slaves of freedom: glitched souls

Chapter five: who am I right now?

Luca's shock lasted longer than it should have, knowing him. For the first time in the last seven years, he didn't know what to do. His chest tightened, his mind scrambled for a solution, but there was only a hollow weight hanging in the air.

He forced himself to calm down. "Kassandra... You're really fucking something up rig—"

"SHUT UP!"

A gunshot. Aimed for Luca's heart by Kassandra but missed by a few inches

The old bastard's greasy smile twitched before he staggered back, eyes wide.

The woman beside him—probably his wife or whatever—let out a sharp gasp, stepping back like she'd seen a ghost. Her eyes darted between Luca and Kassandra, unsure who to be more scared of.

Luca barely reacted. The bullet tore through his side, but it was just pain. He'd had worse. He pressed a hand to the wound, feeling the warm blood seep through his fingers. Annoying.

The bodyguards moved fast, but not fast enough. They hesitated, trying to disarm Kassandra without actually killing her. Stupid. There was no way that was happening.

She wasn't just aiming—she was daring them to try.

"Is this what you wanted?" Kassandra's voice shook, but not from fear. From rage. "Is this why you saved me? Just to hand me over like—like some fucking piece of meat?"

Her fingers tightened around the gun.

"I trusted you."

Luca's mind was running "five guns ready to kill me… and this stupid bitch with her Bollywood ass timing "he thought to himself"I should get us out… but who should I take out first… unless this fucking idiot takes me out first "

"ANSWER ME!" Kassandra shouted.

The old woman stood up, her face twisted with anger.

"I will not tolerate such behavior, brat! Your mother left me with full responsibility for you, and you will do exactly as I say, just like you use—"

Seven shots.

The old woman barely had time to react before Kassandra emptied the mag into her.

Her body jerked with each bullet, a look of shock frozen on her face as she collapsed.

Kassandra stood there, gun still aimed, her chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. Her eyes burned—not just with rage, but something deeper. Something haunted. Something broken.

Sadness.

She didn't say a word. Just stared.

"YOU'RE OUT OF BULLETS, DUMBASS. RELOAD!" Luca shouted.

Kassandra froze. She forgot the rule. Always count your bullets.

The bodyguards didn't waste a second. They tackled her, forcing her onto her knees. She thrashed, but they were stronger, pinning her down.

The old man stood up, brushing himself off like nothing happened. He didn't even glance at the woman's corpse. Didn't care. In fact, he spat at her before turning his attention back to Kassandra.

He reached out, his disgusting hand moving toward her hair.

Kassandra thrashed harder, using everything she had to break free.

Luca's jaw clenched so hard it hurt. His forehead veins bulged, his hands shaking.

He could barely breathe through the rage.

Kassandra's eyes darted to him. She wanted help.

But before she could say anything, the old man slapped her.

Hard.

Her head snapped to the side, blood dripping from her nose.

"Don't make me hurt you, flower…" The old man's voice was almost gentle, sickeningly so. He turned to his men. "Tie her up nice and clean, throw her in my bedroom. I'm staying one more night. And get rid of that body—it stinks already."

Kassandra's stomach twisted. Desperation. Fear. Anger. Betrayal. It all crashed into her at once.

Still, she looked at Luca.

Silently pleading.

"I... thought we were friends," her voice broke. "Please... don't leave me here..."

The room felt colder.

One of the bodyguards hesitated. His grip loosened for half a second, his face shifting—discomfort, pity, maybe even regret. But he didn't stop. He swallowed hard, looking away as he continued tying the ropes.

Luca stayed silent.

Kassandra's eyes widened.

Then he smiled. That same charming, effortless smile.

"Oh sir, I'm glad I helped," Luca said, his voice light and charismatic.

Kassandra's heart sank.

Shattered.

"Ahaha! That's what I like to hear!" The old man grinned. "Ask away, kid! Today is a great day!"

Luca's smile didn't waver.

"But before you have your fun, I have just a small request."

"Go ahead, kid. I'm a man of my word, haha!" The old man laughed, completely at ease.

Luca looked up at him, his charismatic mask vanishing in an instant. His face turned eerily blank—not just emotionless, but empty. Like a doll whose strings had been cut. His dark eyes, once sharp and calculating, were now voids, cold and depthless, as if nothing human remained inside.

For the first time that night, the old man hesitated.

"Tell Satan Luca sent you."

The knife struck before he could react.

The first stab—deep into the chest—forced a strangled gasp from his throat. His body jerked, his fingers twitching as if trying to grasp something that wasn't there.

