How naïve he had been in thinking that he would find any sort of closure today. He had stood silently with the others as they had lowered heap after heap of earth over the polished wood, when in actuality he had struggled not to scream out, "What are you doing?"

What were they doing? They had covered up the greatest piece that should never have been. His Alessandra—his horrid, cruel muse. The only one who gave him what he really wanted: appreciation for what he truly was. And that, he had never really understood until he'd met her.

But now… she had dealt him the cruelest blow of all. Wounded him just as that shrapnel had a lifetime ago, only this one could not be treated by any surgeon. To be left alone with nothing more than simpletons. Philistines. Beings that had just managed to crawl out of the prehistoric mud. Alessandra had shown him a glimpse of paradise—the only heaven he'd ever get close to, he knew—and pulled it away. Dropped the curtains. He had been yanked out from the fantastical world of the stage. Now that the lights over the audience had returned, Stefano was reminded of just what a disgusting world he was trapped in.

Am I getting what I deserve? he wondered. Is this punishment for not conforming to the flock? I can't change what I am. Not anymore.

His hands, folded at his front, tightened. No, it wasn't his fault. It was the world that had wronged him. This stupid, stupid world. Nobody was ever kind to the different animals. They had been born sick, then pushed and pushed until forced evolution turned them into something rather…

Well, if it was a monster they wanted, a monster he would be.

The sun had long since begun to set, now only a dismembered semi-circle glowing blood red in the horizon. The funeral-goers had gone, having left their flowers on the grave. Some had given Stefano sympathetic consolation, which he hardly cared to hear but had pretended otherwise. But service was over, and they found no other reason to remain. The graveyard quieted down. It should have been returned to the ghosts, but he was still there because unlike them, he still saw the reason to.

He couldn't bear to leave, chained in place by denial and anger. He couldn't stomach the thought of going back to that house, where all that empty space would haunt him forever. Not while the cold ashes of his inspiration remained here.

Stefano's gaze traced the name etched across the extravagant headstone. He realized the beautiful irony that this stone and its sister—the one all the way across the ocean in Milan—housed opposite occupants. The thought was almost enough to humor him.

But then someone approached him from behind. Stefano kept his gaze on the many bouquets that colored the wide space in front of the headstone. Whoever it was stopped to his right—his blind spot. Stefano remained motionless, unwilling to turn his head, and silently dared this newcomer to speak first. They did.

"You look like someone…" It was a man. "… who needs to disappear."

"What I need is time to myself," Stefano corrected, his voice taking on a harsh undertone.

"I see," the stranger replied, his voice growing soft. "My condolences."

Stefano didn't respond this time, irately waiting for this nuisance for company to leave. But it didn't seem like they were taking the hint. Stefano stared at one of the two angel statuettes flanking the headstone. Seconds ticked by and he was growing impatient. Just as he was about to voice his demand to be left alone, the stranger spoke up again.

"Have you realized by now who did this?"

Startled, Stefano finally turned his head to look at his companion. He was a bald, dark-skinned man dressed sharply in a dark maroon dress shirt under a black suit. The corners of a burgundy pocket square peeked up from his breast pocket.

"No?" the man deduced from Stefano's silence.

"Who?" Stefano demanded. He didn't know who this man was, or how he knew, but Stefano's desperate urge to know any sort of truth towards Alessandra's killer drove him to overlook these mysteries.

"I'd call him a different kind of animal," the man responded, still looking down at the colorful grave. "Though he wasn't always like that. You could say he was pushed over the line." Finally, he turned his head to look at Stefano. There was a scar that rippled across his cheek, texturing it with mottled tissue. At the sight of it, Stefano was reminded of his own scars hidden underneath his hair—echoes of an end and a beginning.

"Pushed? But…" Realization struck him, and Stefano's eye widened. "The detective?"

"You flew too close to the sun, my friend. He fled the city that very night to avoid capture, but he's planning his return. You do know why, don't you?" The man turned back to the grave, and casually continued, "His work isn't done."

So… Stefano had made a madman out of that detective. Another one of his creations. Then that meant… No, he couldn't bear the thought, but some part of him forced him to face it. That meant he—Stefano himself—was responsible for Alessandra's death. She hadn't just become a masterpiece. She had become his masterpiece.

A louder voice within Stefano objected. It screamed and thrashed and resisted. No! It wasn't his fault! He would keep repeating that until it was the only truth he could hear. It wasn't his fault! It was that detective! That man, turned a monster. An entirely different animal. But instead of preying on the weak and exposed, he had turned on his own.

"So," Stefano finally said, his voice heavy, "if I am to believe you, then does that mean I'm a dead man walking?"

