her and disappeared in an instant as she passed through the door.
She stopped and calmed herself down. She warned herself that she couldn't give herself away.
Even though that thing was urgently calling her.
(Warmth.)
(Hugs.)
She raised her head again. A sense of mission and determination had molded her into what she was now. Something was waiting for her behind the door.
It was called fate.
Something she had to do.
(Laughter.)
Helene held her head high and walked towards her fate. The pain gave her the courage not to face the future. When did all this start? Was it when Wilson pushed open that door? Was it the door of the church or the door of her home? Whether it was on which rainy day, it had determined the present.
She used to not believe in fate either.
To Tao Zheng's surprise, this girl in front of him seemed to have something more about her in just a few seconds – she was like going to the execution ground. Indeed, it was her execution ground, and the girl didn't plan to leave the door alive.
With the wind blowing and the water flowing, she would never return to the mortal world. Did William Wallace feel the same way back then?
…Finally, Tao Zheng just pressed the communication device: "Helene Griggs has entered. Repeat, Helene Griggs has entered."
Peggy stared at Helene warily. A woman's sixth sense told her that the girl in front of her was very dangerous. Vaguely, she smelled the scent of madness, like a barrel of black gunpowder that was heating up and about to reach the critical point, quietly sitting there, yet you knew it could cause destruction at any moment… The sense of suffocation pressed in on her from all directions, pressing her to open the safety and pull the trigger…
Helene walked straight past them. From beginning to end, she didn't even look at them.
Tao Zheng let out a sigh of relief with lingering fear: "What's going on? Are all the strange people going to Courtyard C, right?"
"I feel something's wrong." Peggy's hand was still resting on the trigger, and with a little more pressure, she could fire. "I once met a terrorist. His eyes were the same as hers, both with that kind of fanatical…relief."
She made a decision: "Let's report it. Hello, this is Peggy Cerseven. Helene Griggs' mental state is abnormal."
"Received. Instructor Wilson has been informed."
Came the reply from the other end.
(Laughter. Laughter. Laughter.)
The guards carefully sized up Helene.
(Warmth. So warm that she wanted to be lost in it forever.)
The coffee cup shattered into sharp little pieces of porcelain. The thick bitter fragrance permeated the air, and the dark brown liquid slowly spilled out. Its owner was too busy pounding on the keyboard to care. The disregarded papers flew around and landed in front of Helene, covering each other and just revealing a single letter "A".
(A.Avenge.Revenge.For the hugs she had once had.)
The world seemed to slow down in her eyes as she walked in through the mess on the floor. Wilson had a cigar in his mouth but hadn't lit it yet. He noticed his adopted daughter: "Helene, why are you here? They're already taking revenge for you and your friends..."
(Revenge.LaughterThe shadow of her father was swaying in the hazy light.)
"…They'll get back what we've lost.
(Get it back.That hug.Get it back.Get it back.Get it back.Get it back…)
Someone hugged Helene, stood on tiptoe, and gently leaned her head on Helene's shoulder. Helene realized that the other version of herself had actually been following her all along and had been waiting for this moment for a long time.
"Isn't it?" The mirror image that only she could see whispered in her ear with the same voice that only she could hear, "For father."
After saying that, she melted away like ice and snow.
"AAAAAAAH! WOW!" Cheers burst out from the console. "The communication has been restored!"
"What?!" Wilson's attention was drawn over there.
She grasped the pistol. The grip was cold and smooth.
("For your father." Bourbon said to her.Warmth.)
"Updating the status! Team Five has completed the rescue, Team Two…"
(Hugs.Give them back to me.Give them back to me. Give them back to me. Give them back to me. Give them back to me…)
"Give them back to me…" Helene let out a moan like a whisper.
Wilson didn't hear clearly for a moment: "What?" He turned his face towards her.
(Give them back to me!)
"Give them back to me!" Helene roared. Her eyes were fierce and full of anger and hatred, which flowed like lava in her eyes. She let out a desperate howl. With a bang, the 9-millimeter bullet shot out of the barrel, heading towards the end she longed for!
Wilson looked at her in disbelief, staggered back violently, and knocked over the expensive equipment beside him. Finally, someone reacted. Elsa raised her HK 416C and aimed it at Helene.
"No…" Wilson reached out his hand towards Elsa, his eyes full of pleading. He didn't have a chance to say anything more. The second bullet sank into his frontal lobe, sending him into an eternal cold slumber.