Round 5 Transcript

The kitchen's ceramic ashtray shatters under the impact of The Force's flashlight, shards of ceramic flying through the air as Jeane's grip on the lamp base tightens.

The ceramic ashtray explodes across the tile in a sharp spray of fragments—Jeane jumps at the sound, lamp slipping half an inch in her suddenly slick palms. She doesn't drop it though, muscles firing instinctively, fingers readjusting around the cool brass base. Her heartbeat is hammering in her ears, but she forces herself to listen past it—to the floorboards creaking too close to the kitchen doorway now. The intruder is almost here. The shattered ashtray pieces glitter on the tile like broken teeth, reflecting the overhead light Jeane's grip tightens again. She edges backward until her spine meets the counter edge, then crouches slightly—ready position. The lamp is a decent club, heavy enough to hurt someone bad if she hits right. But it's not a gun. It won't stop bullets. She needs to understand what's happening before this gets worse—or ends. The intruder appears in the doorway, flashlight beam sweeping across the wreckage of the ashtray, landing on Jeane. A figure in dark clothing, face hidden behind a tactical mask. Jeane raises the lamp higher, brandishing it like a weapon. Her voice comes out steadier than she feels: 'Whoever you are, whoever sent you—you're making a mistake.' She edges toward the kitchen window, keeping distance between them, trying to read their posture for threat level. Are they here to kill her? Or just intimidate? The intruder doesn't answer, just shifts weight slightly, hand moving near their waistband where something bulky suggests a firearm. Jeane's free hand moves fast toward the counter, fingers closing around the iron poker propped beside the stove—secondary weapon, backup in case the lamp isn't enough. She plants her feet wider now, both weapons ready, voice dropping to pure threat: 'Last chance to leave. Now.' The intruder doesn't move. Just stands there in the doorway, watching her with that steady flashlight beam like a predator evaluating prey.

I see the house keys on the wall hook—Jeane must still be inside somewhere, hiding. I check the brass table lamp first: heavy base, good blunt weapon, but too bulky to move quickly with a gun in each hand. I set it aside for now, clear space around the kitchen sink and counter. The iron fireplace poker leans near the hearth—I can use that if I need to close distance fast or break something. I keep my back to the wall, eyes on the doorway to the living room, wait. The house is quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator. I don't hear movement upstairs yet, which means she's trying not to give away her position. Smart. I check the kitchen drawer slowly—knives are there, but I already have my guns, and drawing a blade while holding firearms is inefficient. I close it quietly. The house feels big and empty around me. I need to flush her out, force her to move. I step toward the doorway, flashlight beam sweeping the floor ahead, then up the staircase.