In the darkest corner of California, the wind howled like a wounded beast—loud yet eerily silent at the same time. It was the kind of silence that pressed against the ears, so deep that even the smallest sound could travel miles without resistance. An abandoned town stood frozen under the night sky, buildings decaying like forgotten corpses, their secrets buried beneath dust and shadows.
Then the silence broke.
“Arrghhh!”
The scream tore through the night, raw and desperate, echoing off empty streets and hollow walls. Inside a dimly lit warehouse, blood stained the concrete floor, thick and dark, pooling beneath a man tied to a metal chair.
“You know my rules, Thomas,” a man said calmly. His voice was smooth, almost gentle, yet it carried something poisonous beneath the surface. “Once trust is broken… it stays broken.”
The contrast was horrifying—his calm against the sheer terror suffocating the room.
“I know—it was a mistake!” Thomas cried, teeth clenched not in anger, but in agony. Pain radiated through every nerve in his body, each breath a struggle. “I was blinded by greed. Please… have mercy, my lord.”
The man tilted his head slightly, as if considering the word.
“Mercy?” he repeated, a slow, dark grin spreading across his face. “I’m not sure that word exists in my dictionary.”
Thomas’s heart sank—then rose again when the man continued.
“But fine,” he said lightly. “I’ll have mercy on you.”
Hope flickered in Thomas’s eyes, fragile and desperate.
Only to be crushed a second later.
“That mercy will come when you’re reborn,” the man added coldly. “If you’re ever reborn.”
The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
“Ple… please…” Thomas whispered, his voice cracking, tears mixing with blood. He could already imagine the pain awaiting him. His plea fell on deaf ears.
The man turned away, irritation flashing briefly across his features. “Finish him,” he said to the two guards standing silently behind him. “Slowly. I want to savor his screams.”
As Thomas’s cries intensified, the man calmly reached for a pack of wipes, methodically cleaning the blood from his hands as though it were nothing more than dirt.
“Well,” he said lazily, glancing back once, “you should meet Dylan Donovan.”
DYLAN DONOVAN — P.O.V.
He thought he was smart.
Stealing my money. Running away. Believing distance would save him.
Pathetic.
Tossing the blood-stained wipes into the nearest trash bin, I walked toward my car without looking back. The screams behind me faded as the warehouse doors shut, sealing Thomas’s fate along with them.
I drove through the abandoned town in silence. The streets were empty, lights long dead, the air thick with decay. Most men would feel fear driving through a place like this in the dead of night.
I felt nothing.
Fear does not recognize me as its master.
I am fear.
Three hours later, the city lights welcomed me back as my car pulled into the private underground garage of my penthouse. The doors closed behind me with a soft mechanical hum, sealing me off from the rest of the world.
“Welcome home, Mr. Donovan,” Alfred said the moment I stepped inside.
I gave him a brief glance. That was enough.
“I need an outfit prepared for tomorrow,” I said, removing my coat. “The company is welcoming me back after four years. Not too casual. Not too corporate.”
“Yes, sir,” Alfred replied immediately.
I didn’t wait for anything else before heading to my room.
The bath was already prepared, steam rising gently from the oversized jacuzzi tub. Stripping out of my clothes, I stepped into the water, sinking back as heat enveloped my body. Blood—both literal and metaphorical—clung to my skin, reminders of today’s work.
I closed my eyes, letting the water wash it away.
An hour later, clean and composed, I slipped into my robe and moved to the office desk built into my room. I liked my important files close—within reach, within control. Control was everything.
I worked through financial reports, contracts, and ongoing dealings with cold precision. Profits were high. Growth steady. My company stood firmly among the top five in the industry.
Perfection.
Then my phone rang.
I glanced at the caller ID and declined without hesitation.
It rang again.
I exhaled sharply. “Which fucking piece of shit wants to disturb my peace?” I muttered before answering.
“You asshole!” the voice shouted immediately. “Why did you decline my call?”
“Do you have a death wish?” I replied calmly, though my teeth clenched.
“Uh—no… no,” he stammered, fear briefly slipping into his tone. But I knew him too well. That fear never lasted.
“Get ready for tomorrow,” I said. “The company is throwing a party to welcome me back. Dress properly. Corporate preferred.”
“Okay,” he replied, then hesitated. “There’s been… something going on at the casino. But we shouldn’t discuss it over the phone.”
My fingers paused over the file I was reading.
“You’re right,” I said after a moment. “A lot has been going on. We’ll talk after the event tomorrow.”
I ended the call and leaned back in my chair, eyes darkening.
A slow smile curved my lips.
“Looks like we have spies in our territory.”
And spies?
They never live long.
