A/N: Merry Christmas if you celebrate it! We are currently at 32 views on this story, lets get that up a little higher! Thank you all so much for the support, without further ado, enjoy!

Sidney's knife glinted under the harsh lights of the screening room as she began to move, her footsteps soft and deliberate. She circled Dewey and Gale like a predator toying with its prey, her face wearing a deceptively sweet smile. The black Ghostface robes swished with each step, the dark fabric adding to the chilling contrast of her warm, almost seductive tone.

"You know," Sidney said, her voice honeyed and smooth, "I always admired you, Dewey. So noble. So loyal. So… predictable." She tilted her head, her smile growing as she glanced at Gale. "And you, Gale. Always the fighter. Always ready with a clever comeback." Her voice dipped slightly, taking on a more menacing edge. "Always so sure of yourself."

Roman stood behind her, his gun trained on them. His posture was relaxed, his smirk cocky. "Careful now," he warned lightly, "wouldn't want you to get any ideas."

Sidney continued her slow circle, her knife tracing idle patterns in the air as her tone turned almost wistful. "It's funny, isn't it? How life brings people together. All those years of being hunted, of looking over my shoulder, wondering who the next psycho with a knife would be." She paused, her smile fading briefly as her eyes darkened. "And then Roman found me."

Roman stepped forward, his expression smug. "Oh, I was very thorough," he said, his voice laced with mockery. "Hollywood can bury a lot of secrets, but it can't hide everything. I knew where to look. All it took was a few favors from some very corrupt people. You'd be amazed at what you can uncover when you grease the right palms."

Sidney chuckled softly, her tone sweet again. "I remember the day he showed up. I was terrified, of course. Thought he was just another maniac coming to finish the job. Another Billy. Another Stu. Another… Mickey." Her voice lingered on the name, dripping with disdain.

Roman nodded, his voice growing softer, almost confessional. "I could see it in her eyes. She thought I was going to kill her. And why wouldn't she? It's all anyone's ever tried to do. But that's not why I was there." He crouched slightly, his grin sharp as he stared at Gale and Dewey. "I didn't want her dead. I wanted her to know the truth."

Sidney's smile returned, softer now, almost maternal as she stopped in front of Dewey. "He told me everything," she said, her voice low and intimate, like a lover sharing a secret. "That Maureen Prescott wasn't just my mother. She was his mother too." She leaned in slightly, her eyes boring into Dewey's. "My big brother, come back to find me. To protect me."

Dewey flinched as she stepped back, resuming her circling.

Sidney's smile grew wider. "And you know what the best part is? He didn't kill me. He didn't hurt me. No, Roman offered me something no one else ever had: the truth. A chance to stop running. To stop being a victim. To take control."

Roman raised the gun slightly, his smirk unwavering. "It wasn't easy convincing her. Sidney was so used to being the 'final girl.' The survivor. But all it took was time. Patience. A little training."

"Roman taught me everything," Sidney purred, her voice turning almost seductive as she twirled the knife in her hand. "How to move. How to plan. How to make it look effortless." Her tone darkened, her eyes gleaming with malice. "And you know what? It wasn't as hard as I thought it would be. After all, I'd already killed before. Self-defense, sure, but still…" She tilted her head, her smile growing sharper. "Once you cross that line, it's surprisingly easy to do it again. And again."

Dewey stood rooted to the spot, his legs trembling beneath him. His breath came in short, shallow gasps, and his mouth opened as if to speak, but no words came out. The betrayal hit him like a sledgehammer, each moment Sidney spoke twisting the knife further.

But Gale wasn't ready to give up. Her fiery glare shot between Roman and Sidney, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

"You'll never get away with this," she spat, her tone sharp with defiance. "Whatever you're planning, it won't work. It never does."

Roman chuckled, shaking his head as if amused by her audacity. "Oh, Gale," he said, his tone mocking. "Do you ever get tired of being wrong?" He turned to Sidney with a grin. "Care to do the honors, sis?"