"Yes… that is…" The man's voice shifted into that of sympathy and amiability, "unless you let us help you."

Help me? Stefano's eye flickered down as the man's hand suddenly neared him, holding a small brochure. Bold text at the top read MU CENTER, with a Japanese character double exposed inside the letters. A slogan in smaller font underneath said "Create a Better Reality For You." Below that was some sort of… insignia? Angular lines coming together to form and eye reminded Stefano of an Egyptian design, but with a bit of a medieval torture flare.

Oh no, not this. He'd heard of this Mu thing. A small, largely unheard of Scientology wannabe was what it'd been described to him as. They preached some odd variety of nihilism, believing that the acceptance of meaninglessness would allow one to achieve spiritual freedom. Or at least that's what Stefano had heard one of their crazies shout from a street corner once.

Instead of taking the brochure, Stefano put up a rejecting hand. "I was raised in a Roman Catholic household, you know."

"Raised? What about now?"

"Well," Stefano muttered, "I haven't been feeling very close to God as of late."

"Close or not, you'll meet Him soon if you don't take this."

This man, up until now, had done a very convincing job making Stefano believe in his conspiracies. But that had all shattered as soon as he proffered this Mu Center brochure, establishing him as nothing more than a crazy religion nut.

"And, if we were to entertain your prediction for just one moment, what makes you think me joining your little cult will help? Oh, don't tell me you're aiming to have me free my spirit before I die." Emotions were swirling like a tempest inside of him—pain from the loss of his muse and stark irritation at this brash fool for attempting to solicit his nut case of a religion to Stefano at the dusk of a funeral no less.

"This isn't simply just an invitation to visit the Center," was all the man replied. The brochure was still held out. Giving in, Stefano took it, though he knew it was more likely than not going to end up in the trash by the end of the day. "The organization I'm a part of is constructing a… let's call it a project. A very important one. And we could use a mind like yours."

Stefano skimmed over the distasteful cover of the brochure again. His thumb rested over the edge, on the cusp of opening it. "What kind of project?"

"I'm bound by layers and layers of nondisclosure agreements, unfortunately. That's all you can get for now, I'm afraid, until you sign up. I will let you know that should you agree to the terms, you can disappear from the public's eye entirely. No one will be able to find you. No one."

"Sounds ominous," Stefano mused, finally opening the laminated paper. There was a small piece of paper tucked inside what appeared to be a run-of-the-mill church brochure. Stefano turned the small card to read its finely printed text.

I am prepared to take the next step.

There was nothing more on the card, even when Stefano flipped it over. "What's this about, then?"

"Present it to the pastor when you arrive at the Center," the man answered.

"This card rather puts the words in my mouth, doesn't it?"

"I'm merely offering you a choice. What you choose to do with that card from now on is entirely up to you. Just remember what I've told you. Are you willing to take that risk?"

"And I can instead choose to disappear? Discard everyone from my life?" Stefano paused, suddenly remembering his one last tether to this crass world. "Even…?"

"She can't come with you," the man affirmed. "The next step can only be taken alone."

At that, Stefano didn't respond. When the silence stretched on, his companion continued, "Consider this, then—when he finds you, he'll likely find her. I can't predict what he'll do. And if your trail leads elsewhere, he'll probably follow it. She'll be in the clear."

"You're mistaken," Stefano muttered. "I only wanted her because Alessandra wanted her. But now…" His voice suddenly grew firm. "It doesn't matter. It doesn't. You know what?" He held the brochure up. "I'll think about it."

"That's all I wanted to hear, my friend," the man said, growing content. "Find peace in whatever decision you make." He turned to leave. Stefano heard his steps padding softly over the grass and quickly spoke up.

"I didn't catch your name."

The quiet footsteps paused. "Theodore," he responded. "And should you choose to pay the Center a visit, ask for Father Theodore."

Piano notes tinkled in the air when he opened the door. Startled, Stefano wondered whether he had finally awoken from the nightmare where he had lost her and returned to the better reality. But as he stepped inside and walked into the studio, he saw that it was the babysitter's head peeking out from behind the piano. Silently, he walked towards it until the girl finally noticed him. The simple song was abruptly cut off.

"Oh, sir, I—."

"I didn't give you permission to touch that," Stefano snapped.

"I…" The girl looked meek. "I'm so sorry. It's just that Mina really liked the sound of—."

"Get out! Leave your key on the table." he spat, throwing his coat carelessly over the nearby armchair.

The girl was shocked. The prepayment they had given her meant she still had another two weeks to look after Gelsomina, but that hardly mattered anymore. None of it did.

