Archive of Our Own ^beta

The night was too quiet. That was the first sign something was wrong.

Emma crouched low, her breath steady as she scanned the dense forest around them. The ground was damp beneath her fingers, leaves rustling softly in the wind. There was no birdsong, no distant animal sounds—just the faint hum of an engine up ahead. The transport truck.

Ray shifted beside her, equally tense. His sharp eyes flickered toward her in the darkness, a silent signal.

Stay focused.

They had been tracking this convoy for three days now, following the whispers of children being taken to Lambda.

Lambda. The word alone sent ice through Emma’s veins.

That place had already taken Norman from them once. He had escaped, but what he had seen—what had been done to him—left scars deeper than just the ones on his skin.

She had sworn she wouldn't let it take anyone else.

“We’re close,” Ray murmured, barely audible. His voice was as cool as ever, but Emma could hear the tension behind it. “The guards look minimal. We can handle this.”

She nodded, shifting the grip on her gun. The plan was simple: they would take down the guards, hijack the transport, and free the children inside. It was something they had done before. Something they had gotten good at.

And yet…

Something felt wrong.

The air was too still. The guards—why were there only two? Shouldn’t there be more security for a shipment going straight to Lambda?

Ray must have felt it too, because his gaze hardened. He lifted a hand—wait.

Emma exhaled slowly, scanning the area. Then she spotted it.

A thin, almost invisible wire stretched across the dirt path leading to the truck. A trap.

Her heart stuttered. She lifted her hand to signal Ray—Abort. Fall back. Something’s—

CRACK.

The sound of a snapped twig.

Emma barely had time to register the sound before the world erupted around them.

A blinding flash. A thunderous explosion.

Pain.

Emma was thrown backwards, the impact knocking the air from her lungs. Her back slammed against a tree trunk, and white-hot agony burst across her skull. She couldn’t breathe. Her ears rang, drowning out every other sound.

Ray.

She forced her head up, vision swimming. Through the haze of smoke, she caught a glimpse of him—staggering, blood dripping down his forehead. He was still trying to move, trying to reach her—

Before they reached him first.

Figures emerged from the darkness. Too many. Armed men dressed in black, moving fast, like shadows.

An ambush.

Emma’s instincts screamed at her to fight. She gritted her teeth, forcing her limbs to respond—but before she could even push herself up, hands grabbed her. Strong hands. Yanking her arms behind her back. Slamming her face-down into the dirt.

She kicked, fought, but then—a sharp pain at her neck.

A needle.

No. No. NO.

The drug burned its way into her bloodstream like fire. Her body betrayed her, strength draining from her limbs instantly. Her vision blurred.

She barely managed to turn her head in time to see Ray fall.

He had fought harder. Taken down two, three men—but there were too many. They swarmed him, one knocking him down while another pressed a gun to his temple.

Ray’s eyes flickered toward her, wild with rage. His body trembled, but his arms refused to move. The drug was already taking him too.

His lips parted as if to say something—

Then a pair of shining black boots stepped into Emma’s fading vision.

A cold, familiar voice followed.

“Well, well.”

Emma forced her eyes upward, her mind screaming through the haze of the drug.

Peter Ratri.

He smirked down at her, calm, composed. As if everything was unfolding exactly as he had planned.

“I was beginning to wonder when you two would finally slip up,” he said, crouching beside her. His gloved fingers tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I’ll admit, you lasted longer than I expected.”

Emma’s breath was shallow, but her hatred burned through the numbness.

“You…” She tried to spit at him, but her body was too weak.

He chuckled, standing up again. “Such spirit. Let’s see how long it lasts.”

Her vision swam. The shadows around her grew darker.

The last thing she saw before unconsciousness took her—

Was Ray’s furious, helpless expression as the guards dragged him away.

---

Pain.

That was the first thing Emma felt when she drifted back into consciousness. A slow, throbbing ache at the back of her skull, spreading down her spine. Her body felt heavy, her limbs sluggish, her throat dry like sandpaper.

Where—?

Her eyes fluttered open.

Bright white light seared into her vision, forcing her to squint. The air smelled like antiseptic and metal—sterile. Cold.

And then it hit her.

Captured.

Emma jerked up, heart pounding—but the second she moved, searing pain flared through her arms. Restraints. Thick metal cuffs around her wrists, pinning her to a steel-framed bed. Her ankles—bound too.

Her pulse spiked. Her breathing came faster.

Think. Think.

Her surroundings were a blur at first. The walls were stark white. A single overhead light buzzed dimly above her. The scent of blood and medicine lingered in the air.

A lab.

Her stomach twisted.

Then—a groan.

Emma’s breath hitched. She turned her head, and—

Ray.

He was strapped to a bed beside her, his face half-hidden by messy black hair. His wrists were bound just like hers, his body unnaturally still.

But then he stirred.

Emma almost cried in relief.

