A young girl dressed in black, with a neat bob haircut, sat in a room without a single window. Everything around her was arranged with frightening precision: white with white, black with black, green with green. She was sorting each item one by one.

  Someone knocked on the door quietly, and then, without waiting for an answer, a dark-skinned young guy walked in.

  “Delilah, sorry for the sudden entrance....” He looked around, surprised by the perfect order. “You’re sorting your things again.…”

  She only glanced at him briefly, then pulled on a black medical cloth mask and went back to her items.

  “There’s.... a hostage,” he began uncertainly. “He doesn’t want to talk.”

  Delilah froze. She lifted her gaze, looking tired.

  “Yeah, sorry, we just tried everything. Looks like only you can help us. Our reputation is on the line.”

  She let out a slow breath, stood up, and put on the leather gloves hanging from her belt.

  “Thank you..” he exhaled in relief.

  Without saying a word, she walked out of the room and followed him.

  The hallway stretched like a tunnel, the walls muffling their footsteps. They were deep underground.

  “He was brought in this morning,” the guy said more quietly. “The client told us to make him talk. Looks like they couldn’t do it themselves and passed him to us, the "professionals" but nothing is working. If it keeps going like this, we’re going to look like kids in front of the client.”

  Delilah didn’t care. Her face stayed the same.

  “Something’s really off with you today,” he added, glancing sideways at her. “Did something happen?”

  She lifted her head a little, took off her mask, gave a tiny smile, and shook her head. Then she put the mask back on.

  “I see.. If anything happens, message me. We’ll help however we can.”

  They approached a heavy door. The guy opened it, revealing a stairway going down. The steps led deeper underground, with cells and heavy metal bars along the way. Finally, they entered one of the rooms.

  Inside, in the middle of the place, sat an injured man tied to a chair with a bag over his head. Behind him stood two people: a white-haired girl with long fangs sticking out from her lips, and a huge gray giant almost three meters tall. Thick chains wrapped around his shoulders and dragged across the floor.

  Near the wall, right inside the cell, lay a massive two-meter coffin.

  “Finally you brought her, Arthur,” the white-haired girl drawled, wiping a bloody knife with a cloth. “Delilah, sorry for bothering you. I already had some fun with him, but he’s really stubborn.”

  Arthur’s gaze dropped, and he winced blood was running down the prisoner’s pants between his legs.

  “U-uh, Rul, I think you overdid it. What was the point if Delilah was going to handle it anyway?”

  She just smirked and lifted the knife a little.

  “Compared to what Dalila will do, this is nothing. I gave him one last chance to talk.”

  Arthur turned to the gray giant.

  “And what about you, Gentilheim? What did you do?”

  The giant slowly turned his head.

  “I watched.”

  Arthur rubbed his face with his hand.

  “Whatever. Just take the bag off his head.”

  Gentilheim stepped forward and removed the bag.

  The prisoner’s ruined face came into view: lips torn off completely, nose cut open, eyes destroyed, cheeks pierced by something thin. He breathed with a ragged, harsh sound, like a stone was stuck in his throat. His gaze wandered around the room and finally stopped on Dalila.

  “So young.”

  “Hey!” Arthur snapped his fingers in front of his face. “Do you hear me?”

  The prisoner lifted his head.

  “So you’re conscious. This is your last chance. You’re tough, sure, but listen if you just answer our questions, we’ll stop torturing you.”

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  Silence. Even his breathing got quieter.

  “Look, you won’t like what happens next…” Arthur tried, but the man said nothing.

  Arthur stepped back and gave Dalila a signal. Everyone moved away from the prisoner and stood near the exit of the cell, leaving him alone with her. Delilah came closer. The prisoner looked at her with hopeless eyes, still not understanding what would come next. She slowly reached into her pocket and took out a small notebook and a pen. Arthur frowned, confused, glancing at the others.

  “Seriously? You think he’ll talk to you? This is pointless.”

  Delilah didn’t even look at him. She just started writing quickly.

  “Well try then,” Arthur sighed and stepped back.

  The prisoner watched her hand move. When she finished, she turned the notebook toward him. On the page it said:

  “Just tell us everything you know and we’ll let you go.”

  He stared, then forced some saliva together and spat right on the notebook. The paper darkened from bloody spit, but Dalila’s face didn’t change. She calmly tore out the ruined page, crushed it in her hand, and threw it at his chest. Then she began writing again.

  “What is she doing?” Rul muttered with a frown.

  “If I knew…” Arthur shrugged.

  When Delilah turned the notebook again, the prisoner read the new line and suddenly burst out laughing.

  “Pretending you’re a person too? You’re all trash! Worthless! Lower than animals!”

  “Whoa…” Rul whistled. “He got fired up. What did you write this time?”

  Delilah calmly tore out that page too, crumpled it, and threw it aside.

  “See? It’s useless. Please, Delilah, act,” Arthur ordered firmly.

