Round 10 Transcript

The kitchen is bathed in darkness, illuminated only by the faint moonlight filtering through the windows. The air is heavy with tension as Jeane grips the brass lamp tightly, its heavy base a reassuring presence in her hands.

Jeane Cromwell grips the heavy brass lamp with both hands, its base slick against her palms from nervous sweat. Her breathing is ragged in her ears, and every sound in the house—creaking floorboards, shifting timbers, the distant drip of a faucet—transforms into threat. The kitchen is dark except for moonlight filtering through the windows, painting the appliances silver and shadows deep between them. She backs away from the doorway where she last saw movement, maintaining distance while trying to keep the counters between herself and whatever's in her house.

Her mind races through options: the knives are close but too small, too flimsy compared to that heavy lamp base; the poker leans by the fireplace across the living room, too far and exposed. The phone sits on the wall next to the back door—if she can just reach it, she can call for help, get someone here before things escalate further. But the intruder saw her grab the lamp, knows she's armed, knows where she is now. Making a move toward the phone means leaving cover, means exposing herself.

Jeane steadies her grip on the lamp. Whoever you are, I've got a weapon and I'm not afraid to use it, she calls out, her voice steadier than she feels. The police are on their way, so you've got two choices—walk out the front door now or face arrest. She edges sideways toward the counter with the phone, keeping her back against the wall opposite the doorway. Her heart hammers in her chest, and she can taste copper from the adrenaline flooding her system.*

The light flicked on behind me when I turned the corner into the kitchen—too sudden, too loud. A figure stood there, back against the cabinets, something metallic glinting in her hand. The flashlight beam swung up to her face and I saw fear before she raised her arm to shield her eyes. The lamp on the table next to her was heavy, solid-looking. I took two steps forward, closing distance fast. Her eyes were wide but not panicked yet—she was processing, calculating. I pointed both guns at center mass and shouted one word: "Down!"