Chapter 21: A Different Story
Killing two people didn't particularly bother Jake. He'd been on operations with Léon before; perhaps there was an innate capacity for this work within him.
He turned and gestured for Mathilda to close the door, then walked toward her apartment with both pistols ready.
"What's taking so long?"
The voice belonged to Stansfield, the antagonist of the film, a man with a dangerously unhinged personality.
Jake didn't try to fake a response. Against someone sharp, unnecessary deception would only create more problems. He simply entered the apartment with his weapons drawn.
Mathilda's stepsister's body lay slumped in the hallway. She was indeed in rough shape; the result of poor lifestyle choices and worse luck.
Frowning, Jake stepped over the body.
The bathroom door was kicked open; through it, he could see a blood-filled bathtub with a body inside—Mathilda's stepmother.
"No, you can't do this!" A desperate shout came from the bedroom, followed by two shots.
"Tell me where it is."
"I..."
Judging from the voice, the man was about to lose what little patience he had.
Unsurprisingly, another member of Mathilda's family had been executed. Jake couldn't tell who. Actually, his objective this time was only to eliminate the corrupt agents; if possible, saving Mathilda's little brother would have been ideal.
However, the enemy's firepower was substantial, and they were firing without restraint in a residential building. With only two handguns, Jake would find it difficult to neutralize them all quickly.
Norman Stansfield hummed melodies through his nose. He held a shotgun in his left hand, while his right hand, like a conductor's, moved his index finger continuously in the air, as if tracing musical notes.
If one only looked at his ecstatic expression and artistic movements, deliberately ignoring the blood on the floor, the destroyed furniture, and the small body nearby, it might have seemed like a performance.
"I love this piece—Beethoven's Fifth Symphony." He still held the gun, aiming it at the heavy-set man cowering in the corner, who looked terrified.
"Do you appreciate Beethoven?"
If someone suddenly burst into your house with a gun, killed your family, and then asked you about classical music preferences, what would you do?
If you weren't completely helpless, you'd probably try to fight back. Who would be in the mood to answer that question?
"Mozart!" Unfortunately, Mathilda's father gave the wrong answer, but Stansfield found validation anyway.
Looking at a CD case on the table, he found Mozart. "You actually listen to Mozart!"
The man was terrified. Was he going to die just because of his music taste? But the person in front of him was clearly insane; anything could happen.
But things always take unexpected turns. "I happen to despise Beethoven too. His compositions are only good in the opening; after that, they're tedious and sleep-inducing!" He even roared at the end, like a devoted music critic, then whispered, "Mozart, on the other hand, is far superior."
The man breathed a sigh of relief, but before he could fully relax, gunfire erupted, riddling his chest with buckshot.
Blood flowed from his mouth, soaking his shirt, and he didn't understand why he was suddenly killed. Didn't they both dislike Beethoven and prefer Mozart?
"Musical taste is one thing, but you forgot—you stole from me, and I never intended to let you live."
Mathilda's father realized at this final moment that he'd been manipulated by the madman before him, fooled into believing he could survive through shared preferences.
With that, Mathilda's entire family was gone.
After firing two more shots into the body, Stansfield turned and shouted, "Anyone else?! Who's still breathing?!"
But all was quiet.
From the beginning, only three gunshots had rung out from the hallway, without a single cry of pain. Stansfield had always suspected no one had actually been killed. Now it seemed a skilled shooter had fired three precise shots, each one dropping his men instantly.
Just then, a shirtless young man in athletic shorts appeared before him. He had a small, slightly burned wound on his left cheekbone, likely from a bullet grazing it.
"Norman Stansfield?" the young man asked as soon as he appeared, a question that sounded more like confirmation.
"That's correct." Despite knowing his men were likely all dead, Stansfield wasn't afraid. The two men faced each other, conversing almost casually—if one could ignore the weapons they were pointing at each other.
"You killed them all?" Jake frowned, looking at the bodies scattered around the apartment.
Stansfield could clearly see in the other man's eyes not pity for the deceased, but disgust at the mess—the kind of revulsion one feels at something fundamentally wrong being displayed so openly.
"Let's set that aside for now," Stansfield said, gesturing to the gun in Jake's hand. "We should settle our business first."
"You killed my men, didn't you?" He pointed at Jake, then gestured outside. "Why?"
He couldn't understand. Even he wouldn't kill without reason. Why would this guy take out his crew? Was it revenge? Thinking about it, Stansfield felt it was likely.
But Jake's response caught him off guard. "Because they had terrible taste in entertainment."
"You ever watch Breaking Bad?"
"What?" Stansfield, who had been in control, realized the situation was slipping away from him. And how was this question any different from the one he'd asked that criminal earlier?
"The Wire? The Sopranos?"
Stansfield could only listen as the man in front of him kept listing off shows. What was this about? "Famous programs?"
"Looks like we don't have much in common," Jake said, raising his weapon...
"We need to leave right now," Jake said, clutching his shoulder as he returned to Léon's apartment. He addressed Mathilda, who was sitting quietly on the sofa.
"Are you hurt?" Mathilda asked, focused on what mattered to her.
"I... I took down those agents. We can't stay here anymore, we need to go," he said, reaching for Mathilda's hand. The girl didn't move, instead pointing behind Jake.
When Jake turned around, he found Léon standing there.
"Why did you engage those officers?" Léon's expression was unreadable behind his round sunglasses, but Jake knew there was concern there.
Jake looked back at Mathilda. How should he answer? They'd barely interacted at all; was it worth sacrificing so much for someone he hardly knew? Or was it for Léon? To prevent him from being killed by hundreds of tactical officers later? How could he explain this?
He hesitated for a moment, then said, "I think I should leave." He didn't elaborate. As soon as he finished speaking, he felt a tug on his arm. It was Mathilda. Her eyes held pleading, hope, and something more...
Only then did Jake realize that the story had completely changed without him noticing. Here, Mathilda and Léon were strangers, and he was the one who had saved her.
"I'm sorry I couldn't save your family," he said, crouching down to face Mathilda and gently touching the girl's short hair.
Looking at the girl with tears streaming down her cheeks, he realized this wasn't just a fictional movie world, but something real.
Mathilda shook her head, her voice trembling with emotion, "Take me with you."
"I took down law enforcement. It's not safe for you to be with me. Stay with Léon, he's trustworthy and capable."
"No, I want to stay with you!"
In the end, Jake still left this world, alone. But this time, it wasn't a final goodbye, because Mathilda had made up her mind about him, and Léon had only agreed to train her for three months.
He would have to return to take Mathilda away after that time was up.