The girl rose. She gave another uncertain glance towards the crib. "Sir, please. Maybe I should—."

"I said out!"

The girl jumped at the sudden rise of volume in Stefano's voice and quickly did as he ordered. As soon as the door closed behind her, the house was plunged into stillness. Stefano sighed heavily, suddenly feeling the weight of everything that had happened on his shoulders. He reached into the pocket of his coat and took from it the Mu Center brochure. With it in hand, he walked over to the piano and took a seat on its stool.

Stefano opened the brochure and took out the small card. He flipped it over and over in his hands, watching the text disappear and reappear. This had never been part of the plan. There was supposed to be a plane ticket in his hand, and Alessandra's arm in his as they took their leave from this wasteland of a city. He was supposed to be an artist, utilizing the thoughtless medium that walked outside in swarms on the streets. And now… he was nothing.

Why did you leave, Alessandra? Leave and take everything with you? You even took what was left of this pumping mass inside my chest. You wouldn't give it back. I watched you disappear under mound after mound of dirt, and still you wouldn't give it back. What did you end up leaving me with? A dead future… and an artist with no inspiration.

The sound of soft wailing broke the stillness. Stefano looked up from the small card in his hand, his gaze drifting towards the crib. Quickly, the wailing grew, puncturing the air with shrills that escalated louder and louder. The card stopped flipping in Stefano's hands.

"Quiet, Gelsomina," he said irately. The baby's crying did not cease. "Enough… Gelsomina, that's enough… I SAID QUIET!" He flew up onto his feet as he screamed, throwing the card aside. "Quiet, you nuisance! You burden! You were never part of this plan!" He stormed past the crib, intending to end the shrieking in the only way he knew how.

The kitchen knife—the same one that had been used to end Carolyn Ledford's life. It was in his hand when he made his way back to the crib. "I said…" Each word, pushed through gritted teeth, was punctuated with a heavy breath. He approached her, hand lifting and bringing with it the cruel, pointed blade. "I said q—!"

Stefano had reached the edge of the crib. And as he did, his eyes fell on her. Not the baby, but the porcelain ballerina tucked in the corner next to the infant's head.

Alessandra had placed it there on that day, right before she had left for the opera house. Stefano could hear her now—a ghost of a voice singing softly to comfort the distressed child.

The tight grip he had on the knife's handle weakened. And then the blade slipped out of his hand, clattering onto the floor next to his feet. No, he couldn't silence this one—this last trace of Alessandra. His little girl.

"Oh… oh god," he whispered breathlessly, leaning down heavily on the railing of the crib. "What's wrong with me?" Stefano lifted his head, and then slowly straightened up. Hands reached out and gingerly took up Gelsomina. And when he brought her against him, cradling her against his shoulder, Stefano finally felt her as more than just weight. He felt her warmth, her little arm reaching up to wrap around his neck. He felt her despair fade as he patted her back. "Quiet now, Gelsomina." This time, his voice was gentle and soothing. "Quiet, piccolina." The infant stilled. Stefano looked down and saw that she was gazing up at him with gray-blue eyes that mirrored his own.

"There, that's it, piccolina mia." A shuddering sigh escaped him as he broke his gaze away from hers to look at the card on the piano stool. His brow was furrowed as he came upon the realization that he would never watch Gelsomina grow up. He would lose the last thing Alessandra had left him, save for the ethereal images in his head.

She can't come with you. The next step can only be taken alone.

Stefano turned his eye back to Gelsomina. With a hand, he delicately pressed her head against his shoulder. "There now. Listen to me—Papa has to go now, okay? Papa has to go… but someday… someday I hope…" His words trailed off. To be honest, he didn't know what he hoped.

He dipped his head down and gently kissed Gelsomina on the forehead. Then he moved towards the crib and lowered her into it. The baby blinked drowsily up at him. Stefano took one last moment—one last glimpse of her—before walking away. A note with a briefly scribbled message was left on the table with the ballerina that was the sole witnessed to all that truly happened.

When it was time for him to go, he took the card from the piano stool and picked up his coat. One last stop was made to the phone where Stefano dialed 911 and set the phone down next to its receiver. The door opened, closed, and the house once again fell to stillness.

Another candidate in the queue—just one more, Yukiko determined, and then it was time for a lunch break. She clicked the profile, the top in a very long list. It was daunting how small that scroll bar was. And this was just on the Union subjects list. There was also the Mobius recruitment tab, though the list on that one was smaller… just a little. That was the bulk of her job these days—interview after interview. She was beginning to see the person at the other end of the table as more of just an answer machine than a human now.