Sidney's smile returned, sweet and malicious. "With pleasure."

She moved toward a large closet tucked to the side of the screening room's massive screen, her black Ghostface robe billowing behind her like the wings of a predator. There was a disturbing elegance to her movements, a sinister grace as she danced across the room, the knife in her hand gleaming under the harsh lights.

Stopping in front of the closet, Sidney turned to cast a final smirk at Dewey and Gale before flinging the door open. Inside, bound tightly to a chair and gagged with duct tape, was none other than John Milton.

His eyes darted wildly, his muffled screams filling the air as he struggled against his restraints.

Sidney grabbed a fistful of duct tape and tore it away from his mouth with a rough yank. Milton winced, letting out a sharp gasp.

"Sidney! Roman! Please!" he stammered, his voice hoarse and trembling. "You don't have to do this! Whatever you're planning—"

"Oh, shut up, John," Roman snapped, stepping closer with his gun still aimed at Dewey and Gale. "You're not in charge anymore. You lost that privilege a long time ago."

Sidney crouched in front of Milton, her expression almost childlike, as if she were playing a game. "You're going to be the star of the show," she cooed, her voice dripping with mock sweetness. "The big, bad producer who was pulling the strings all along. The mastermind. Ghostface himself."

Milton's face paled. "W-what are you talking about? This isn't my—"

"Oh, but it is," Sidney interrupted, her voice hardening. She stood abruptly, her knife tracing a lazy arc through the air. "You and your cronies did this. You ruined her. My mother. Roman's mother. And now you get to pay the price."

Roman chimed in, his tone gleeful. "I found all the dirty little secrets, John. The casting couch. The late-night 'auditions.' The power plays. You built an empire on exploitation and silence." He sneered. "But the worst of it? What you did to her. Rina Reynolds. The starlet you chewed up and spat out."

Milton's face twisted with guilt and fear, but he managed to stammer, "I didn't—I didn't force her! She wanted it! She knew how the game worked—"

"SHUT UP!" Sidney roared, her sudden outburst sending a chill through the room. She stepped closer, the tip of her knife now hovering near his face. "She didn't want any of it. She didn't want you, or your lies, or the way you passed her around to every disgusting, vile excuse for a man in this town."

Roman's voice grew colder, all traces of humor gone. "You broke her, John. You made her believe she was nothing. And when she finally tried to escape, you made sure she'd never forget. You might as well have killed her yourself."

Sidney smiled again, turning to Dewey and Gale. Her tone turned light, almost conversational. "So here's the plan. It's simple, really. John here is going to be our very own Ghostface." She gestured dramatically at the terrified producer. "We'll frame him for all of it. The murders, the chases, the chaos. It'll be a tragedy, sure. But hey, isn't that Hollywood?"

Roman leaned against the back of Milton's chair, smirking. "We've got everything ready. Evidence, footage, a perfect little narrative. It all ties back to John Milton: the depraved producer whose sins finally caught up to him."

"And the best part?" Sidney added, her voice turning sickeningly sweet. "No one will question it. Everyone already knows how dirty this town is. How many skeletons are hidden in closets just like this one."

Gale's voice cut through the air, sharp and filled with anger. "You're insane if you think anyone's going to believe that."

"Oh, they'll believe it," Roman said, his grin widening. "Because it's the truth. Well, mostly." He glanced at Sidney, and they shared a knowing look. "And when the bodies pile up, and all the clues lead right back to John, the world will nod along. It's the perfect ending."

Sidney twirled her knife, her smile never faltering. "And the perfect beginning for us. A clean slate. No more running. No more hiding. Just… freedom."

John Milton's breathing was shallow, ragged with terror as he squirmed against the ropes holding him in place. His face, slick with sweat, twisted into desperation as he looked between Roman and Sidney. His voice trembled, each word tumbling over the next in a frantic rush.

"Wait! Wait, please!" he begged, his voice cracking. "You don't have to do this. I can help you—both of you. Roman, listen to me. You've always wanted to direct, haven't you? To make your mark? I can make that happen. I have connections, power—more than you can imagine. You want a budget? A script? The perfect cast? Name it, it's yours."

