In the depths of a lightless corridor, Valtieri reached a heavy metal door. With practiced ease, he pulled a silver lighter from his right pocket, followed by a crumpled pack of cigarettes. The corridor stretched endlessly behind him, swallowed by shadows that seemed to pulse with malevolent life.
He flicked the lighter. A small flame sprang to life, dancing desperately against the consuming darkness.
The wavering light illuminated his face—a mask of calculated indifference. Every feature was carved from stone, his eyes reflecting nothing but cold purpose. Elongated shadows twisted across the walls, making the space feel even more claustrophobic.
As he waved the lighter to examine his surroundings, the flame grew unnaturally large and bright, defying natural laws. The light revealed the deeper exhaustion etched into his face—and something else.
An enormous eyeball hovered behind him, its surface gleaming wetly in the flame's glow.
"Who are you again?" the massive eye inquired. Its pupil contracted with confusion. The thing dwarfed Valtieri completely. Despite his considerable height, he looked like a child's toy by comparison. Its iris swirled with impossible colors, shifting like oil on water.
Valtieri remained still, raising the cigarette to his lips. Only his hand moved. The eye's surface rippled with irritation.
"In case you failed to realize—" it began, its voice gaining an edge sharp enough to cut.
"I don't think I failed to realize anything," Valtieri interrupted, lighting the cigarette. Smoke curled around his face like a living thing. "You did. I'm your son."
He dropped the lighter and stepped forward into the darkness. His footsteps echoed with quiet confidence. The eye watched him go, its pupil dilating with an emotion it didn't voice.
After walking what felt like an eternity, Valtieri spoke again.
"Final tube."
No sooner had the words left his lips than the floor gave way. He dropped through the void and landed hard in a vast, sterile room.
A cold experimentation center.
White walls stretched into shadow, lined with beds. Some held bodies mangled beyond recognition; others held patients with minor injuries. Overhead, fluorescent lights buzzed with insectile intensity.
A woman in a lab coat hurried toward him, her ponytail swaying. Her face was flushed with urgency.
"Ah, you're here," she said, adjusting her glasses. "The guard I sent—where is he?"
Valtieri straightened his jacket, brushing off invisible dust. "You… ah yes, the guard specifically is—"
A body crashed to the floor beside him. Blood pooled across the pristine tiles like spilling wine.
The room grew colder. The sterile air thickened with tension.
"You killed him." Her eyes widened behind her test visor. She closed a holographic display hovering in the air. "Why?"
Valtieri stepped closer, movements fluid, and took her hand. "Look, Thisbe, the man would've revealed too much. I can't risk that."
His fingers were ice-cold.
Thisbe jerked her hand back. "Or maybe you're just a sadistic, psychopathic, unemotional corporate head," she snapped. Her shoes squeaked against the bloody floor as she took a step back. "It's alright; his remaining blood can be a surplus."
A scream cut her off. Primal. Inhuman. It reverberated from above, making the ceiling tremble.
"Die! Ahaha!"
The words echoed through the facility as destruction raged overhead. The lights swayed wildly, shadows dancing across the beds.
Thisbe rushed to one of them, her movements tense but precise. "Your father enjoys himself too much when intruders show up," she muttered.
Valtieri followed, unhurried.
"I don't think it's an intruder," he said, bored. "No one would attack this place. Maybe the church—but we've got men everywhere."
He rested a hand on his holstered gun.
"Then why are you always paranoid?" Thisbe shouted. Patients stirred uneasily in their beds.
Valtieri smirked. "You know the quote—'an enemy closer.' If I'm near our most important projects, I can kill anyone who dares interfere."
Thisbe checked a patient's vitals, then gently pulled a sheet over their face.
"Why not use a compensation method? Like the Sage has, but on a smaller scale?"
Valtieri's expression darkened. "Don't talk about the Sage. And compensation clauses are a nightmare. Imagine only being able to speak if a family member cuts their arm."
He tapped his fingers on the gun.