Ray let out another soft groan, his fingers twitching against the restraints. Then, with a sharp inhale, his eyes snapped open.

Dark gray met amber.

For a second, neither of them spoke.

Then—

“Emma.” His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. His gaze darted around, assessing, calculating. He yanked at his restraints immediately. Nothing.

Emma’s breath trembled. “Ray, we—”

“Yeah.” His tone was clipped, controlled—but his eyes burned with rage.

Emma swallowed hard. She could already see it—the way his mind was racing, already trying to find a way out.

But before they could say another word—

A metal door hissed open.

Footsteps.

Emma forced herself to stay still as three figures stepped into the room. Guards. Armed. And between them—

Peter Ratri.

His smug, unbothered expression made Emma’s blood boil.

“Ah, you’re finally awake.” He stopped at the foot of her bed, tilting his head. “How are you feeling?”

Emma glared up at him, disgust curling in her chest. “Go to hell.”

Peter only chuckled, stepping closer. “You’re as rude as ever. But I suppose that’s to be expected.”

Emma clenched her fists. “What do you want?”

At that, his smile widened. He turned slightly, his gaze flickering toward Ray.

“I already have what I want.”

Ray’s wrists struggled against the restraints. “Tch.”

Peter sighed, as if he found the whole thing amusing. “You should have been more careful, you know. Getting caught in such a sloppy little ambush—it was disappointing, really.”

Emma said nothing, her teeth grinding together.

Peter continued, pacing slowly between their beds.

“It’s fascinating,” he mused. “You spent so long fighting to escape this world. And yet—” He paused, flashing her a cruel smirk. “Here you are. Right back in the palm of my hand.”

Emma’s nails dug into her palms.

She wanted to fight. To hit, to scream, to break his damn face. But her body was still weak from the drugs, her limbs barely responding.

So she just glared.

Peter sighed dramatically. “Oh, don’t look so upset. If anything, you should feel honored.”

Emma stiffened.

His next words made her blood run cold.

“You’ll be joining Lambda.”

For a moment, the room went silent.

Then—

“…What?” Ray’s voice was razor-sharp.

Peter smirked, leaning in slightly. “You heard me.”

Emma’s heartbeat pounded in her ears.

Lambda. The facility where children were experimented on, modified, broken.

Where Norman had been.

Her throat felt tight. No. No, they couldn’t—

“We won’t be your damn lab rats,” Ray snarled, his body trembling against the restraints.

Peter only raised a brow. “Oh? And what exactly do you plan to do about it?”

Emma’s chest burned with fury.

But she could do nothing.

Not yet.

Peter let the silence stretch before finally stepping back.

“Get some rest,” he said smoothly. “Your real tests start tomorrow.”

Then he turned, nodding to the guards.

The door slammed shut behind them, leaving Emma and Ray alone in the sterile, suffocating hell that awaited them.

Emma barely realized her hands were shaking.

Ray exhaled slowly. Then—he turned to look at her.

And in his eyes—beneath all the fury and exhaustion—was something else.

Something unspoken.

A promise.

We’ll get out. Together.

No matter what it took.

---

Time blurred inside Lambda.

Emma didn’t know how long it had been since Peter Ratri left them in this sterile, suffocating cell. Hours? A full day? Maybe longer. The lights never dimmed, and there were no windows—no sense of time at all.

Neither of them had spoken much. There was nothing to say. They both knew what was coming.

Still, Emma fought against the restraints every time the guards came in to check on them. Ray, on the other hand, had gone quiet. His body was tense, his sharp eyes following every movement the guards made, memorizing their patterns.

Emma could tell.

He was planning.

But then—the door hissed open.

Something was different this time.

Emma’s muscles tensed. Ray’s breathing slowed beside her.

Two guards stepped inside, but they weren’t alone.

A man in a white lab coat followed, holding a syringe filled with dark liquid.

Emma’s stomach dropped.

No. Not yet—

“Get them up,” the scientist ordered.

The guards moved instantly, unlocking their restraints. Emma barely had time to react before rough hands yanked her forward. She fought, kicking out, but the moment she gained even an inch of freedom—

A guard grabbed her wrist and twisted.

Pain exploded through her arm. Emma gasped, her knees buckling.

Ray lunged toward her, but before he could do anything, a gun pressed against his temple.

Emma’s breath hitched.

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” the scientist said coolly.

Emma stilled.

Ray’s chest rose and fell heavily. His glare was pure fire, his fingers trembling with restraint.

Emma gritted her teeth, eyes burning with frustration. They couldn’t fight yet. Not like this.

“…Fine.” She forced the word out.

The guards dragged them to their feet and shoved them forward, out of the cell.

For the first time, they saw Lambda’s true face.

Rows of glass-walled laboratories. Stark white hallways lined with numbered doors. The sound of distant screaming.

Emma’s heart pounded.

They were led past other children—some strapped to chairs, others hooked up to machines. Their eyes were hollow, their bodies twitching from whatever drugs had been forced into them.

