The back of the steam-powered van was cramped and stuffy. Emmett, still dazed, was seated roughly on the metal floor, his hands unbound but useless with several burly, knife-wielding men pressed close around him. The man who had shot the gun sat on the small bench across from him, resting his elegant wooden cane between his knees.
He simply stared at Emmett, his eyes wide and unblinking, a strange mix of disbelief and intense scrutiny on his face.
Emmett instinctively shrunk back, pressing his shoulders against the metal wall. "Who are you?" His voice was raspy. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
The man blinked, a soundless oh escaping his lips. He adjusted his expensive suit jacket. "My apologies. Where are my manners?" He smiled, the expression too wide and too sudden. "I am Piaxao Stein, the founder of the prestigious Stein Industry." He delivered the name and title with a flourish, his chest puffed out slightly.
"I haven't heard of it," Emmett said simply.
Piaxao's smile dropped instantly. The disappointment was palpable, like a visible fog of hurt ego. He smoothed his beard down with a slow hand, the movement betraying his irritation.
"What do you want with me?" Emmett asked, cutting through the awkward silence.
Piaxao waved a dismissive hand. "Nothing, my boy. Nothing at all. I merely wished to talk."
"If it was just to talk," Emmett countered, his gray eyes cold and steady, "why did your men feel the need to carry me so roughly?"
The men surrounding Emmett visibly tensed. The two closest to him shifted uncomfortably, their shoulders drawing up to their ears.
Piaxao's eyes narrowed, all traces of ego and charm vanishing, replaced by a cold, cutting focus. "Roughly, you say?" He glanced at his men, who now looked terrified. "Point them out, Emmett. Show me the ones who treated you without the respect due to your name."
Emmett glanced at the men. Their eyes were wide, silently begging him not to speak. They looked like cornered animals, their lives suddenly hanging on his word.
Emmett turned back to Piaxao. "Never mind."
Piaxao raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement returning. "Are you quite sure, young man? A man must always demand satisfaction for a slight."
Emmett nodded once. "I'm sure."
The men surrounding Emmett let out a collective, silent sigh, their shoulders visibly sagging in relief.
A moment of silence passed, the only sound the rhythmic chugging of the steam engine.
Piaxao leaned forward, his voice softening, but his gaze holding a new, predatory intensity. "Tell me, Emmett... have you been able to locate your father's killer?"
Emmett looked up sharply. He hadn't. Since being dragged into the Baron's experiments, since the numerous training and the mission at hand, the raw need for vengeance had been buried beneath the immediate struggle for survival. He hadn't thought about that past in weeks.
"Why would that concern you?" Emmett countered, his guard immediately raising.
Piaxao grinned, a knowing, proprietary expression. "It concerns me very much, my boy. After all... I worked for your father years back."
Emmett's eyes widened. It was the first time in the entire ordeal his "emotionless" mask completely slipped, revealing genuine shock and confusion.
At that moment, the van gave a final, loud hiss of steam, lurching to a stop.
"We've arrived, Boss," the driver called back through the sliding partition.
The van sudden braking was a violent jolt. Emmett barely registered the impact. His mind was snagged on Piaxao's words.
I worked for your father.
Emmett stared at the man, the shock of the revelation completely wiping the usual coldness from his face. His father had been murdered in a public, brutal act of betrayal.
Everything that followed—the terror, the recruitment, the forced experiments—was a direct result of that murder. Could this man seated in front of him be a part of it? Did he know who his father's killer was?
Piaxao watched the shock and confusion on Emmett's face, his own smile returning, this time sharper and more satisfied. He leaned closer, speaking in a low, confiding tone.
"You see, Emmett," Piaxao continued, his voice smooth as polished brass. "Your father was a great man. A visionary. But he was naive. He made enemies of the wrong people, and he paid the price for it."
"You were one of them?" Emmett asked, his voice barely a breath.
Piaxao chuckled, shaking his head slowly. "Oh, no. Not I. I was a loyal employee. A partner, in a sense. The man who ordered his death… well, he took a great deal from me, too. A great deal of what was rightly ours." He tapped his ornate cane lightly on the floor. "I assure you, I have an interest in seeing justice done. A very personal interest."
Emmett's mind was racing. He hadn't thought about revenge; he had focused only on control and survival. Now, this powerful figure was dangling the very reason for his existence—the hunt for his father's killer—right in front of him.
"And you expect me to believe this?" Emmett challenged, pulling his "cold" mask back into place.
"I expect you to think," Piaxao countered, his eyes boring into Emmett's. "I'm offering you the truth, and a way to finally get your justice. Those fools you were with," he scoffed, gesturing vaguely behind him, "they only care about following their master's orders. I care about justice. Your justice."
Piaxao stood, adjusting his cuffs with leisurely precision. The atmosphere in the van immediately became colder.
He looked down at Emmett. "You and I have much to discuss—specifically, how we can reclaim what your father and I built together, and how to silence his killers, forever. Help him up, boys."
The men immediately hauled Emmett to his feet, their hands firm but not rough. As they stepped out of the van, Piaxao paused, resting his hand on Emmett's shoulder.
"Welcome home, Emmett."