The Quantum Gift

"Get me a car to leave here. I'll only release her when I'm out of this place," Hobo demanded, pressing the gun more firmly against Layla's head.

Meher didn't hesitate. Catching Hobo had been a priority for a long time, but not at the cost of an innocent civilian's life. His jaw tightened, but he nodded. "Bring a car over," he ordered.

"Captain—" one of his comrades called, clearly reluctant.

"Didn't you hear me?" Meher cut him off sharply. "Bring the damn car."

A few feet away, Asma stood frozen, tears streaming down her cheeks. Guilt crushed her. Layla is in this mess because of me…

Layla, despite the gun to her head, offered a faint smile. "Don't worry. You don't have to blame yourself. I'll be okay," she whispered.

Hobo raised a brow, surprised. "You're brave, little girl. It's a shame we met like this. If it were under different circumstances, I'd have recruited you into my crew."

Layla didn't reply. Her mind was racing. The civilians were recording everything from a safe distance, and she couldn't risk a single bullet straying. As much as she hated being under someone's control, she had to endure—for now. She needed a way to neutralize Hobo without endangering others.

Moments later, a matte black Toyota Land Cruiser pulled up, engine humming steadily.

"We'll send someone with you," Meher said, trying to negotiate. "How do we know you'll let her go once you're clear?"

"You don't," Hobo said smugly. "But you don't have another option."

Before Meher could say more, Layla spoke up. "It's okay. I'll go with him alone."

"See? Even the girl's smarter than you," Hobo said, oddly impressed.

What he didn't realize was that Layla had already made up her mind. She wasn't going to be a hostage for long. What infuriated her more than anything was his cowardice—using Asma as a shield.

With the gun still trained on her, Hobo asked, "You can drive?"

"Yes," Layla answered confidently, even though she had never touched a steering wheel in her life. But for someone like her, who could absorb and master any skill by simply watching a video, driving was child's play.

Asma looked on, worried. She's never driven before… But she swallowed the thought. This was Layla. The same girl who had shown strength, intelligence, and courage beyond reason. If Layla said she could drive, she could.

"Give her the keys," Hobo ordered.

A soldier handed them over, reluctantly.

"No tricks. No tailing us," Hobo warned. "If I even suspect anyone's behind us…"

His pause was more threatening than anything he could've said.

Layla stepped into the driver's seat calmly, inserted the key, and started the engine. The Land Cruiser rolled forward, Hobo in the passenger seat, gun still in hand.

They disappeared down the road.

*****

They had been driving for a while—close to forty minutes. The sun was dipping low, casting long golden streaks through the windows of the moving car. Inside, silence reigned—except for the cold weight of the gun still pressed against the side of Layla's head.

Hobo hadn't moved it once.

His arm was steady, his gaze fixed on her profile, eyes constantly measuring her reaction. But she gave him nothing—no fear, no panic. Just silence and a steady hand on the wheel.

He finally broke the quiet.

"Girl…" he muttered, voice rough. "Why the hell are you so calm?"

Layla didn't respond immediately. She shifted lanes, her expression composed.

"Aren't you scared I'll blow your head off right now?" Hobo pressed, tightening his grip.

"I'm not scared," Layla replied, eyes still forward.

Hobo laughed—a short, skeptical sound. "Not even a little?"

"No."

His eyes narrowed. "Then tell me—what makes you so sure I won't shoot you?"

Layla didn't look at him. Not at first. But then, slowly, she turned just enough to meet his eyes, her voice low and calm.

"Because you can't."

The words hit harder than any gunshot. Hobo blinked.

That confidence—unnatural, absolute—sent a strange chill down his spine. For a moment, something twisted in his chest. Unease. Confusion. Maybe even fear. He wasn't used to being unsure. Especially not because of a girl.

The gun remained aimed at her head. But his focus faltered.

And that was exactly what Layla had been waiting for.