This was hell.

And now, it was their turn.

The guards pushed them into a circular room with two metal chairs, side by side.

Straps. Needles. Machines.

Emma’s stomach churned.

“Sit,” the scientist instructed.

Neither of them moved.

The guards didn’t wait.

Emma struggled, but they were stronger. She was forced down, leather straps wrapping around her wrists and ankles. A thick metal band locked around her neck, cold against her skin.

Ray was the same—strapped down, trapped. His breathing was sharp, his jaw clenched so tightly Emma swore she heard his teeth grind.

Then came the needles.

A scientist rolled up Emma’s sleeve. She barely had time to react before the syringe pierced her skin.

Pain flared through her veins. Something was wrong. The liquid was too thick, too hot— it burned like fire, spreading through her entire body.

Her vision blurred. Her heartbeat sped up.

She gasped—her lungs weren’t working right.

Ray groaned beside her. Emma turned her head, her whole body shaking.

His hands were twitching uncontrollably. Sweat dripped from his forehead. His pupils were blown wide.

The scientist watched with cold fascination.

“Fascinating,” he murmured. “Let’s increase the dose.”

A second syringe.

Emma barely had time to react before the next injection plunged into her arm.

Her body convulsed.

It was too much.

Her pulse pounded too fast, her head spun, and her chest—her chest was burning.

She gasped, her fingers curling against the straps. Something was wrong—

Ray let out a choked sound beside her.

She forced her eyes to focus. He was trembling violently, his arms straining against the restraints.

His lips parted like he wanted to say something—

Then his body jerked.

A monitor nearby beeped. The scientist smirked.

“Their bodies are adapting quicker than expected,” he mused. “Increase the electrical output.”

Emma barely had time to register the words before pain tore through her.

Electricity.

It burned through her body like fire, every nerve screaming. She arched against the chair, gasping.

Ray’s ragged breathing filled the room. Emma turned to him—

Just as he let out a guttural scream.

His back arched violently, his muscles spasming.

Emma struggled, panicked. “Stop—STOP!”

The scientist ignored her, observing like she was nothing but an experiment.

Her vision was darkening. Her body couldn’t handle this. She couldn’t—

A mechanical voice echoed overhead.

“Subject response—favorable.”

Emma’s stomach twisted.

The scientist nodded in satisfaction. “Increase voltage.”

No.

Emma’s heart stopped.

Ray gasped, his entire body jerking against the restraints. His wrists bled where he had pulled too hard.

Emma screamed.

“STOP! PLEASE—”

But they didn’t stop.

They kept going.

And all Emma could do—

Was watch Ray suffer.

---

Lambda was already a corpse.

The Ratri Clan just didn’t know it yet.

For five months, Norman had been peeling it apart—one scientist, one experiment, one bloody remnant at a time.

The demons called him a ghost, a monster, a curse upon their kind.

He was fine with that.

Let them fear him.

It made things easier.

Soon, it would all be over. Lambda would fall, the demons would be eradicated, and the children—his children—would be free.

Norman had accounted for every possibility. Every variable.

Or so he thought.

Then the message arrived.

And for the first time in five months—Norman stopped breathing.

---

Barbara had brought it in, her usual sharp expression laced with hesitation.

“I don’t know who left it,” she admitted, handing him the envelope. “But Norman… you need to see this.”

Norman’s fingers curled around the paper.

Something about it felt… wrong.

The paper was worn, slightly crumpled. As if it had been handled too many times. His sharp eyes caught the faintest smudge of blood on the corner.

A chill ran through him.

Carefully, he unfolded the letter.

And the moment he saw the words inside—

His heart stopped.

At first, it was just numbers.

Coordinates. A date. A time.

Then, beneath it—

One sentence.

"Come see your beloved pawns before they break."

And below that, scrawled in familiar, shaky handwriting—

"Norman, don’t come. Please. Just run."

The air thickened.

Norman’s hands tightened around the letter, trembling.

It took Barbara one second too long to realize what had happened.

Her breath hitched. “Norman?”

Silence.

But Norman’s breathing had changed.

Not in fear.

Not in shock.

Not even in pain.

But in rage.

Barbara had seen Norman angry before. She had seen him cold, ruthless, terrifying.

But this—this was something worse.

Because Norman—

Norman never lost control.

Yet right now, his hands were shaking.

His jaw clenched so tightly it might break.

Then—CRACK.

Barbara jumped.

The wooden armrest of Norman’s chair had snapped beneath his grip.

She inhaled sharply.

Cislo and Vincent, standing nearby, froze.

Norman never lost control.

But right now, he looked ready to burn the world down.

The room was silent.

The only sound was the slow, steady breaths coming from Norman’s lips.

He stood up.

Barbara tensed.

“Prepare everyone,” he said. “We’re leaving. Now.”

No hesitation.

No doubt.