Let's see… Candidate-04196. Were they really that far now? Damn. Before she even read his name, Yukiko quickly skimmed over his test results. Each Union candidate was subject to three separate psychological tests, each designed by her and a team of other Mobius-employed psychologists. Then, if each test was scored above an acceptable threshold, the candidate would get a face-to-face with the doctor herself—the last line of defense, so to speak, keeping harmful minds away from the delicate infrastructure of their STEM system. Yukiko had personally caught a few unstable candidates that had managed to deceive their way through those non-sentient tests. And even when she wasn't sure, she always trusted her gut.

Yukiko took up her desk phone, pressed a three-digit number, and brought it to her ear. "Interview Room Four," she said as soon as she heard a voice from the other end. "Candidate-04196. Mmhmm. I'll just need 15 minutes… yes, on the dot. Thank you." She hung up the phone and returned her attention to the computer monitor.

Alright, 04196. He passed his tests with good scores. A near-perfect average psyche… well, with a somewhat eccentric personality. But Mobius hadn't tasked her with screening attitudes. And what's more, 04196—oh, his name was Stefano Valentini. Hmm… okay. He'd come voluntarily through the Mu Center. Probably ate whatever honeyed words Theodore had given him.

Yukiko's eyes skimmed over the details Mobius intel had nabbed on this candidate. 04196—Valentini, she meant, telling herself she couldn't slip up and call a candidate by their number in the interview room again—had just recently been widowed. Apparently his wife had been killed by a gunman on the third of September. Well, it was no wonder Theodore had managed to pull him in. Those centers did a good job of bringing the destitute to Mobius's door. Yukiko made a mental note to make a question out of that. Emotions, especially distressing ones, made for good mental profiling.

Let's see, earlier biography—born in Italy, went to university in Rome, did photography work overseas. Wait… there was a name redacted here. Yukiko's brow furrowed as she read over the paragraph. Apparently Valentini had a friend who'd served the Italian army. Official reports marked this friend as KIA in 2002… so why was his name redacted then? Well, no matter. Whenever Mobius censored information, Yukiko knew it was for reasons she was better off not questioning.

Yukiko's eyes jumped to the clock in the corner of the screen. Five minutes until the interview. She rose, shut the monitor off, and pulled the long, white coat from her chair. Honestly, the coat was more for show than anything—nothing screamed 'doctor' to an ignorant Union candidate more than a white coat.

She made her way to the elevator. It was one out of the only two elevators in the entire facility that reached her floor. Yukiko stepped in once the doors opened, pushing the starred 1F button. As the cabin moved upwards, her eyes drifted to the black paneling below the floor buttons. To the unaware, there was nothing strange about it—above the smooth, blank surface were the normal buttons found in any elevator. But only with a properly authorized Mobius chip would the rest of the panel be activated. Until then, 1F appeared to be the lowest floor, sitting just above the ground. Well, there was that saying about icebergs…

The elevator dinged once the first floor was reached. Yukiko stepped out, barely acknowledging a coworker that was getting into the elevator in her stead. As the doors closed, he appeared to be reaching below the buttons.

She found Interview Room Four and stepped in. There was still a minute left before the scheduled interview. A folder was open on Yukiko's side, with documents of small text neatly organized within. They were all for show—this was a test of psychological stability, and the only information Yukiko needed was what her eyes and ears gave her. The candidate would be none the wiser, likely told some façade that this would be an evaluation of his skills and qualifications.

Fifteen minutes on the dot. The door opened, and Yukiko heard someone being ushered in. She rose, turned, and found herself faced with a black-haired man in a crisp, tan coat. "Mr. Valentini? Good to meet you. I'm Dr. Hoffman," she greeted, proffering a hand. He took it, and Yukiko almost jumped at the cold touch of his glove.

"A pleasure as well, Dr. Hoffman. And just Stefano is fine—Mr. doesn't stand up very well against Dr., anyway," the candidate replied lightheartedly as they dropped hands.

"Of course. Have a seat." Yukiko gestured towards the open chair as she took her own. Stefano made his way around the table.

"Do you mind if I…?" Stefano asked, pointing to his chest while his other hand already rested over one of his coat buttons.

"Go right ahead. Wouldn't want you to overheat during the interview." That's not a joke, Yukiko. Not a joke. Why did you say that? She waited quietly for Stefano to remove his coat, drape it over the back of his chair, and take a seat. "Let's begin. I'm going to ask you a series of questions, and I want you to answer them as honestly and naturally as possible. If you would prefer not to answer a question, you may request to skip it." A skipped question told Yukiko just as much as an answered one. "I'll try to honor your request as best I can, but understand that there are some thing I need to know about you during this interview. Are you ready?"

