On the ground floor of the hotel, a sudden bloodbath erupted. The Crimson Blades, acting on a tip about a Southtoria tycoon carrying pink diamonds worth $100 million, had initiated a brutal takeover. A man in camouflage, three scars marring his left cheek, stood menacingly amidst the chaos. Roughly fifty Crimson Blades were present; some had gone upstairs to secure the building, while the rest remained downstairs.
Burly men surrounded the hostages, black bags overflowing with looted valuables and cash nearby. The scar-faced man, Charlie Deja, brandishing a machine gun, sprayed bullets at the kneeling captives. His laughter echoed, punctuated by the sickening thud of falling bodies. His spittle flew as he watched the defenseless people fall.
Just then, Bob Jefferson, another man in camouflage, whispered to Charlie. Charlie’s face darkened, and he casually shot a hostage attempting to escape. Terror gripped the remaining hostages, huddled together, helpless and pitiful.
Charlie growled, “Why the hell aren’t the people from the fifth floor down yet? Get up there and check it out, don't waste any time.”
Bob nodded. “I’ll go up right away, Mr. Deja.” He then yelled to his men, “Come on, let’s go up and see if these bastards are slacking off.”
As a dozen men pressed the elevator button, a chilling voice echoed, sending shivers down their spines: “What a lively scene.”
Silence descended. Everyone searched for the source, the voice audible but unseen. Charlie, gun raised, shouted, “Who’s there? Show yourself!”
Bob, returning from the stairwell, asked, “Mr. Deja, what’s going on?”
Charlie slapped Bob, spitting, “You ask me? How the hell should I know? Go find whoever it is!”
The voice, clearer now, responded, “Are you looking for me?”
Charlie looked up to see a woman perched on the second-floor railing. She sat casually, legs dangling, a carefree smile playing on her lips, yet her deep brown eyes held a chilling intensity. The starlight illuminated her, giving her an ethereal, almost divine quality.
The scarred man stared, disbelief etched on his face. “A fairy? Are you really a fairy?” He quickly recovered, leering, “Who are you? Another guest? Since you’re a beauty, how about you come with me? I promise you’ll eat and drink like a queen. I’m pretty good in bed too.” His men erupted in laughter.
Yvette lowered her gaze, then looked up, her eyes like icy blades. With a frosty demeanor, she replied, “Go with you? I don’t think so.”
Charlie scoffed. “What do you mean, no? I’m Mr. Deja of the Crimson Blades. Follow me, and you won’t regret it.”
Yvette tilted her head, a playful smile on her lips. “He’s going to take care of you,” she said, gesturing towards a man emerging from the shadows.
Jeremiah, having dealt with troublemakers in the stairwell, saw Yvette and overheard Charlie’s advances. His gaze, deep and unreadable, softened as he looked at her. “You’d let him take care of me?”
Yvette remained silent. Charlie, alarmed by Jeremiah’s presence, aimed his gun. Jeremiah didn't flinch, his eyes fixed on Yvette.
Yvette’s gaze fell upon Charlie’s gun. A hint of crimson touched her eyes as she softly said, “You think you can point a gun at my man?”
Jeremiah’s lips curved into a smile. Before anyone could react, Yvette drew a silver gun and fired, the bullet piercing Charlie's chest. Blood splattered, causing a nearby hostage to faint.
Bob rushed to Charlie’s side, shouting, “Mr. Deja!” Charlie, blood spilling from his mouth, gasped, “She… revenge…” He then died.
Panic seized Bob. He dropped Charlie's body and yelled at his men, “Go! Shoot them! Kill that couple!”
The hostages scattered. Bob, focused on Yvette, suddenly clutched his chest. Blood poured from a wound. He collapsed, looking up at a tall, imposing figure standing by the elevator. Silence fell over the once-chaotic scene.