Cislo stepped forward, voice careful. “Norman—”

“We have the location.” Norman’s ice-blue gaze burned with something unrecognizable. “We move in tonight.”

“Wait—” Vincent’s voice was cautious. “This could be a trap.”

Norman turned.

His smile was sharp.

“I know,” he said smoothly.

“And I don’t care.”

Vincent stiffened.

Barbara swallowed.

Norman never lost control.

Yet here he was—his hands trembling with fury, his shoulders taut with rage.

“I was always going to burn Lambda to the ground,” Norman continued, voice dangerously soft.

“But now?”

His fingers tightened around the letter. His breath slowed.

“Now, I’ll make sure they suffer.”

Barbara exhaled.

Then she stepped forward, gaze burning with fierce loyalty.

“We’re with you.”

Cislo nodded.

Vincent sighed, but his hands were already moving to gather supplies.

Norman’s lips curled.

Of course, they were.

Because after tonight—

There would be nothing left of Lambda.

And Peter Ratri would die screaming.

---

The room was cold.

Ray let out a slow breath, feeling it shudder in his chest. He could barely tell how much time had passed—the days and nights bled together in this filthy, darkened cell.

The metal cuffs around his wrists dug into his skin, but the pain had long since become background noise.

Next to him, Emma sat curled against the wall, her breathing too shallow, too uneven.

Ray hated that.

He hated all of it.

The bruises on her wrists.

The burn marks on her arms.

The exhaustion in her usually bright eyes.

Emma wasn’t supposed to look like this.

Ray tightened his fingers around her hand, grounding himself in the warmth of her skin.

She squeezed back.

It wasn’t much.

But it was enough.

For now.

---

Peter Ratri had made sure to break the silence every few hours.

Like clockwork, he would send his guards to drag them out—forcing them onto their knees, forcing them to listen to his taunts.

Ray had long since tuned him out.

But Emma still listened.

And that was what worried him.

Because she wasn’t afraid of the pain.

She wasn’t afraid of what would happen to them.

She was afraid of what would happen to Norman.

"I expected more fight from you," Ratri had mused earlier, pacing in front of them like some self-important bastard. "Disappointing, really."

Ray had stayed silent.

Emma had glared.

Neither of them had given him what he wanted.

But it wasn’t over.

Not yet.

Because the worst part wasn’t the beatings.

It wasn’t the mind games.

It was the waiting.

Waiting to see if Norman had gotten the message.

Waiting to see if he would come for them.

Waiting to see how much of him was left.

Because Ray knew the truth.

The Norman they had grown up with—the one with the soft smiles and gentle words—he was gone.

What had taken his place was something else.

Something sharper.

Something unforgiving.

Something that made even Ray hesitate.

Norman had already decided the world should burn.

The only question left was how much of himself he’d lose along the way.

And that—

That scared Ray more than anything else.

---

Emma shifted beside him, pressing closer for warmth.

“…You’re thinking too much,” she murmured.

Ray huffed. “You’re one to talk.”

Emma let out a quiet, shaky laugh. “Guess we’re both guilty then.”

Ray didn’t answer.

Because they both knew the truth.

Norman was coming.

And he wasn’t going to hold back.

Emma sighed, voice soft. “Do you think… we’ll be able to stop him?”

Ray closed his eyes.

For once, he didn’t have an answer.

But before he could speak—

The ground shook.

Ray’s eyes snapped open.

The distant wail of alarms filled the air, screaming through the hallways.

A second later—gunfire.

Emma sucked in a sharp breath.

Ray let out a slow exhale.

And then, in a voice low and certain, he said—

“He’s here.”

Emma squeezed his hand.

Ray squeezed back.

Because this?

This was no longer a prison.

This was a battlefield

And Norman had just declared war

The first explosion shook the walls.

Dust rained from the ceiling, mixing with the sharp, metallic scent of blood and gunpowder.

Ray and Emma pressed against the far side of their cell, heartbeats racing.

And then—

The screaming started.

Gunfire echoed through the corridors, rapid and unrelenting. The alarms wailing above them were drowned out by the chaos.

Ray didn’t flinch.

He had been expecting this.

Norman had come.

And he wasn’t going to leave anything behind.

Another explosion rattled the air vents. Emma inhaled sharply, eyes flickering to the heavy steel door.

“…It’s happening,” she whispered.

Ray nodded. “Yeah.”

Norman was tearing through Lambda like a goddamn storm.

And it was only a matter of time before he reached them.

---

Ray had always known that Norman was dangerous.

Even as kids, there had been something about him—too clever, too calculating.

A mind that could predict ten moves ahead.

A smile that could make you forget how deadly he truly was.

But this?

This wasn’t just Norman being smart.

This was Norman waging war.

And he was winning.

Lambda’s defenses were built to contain demons and children.

Not him.

Not someone who had spent five months learning how to burn an empire to the ground.

And Peter Ratri?

