Although the little girl's father seed completely calm in front of , there were a few details that made realize he wasn't truly at ease. First, he kept moving his hands constantly, a subtle yet noticeable motion, as if he were trying to stay busy to mask his nervousness.
His eyes, in turn, couldn't stay still, darting quickly from side to side, as if searching for sothing to focus on, but without success. Every gesture seed like a failed attempt to hide his discomfort.
Personally, I can't bla him for being this way. From his point of view, I'm no different from the monsters lurking out there, hidden in the fog. Even with my childlike appearance — no older than ten years old — a closer look reveals that sothing is deeply wrong with .
My skin is so pale it’s almost translucent, like fine porcelain lit from within, revealing an unsettling emptiness where organs should be. There's no heartbeat, no breath, just the absolute silence of a body that mimics life.
And my eyes... well, they shine with a golden intensity, like little flas trapped in my sockets, always burning, always watching. Not exactly the kind of thing that inspires trust or comfort.
In the end, the man started looking away nervously, casting brief glances around, as if looking for an escape route or sothing that could save him from the mont. My eyes stayed fixed on him, alert, studying every small gesture — and it was impossible not to notice: he was afraid of . Yet, even in the face of the evident fear etched in his tense face, I stared at him, overco with growing curiosity.
Why did he co closer if fear was almost radiating off of him? His nervous eyes danced around the room, jumping from one point to another, until, for a brief second, they rested on his daughter in the back — a little girl sitting silently next to her mother, as if she were the anchor keeping him from backing away.
The man let out a brief sigh, but one full of relief, as he took in the scene before him. His tear-filled eyes reflected a mixture of exhaustion and deep gratitude. Slowly, he turned toward and t my gaze, the features of his face marked by the weight of what he had just experienced. His fingers, which had been trembling uncontrollably, stilled for a mont, as if that mont brought a rare breath of peace.
With a choked voice and a sincere glint in his eyes, he whispered: "Thank you for saving and my daughter"
I continued to stare at the man, my eyes blinking slowly, as if still trying to process what I had just heard. Honestly, of all the possible reactions that had crossed my mind, a thank you was the last one. It didn’t fit the mont, it didn’t make sense.
It was like hearing a laugh at a funeral. Strange, out of place. To be honest, I imagined they would see as an aberration, sothing incomprehensible — but not necessarily dangerous. I never thought they’d look at with such gravity... or respect.
“I don’t know if you can understand ...” the man murmured, his voice hoarse and choked with emotion. His eyes, fixed on so distant point, shone with a mix of lancholy and gratitude: “Still... I feel I have to thank you” He paused, breathing deeply as if drawing strength from his own words: “That little girl... she’s everything to . My greatest treasure” A slight smile appeared at the corner of his mouth, discreet, but filled with tenderness and pain, as if every mory of her gently burned in his chest.
While I listened to his words, I remained silent, observing him. My fixed gaze hid the confusion that was boiling inside — to be honest, I simply didn’t know how to respond to that. The words hung in the air for a mont, thick, almost too heavy to ignore.
Then, almost as if in response from the environnt itself, a chanical, clear voice echoed from the cara attached to my body, cutting the silence with an unexpected tone. The man in front of widened his eyes slightly, surprised: “Hello, sir, can you hear ?”
The man slowly turned toward and stared. There was a skeptical look on his face — and I imdiately understood why. He probably thought he had misheard. From his point of view, it seed like I had spoken. So, without saying anything, I quickly glanced at the cara attached to my chest, prompting him to follow my gaze and look at it as well.
With an even more skeptical expression, the man narrowed his eyes and whispered: “What is that? A cara? Why is there a cara attached to you?”
The man stared at the cara for a few seconds, his gaze full of confusion, as if trying to understand why I had a cara attached to my body. He stayed silent, observing the scene, until his eyes finally moved back to my face.
After a brief mont, his expression softened, and he asked, with a slight doubt in his voice: “You weren’t the one who spoke to just now, were you?”
I kept staring at the man, my golden eyes glowing softly in the dim light, reflecting a calm yet relentless intensity. At the sa ti, Emily’s voice echoed from the cara, cutting through the silence with its clarity: “The [Angel of Death] rarely communicates with others. Honestly, it’s almost impossible for her to speak, not even to . However, she seems to understand perfectly what we say. She received your gratitude”
Hearing those words, the man looked even more confused. Instead of the cause of his perplexity being the fact that a cara was attached to my body with a voice coming from it, what really seed to have caused his doubt was the way I was referred to. At least, that’s the impression I got. While I was reflecting on this, the man’s voice echoed again, interrupting my thoughts.
"Who are you? Do you know what's happening? Where did this fog co from, and what are these monsters?" the man asked, his voice now more tense, with an increasingly urgent tone, as if ti was running out.