Roman tilted his head, his smirk faltering as if Milton's words struck a chord. He stepped back, resting his hands on his hips and staring at the ceiling in mock contemplation.

"Hmm," Roman said thoughtfully, his voice light but tinged with mockery. "A budget, you say? Any script I want? Unlimited creative freedom?"

"Yes!" Milton exclaimed, seizing on the flicker of hope. "Anything you want! I can make you the biggest director in Hollywood. I can fix this. Just let me go, and we can work something out!"

Roman rubbed his chin, pretending to weigh the offer, pacing in a slow circle around the bound man. Sidney leaned casually against the edge of the screen, twirling her knife between her fingers, a faint smirk playing on her lips.

"You know, John," Roman mused, stopping in front of him, "that's a pretty tempting offer. I've always dreamed of seeing my name in lights. Roman Bridger: Hollywood's Next Big Thing."

Milton nodded eagerly, his voice gaining strength. "Yes! That's exactly what I'm talking about. You're a talented man, Roman. You deserve the chance to show the world what you can do. I can give you that. Just let me help you!"

Roman turned to Sidney, raising an eyebrow as he gestured toward Milton with an exaggerated shrug. "What do you think, baby sister? Should I take the deal? Hollywood's been calling my name for years."

Sidney's smirk widened as she straightened, stepping closer to Roman. She reached out to rest a hand on his shoulder, her knife glinting in her other hand. Her voice was soft, sweet, and laced with venom.

"Big brother," she cooed, her tone affectionate but menacing, "you're already the star of this show. You don't need him for that."

Roman grinned, his smirk turning cruel as he leaned closer to Milton, his voice dropping to a low whisper. "She's got a point, John. Why settle for your scraps when we can just take everything?"

Milton's face crumpled, his pleas growing more frantic. "No, wait! Please, Roman—Sidney—don't do this! I can fix everything! I can—"

"Shut him up," Roman said, stepping back and crossing his arms. His eyes gleamed with delight as he gave Sidney an encouraging nod. "Go on, baby sister. Show him how we end this."

Sidney's expression darkened, her polite smile twisting into something colder, hungrier. "With pleasure, big brother," she said softly, her voice dripping with mock sweetness.

Milton's screams turned incoherent as Sidney moved closer, her knife gleaming under the lights. She crouched slightly, her face inches from his, her voice low and intimate.

"This is for her," Sidney whispered, her tone cutting like the blade in her hand. "For Rina Reynolds. For Maureen Prescott. For mom."

With a swift, brutal motion, she drove the knife deep into Milton's chest. His screams choked off into a gurgle as she twisted the blade, her face calm and resolute. Blood spread across his shirt in a dark, widening stain, his body convulsing before finally going limp.

Sidney stood, wiping the blade on Milton's suit jacket with methodical precision before turning to Roman, her expression cool and composed. "Done," she said simply, handing him the knife like a finished tool.

Roman smirked, tossing the knife onto a nearby table. "You've got a real flair for this, sis. Makes me proud."

Sidney smiled sweetly, tilting her head. "Well, I had an excellent teacher."

The two shared a look of satisfaction, their bond sealed in blood as they turned back to face Dewey and Gale, who stood frozen in silent horror.

"Now," Roman said, clapping his hands together with theatrical enthusiasm, "let's move on to the finale."

Sidney skipped lightly across the room, her Ghostface robe swishing with each step as if mocking the solemnity of the moment. Her knife glinted in her hand, dripping crimson, and her chin was lifted high, her expression unsettlingly cheerful. Stopping in front of Dewey and Gale, she tilted her head, regarding them with a curious mix of amusement and pity.

"Don't take this personally," Sidney said, her voice honeyed and soft, as though delivering an apology to a dear friend. "I can't have you running off and telling anyone about our little production here." She gestured casually toward John Milton's lifeless body, sprawled in a growing pool of blood.