The bastard had no idea who he was dealing with.

A guard sprinted past their cell, radio crackling with frantic voices—

"—lost sectors three through seven—"
"—too many casualties—"
"—he’s killing everyone—"

Ray’s fingers twitched.

There it was.

No hesitation.

Norman wasn’t just destroying Lambda.

He was slaughtering everyone in his way.

The guards.

The researchers.

Anyone who had ever laid a hand on them.

Ray exhaled, gripping Emma’s hand.

“Norman’s out for blood.”

Emma swallowed hard. “I know.”

There was no stopping him now.

Not until Ratri was dead.

Not until Lambda was gone.

Not until there was nothing left to burn.

---

A sharp beep echoed through the cell.

Ray’s head snapped up.

The lock disengaged.

The door slammed open.

And standing in the frame, bathed in the glow of flickering red emergency lights, was—

Norman.

But it wasn’t the Norman they had lost five months ago.

It wasn’t the boy with soft smiles and gentle reassurances.

It was someone else.

Someone colder.

Someone with blood staining his hands.

Someone whose expression was calm, yet whose eyes burned with pure, unrelenting fury.

Ray had never seen Norman look so dangerous.

And yet, the first thing Norman did was step inside, gaze sweeping over them with an intensity that made Ray’s breath catch.

Then—

Softly.

Quietly.

Norman whispered—

"I’m here."

Emma collapsed forward.

Before Ray could react, Norman was already there, catching her against his chest.

Emma trembled, fists clenching against his coat.

"Norman," she breathed, voice breaking.

Ray let out a slow breath.

The chaos outside faded for just a moment.

And in that silence, as Norman pulled both of them into his arms—Ray realized something.

Norman wasn’t here to just save them.

He was here to destroy everything that had ever dared to hurt them.

And he wasn’t going to stop.

Not until Peter Ratri was dead.

Not until Lambda was erased from existence.

And maybe…

Just maybe…

Ray was okay with that.

---

The air reeked of blood and gunpowder.

Norman stood amidst the ruins of Lambda, his white coat splattered with red. The emergency lights flickered overhead, casting his shadow long against the cracked walls.

Bodies lay scattered across the corridors—guards, scientists, anyone who had stood in his way.

None of them mattered.

None of them had ever mattered.

Because the only thing that mattered—

Was Emma.

Was Ray.

And the moment Norman had seen them in that cell, bruised and broken—something inside him had snapped.

Peter Ratri had dared to lay his hands on them.

And for that, he was going to die.

---

Norman stepped forward, boots slick with blood as he made his way through the wreckage.

Behind him, his soldiers moved like shadows—efficient, silent, merciless.

They had cleared the facility in minutes.

Lambda’s security had crumbled like rotting wood.

Because this place—this prison—was never built to withstand someone like him.

Norman had made sure of that.

He had spent months planning this.

Studying every weak point.

Memorizing every hallway.

He knew every security code, every guard rotation, every goddamn flaw in Ratri’s system.

Lambda had been doomed the moment he decided to burn it down.

And now, there was only one thing left to do.

Norman lifted his gun and pressed forward, expression unreadable.

Peter Ratri was waiting for him.

---

The main control room was in shambles.

Monitors flickered. Blood smeared the walls. The smell of burning metal and death filled the air.

And in the center of it all—

Peter Ratri stood alone.

Norman took his time stepping inside, calm, composed, in control.

Ratri had nowhere left to run.

But still, the bastard had the audacity to smile.

"Norman."

Ratri spread his arms, as if welcoming him.

"You've made quite the mess."

Norman tilted his head. "Not enough."

Because Ratri was still breathing.

And that was unacceptable.

---

Ratri let out a low chuckle.

"I knew you'd come for them," he mused, voice casual. "You're so predictable."

Norman didn’t react.

He simply raised his gun.

And that was when Ratri’s smirk faltered.

"You—"

Norman pulled the trigger.

---

The bullet ripped through Ratri’s leg.

The man collapsed, a strangled gasp tearing from his throat.

Norman didn’t blink.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t feel a thing.

He stepped forward as Ratri struggled to breathe, watching him choke on his own agony.

"You talk too much," Norman murmured, voice soft.

Ratri shook.

He must have seen it in Norman’s eyes.

The absolute certainty that he wasn’t going to walk out of this room alive.

"You created me. You created this ending for yourself." Norman said his eyes sharp.

"Wait," Ratri gasped, trying to push himself up. "Norman, you—"

Norman pressed the barrel of the gun to his forehead.

"You lose."

And he pulled the trigger.

---

Peter Ratri’s body hit the floor.

Blood pooled beneath him, spreading in slow, dark waves.

Norman lowered the gun.

And for the first time since stepping into this hellhole, he allowed himself to breathe.

It was over.

Lambda was burning.

Ratri was dead.

And Emma and Ray were safe.

Norman let his gaze drift to the control panels.

A single button blinked red.