Without warning, she slammed the brakes and twisted the wheel sharply to the right. The tires screeched against the pavement, the whole car jolting sideways. Hobo's body lurched forward, his balance broken, arm flying up instinctively to stabilize himself.

But he never got the chance.

Layla struck like lightning.

Her elbow shot back and smashed into his face—hard and precise. Blood burst from his nose instantly. The gun slipped from his hand and flew into the space between the seats, forgotten in the chaos.

The car skidded to a stop, engine rumbling.

Dazed and off-balance, Hobo groaned in pain, hand instinctively rising to his face. He didn't even see the kick coming. Layla's heel connected with his chest, and the force sent him flying out the passenger door. He hit the ground with a grunt, rolling over gravel.

Layla calmly opened the driver's door and stepped out, her expression still unreadable, not a trace of panic. She circled the car slowly, eyes locked on the man groaning in the dirt.

Hobo, on the ground, eyes wide in horror—this little demon. So that's why she was so confident to swap places with her friend. She had planned all this from the beginning. She knew what she was doing.

Lucky?

No. That was the face of someone who had been planning this from the start.

As Layla started taking a step toward Hobo—

Then—a sound.

Fast. Sharp.

Layla's instincts screamed—she dropped low, her body reacting before her mind could catch up.

A bullet tore through the air, grazing her cheek—just an inch off.

Another shot followed.

She rolled behind a nearby car, her breath steady despite the sudden attack. Tires screeched—rubber burning against asphalt. A black SUV came roaring down the road, heading straight toward Hobo.

Reinforcements.

The SUV skidded to a halt beside him, and its doors flung open. Eight men leapt out, all armed to the teeth.

"Boss!" "Boss, are you alright?" "Boss, you okay?"

Their shouts were frantic, but Hobo wasn't listening. He was pale, bleeding, and shaken—but none of that mattered to him now. His only thought was escape.

"Let's get out of here—NOW!" he barked, eyes darting toward the car.

But Layla wasn't going to let him run. Not after what he did to Asma.

Her eyes locked on the gun that had fallen under the passenger seat earlier. Without a second thought, she snatched it up and sprang into action.

Bang!

The first bullet hit a man square between the eyes. He collapsed instantly, lifeless.

Bang!

Another dropped to his knees, clutching his stomach. He let out a strangled scream, blood soaking through his clothes.

The others began scrambling, trying to use the SUV for cover—but Layla was already moving, a blur of lethal intent.

One man raised his gun, but she reached him first.

With a savage twist, she snapped his wrist—the weapon clattering to the ground as he cried out in agony.

The remaining five opened fire.

Layla didn't flinch. She dragged the man whose arm she'd just broken into the line of fire. Bullets tore through him, shredding his body as she used him like a human shield.

When his limp form slumped in her arms, she hurled him toward the shooters. They staggered under the weight.

In a flash, Layla closed the gap.

She stomped on the stomach of the man she'd shot earlier—his cry of pain cut off as his ribs cracked under her heel.

Then she was on the rest.

The first went down with a kick to the throat—his windpipe crushed, he collapsed choking on blood.

The second tried to backpedal, but she seized his weapon and drove it under his chin, pulling the trigger. His skull burst open.

The third lunged with a knife—she ducked, twisted his arm backward until the blade pierced his own heart.

The fourth fired blindly—she slid across the hood of the SUV and tackled him to the ground, slamming his head into the pavement until it split open like glass.

The last one dropped his gun, trembling. "Please—"

She didn't give him the chance to finish. Her foot lashed out, caving in his chest with a single, brutal strike.

As the bodies lay sprawled across the road, Layla stood still, breathing evenly, her face splattered with blood—not hers.

Hobo, meanwhile, had already jumped inside the SUV. He didn't look back—not at his men, not at the carnage. The engine roared to life and the vehicle peeled off, disappearing down the road.

Layla watched him go, fury blazing in her eyes.

"This time you ran," she muttered, voice low. "Next time, you won't leave alive."

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