"I am."

She started off casually by asking about his childhood growing up in his hometown of Florence. "Well," Stefano replied, leaning back in his seat, "I'm afraid I can't really answer that, Dr. Hoffman. I wouldn't really consider Firenze my hometown. I put that as my place of birth on the application, but my parents moved south to Salerno when I was… oh, around the age of three. I can only ever remember the seaside, which is why I consider myself a Salernitano over a Florentino."

Stefano shifted, and Yukiko could hear the quiet scraping of his shoes as he switched which leg to cross. "Later on, as a young man, I ended up traveling north to visit Firenze—just to get a feel for the place of my origins. It's quite an enormous city. Much, much bigger than Salerno and so rich with culture and art. It was a bittersweet realization to see just what I missed out on during my upbringing."

"I see," Yukiko replied. "Well then, let me present to you a hypothetical question: let's say if you were to… rewrite history, so to speak, would you have it so that you stayed in Florence and never moved to Salerno? Knowing what you know now?"

The candidate took a moment to consider the question. Yukiko took that brief lull to study Stefano's posture has he deliberated. He seemed… conflicted. There was an obvious answer, but something was keeping him from giving it.

"No," he finally said. "As you said—knowing what I know now… I'd still stay in Salerno."

"That's understandable. Florence is unknown, but you remember the friends and memories you made in Salerno, don't you?"

"Yes… there was someone." Yukiko thought back to the redacted name.

"Who?" she dared to ask.

Stefano's gaze was fixated on the corner of her open folder as he answered in a vacant voice. "A man who was willing to trade his life for millions upon millions of strangers he'd never meet, and ended up doing just that." There was a pause as Yukiko waited, but Stefano said no more.

"I see," she replied. "That's very unfortunate. I'm sorry for your loss."

"That wound has long since healed, Dr. Hoffman. Or perhaps I just don't feel the pain from it anymore. An old gash pales in comparison to a fresh, bleeding one."

Yukiko feigned ignorance. "What do you mean?" In her opinion, it was best not to let candidates know she had just been reading over disturbingly detailed dossiers of them just prior to their interviews.

"Have you not been paying attention to the news lately, Doctor? An opera singer was murdered on stage. Her death was witnessed firsthand by hundreds—like a macabre performance itself."

"I see. And this singer was your…?"

"Wife."

"Oh." Yukiko let her voice drop low and soft. "I wasn't aware. Can you tell me more about what happened?"

Stefano's eyes flickered up to Yukiko's before dropping back to the table. "Can we skip this question?" he requested softly. He was exhibiting the classic traits of someone experiencing strong emotions but attempting to suppress it. It was common, especially among men. So far during this interview, Yukiko had seen no red flags. Not even any subtle ones.

"Yes, of course. But… why don't you tell me more about her? Your wife—who was she?"

Stefano gave an emotionless scoff. The corners of his mouth may have turned up, but he was not smiling. "An interesting woman," he answered. "You'll be the first person I admit to that deep down, she was hiding a very, very troubled soul. She wore a mask while she seduced me, and it wasn't until much later that I finally glimpsed what was underneath it. Maybe what I saw should have horrified me, but I already loved her too much. And that was my downfall. That's what made it hurt when she…" The candidate seemed unwilling to finish the rest of his sentence, only concluding his words with a shaking of his head.

Yukiko's career had brought her in contact with several psychopaths and sociopaths. Try as they might, they couldn't hide from her practiced eyes. There was always something off about them—some unnatural blip or absence of genuine emotion.

But there was nothing more genuine than what Yukiko saw in the candidate's eye as he spoke his next words. "Because of her, I now know what it means to be truly alone."

After a few more minutes, Yukiko concluded the interview and thanked the candidate for his time. She had seen and heard all that she needed. When she returned to her office, she reopened Candidate-04196's profile and had him approved to be included in the Union project. With that, she closed his profile, shut off the monitor, and stepped out of her office for her lunch break.

With that, this story concludes.

Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I'm just another crazy Stefano fan, and I felt like he, along with other characters in EW2, had a lot of character potential that the storytelling in the game didn't do justice. I'm not questioning the writing talent of the development team - time and budget constraints were probably the true culprits. As such, I wanted to attempt a story myself.

Oh yes, and OC pairing. Not gonna deny it.

But hold on, this story ain't over (no matter how much you want it to be). Be on the look out for sequels - yes, plural - coming out in the near or distant future. There'll be a second story taking place during the events of The Evil Within 2 along with a short prequel linking Grander Design to that.

That's it. Take care, everyone.