The final sequence.

The command to erase Lambda from existence.

Norman exhaled.

And then, without hesitation—

He pressed it.

---

The countdown began.

Fifteen minutes until detonation.

Norman turned on his heel and walked away, stepping over Ratri’s corpse without a second glance.

He had nothing left to do here.

Lambda could burn.

The past could die.

Because the only thing that mattered—

Was Emma and Ray.

And as long as they were alive, as long as they were with him—

Norman would burn the whole world down if he had to.

---

15 minutes.

That was all the time they had before Lambda erased itself from existence.

The walls shook as another explosion tore through the facility, metal screeching as ceilings collapsed inward.

Norman was running.

His footsteps echoed through the crumbling hallways, his coat snapping behind him as he pushed forward.

Emma and Ray were waiting.

And he was going to get them out of here.

---

Emma and Ray were already on the move.

The moment Norman had freed them, they hadn’t wasted time.

"We have to go—" Ray had said, gripping Emma’s wrist. "Lambda’s coming down."

The alarms were deafening.

Flames licked at the corridors. The bodies of fallen guards littered the ground.

But Emma barely noticed.

All she could think about was Norman.

He had come for them.

Even after everything.

Even after becoming someone they barely recognized.

Even after turning into something terrifying.

He had still come back.

For her.

For Ray.

And that was the only thing keeping her moving.

---

Ray’s lungs burned as he dragged Emma forward.

The exit was close.

They just had to make it down the last corridor, past the eastern wing, through the security gate—

And then Norman was there.

They saw him the moment he turned the corner, coat fluttering, eyes sharp, gun still in his hand.

Emma exhaled shakily.

Ray slowed, chest heaving.

For a second—just a second—time stopped.

Norman stood there, gaze locked onto them, like he was memorizing their faces.

Like he needed to be absolutely sure they were real.

And then—

"You need to move." Norman’s voice was steady, calm—but underneath, there was something shaking. "We don’t have time."

Ray gave a breathless laugh. "No shit."

Emma rushed forward, grabbing Norman’s hand.

He didn’t pull away.

Didn’t flinch.

Just held on.

"Let’s go." Emma grinned, even as the ceiling cracked above them.

And just like that—

They ran.

---

The ground rumbled violently beneath them.

Norman led them through the facility, navigating the destruction like he had already memorized every step.

Smoke filled the hallways. Fire burst from shattered pipes.

But they didn’t stop.

They couldn’t.

Norman knew the moment they hesitated—

They would die here.

He tightened his grip on Emma’s hand.

Glanced at Ray, running beside them.

And swore to himself—

"They are not dying here."

"Not today."

"Not ever."

---

They burst through the security gate.

Fresh air hit them like a shock.

The night sky stretched wide above them, smoke billowing from Lambda’s collapsing walls.

Norman’s people were already waiting—reinforcements stationed at the perimeter.

"We got them!" someone shouted.

Emma nearly collapsed from relief.

Ray sucked in a breath, feeling the cold air sting his lungs.

Norman didn’t stop moving.

"Get them on the truck." His voice was firm, commanding. "Now."

His people reacted immediately.

Ray and Emma were pulled toward the waiting vehicles, but Norman hesitated.

He turned back.

And for one last moment—

He looked at Lambda.

---

The building was in flames.

Smoke rose toward the sky, blotting out the stars.

Explosions rippled through the structure, one after another.

The facility that had taken him, broken him, turned him into this—

Was finally dying.

Norman exhaled slowly.

Lambda had been a nightmare.

But it was over.

Peter Ratri was dead.

And Norman…

Norman had won.

He turned away.

And he didn’t look back.

---

They drove through the night.

No one spoke.

Emma sat pressed against Ray’s side, head resting on his shoulder.

Norman sat across from them, watching them silently.

Emma had cried earlier.

Ray had barely let go of her hand.

Norman had said nothing.

Because for the first time in a long time, words felt… useless.

All that mattered was this.

The warmth of Emma’s breath.

The quiet hum of the truck.

The way Ray’s fingers tapped absentmindedly against Emma’s wrist, like he needed to feel her pulse to be sure she was alive.

They were here.

They had survived.

And that was enough.

For now.

---

They didn’t stop moving for a long time.

Norman’s faction had several hideouts—scattered, secret, untouchable.

They ended up at one of the safer locations—a repurposed underground facility, deep in the forest.

It was the first time in months Emma and Ray had been somewhere that wasn’t a cage.

And yet—

Even here, in the safety of the hideout, wrapped in clean clothes, with food and warmth—

Emma still felt like she couldn’t breathe.

---

She sat on the edge of a cot, knees pulled to her chest.

The room was quiet.

Ray was asleep beside her, exhausted, drained, unmoving.

Norman sat across the room, elbows on his knees, fingers laced together.

Neither of them had spoken since arriving.

Since stepping foot in this new reality.

Norman had given them food.

