Steven's bike roared into the clearing, gravel crunching under the tires as he came to a stop. The same jungle path, the same tent. But something about returning to this place made his pulse quicken—not just the fire burning within him, but something else he couldn't quite place.
"Alejandra!" he called, stepping off the bike.
From within the tent, her voice came, sultry and teasing. "Back so soon, Steven? You just can't stay away, can you?"
Steven sighed, brushing the dust off his jacket. "I'm here for answers, Alejandra. That's all."
The tent flap moved, and there she was, leaning casually against the entrance, her hair cascading down her shoulders like a dark waterfall. Her smirk was enough to make anyone second-guess their intentions.
"Answers?" she said, her voice lilting with amusement. "Well, you're in luck. I've got plenty of those. Come in, why don't you?"
Steven hesitated but finally stepped inside. The tent was bigger than he remembered, dimly lit with lanterns casting soft, flickering light across the walls. It was cozy but charged with a strange energy—an unspoken tension.
"Close the flap behind you," Alejandra said, her back to him as she moved further into the space.
The tent was quiet, save for the soft rustle of fabric as Steven stepped inside. The faint glow of the lantern flickered, casting long shadows across the canvas. His footsteps halted abruptly when his eyes met Alejandra's form, standing unabashedly naked in the center of the space.
He quickly turned his back, his face flushing with heat. "Alejandra, what the hell is this?"
"What does it look like?" she replied, her voice low and teasing. She didn't make any effort to cover herself, instead stepping closer, her confidence filling the room like a suffocating force. "You came for answers, didn't you? So, let's not waste time pretending."
Steven ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "This isn't what I—"
She cut him off with a laugh, light and mocking. "Relax, Steven. You're so tense. What are you afraid of?"
"I'm not afraid of anything," he shot back, though his voice lacked conviction.
"Then why won't you look at me?" she challenged, her tone playful but laced with something deeper. She moved closer, her bare skin brushing against his clothed arm. "You're here for the truth, right? About the Rider. About yourself."
Steven shifted uncomfortably, his fists clenched at his sides. "I didn't come here for this."
Alejandra tilted her head, her smirk widening. "Oh, but this is part of it. You can't separate the fire from the man. The Rider is more than vengeance, Steven—it's freedom. Power. Passion."
Before he could react, her hands moved to his belt, her touch swift and confident. His body stiffened as she unbuckled it, her fingers working with practiced ease.
"Alejandra—"
"Shh," she interrupted, her voice soft but commanding. "Stop fighting it. Stop fighting me."
With a tug, she unzipped his jeans, her eyes flicking up to meet his as she pulled them down just enough to reveal him. Her smirk deepened as her hand wrapped around him, her grip firm yet gentle.
Steven's breath caught in his throat, his mind racing as she began to move, her strokes slow and deliberate. "You feel that?" she murmured, leaning closer so her breath brushed against his neck. "That's the fire. It's in you now. You can't control it by ignoring it."
He gritted his teeth, his hands instinctively gripping the fabric of the tent as she continued, her touch igniting sensations he couldn't push away. "Alejandra… I didn't come here for this," he managed, though his voice wavered.
"You came here for answers," she corrected, her voice a seductive whisper. "And this is part of the answer. The Rider isn't just about vengeance—it's about release. Letting go of everything that holds you back."
Her strokes quickened slightly, her other hand brushing against his chest. "You're holding on so tight, Steven. To your past, to your fear. You have to let it burn away."
Steven's head fell back, his breathing shallow as he fought to regain control. "You're insane," he muttered, though the words lacked weight.
"Maybe," she said with a laugh. "But I understand the fire in a way you don't. Yet."
Her hand slowed, her touch almost tender as she leaned in, her lips brushing his ear. "You'll thank me for this someday," she whispered. "When you finally embrace what you are."
Steven exhaled sharply, his body tense as she finally stepped back, releasing him. He adjusted his clothes quickly, his hands trembling as he buckled his belt.
"You're impossible," he muttered, his voice hoarse.
