Same biker diner. But now the atmosphere is different—heavier. Tense. Dangerous silence.
The lead biker is still frozen from the name.
“…We buried him.”
His voice is low. Final.
The little girl slowly shakes her head.
“No… you didn’t.”
The room shifts instantly.
Boots move. Chairs creak. Hands tighten under tables. The air becomes sharp—like something is about to explode.
She steps closer to him.
Voice trembling, but cutting through the silence:
“Because he told me what you did after.”
The entire diner locks in.
No one breathes.
The biker leader leans forward slightly.
For the first time—uncertainty.
“What are you talking about?”
A pause.
The girl whispers:
“He didn’t die alone.”
Silence BREAKS.
A chair scrapes violently.
Someone half-stands.
Fear spreads through men who were never supposed to feel fear.
The biker leader cannot speak.
Because whatever truth is about to come out…
was never meant to be heard again.
CUT TO BLACK.
