The winter nights in Los Angeles were slightly chilly.

Inside, however, the atmosphere was fervent.

Dean had intended to wait until they were finished before giving them a proper send-off. However, in some matters, women indeed possessed greater persistence and endurance than men. After several rounds, Dean, a man of some decorum despite his mask, finally couldn't restrain himself and knocked on the door.

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.

As the door was struck forcefully, the previously fervent and high-spirited atmosphere within the room instantly plunged into dead silence.

Having given advance notice like a gentleman, Dean turned the handle, opened the unlocked inner door, and walked in.

The bedroom wasn't large, but the bed was certainly not small.

On the bed, a black woman and a white woman were in a 69 position, nestled together for warmth. They stared dumbly at the 'masked man' who had entered, seemingly not yet roused from their peak of ecstasy.

"I apologize for meeting you under these circumstances," the mechanical voice sounded. "Allow me to introduce myself: you may call me 'Gentleman.' I am an avenger, here today on behalf of a young departed soul to secure justice for him!"

Sarah and Aisha finally realized what had happened.

"Fuck!" Aisha cursed, trying to get up and reach for the gun at the headboard, but Sarah's thigh was draped across her neck, making it difficult for her to even rise.

Sarah fared even worse.

A revolver was pointed directly at her forehead.

Sarah didn't dare to move a muscle. Forced to maintain a 'kissing' posture with Aisha, she raised her hands to show she posed no threat.

"Very good." Dean lowered his gun. "Which of you is Aisha?"

Aisha was about to speak.

Sarah was the first to break free from their intimate entanglement, gasping for air. "I am! What do you want with me?" If she didn't lift her head soon, she felt she would suffocate.

Dean tilted his head, his mask, pale and fixed in an eerie smile, was locked on her. "You?"

Sarah gritted her teeth and nodded. "Yes, I am Aisha. But I don't know you!"

"Interesting." Dean leaned against the wall. "I've seen you on the news. You're Henry's sister. Actually, I came looking for Aisha because she tortured that child to death. I wanted to have a word with her. Yet, you're trying to protect your brother's murderer?"

"What?" Sarah thought she had misheard. "Impossible! Aisha told me it was because the police were negligent that Henry died at the hands of some perverted online acquaintance. And those bastards, to evade responsibility, even moved Henry's body from that pervert's home and staged it to look like an accidental discovery elsewhere. Aisha would never lie to me. It couldn't have been her!"

As she spoke, Sarah glanced subconsciously at Aisha.

But Aisha avoided her gaze. Suddenly, with an explosive burst of power from her legs, she kicked the unprepared Sarah through the air toward Dean, simultaneously rolling over to grab the handgun from the drawer.

She was fast.

Dean's reaction was faster.

He caught Sarah in mid-air and, using her as a human sandbag, slammed her forward forcefully.

THUD.

Two screams erupted.

Poor Aisha. Her hand was caught in the drawer, and the combined impact of Sarah's weight and Dean's strength brutally forced her arm downward into an unnatural angle. Sarah, too, was bruised all over where her back slammed against the corner of the cabinet.

But the physical pain was nothing compared to the agony in Sarah's heart. She looked at Aisha, who was clutching her twisted arm and screaming, her eyes filled with disbelief. She had tried to protect Aisha, yet in this moment of crisis, Aisha had used her as a human shield. All their past vows and solemn promises crumbled to dust.

Dean paid no mind to Sarah's current emotional state. He walked over to the screaming Aisha, meticulously retrieved a camcorder from his pocket, aimed it at the two women, switched it on, and began to speak:

"Aisha. You were abused as a child, which left a scar on your heart. This led you to become Lara as an adult, detesting men. Until you were abused once again. This time, you felt differently. You discovered that the pleasure you once found with women couldn't compare to the sense of fulfillment and satisfaction you felt when experiencing such 'misfortunes.' You began to revel in it.

"But you were troubled. By then, you already had a steady partner, Sarah. She even used a sperm donor to have a child for your sake. So, from that point on, you were conflicted. On one hand, you felt drawn to willingly debase yourself, following your inner desires. On the other, there was your partner of many years. You didn't know how to choose. You even considered applying to be a prison guard, seeking a life that could somehow reconcile these two conflicting aspects.

"Your application wasn't approved. The reason: your psychological evaluation indicated masochistic tendencies. You failed. But in a way, you also succeeded. Because through this application, you met someone who offered you a way out of everything. He proposed a mutually beneficial plan, one that would also grant you your freedom. Everything went smoothly.

"It's just a tragedy for twelve-year-old Henry. He died a horrific death at the hands of his own sister's lover. Yet, even when justice could finally be served for him, his sister was still protecting his killer..."

These were insights Dean had pieced together through reverse deduction, after reviewing Aisha's file and combining it with the current information. As the mechanical voice continued its low, somber narration, Aisha, who had been screaming, seemed to forget her pain. She stared incredulously at the 'masked man' before her, trembling. "Who... who in the world are you?"

These secrets, buried deep within her heart... She had never told a soul! Never! Yet the masked man before her, as if he possessed a Mind Reading Technique, had laid bare her ugly, twisted inner world. Fear gripped her, mingled with shame and embarrassment, causing her to lower her head, terrified of meeting Sarah's gaze.

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