"And you're just scared," she shot back, her smirk never faltering. She turned away, her confidence radiating as she moved to sit on a nearby cushion. "But you'll come around, Steven. They always do."
Steven took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus. "I need information about the Rider. How to control it, how to live with it. That's why I'm here."
She raised an eyebrow, crossing her legs in a way that seemed entirely deliberate. "Control? You don't control the spirit of vengeance, Steven. You survive it. You think you can leash that kind of power? You've got a lot to learn."
He frowned, stepping closer but keeping his gaze fixed on her face. "Then teach me."
Alejandra's expression softened slightly, though her mischievous glint never fully faded. "It's not something I can just explain to you. You have to feel it, live it. The Rider isn't a tool; it's a force. If you're not willing to give yourself to it completely, it'll consume you."
Steven's jaw tightened. "I don't want to lose myself."
She leaned forward, her voice low and serious now. "You don't have a choice, Steven. The spirit chose you. It's part of you now, whether you like it or not. Fighting it will only make things worse."
He sat down across from her, his frustration evident. "So what am I supposed to do? Just let it take over? That's not good enough."
Alejandra studied him for a long moment before speaking. "You have to learn to embrace it without losing sight of who you are. That's the balance. And it's not easy."
Her gaze softened further as she leaned back, her teasing demeanor giving way to something more genuine. "I've been where you are, Steven. I know how it feels to think you're losing yourself. But the fire inside you—it's not just a curse. It's a weapon. And if you don't learn to use it, it'll destroy you."
Steven nodded slowly, her words hitting home. For a moment, the tension in the air shifted, the weight of her experience grounding him.
"Thanks," he said quietly, standing up to leave.
She smirked, her playful tone returning. "Don't thank me yet, cowboy. You've got a long way to go."
As he turned to leave, her voice followed him, laced with amusement. "And Steven? Next time, don't be so shy. You might actually enjoy yourself."
He shook his head, stepping out into the cool night air. Despite her antics, her words stayed with him, leaving him with much to think about.
***
The scene unfolded under the eerie glow of a blood-red moon, casting an unnatural light over the desolate train station. Blackout and his rebellious allies stood among the abandoned tracks, their figures dark silhouettes against the fiery sky. The air was thick with an unsettling energy, like the calm before a storm. As they stepped into the station, the caretaker—a frail old man whose face had seen the ravages of time—spotted them immediately. His heart pounded in fear, yet he stood firm, though his legs trembled.
"You shouldn't be here," he shouted, his voice cracking, a futile attempt at authority. His old eyes narrowed, struggling to make sense of what he was seeing, before his fear turned to dread. Something dark moved in the air around Blackout—an unnatural presence that seemed to twist reality itself. The caretaker's gaze locked with Blackout's, and in that moment, his soul seemed to wither before the sheer force of the darkness radiating from him.
With a quiet, almost dismissive gesture, Blackout's energy surged. The caretaker gasped, his body suddenly stiffening as if he was being consumed from within. His skin began to blacken, and his breath grew shallow. "No... please..." the old man whispered in pain, falling to his knees, his hands clutching at his chest. But before the end, the caretaker's lips parted, and with his last breath, he asked the question that would linger in the air like a forgotten whisper: "Is there... a cemetery here?"
Blackout's eyes glimmered with a sinister amusement. "There's more than a cemetery," he muttered darkly, his voice carrying the weight of unspeakable knowledge. "There's a place for all who deserve to rot."
The caretaker's eyes clouded over as his body crumbled into dust, vanishing into the night air, leaving only the faintest trace of a scream that echoed into the void.
The train station fell into silence, but the storm had only begun.
Around them, the air seemed to warp as a ripple of terror spread through the crowd. The few people present, oblivious to the fate awaiting them, had been too focused on the red moon in the sky. They had thought it was a mere spectacle—something to capture on their cameras, a bizarre celestial phenomenon. But they were wrong. The moon's color bled deep into their souls as Blackout's power grew stronger.