Monrisa

Chicago

Monrisa was approaching the intersection. A car was waiting at the stop sign. From the side, another car sped in. Four men got out, drew their weapons, and began to shoot.

Monrisa maneuvered quickly, backing up. After a moment, she cautiously approached the scene. The driver was dead. Another man, sitting behind the driver, was wounded but alive.

"Can you hear me, sir?"

The man opened his eyes and tried to say something.

Monrisa leaned in to hear better.

"Hospital."

"You want to go to the hospital. Let's see if you have the money to pay for the trip." Monrisa reached into the wounded man's coat and pulled out a wallet. Plenty of cash. A driver's license: Matheo Barone. Several business cards: Matheo Barone. She took one business card. She loaded the injured man into her own car.

Monrisa stopped her car in front of the hospital, pulled the wounded man out, and dragged him to the front door.

The radio was reporting the murder of mob boss Matheo Barone.

Damn, I messed up again, Monrisa thought. Why do all the anomalies cross my path?

In the evening, she left the lights on in her house and waited in her personal car.

She saw the two men sneaking up and entering her apartment with their weapons drawn.

Her intuition had been right. It was time to leave town. She drove all night.

Flashbacks danced in her mind. How did it begin? Monrisa had lost her virginity when she was fifteen, and soon had a long list of sexual conquests. She always craved physical pleasures and felt that pursuing relationships was a waste of time. After all, boys were only interested in her for one thing. She didn't have close friends until she met John. They got along well. Probably because they were both interested in the same things. They had the same tastes in music, movies, and sports. John and Monrisa started spending time together at the gym and occasionally went to clubs. John was killed. Monrisa investigated on her own. She asked around, searched until she found out who killed John. It was two guys. One night, she liquidated both of them. One of them pulled a gun, but Monrisa was faster. She shot the man in the head. The other tried to run, but she caught up to him. She stabbed him in the back and left him to bleed to death.

The road stretched endlessly before her, a ribbon of asphalt leading into the unknown. Memories struck her like waves hitting sharp, treacherous rocks. It was no longer just about survival; it was about transformation. She glanced in the rearview mirror. She saw the woman she had become. A killing machine. Shaped by pain and betrayal, ready to face whatever lay ahead. Monrisa began to live in a world where she felt increasingly alone. Then she became afraid. She was no longer alone. The darkness was with her.