The man was stripped naked, tied backwards to a steel chair. The floor was wet, stained with blood. Every breath he took sounded like a torn exhaust pipe.
The room was an old basement beneath an abandoned karaoke bar—no cameras, no footsteps above, no one knew this place existed. No one, except the one who stood silently in the room.
Hermes walked slowly around the chair, hands in his coat pockets. He carried no weapon. He didn't need one.
> "Do you know why you're still alive?" – His voice was calm, almost courteous.
The man tried to grin, blood smearing his teeth.
> "Because… I'm still worth something?"
Hermes stopped.
> "No."
He leaned in, whispering close to the man's ear:
"Because I haven't finished my questions."
From his coat pocket, Hermes pulled out a photograph.
A ten-year-old child eating ice cream outside an international school in Thailand.
The man's face drained of color.
> "You... you bastards wouldn't—"
Hermes didn't need to threaten. He only lifted his gaze to the blinking light in the corner of the room. That faint ticking sound wasn't decorative—it was decisive.
The man understood: all Hermes had to do was give the word, and the child… would vanish.
> "Who ordered my records erased from Phoenix's system in 2015?" Hermes asked.
The man swallowed hard. Sweat and blood mixed on his face.
> "...Colt." – The name came out like vomit.
> "Position?"
> "Strategic Deputy. He runs Phoenix's underground finance in Western Europe now…"
Hermes gave a slight nod. He stepped over to the table, unlocked his phone, tapped once. Just once.
The light in the room blinked for the final time.
The man's eyes widened—but Hermes had already turned his back before the sound of a suppressed shot came from the ceiling speaker.
---
Elsewhere – High-Rise Conference Room, London
Three men in tailored suits sat around a table, city maps on the screen before them, flashing red in key areas.
> "He's back." – One said, voice grim.
> "Impossible. He's dead. I personally signed the kill order." – Another protested.
> "Then he's returning each signature with blood," – The third one smirked, setting his whiskey glass down. –
"Hermes didn't die. He disappeared just long enough for us to believe he did."
> "What do we do?" – the first asked.
> "Call Colt. Tell him to get out of Europe in 72 hours.
If not, he'll be the first pawn bleeding on this board."
On a broken tower overlooking the river
Hermes stood before a cracked glass pane, staring down at the city below.
> "Ten years. You rebuilt a world with no rules..."
He let out a quiet, cold laugh.
"...Now let me show you how to break it—with rules of my own."