"But don't worry," she continued, her tone sweet but laced with malice. "I'm not a total monster. I'll make sure you're remembered. The world will hear all about how you died so bravely, trying to save poor little Sidney from that big, bad producer."

Gale's jaw clenched, her eyes brimming with fury and grief, but Dewey's face was etched with disbelief, his voice barely a whisper. "Sid… don't do this. Please…"

Sidney's smile didn't falter as she stepped closer to him, her knife raised. "Shh," she cooed, pressing a finger to her lips. "It'll all be over soon."

With a sudden, fluid motion, she thrust the blade deep into Dewey's stomach. His body jolted, his knees buckling as he staggered backward. Sidney caught him, almost gently, lowering him to the ground with surprising tenderness.

"Shh," she whispered again, leaning close to his ear as he gasped for air, his life slipping away. "It's okay. Just let go."

Dewey's hand reached out weakly toward Gale, his eyes pleading as his breaths grew shallow. Gale screamed, her voice raw with anguish as she watched the light leave his eyes.

"No!" she cried, her voice breaking. "No! You bitch!"

Sidney stood slowly, her knife dripping fresh blood as she turned to Gale. A serene smile spread across her face as she leaned against the edge of the chair, watching Gale writhe with rage and grief.

"Hi," Sidney said simply, her tone almost playful. "What was it you said to me earlier? Oh, that's right." She grinned, her eyes sparkling with mock innocence. "'I never liked you.'"

Gale's breath hitched, her tears streaming freely as she glared at Sidney with pure hatred. "You think this makes you special?" she spat, her voice trembling but filled with venom. "You think being Ghostface is some kind of power trip? You're nothing but a copy, Sidney. A sad, pathetic imitation. And just like all the others before you—Billy, Stu, Mickey, Mrs. Loomis—your fate will be the same. You'll die. You're nothing."

For a moment, Sidney's expression froze, her lips pressing into a thin line. Then she leaned closer, her knife resting lightly against Gale's cheek.

"You know something, Gale?" Sidney murmured, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I've always found you… beautiful."

Gale's breath caught as Sidney's knife traced a delicate line down her face. Before she could react further, Sidney's hand tightened, and with one swift, brutal motion, she plunged the blade into Gale's chest.

Gale gasped, her body convulsing as Sidney twisted the knife, her face calm and unyielding. Leaning closer, Sidney whispered in her ear, her tone soft and almost tender.

"Goodnight, Gale."

Sidney stepped back, watching as Gale's body slumped to the ground, lifeless. A satisfied smile spread across her face as she surveyed the scene: Dewey and Gale's bodies lying side by side, the perfect tragic ending to their brave yet futile effort to stop her.

The screening room was eerily quiet now, save for the faint hum of the projector. Sidney leaned casually against the edge of a chair, wiping the last remnants of blood from her knife onto the fabric of her Ghostface robe. Roman stood nearby, inspecting the gun he had taken from Dewey, spinning it in his hand like a prop in one of his imagined movies.

"Still one more loose end," Roman said suddenly, his tone light but purposeful.

Sidney raised an eyebrow, her lips pursing in a frown. "Who?"

Roman gave her an incredulous look, as if the answer were obvious. "The big-shot cop, Sidney. Detective Kincaid."

Sidney's expression shifted, and she gave herself a mockingly dramatic slap on the forehead. "Oh, duh," she said, rolling her eyes. "How could I forget about our knight in shining armor?"

Roman grinned, his amusement evident. "Don't worry. I'll let it slide this time. It's been a busy night."

Sidney straightened, her expression curious. "Do you want me to take care of him?"

Roman shook his head, his grin widening. "Nah. This is the end of our trilogy, sis. Our big finale. We're the apex, the peak. There will never be anything like us again. We deserve to have a little fun, don't you think?"

Sidney's lips curved into a knowing smile. "Oh, I like the way you think, big brother."

Roman gestured grandly toward the exit. "Shall we?"