Given them clothes.

Given them a way out.

And yet, as Emma sat there, watching him in the dim light, she felt a terrible, awful realization settle in her chest.

They weren’t the same people anymore.

Not her.

Not Ray.

Not Norman.

Lambda had changed them.

---

Emma opened her mouth—then stopped.

What was she supposed to say?

"Thank you for saving us?"

"I’m sorry for not stopping you?"

"I still love you, even though you terrify me?"

Norman hadn’t killed Ratri for revenge.

He had killed him for them.

For her.

For Ray.

For the same reason he had burned Lambda to the ground.

"I'd let the world burn for you."

And Emma…

Emma didn’t know what to do with that.

---

Ray shifted in his sleep.

Norman’s gaze flickered to him, silent, calculating.

Emma hesitated—then finally spoke.

"Are you okay?"

Norman blinked.

For a second, he looked at her like she had just asked something impossible.

Then—he smiled.

That same gentle, perfect, practiced smile.

"Of course."

Liar.

Emma swallowed hard.

"Norman—"

"Get some rest, Emma." His voice was soft. Controlled. Distant.

Like the conversation was already over.

Like there was nothing else to say.

Emma stared at him.

At the boy who had once been her best friend.

The boy she had loved since she was old enough to understand what love meant.

And she wondered—

Had she already lost him?

Had they lost each other a long time ago?

And if they had…

Could they ever get him back?

---

Norman didn’t sleep.

He sat on the cot, watching the shadows stretch across the walls, listening to the slow, even breaths of Emma and Ray.

They were safe now.

Lambda was gone.

Peter Ratri was dead.

He had won.

Then why—

Why did he feel like he had nothing left?

---

Norman exhaled slowly.

His hands still smelled like gunpowder.

His coat still carried the scent of smoke and blood.

Even now, with the war behind him, his body refused to relax.

His mind refused to stop calculating.

This wasn’t Grace Field.

There were no soft lullabies. No gentle whispers of goodnight.

The air here was thick with silence.

The kind that crushed him.

And as he sat there, staring at the sleeping figures of Emma and Ray—

He realized something awful.

They weren’t reaching for him.

Not the way they used to.

Not the way they had when they were kids.

Not the way they had when they believed in him.

They’re afraid of you.

Norman’s fingers curled into fists.

No.

That didn’t matter.

What mattered was that they were alive.

What mattered was that he had saved them.

What mattered was—

That when Emma had looked at him earlier, she had looked like she wanted to cry.

That when Ray had spoken to him, there had been something cautious in his voice—like he wasn’t sure who Norman was anymore.

Norman clenched his jaw.

No.

No, no, no—

He had done this for them.

Everything—every calculated move, every sacrifice, every drop of blood—

It had all been for them.

So why—why did it feel like they were slipping through his fingers?

---

His breath hitched.

He pressed his palm against his mouth.

He refused to let his hands shake.

He had killed Peter Ratri without hesitation.

He had burned Lambda to the ground without regret.

He had torn through everything in his way.

So why was this—why was the way Emma wouldn’t meet his eyes, the way Ray kept his distance—

Why was this the thing that made his chest ache?

---

A rustling sound.

Norman’s head snapped up.

Emma stirred in her sleep, shifting closer to Ray, her fingers twitching slightly before going still again.

Ray didn’t move.

Norman sat there—watching them.

For a moment, the memories crept in, uninvited.

A little girl with wild orange hair, laughing as she climbed trees, dragging him and Ray along on some ridiculous adventure.

A sharp-eyed boy with a book tucked under his arm, pretending he didn’t care, even though he always followed them anyway.

The three of them, side by side.

Unbreakable.

And now—

Now Emma wouldn’t meet his gaze.

Now Ray spoke to him like they were strangers.

Now they looked at him like he was—

Like he was someone else.

Like the Norman they knew was already dead.

---

Norman closed his eyes.

Fine.

If that was what it took to save them, then fine.

They didn’t need to love him.

They didn’t need to trust him.

They just needed to live.

That had always been the goal.

And if it meant becoming something unrecognizable—

If it meant losing them completely—

Then so be it.

Because Norman had already decided.

He would let the world burn for them.

Even if it meant burning himself in the process.

---

Ray had been quiet for too long.

At first, it was because he was too tired to care.

His body was still recovering from months of hell. The torture, the constant battles, the sickening smell of blood—all of it still lingered.

But now, with his strength coming back, Ray was finally seeing it.

Norman.

Their Norman.

The one who had saved them.

The one who had burned everything down for them.

And the one who now sat across the room, looking like a ghost of the person he used to be.

Ray wasn’t an idiot.

Norman had already prepared for this conversation.

He was ready to lie to their faces.

To deflect, dodge, manipulate.

He had probably spent hours crafting the perfect response—words designed to convince them that he was fine.

But Ray wasn’t playing that game.

He stood up.

Norman blinked at him, surprised.