"You do have a heart, aww," Thisbe muttered, smiling brightly.
"One only few can consider a heart."
Thisbe paused, taking a minute to explain everything they knew.
"How sure are you they are part of the coexistent tribe?"
"When she first arrived, her dialect of Kol-Nic matched theirs before she learned ours."
Valtieri's expression darkened slightly.
"Right."
"This way," she then said.
They approached a bed where a girl sat upright. Her hospital gown hung loosely over her average frame, though fatigue lined every part of her.
Valtieri's hand drifted toward his gun. Thisbe's glare stopped him.
"Not now."
"Fine..." He let his hand drop and brushed off his coat. Their footsteps echoed across the tile.
Thisbe brightened as she approached the girl and removed her visor. "Hey! Zahra!"
Valtieri scoffed, drawing Zahra's attention. Her yellow eyes glowed faintly in the artificial light.
"And you are?" she asked, her voice soft but firm.
Valtieri straightened. "Assistant manager. Second in command." What am I doing? he thought inwardly.
"This is Valtieri, my fiancé," Thisbe added cheerfully. "And this is Zahra—the divine interpreter."
Zahra's eyes locked onto his holster. "Your gun."
His fingers twitched. "And?"
He leaned forward, voice sharp. "How did you get that story skill? And what do you talk about with that bastar—"
A bolt of pain slammed into him mid-sentence. He stumbled back, face contorted.
"Wait, Val—" Thisbe reached for him.
Zahra watched without expression. "You'd think everyone would know not to speak ill of a sage."
Valtieri straightened, adjusting his tie despite the pain. "So you really do speak our dialect well."
"It's all one language. I'm the supposed offshoot—I learn fast."
Tension rippled between the three of them.
"You look a lot like her..." Thisbe attempted a smile. "Take away the eyes, and you could be her father."
Valtieri's cold tone cut through. "You were found outside the elevators of the company screaming a plea to be helped by our staff. Why Rolls-Worth specifically?" He then turned to Thisbe, "Why accept her, even?"
Zahra gripped her gown, knuckles pale. "I can't," she whispered.
He narrowed his eyes. The room's lights flickered as he reached for his belt again.
"What do you mean you can't?"
Zahra didn't open her eyes. She slouched to the side of the bed, one leg dangling, arms crossed.
"You don't get something without giving equal value," she murmured, indifferent.
Valtieri's hand dropped. He glanced at Thisbe.
"How old is she?"
"She should be 15 or 16... Records suggest 16."
He considered. "I'm going to the Grand Bibliotheca."
Then he drew his gun and pointed it at Zahra's head.
"Could I just kill her now? I mean—if she leaks anything about the company..."
His finger hovered near the trigger.
"Stop." Thisbe stepped between them, her voice low and measured. Her eyes didn't waver. "She's still useful, and you know it. You don't discard assets before they've run dry. Besides…" A cold certainty hardened her words. "Where could she possibly go?"
They stared at each other for a long moment. Then Valtieri sighed and lowered the gun. "We need to assert if her claims are true, first of all."
"Alright. I'll take her with me." He smirked. "It'll be easier to get something useful when she's in the Bibliotheca."
He stepped closer to Thisbe, pressed a cold kiss to her forehead.
"I'll murder her. Just not now. I'll call you later. Bye."
He turned and walked away. The click of his shoes echoed in the room. He lit a cigarette as he reached the tube doors. The flame flickered, casting strange light over his face.
"Finally," he muttered, inhaling deeply as the doors clicked shut behind him.
Zahra opened her eyes and sighed. "That man has problems," she said, half to herself.
Thisbe lingered, her face unreadable.
"He's a bit—" she began.
"He's a murderer," Zahra said flatly.
Thisbe's expression hardened, gaze drifting to the spot where he'd stood.
"Murder isn't a sin," she whispered. Convincing herself as much as Zahra.
She turned away, straightening her coat.
"I have to check something," she said, her voice quiet beneath the weight of truth.
"Fine."