  She was still looking at the captive, making up her mind.

  “Delilah, what’s wrong with you?” Arthur couldn’t hold back. “Before, you dealt with everyone easily, and now you’re acting strange. He’s just another freak in front of you.”

  “Maybe her conscience woke up,” Rul said with irony.

  Delilah quietly took off the glove from her right hand.

  “Oh, no, it didn’t wake up. Don’t expect it. Baby, go on already,” Rul commanded.

  The hostage stared at her hand. She stepped closer, touched his chin lightly with her index finger, and then put the glove back on right away. Before anyone could react, Delilah quickly walked out of the cell. The others exchanged looks no one expected her to leave so suddenly.

  The captive staggered. At the spot where she touched him, sudden burning pain appeared. It ran across his skin, which turned black and dried out, and the pain tearing him from the inside made him scream.

  “That’s it. You should’ve talked earlier,” Rul said coldly.

  The hostage screamed, begging for the hell to stop, while his face kept getting covered in dark crust. Rul walked up to him and, with one sharp move, tore off a piece of his chin. The curse stopped working.

  “If you keep staying silent, she’ll come back.”

  “P-please… no…” the captive whispered weakly, shaking with fear.

  While Rul asked questions, Arthur walked over and picked up the crumpled page Dalila had thrown away. Big, messy letters were written on it:

  “Let’s cooperate. You and I aren’t that different.”

  _______

  Namkhai slowly opened his eyes. His whole body ached, and his arms and legs were locked in cuffs. He was lying on a hard bunk in a dim prison cell.

  “What… WHAT?!” he shouted, trying to get up, but the chains pulled him back down.

  He looked at himself: his right arm was bandaged, his clothes were torn and covered in dried blood. He strained his muscles, trying to break the cuffs, but they didn’t even move.

  What are these cuffs made of? I used to break normal metal easily.

  The cell door opened and several guards walked in.

  “Calm down, champ,” one of them said, glancing at the others.

  “Where am I ?!” Namkhai yelled. “Why am I tied up ?!”

  “You’re in prison, charged with a series of murders and destruction.”

  “What murders ?! I didn’t touch anyone! You got the wrong guy! It was that guy with the sword!” Namkhai pulled again, trying to tear the cuffs off.

  “You’ll tell that during questioning,” the guard said coldly. He pulled out a stun baton, pressed a button, and sparks lit up the tip. “But for now… rest.”

  He hit Namkhai in the side. Pain shot through his whole body. The monk twisted, rage exploding inside him. He jerked, and the cuff on his right hand cracked.

  Before the guard could even react, Namkhai grabbed him by the vest and threw him into the ceiling.

  “He broke the restraints!” one of them yelled and hit the alarm.

  Nozzles opened in the ceiling, releasing thick clouds of gas. The guards kept hitting him with stun batons but slowly backed toward the exit. Jumping outside, they slammed the door shut with all their strength.

  Namkhai coughed, his lungs burned, his head was spinning. Stumbling, he broke the remaining cuffs, grabbed the bunk, and lifted it above his head like a battering ram. He slammed it into the door with all his strength. The heavy metal plate bent, leaving a deep dent.

  “Holy shit….” one of the guards stepped back in fear.

  “What kind of monster did they bring in here?”

  Inside the cell, Namkhai fell to his knees. His strength was leaving him fast. He managed to land one more hit on the door before collapsing to the floor and losing consciousness.

  In another block, far from the normal cells, Phobos was being held. His room was completely different from the others: no bed, just an empty space with white walls. He wasn’t lying down — his body was hanging upright. His arms were stretched up, his legs down, each limb held by thick chains. He was crucified, unable to move.

  Right in front of him stood a huge wall-sized mirror. Behind it was the observation room. People in lab coats sat there, watching Phobos closely, taking notes and discussing something.

  “What’s happening out there? Why all the noise in the hallway?” one of them asked in a hoarse voice, leaning toward the radio.

  “The second one started acting up,” a calm voice replied through the speaker. “We put him to sleep. Situation under control.”

  “Move him to solitary and tie him down better. Everyone, get to it,” the observer ordered and switched off the radio.

  “Did something serious happen?” another asked.

  “Don’t bother thinking about it. Our priority is him.” The man fixed his eyes on the suspended Phobos. “We think he’s not just some mercenary or killer. He might be the Phobos from the clan. We need to make him talk before the sector chief arrives.”

  “What?! He’s coming here himself?”

  “Yes. And it looks like he plans to take him.”

  “For what?”

  "He claims he needs this prisoner. Since he's already handling the transfer of another inmate, he'll grab this one at the same time."

  “Asshole!” the observer muttered, clenching his fist. “That scum wants to squeeze everything out of him and take all the credit for himself.”

  “He’s not interested in info about the clan. It’s definitely not about that.”

  “Then before he gets here, we’ll do everything we can.”