Emma lifted her head, watching him cautiously.

And Ray, without hesitation, walked right up to Norman—

And punched him.

---

Norman barely flinched.

The hit wasn’t strong.

Ray didn’t have the strength for a real punch.

But it still knocked Norman’s head slightly to the side.

Still left a faint, reddening mark.

Still left silence in its wake.

Emma gasped.

"Ray—!"

But Ray didn’t stop.

He grabbed Norman by the front of his coat.

Yanked him forward.

And when their eyes met—Ray didn’t hold back.

"Do you think this is what we wanted?" His voice was low. Sharp. Furious.

Norman’s expression barely changed.

"I did what I had to do."

"Bullshit."

Norman’s smile—that fake, hollow, unreadable smile— didn’t waver.

"Ray—"

"Don’t ‘Ray’ me, you smug bastard." Ray’s hands tightened around Norman’s coat. "You think I don’t see what’s happening? You think Emma doesn’t see it?"

Emma flinched beside them.

But she didn’t stop him.

She wasn’t defending Norman.

Because she knew Ray was right.

Norman wasn’t okay.

And Ray wasn’t going to let him pretend otherwise.

"You keep acting like we should be thanking you." Ray’s voice was low, bitter. *"Like we should be grateful that you saved us, no matter the cost."

Norman’s eyes flickered. "I don’t—"

"Shut up."

For the first time—Norman stopped talking.

Ray’s grip on his coat tightened.

"I don’t care what you did to Lambda." Ray’s voice was rough, trembling, but deadly serious. "I don’t care that you killed Ratri."

"Then why—"

"Because we’re losing you."

Norman froze.

Ray’s voice dropped to a whisper.

"You’re right in front of us, but it’s like you’re already gone."

"Ray—"

"I don’t want this version of you." Ray’s breath shook. "I want you, you bastard. Not some heartless shell who keeps pretending he’s fine."

Silence.

Emma’s fingers dug into the fabric of her pants.

Her voice was small.

"Please, Norman… Just come back to us."

Norman’s lips parted.

For the first time since Lambda, since everything—

His expression cracked.

Just a little.

And then—

Then Emma moved.

She wrapped her arms tightly around him.

And Ray—Ray didn’t hesitate to follow.

They held onto him, as if trying to pull him back from the abyss.

As if trying to remind him of who he was.

Norman’s breath hitched.

His whole body tensed—

And then—

Slowly, finally—

Norman broke.

His shoulders shook.

His arms lifted—hesitant, unsure.

And then he buried his face into their shoulders.

And for the first time in years, Norman let himself cry.

---
One Year Later.

Norman never thought he’d see grasslands again.

The world beyond the farms had been a distant dream for so long—a promise whispered between three children who refused to accept their fate.

And yet, here they were.

Not just alive.

Not just free.

But together.

---

"Norman, hurry up!"

Emma’s voice rang through the open air as she sprinted up the hill, her orange hair glowing under the sunlight.

She didn’t look back—she never did.

She just trusted them to follow.

Ray sighed beside him, shoving his hands into his pockets. "If she falls and cracks her skull, I’m not helping."

Norman chuckled, shaking his head. "Liar."

Ray just grumbled under his breath, but when Emma turned and waved them over, Norman saw the faintest hint of a smile.

They walked up together.

No running. No fear.

Just taking their time.

Because for the first time in their lives—

They had time.

Emma was already sprawled on the grass when they reached her, arms spread out as she gazed up at the sky.

"This never gets old." She grinned. "We made it."

Norman lowered himself beside her, leaning back on his hands. "Yeah."

Ray sat on her other side, rolling his eyes. "Took you long enough to realize that."

Emma just laughed, stretching her arms before rolling onto her side to face Norman.

Her expression softened.

"You okay?"

Norman blinked.

It wasn’t the first time she had asked that.

Emma and Ray had never stopped asking.

After they confronted him, after they pulled him back, they had stayed by his side—every single step forward, every single step back.

They had seen his worst moments.

The nights where the weight of everything crushed him.

The moments where he flinched at his own reflection.

The times he almost convinced himself that he didn’t deserve this.

But they never gave up on him.

And somehow, neither did he.

Norman breathed in, taking in the scent of the earth, the warmth of the sun, the sound of Emma’s voice and Ray’s quiet presence beside him.

He exhaled.

"Yeah." He smiled. "I’m okay."

And this time—

He meant it.

Ray hummed. "Took you long enough to realize that, too."

Norman chuckled, shaking his head. "You guys are never letting me live that down, are you?"

"Nope." Emma grinned.

"Absolutely not." Ray smirked.

Norman just laughed.

And as they sat there, under the sky they fought so hard to reach, Norman finally let himself believe it.

The world hadn’t burned.

And even if it had—they would’ve walked through the flames together.

Because they were alive.

Because they were free.

Because no matter what happened—

They always had each other.

The End.