Deadly desires: the Donna's obsession.

(WARNING: this chapter contains graphic gore and violence along with faint themes of Sci Fi.)

Mori pushed open the door to her room, kicking it shut with the heel of her boot.

The room was a chaotic blend of dark walls, scattered books on criminal psychology, and a desk cluttered with wires and monitors that hummed faintly.

Dropping her bag onto the bed, she marched straight to her desk.

"Scarlett Voss, Scarlett Voss," she muttered under her breath, sitting down and tapping the keyboard.

Her mind raced as the name rolled off her tongue again and again.

Who the hell are you?

Her fingers danced across the keys as she pulled up a search engine.

Scarlett Voss.

The results loaded almost instantly: glossy magazine covers showing Scarlett as a tech mogul, articles praising her for her brilliance in AI and defense systems, and countless interviews where she smiled that perfect, polished smile.

Mori squinted at the screen.

"CEO of Voss Enterprises," she mumbled. "Multi-billionaire at just twenty-three? Yeah, like that's totally normal."

Clicking through article after article, she leaned back in her chair, chewing the edge of her nail.

On the surface, Scarlett looked squeaky clean...too clean.

Every photo was carefully curated, every word in interviews sounded rehearsed.

"No one's that perfect," She leaned closer. "You're hiding something. I know it."

Her eyes darted to her second monitor, already itching for more answers.

She opened a different program, the dark screen filling with green text.

She cracked her knuckles.

"Alright, Voss Enterprises. Let's see if you're as secure as you claim."

The interface shifted, lines of code scrolling rapidly. Mori's hands moved quickly, her focus razor-sharp.

Every keystroke was exact as she bypassed layers of encryption.

She smirked. "Is that all you've got? A kid could break through this."

The first firewall fell, revealing a deeper network.

She leaned forward, her heart pounding with a mix of excitement and unease.

"Come on, show me something interesting," she muttered, fingers flying over the keyboard.

The second firewall was tougher, but not by much.

As she broke through it, a rush of files appeared on her screen, filled with financial reports, employee rosters, and classified projects.

Her smirk grew wider.

"There you are,"

Just as she clicked on a folder marked PRIVATE, the screen flickered.

For a moment, the text blurred before rearranging itself.

She frowned.

"What the..."

The screen went black.

A low hum filled the room, rising in pitch until it became a sharp whine.

Her heart raced as she typed frantically. "No, no, no. Don't do this to me now."

She tried running a command to regain control, but the whine grew louder.

Suddenly, the monitor flashed bright red, blinding her.

"Shit!" She shielded her eyes, but the sound swelled.

BOOM!!

The shockwave slammed into her like a physical force, throwing her backward off her chair.

"Oww." She hit the floor hard, her breath knocked out of her.

For a moment, she just lay there, blinking up at the ceiling as her desk lamp swung wildly above her.

"What the actual hell?"

After a moment, she finally sat up, wincing as she rubbed her elbow.

The hum had stopped, replaced by an eerie silence.

Her laptop, somehow still intact, glowed ominously in the dim room.

A large red X filled the screen, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat.

"What in the…" she crawled toward the desk, pulling herself up. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the keyboard.

Before she could type anything, the X disappeared, replaced by a cascade of files.

Names, photos, and dates scrolled across the screen, each one more disturbing than the last.

---

NAME: Scarlett Voss

ALIAS: Lilith Russo

KNOWN ASSOCIATES: Famiglia Russo

STATUS: LEADER

Her stomach dropped as more details flooded the screen.

Photos of bodies, reports of assassinations, and surveillance footage of a woman who looked eerily like Scarlett, only this version of her wasn't polished or smiling. She was cold, ruthless, and drenched in blood.

"Oh my God…"

Her eyes darted to the list of crimes.

Smuggling. Extortion. Assassination. Each file painted Scarlett as a ghost in the underworld, a nightmare that no one saw coming.

"She's not just some CEO. She's..."

Her words trailed off as a final file appeared, marked with a single word: PROJECT X.