Detective Mark Kincaid limped through the dark, labyrinthine hallways of John Milton's mansion, his face pale and glistening with sweat. His left arm hung awkwardly at his side, the result of a harsh blow during his earlier scuffle with Ghostface. In his right hand, he gripped his two-shot handgun tightly, the barrel trembling slightly as he moved.

"Kincaid," he muttered to himself, his voice hoarse. "Focus. Find Sidney. Find Dewey. Find Gale."

His breath came in shallow gasps, his injured ribs stabbing with every step. He tightened his grip on the gun, the only semblance of control he felt in this sprawling nightmare.

From his pocket, the faint vibration of his phone startled him. He fumbled to retrieve it, his heart pounding. He glanced at the screen. Unknown Number.

He hesitated but finally answered. "Kincaid."

The distorted voice on the other end was sharp and mocking.

"Detective. Searching for your damsel in distress?"

Kincaid froze, his stomach knotting. He recognized the Ghostface voice immediately.

"Where is she?" he demanded, his voice firm despite the panic threatening to take over.

A soft laugh came through the line, slow and deliberate.

"She's closer than you think," the voice teased. "But don't worry, Detective. You'll see her very, very soon."

Kincaid's jaw tightened as he glanced around the dim hallway, his instincts screaming at him to move.

From the shadows, Roman watched Kincaid's every move, his Ghostface costume blending seamlessly into the darkness. He hung up the call, slipping the phone back into his robe and gripping his knife tightly. The chase had begun.

Kincaid rounded a corner, his breathing labored as he scanned the room ahead. His injuries slowed him, each step an effort, each turn a gamble. He could feel the killer's presence, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

The sound of deliberate, heavy footsteps echoed through the mansion, growing louder.

Kincaid spun, his gun aimed at the source of the sound. But there was nothing there—just another shadowed hallway.

"Show yourself!" he barked, his voice carrying through the eerie silence.

Instead of an answer, he heard a soft tapping—fingers drumming against the wall somewhere behind him.

Kincaid turned again, his grip on the gun tightening. "I said show yourself!"

Roman stepped out of the shadows suddenly, the full Ghostface costume making him an ominous silhouette. The light caught the glint of his knife, and his head tilted slowly, as if mocking Kincaid's bravado.

Kincaid fired his first shot, the sound deafening in the confined space. Roman darted sideways, the bullet striking the wall behind him.

"Damn it!" Kincaid muttered, his gun now down to one shot.

Roman charged, knife raised, forcing Kincaid to stumble backward. The detective swung his arm defensively, but Roman was faster. The knife sliced across Kincaid's side, forcing a grunt of pain as the detective collapsed to one knee.

Roman didn't stop. He kicked the gun out of Kincaid's hand, sending it skidding across the floor, far out of reach.

Kincaid looked up, panting, his expression defiant despite the pain.

Before he could speak, Sidney stepped into view, her Ghostface robe billowing dramatically as she joined her brother. She removed her mask slowly, revealing a serene, unsettling smile.

"Hi, Detective," she said softly, her voice dripping with faux sweetness.

Kincaid's face contorted in disbelief. "Sidney…" he gasped, his strength fading.

Roman removed his mask as well, standing beside his sister like a twisted mirror of the Prescott family that might have been.

Sidney crouched down in front of Kincaid, tilting her head as she regarded him with amusement. She reached out and gently patted his cheek, her voice low and mocking.

"For the record," she whispered, her smile widening, "you weren't my type."

With a swift motion, Roman drove the knife into Kincaid's chest. Sidney stood and watched, her expression calm, almost serene, as Kincaid's body slumped to the floor, lifeless.

The mansion was still now, the echoes of chaos fading into the heavy silence of the aftermath. Sidney followed Roman as they walked through the dimly lit halls back to the screening room. Her knife, freshly cleaned, was tucked neatly into her Ghostface robe. Roman carried himself with an air of calm confidence, the smirk on his face a testament to the satisfaction he felt in their execution of the plan so far.