The second—straight into his neck—cut off his breath, leaving him gurgling, his eyes bulging in horror. He staggered, his own blood spilling down his expensive shirt.

The third—right between the eyes.

His body refused to fall. He stood there, swaying, mouth opening and closing like a dying fish, as if his brain hadn't caught up to the fact that he was already dead.

Then, slowly, he crumpled, hands weakly reaching out for something—salvation, mercy—but finding nothing.

The bodyguards didn't hesitate.

Guns raised. Fingers pulled triggers.

Luca was already moving. He grabbed the old man's limp body and used him as a makeshift shield, bullets tearing through flesh that no longer mattered.

He ducked, rolling behind a sofa—better than nothing, but not much protection.

Meanwhile, Kassandra was already crawling.

Her fingers stretched toward the old lady's gun, her other hand reaching for something sharp on the floor. Anything she could use.

Luca stayed low, waiting.

Then—his chance.

One of the bodyguards reached for a fresh magazine.

The second he started reloading, Luca moved.

He peeked from the opposite side they expected, arm snapping forward as he threw his knife. The blade spun through the air and buried itself deep into the man's neck. A wet, choking sound escaped him as he staggered back, hands flying to his throat.

Luca didn't stop.

He lunged at the other bodyguard—just as a gun went off.

A sharp, burning pain ripped across his cheek. The bullet hadn't gone through, but it tore the skin, sending a shock of pain through his face.

Annoying.

More than that—distracting.

He crashed into the bodyguard, both of them struggling. Luca was stronger, faster—but Kassandra's wound had already drained him. His body didn't move as sharply as he needed it to.

And it cost him.

The pain caught him off guard for just a second—just long enough.

The bodyguard shoved him back, hard.

Luca stumbled.

The man reached for his gun.

Out of nowhere, Kassandra struck.

The bodyguard let out a sharp scream as the blade sank deep into his shoulder. He staggered back, eyes wild with pain, but the moment was fleeting. He swiped her off of him with one brutal motion, throwing her aside like a ragdoll.

Kassandra hit the floor hard, gasping for breath. Weak. She was so fucking weak.

The bodyguard, his face contorted with rage, aimed the gun at her.

His finger tightened on the trigger.

Time slowed.

Kassandra closed her eyes, waiting for the end she thought was coming. The end she deserved. The last beat of her heart felt like it stretched into eternity, and for a brief moment, she accepted it. She could feel the weight of everything—everything she had done, everything she hadn't done.

The last time her eyes would open.

The last time she would feel anything.

And then—nothing.

Kassandra heard the bullets—but she didn't feel them.

Her breath caught in her throat as she opened her eyes slowly.

The bodyguard was dead, a clean hole through his head. His body slumped, lifeless.

And Luca…

He was standing in front of her, but just barely. His body was swaying, blood dripping from his mouth.

Before she could react, Luca fell forward.

She barely caught him in time, his weight crashing into her arms.

"Luca!… what… are you okay?" Her voice was frantic, trembling.

He was barely conscious. His breaths were shallow, labored. He looked up at her, his expression confused, distant.

"Why did…?" He choked, blood bubbling from his lips. "Why did I do that?"

Kassandra's heart sank.

His body had moved on its own. He wasn't thinking. He didn't even know why.

Luca stared at her, his eyes clouded with confusion. He thought she was just a tool. So why? Why did he…

Before she could get another word out, Luca's body went limp. He passed out in her arms.

He could see her screaming, but the sound was distant, fading.

Luca found himself somewhere strange—somewhere he couldn't quite place. He was holding a child, a small hand grasping his tightly. The child was laughing, oblivious to the strange feeling that tugged at Luca's chest. His mind was hazy, too fuzzy to make sense of what was happening.

In front of him, a woman stood in the kitchen, her back to him. She hummed softly as she cooked, a warm, domestic scene. The smell of something cooking, something simple and comforting, filled the air. But Luca's mind was reeling.

"...My previous life or something?" he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "Or am I dreaming? No… I took five bullets. I should be dead..."

He looked down at the child again, confusion growing. Who the hell are these two?

He had no idea who they were. But they felt so familiar. His chest tightened. I thought dreams can't generate faces...

Then, instinctively, his gaze drifted toward the mirror on the wall.

When he looked into it, he froze.

It wasn't his reflection staring back at him.

Instead, the face that met his eyes was someone familiar—someone he had seen recently.

The bodyguard.

The man he had killed.