As he asked this, the man’s gaze shifted to the windows of the diner, his eyes scanning the thick fog outside before returning to his daughter, who was a bit further behind us. In the next instant, he looked back at his hands, which were trembling slightly, as if he were trying to control his own body.
His voice sounded low, almost broken, as he continued: "It all happened so suddenly... the fog, and those creatures inside it, everything was so fast, so unexpected. Originally, there were about fifteen of us... most of them left and never ca back"
In the end, the place sank into silence again. Emily didn’t respond to the man’s words, or rather, she had no idea what was going on herself. What had caused this fog? Where did all these anomalies co from? The questions hung in the air, unanswered.
To begin with, that's why I was given permission to leave the facility — because, deep down, they knew humans would hardly be able to navigate the outside. Not after everything we witnessed in the depths of the fog, where anomalies dwell and challenge the very laws of nature.
The silence that lingered in the air was broken monts later when the man, with an impatient expression, spoke again: "I don't know who you all are, but I want to understand what's going on. We have the right to know!" His voice, now firr, carried a mix of concern and demand, as if the answer was crucial for him.
I was montarily taken aback by the man’s words. I won’t lie, I honestly expected him to ask Emily to handle the situation. In desperate tis, people tend to cling to anything they can, and it seed like he was preparing to do just that. The fact that Emily had ntioned my nickna to him didn’t go unnoticed.
It was clear that she knew , at least to so extent, which only reinforced the idea that, in that man’s eyes, I was one of the monsters — the kind that, to him, weren’t that different from the ones dwelling in the fog. In other words, Emily wasn’t just a passive observer in all of this, but soone with crucial information about what was happening around us.
***
(POV - Emily Parker)
Emily heard the man’s words and, for a brief mont, got lost in her own thoughts, pondering the question. She analyzed the situation, considering whether it would be worth revealing anything or if it would be wiser to remain silent.
However, she quickly concluded that there was no real gain in sharing the information; more than that, telling them would only cause unnecessary chaos. Although the number of people there was small, chaos didn’t seem like a minor concern, but the decision had been made.
With an almost imperceptible sigh, Emily turned her gaze to the huge screen in front of her. The man’s face, now clearly visible, looked exhausted, as if he were carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. At the sa ti, his eyes conveyed an evident anguish, a despair that Emily easily recognized, even through the coldness of the screen.
Emily sighed, the feeling of frustration taking over her body. Deep down, she knew the situation wouldn’t resolve as quickly as she’d like. Keeping them in the dark might be even more dangerous, but there was an alternative. She could use the anomaly to erase the mories of everyone in the city, a quick and uncomplicated solution.
Telling them the truth, then, wouldn’t be a real problem. Moreover, Emily realized sothing she’d known for a long ti, but now seed clearer than ever: she no longer cared about what the Higher-Ups thought.
They, with their usual arrogance, saw everyone beneath them as disposable pieces. She, however, would no longer be a puppet in their hands. This ti, Emily would do whatever she wanted, without worrying about the limits imposed by those who thought themselves superior.
(Besides, for that little girl’s sake, they need to know at least sothing about what they’re up against, so they don’t make reckless decisions) Emily thought, her gaze fixed on the little one in the distance, watching every movent carefully. The anxiety was visible on her face, though she tried to hide it, probably not wanting to worry the adults around her.
"Are you sure about this?" Emily asked, her voice carrying a cautious tone. She paused for a mont, as if reflecting on her words before continuing: "Sotis, staying in the dark about certain things can be a blessing"
She then turned her attention back to the man on the screen, her gaze now intense and serious, as if trying to understand his decision.
Through the large monitor in front of her, Emily watched carefully for the man’s reaction to her words. His eyes widened slightly before he turned his gaze away, briefly fixing on his hand, as if trying to find sothing there to focus on.
The next instant, he looked back outside the diner, and Emily noticed that this gesture was repeated with an unsettling frequency. Well, she couldn’t really bla him. He certainly had reasons to worry about what was going on outside.
After all, she was in a completely protected location, hundreds of ters underground, surrounded by extrely resistant tals and cutting-edge technologies the world still had no idea existed. Without a doubt, a place much safer than any diner.
However, Emily realized that the instant the man turned his gaze toward his daughter, sothing in his expression changed drastically. His eyes, once filled with uncertainty, beca firm and resolute, while his hands, which had been trembling, clenched tightly together, as if he had made a final decision.
When his gaze finally returned to Emily, she couldn’t help but give a small smile, reflecting on what she had just witnessed.
Humans are really sothing else, she thought, capable of finding unwavering determination, as long as it’s for sothing they deem more valuable than their own lives.
"Please, tell everything. I need to know what to do to keep my daughter safe" the man said, his voice firm and full of urgency. His eyes, locked on the cara attached to the chest of the [Angel of Death], reflected an unyielding determination, as if he were willing to face anything to protect his daughter.
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