"Alright," Roman said as they entered the screening room, gesturing to the lifeless body of John Milton slumped in his chair. "Time to set the stage for our masterpiece. You ready, sis?"

Sidney nodded, her smile small but sharp. "I've been ready."

Roman set to work immediately, moving with practiced efficiency as he began planting evidence on Milton's body. He slipped a pair of bloody gloves onto Milton's lifeless hands, then placed the knife Sidney had used earlier carefully into his slack fingers.

Sidney, meanwhile, began wiping down surfaces with a cloth, erasing any trace of her and Roman's presence. She moved quickly but methodically, her movements displaying a level of precision that made Roman glance up from his task, his expression filled with pride.

"You've gotten good at this," Roman said, his voice tinged with admiration. "I taught you well."

Sidney smirked, not looking up from her work. "What can I say? I'm a fast learner."

Roman chuckled, shaking his head as he continued arranging the scene. "Fast learner doesn't even cover it. You've got instincts, Sid. Real instincts. You don't just execute—you adapt."

Sidney shrugged, her tone light but with a hint of pride. "I guess it runs in the family."

Together, they transformed the room into a scene of carefully constructed chaos. Roman planted scraps of false evidence—handwritten notes, fabricated photos, and other details pointing to John Milton as the mastermind behind the murders. A few items were strewn strategically to suggest he had been working alone, a desperate man trying to cover up his Hollywood crimes.

Sidney stepped up to the projector, pulling out a small cassette tape from her robe. She slid it into the machine, the grainy footage of her mother, Maureen Prescott—once Rina Reynolds—flickering to life on the massive screen.

Roman raised an eyebrow. "That's a nice touch," he said, nodding appreciatively. "Tying everything back to her. It gives the cops a neat little bow to wrap it all up with."

Sidney crossed her arms, studying the projection with an almost detached expression. "They'll eat it up," she said simply. "A sleazy producer haunted by his sins? A public tragedy waiting to happen. No one will question it."

Roman leaned against the edge of the projector, his grin widening. "And that, dear sister, is why you're my favorite co-writer. You get it."

Sidney shot him a look, playful but sharp. "I better be your only co-writer."

Roman laughed, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

With the scene set, Sidney and Roman destroyed the remaining evidence pointing to them. They worked in unison, tossing bloodied rags, fragments of torn notes, and anything incriminating into a fireplace roaring in the corner of the room.

As the last scrap of evidence turned to ash, Sidney stepped back, brushing her hands off on her robe. She glanced around the room, her eyes narrowing as she mentally checked over every detail.

"All good?" Roman asked, watching her closely.

Sidney nodded, her voice confident. "All good."

Finally, it was time for the finishing touch. Sidney pulled out her cellphone and dialed 911, taking a deep breath as she prepared herself for the performance. Roman stepped back, watching her with an approving gaze.

"911, what's your emergency?"

Sidney's voice cracked, frantic and desperate, as she spoke into the phone. "Help! He's dead! They're all dead!" She let out a shaky sob, her breathing uneven. "John Milton—he—he tried to kill us! He killed Dewey and Gale—oh my God, please send someone!"

Roman watched with fascination, his arms crossed as Sidney's voice rose to a crescendo of panic.

"I—I can't—" Sidney stammered, her voice trembling. Then, suddenly, she hung up, tossing the phone onto a nearby chair.

The silence that followed was heavy, punctuated only by the crackling of the fire. Sidney turned to Roman, her expression softening as she walked over to him.

"Happy birthday," she said affectionately, a genuine smile tugging at her lips.

Roman blinked, surprised for a moment, before letting out a laugh. "You remembered?"

"Of course," Sidney replied, her voice warm but with a mischievous undertone. "This whole night was your gift, wasn't it?"

Roman grinned, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as they stood together, admiring their work. "Best birthday ever."

Sidney's smile widened as they turned and walked out of the room together, leaving their carefully constructed nightmare behind.

A/N RIP DEWEY AND GALE. Forgive me, but their was no other way... Hope you all enjoyed! Please review, I do NOT censor opinions!