"So… She rejected you."
"I wouldn't put it that way, Monique. I think she thought more about me than about herself."
Amid a forest, the darkness of the night was interrupted by the light of a massive beacon located atop a very tall structure shaped like a watchtower. In the cabin at the top of the tower, an observation room filled with various electronic devices accommodated two people.
The space was about 15 square meters, with large windows made of the same material as the dome. The same dome could be seen from afar, several kilometers away, along with a series of other watchtowers forming a surveillance perimeter around the entire dome.
In this particular tower, the same young man who had attempted to gain the lamia's trust earlier that day now sat in a chair before a control desk laden with computers and other electronic devices.
He was dressed in full military uniform, and an assault rifle resembling an M16 was slung over the back of his chair. Positioned near one of the windows was a sniper rifle resembling a Barrett M82.
Beside him, though standing away from the control desk, was a parahuman woman with small, round, fluffy brown ears and thick, fur-covered forearms with large hands and claws.
Her legs were also extremely thick, particularly her thighs and hips, but fur only covered her lower legs from the knees down. She had very short black hair, matching the fur on her ears, forearms, and legs.
She too wore a military uniform, but unlike the young man, she carried no weapons or accessories. Instead, she had extra, reinforced armor, clearly designed to protect her in hand-to-hand combat.
"Are you sad?" the woman asked tenderly, as she rose from her chair and moved behind the young man's seat.
"No, quite the opposite. I'm even more motivated." Noticing her movement, the young man leaned back against the chair and relaxed.
"That's good. Your persistence is one of your most admirable traits. I'm sure she'll soon realize how much you have to offer and how amazing it can be to stay by your side."
After removing the rifle and placing it on another chair, the woman leaned against the back of the young man's chair and bent down, lowering her head until it touched his hair. She stayed there, comfortably leaning over the chair while affectionately inhaling the scent of his hair.
"What's worrying you?" the young man asked, sensing the woman was acting very emotionally.
"Nothing. It's just that the Estronitus level is a little high. After all, it's been a few days since our last time…" the woman said, using her hands to caress the young man.
With enviable delicacy and dexterity, she used her left arm to embrace his neck, stroking his face with her hand while lightly and pleasantly scratching his right cheek with her index claw.
With her right hand, she intertwined her fingers with his, gripping firmly but not enough to hurt. Even if he wanted to free himself, he couldn't.
"I don't like it when you lie, M. We tell each other everything—that's the agreement. Are you trying to break it now?"
To anyone entering the room, this scene might look like a parahuman attacking the young man—a tense and dangerous moment few would dare to savor, especially without a Pact established between the parties.
But that's precisely what Monique wanted—to see how much the young man still trusted and depended on her. However, he immediately caught on, and while he didn't resist or hesitate to let her grasp his neck with her sharp claws, he wasn't satisfied with her previous answer.
"Are you going to ignore me?" Seeing that the woman was more focused on physical contact and the scent of his hair, the young man raised his voice, questioning her seriously this time.
This startled the woman, making her open her eyes and pause her actions, showing he wasn't pleased with her response. But after hesitating and thinking for several seconds, she resumed her actions with even more intensity.
"… I'm a little scared, Greg," she said, closing her eyes as she continued smelling his hair and caressing him, though now more desperately and intensely.
"Scared of what?" the young man asked, genuinely surprised.
"I've thought about it many times, formulated hypotheses, and mapped out several courses of action. That's what I do—I've been trained for it since I was nine years old, and maybe it's the only thing I'm good at. But the more I thought, the more my predictions and hypotheses terrified me…"
Pausing briefly, the woman suddenly stopped all her actions, motionless as she hesitated to continue.
"We're partners, M. What's bad for you is bad for me too. If it scares you, I'll help you face it," he said, squeezing her hand intertwined with his and tilting his head back to touch her nose.
"I know, Greg, I know. But how long will it stay that way?" Her voice was melancholic and downcast, and her actions turned cold and passive the more she dwelled on the subject.
"What?" Once again, he was caught off guard, unable to understand where she was going.
"Technically, we're nothing more than coworkers. We're not even officially temporary partners, and you haven't mentioned any future plans with me, even though you're so close to graduating. All I can think is that once you secure your Lifetime Pact, you won't need a Support Hound anymore… You won't need me anymore…"
Emotions surged like a wild river as Monique confessed what had been consuming her mind for days. Her actions mirrored her feelings, starting with melancholy and self-loathing that made her pull away slightly from the young man.
But soon, an intense revolt overtook her, deepened by sadness at the future she envisioned. Anger and sorrow nearly brought her to tears as she fiercely clung to the young man, grasping his neck with her claws in a subtle but threatening grip.
"Am I so terrible, Gregory, that you wouldn't even consider forming a Pact with me? Not even a mere temporary one? It made me think over and over about how I could kill you. Slowly, quickly, painlessly, painfully… So many ways came to mind, Gregory, whenever I thought you'd leave me for… for a weak, stupid A-Class Hound…" She spat the last words with disgust.
Her voice was cold, full of remorse and sorrow. She was deeply hurt, not in a simple way, but profoundly. Her claws trembled, her breathing quickened, and her eyes filled with tears.
Slowly, the sharp claws pressed deeper into the young man's skin until they reached a certain limit. A little more force, and they would pierce the skin as easily as a knife cuts through a fish.
But against all logic, the young man seemed even more relaxed than before with a slight smile on his face.
"Go ahead. You have every reason to do it," he said with a voice calm and serene.
"…"
Hearing his words, Monique hesitated briefly before pressing his neck harder. But she stopped as soon as she realized his skin had broken and a drop of blood formed on the tip of her claw.
"What's wrong? Go on, pierce my throat quickly—it's easy."
"…"
She didn't move, paralyzed after realizing she had just hurt him.
"Come on, M. Are you just a coward who can't assert herself? Not even when I'm about to leave you, you can't take action?"
"… I…"
"Do it. Press harder," the young man said, using his own hand to guide her claws deeper into his neck.
"NO!" Realizing she was hurting him more, the woman suddenly pulled away and collapsed to the floor.
"I can't… I can't…" she muttered, crawling away from the chair as despair, fear, pain, and regret consumed her soul.
"Why, M? Why can't you?" he asked, spinning his chair around, leaning forward, and looking into her eyes.
"I lost control, Greg… Forgive me. This isn't me," she said in a desperate outburst, kneeling with her head pressed to the floor as she begged for forgiveness.
"I'm not like this, Greg. Forgive me, please. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" She continued apologizing, crawling to his feet and desperately clutching them with tenderness and despair.
"…"
"I would never hurt you, Greg. Forgive me," she pleaded, seeing no reaction from him. Her despair became even more evident as she clung to him and licked the blood running down his neck as if trying to erase what had just happened.
"…"
"Forgive me… Forgive me… Forgive me…" she repeated, clutching desperately at his waist as the young man looked down at her with a neutral, emotionless expression.