Her hand hovered over the keyboard. Part of her wanted to click it, but the other part screamed at her to stop. Before she could decide, the screen suddenly turned black again, and a new message flashed in red:

YOU'RE IN TOO DEEP, MORI.

Her blood ran cold.

---

A Forgotten Chapel, Deep in the Russian Wilderness

The snowstorm outside howled, its icy claws scraping against the chapel's ancient, crumbling walls.

Inside, the air was suffocatingly still, the flickering glow of candlelight casting unsettling shadows across the cracked stone floors.

A reverend sister stood before the altar, her frail figure bathed in the dim light.

Her hands were clasped in prayer, but her lips were still, her blind, white eyes staring straight ahead, unblinking.

Behind her, the heavy oak doors suddenly groaned open.

A man entered, his boots crunching against the frozen ground.

He was tall, dressed in black, his face obscured by the shadow of his wide-brimmed hat. In his hands, he carried a large black bag, the fabric damp with dark stains.

"Готово, мадам," (It's ready, ma'am) he announced, his voice grave.

"Хорошо," (Good) she replied softly.

Without turning, she raised her hand, beckoning him to follow.

He hesitated, his gaze flicking nervously to the crucifix above the altar.

There was something…wrong about the air in the chapel. It felt heavy, oppressive, as if the walls themselves were alive and breathing. Not to talk of the reverend sister, who was blind but acted as if she could see clearer than anyone else.

"Иди за мной." (Follow me.) Her voice cut through his hesitation like a blade.

He nodded.

She led him down a narrow, dimly lit corridor. The walls were lined with faded icons of saints, their painted eyes peeling and cracked.

At the end of the hall stood a wooden door, splintered and rotting at the edges. A rusted sign nailed to the front read: ОПАСНОСТЬ!! НЕ ВХОДИТЕ. (DANGER!! DO NOT ENTER.)

The man swallowed hard but said nothing as she pushed the door open.

The air beyond was thick, damp, and reeked of blood and decay.

The room was circular, its walls lined with ancient, rusted chains. Dark stains marred the stone floor.

In the center of the room, a boy knelt on all fours. His bare body was emaciated, his spine jutting sharply against his pale skin. His hair hung in greasy strands, covering his face.

"Иди сюда, малыш, мама здесь," (Come, baby, mommy's here) she crooned, stepping closer.

The boy's head snapped up.

His face was...wrong.

His eyes were pitch black, no whites visible, and his mouth stretched impossibly wide in a twisted grin. His teeth were jagged and uneven, stained with blood.

The man froze, his breath caught in his throat.

"Он голоден." (He's hungry.) She turned to him, her serene expression unchanged. "Дай ему подарок." (Give him the gift.)

The man's hands trembled as he unzipped the bag.

A limp body spilled out, a young woman, her lifeless eyes staring blankly. Her throat had been slit, and blood pooled beneath her on the cold stone.

"Нож." (The knife.) The sister stretched out her hand.

The man handed it over without a word, his knees threatening to buckle beneath him.

She approached the boy, crouching beside him. "Моя дорогая," (My darling) she murmured, running her fingers through his matted hair.

He purred, a low guttural sound that sent shivers racing down the man's spine.

Without warning, she seized the woman's body and plunged the knife into her chest.

Again. Again. And again.

The sound of flesh tearing and bones cracking echoed through the chamber.

The boy crawled closer, his movements unnervingly quick and insect-like.

He buried his face in the gaping wound, tearing into the flesh with feral hunger. Blood sprayed across the floor, painting his hands and face.

The sister watched, her head tilted, a faint smile on her lips. "Он становится сильнее," (He's growing stronger)

The man couldn't take it anymore.

He stumbled back toward the door, his stomach churning. But before he could escape, the boy's head snapped up. His black eyes locked onto him.

"Ты не уйдешь," (You won't leave) his voice was layered with an unnatural echo.

The man froze, unable to move as if an invisible force gripped him.

His body lifted off the ground, his limbs contorting painfully.

The sister's serene voice cut through the chaos. "Ему нужен еще один." (He needs another one.)

The last thing the man saw was the boy lunging toward him, his jagged teeth bared.

The door slammed shut.