**The Final Cut**

The blade glided through Emma's neck with a precision that was almost surgical, slicing through her throat from the front to the center and finally to her nape. At first, Emma didn't feel a thing, as if her body had been numbed in anticipation of this moment. It wasn't until a red lining started forming around her neck that she began to comprehend the reality of her situation. The sensation was strange, a tingling feeling that spread rapidly as the blade completed its deadly arc. Emma's eyes, still closed, seemed to flutter open of their own accord, but all she could see was the darkness within her own mind. Her consciousness was slipping away, and with it, her sense of self. The first droplets of blood began to form, welling up from the wound like a crimson mist. They trickled down her clavicles, chest, and breast, staining her black outfit and drawing attention to her fair skin now showered in crimson. The contrast was stark, and Emma's gaze, still inward, seemed to acknowledge it with a sense of detachment. It was then that she felt it, a fleeting sense of awareness that allowed her to register the horror of her own demise. But in that moment, something strange happened. Emma, with the last of her consciousness, managed to smile. It was a faint, enigmatic smile, one that seemed to suggest a twisted sense of liberation. As her head was lifted by the executioner, Emma's vision expanded, taking in the horror of her own dismembered state. Blood ran freely now, pouring down her chest and pooling on the surface below. The client, El Verdugo, watched with an unblinking gaze, their eyes drinking in the spectacle of Emma's beheading. The room seemed to fade away, leaving only the cold, calculating gaze of the client, and the gruesome details of Emma's execution. The cameras captured every moment, broadcasting the horror to a global audience that had gathered to witness this depraved spectacle. Billions had been paid through online banking to witness this moment, and El Verdugo had delivered. As Emma's head was held aloft, her smile still frozen on her lips, the client spoke in a low, measured tone, "It's done. The execution is complete." The voice was devoid of emotion, a simple statement of fact that seemed to underscore the gravity of what had just transpired. The room remained silent, the only sound the steady drip of blood onto the surface below. It was a moment of grim finality, one that seemed to mark the end of Emma's journey and the beginning of a new, dark chapter in the annals of human depravity.