Mike pushed open the heavy iron door, the hinges let out a dry, haunting screech in the dead silence. Inside, Jung Jimyung sat huddled under the dim, flickering light, her disheveled hair masking a face that was once the epitome of elegance.
"Ms. Jung, someone's here to see you," Mike spoke, his voice echoing with a chilling emptiness.
I stepped closer, observing the wretched woman before me. She lifted her head, her eyes bloodshot and vacant. The moment she caught sight of our uniforms, she suddenly lunged at the bars, screaming in a frenzied panic:
"Please... just a little more! Simon said it would show me heaven... He wouldn't lie to me, he was the one who gave it to me!"
I froze, the air catching in my throat. Simon? The butcher from the harbor that night was the same man who had lured a high-society heiress into this white abyss? The truth was so brutal it made my head spin. Simon hadn't just tried to kill me; he was sowing the seeds of death within the city's elite.
While I struggled to process the shock, I glanced at Mike. He remained standing there, leaning against the cold stone wall, watching Jung Jimyung's descent into madness as if observing a tedious play. Not a hint of surprise, not a shred of pity.
"Simon, huh? He's always been generous like that," Mike chuckled softly, his hand idling with the lighter in his pocket.
I looked at him, trembling. "You... you knew about this all along?"
Mike didn't answer immediately. He moved toward me, the faint scent of tobacco enveloping me once more. He whispered:
"Ms. Hime, no one is innocent here. Simon simply helps them embrace their true nature. Are you actually shocked? How precious."
I stared at Mike, a wave of terror washing over me. He didn't just know; it felt as though he was a phantom haunting the very center of this madness.
Seeing me tremble, Mike's demeanor shifted abruptly. The lingering murderous intent and cold indifference vanished, replaced by a gaze so tender it felt surreal. He stepped forward, resting a hand gently on my shoulder; his warmth seeped through the thin fabric of my uniform.
"There now, Ms. Hime... Calm down. I didn't mean to frighten you."
His voice dropped, turning as smooth and addictive as a dark lullaby. This sudden gentleness caught me off guard, clouding my previous terror like a thick mist. I let out a shaky breath, looking into those black eyes now filled with a feigned concern. Perhaps I had simply been too sensitive.
"I just don't want you losing sleep over such decayed souls. You only need to stay behind me."
I bit my lip and gave a small, unconscious nod, momentarily deceived by his reassurance. But then, Mike released my shoulder. He moved toward the bars where Jung Jimyung lay twitching in withdrawal. Leaning down, his voice transformed into a haunting, demonic whisper.
"Now, Ms. Jung... Do you truly long for Simon that much? Look at yourself—withered and pathetic. Do you know why Simon chose you? Because you possess the beauty of a rotting flower... and he only wants to witness the exact moment you wither away completely."
Jung Jimyung froze, her eyes widening as she stared at him. Mike kept smiling—a charming grin laced with pure venom.
"If you're a good girl and tell me exactly what Simon told you that night... perhaps I'll take you to him. To a place even 'higher' than the heaven you've seen."
I stood frozen behind him, watching Mike's silhouette. He was weaving a web of manipulation, each word a silken thread tightening around Jung Jimyung's fragile mind.
Jung Jimyung began to mutter in a frantic haze, her words breaking apart as if she were clawing at an invisible lifeline.
"He... he often mentioned the old warehouses in the East... or those private galas in the Red District... I don't know! Simon never gave me a precise address; he would just appear like a phantom and vanish just as swiftly..."
I focused on my notes, my pen racing across the paper. These locations were frustratingly vague, yet they were the first leads I had grasped in years.
While I was absorbed in my writing, I failed to notice the air around us growing thick and heavy. Patience was never one of Mike's virtues. Though his face remained a mask of indifference, I saw the veins on the back of his hand twitch. He was livid—a silent rage grinding away at his final bit of restraint.
He pressed even closer, his grip on the iron bars causing them to groan under the pressure.
"Is that all, Ms. Jung?"
Mike lowered his voice, but this time, the facade of tenderness was gone. It was as sharp as a blade pressed against a jugular.
"You should know that if this information is useless, your existence here becomes equally meaningless. Shall I tell the Warden about the little 'gift' Simon left you? Or would you prefer I ensure you never glimpse that 'heaven' of yours ever again?"
Jung Jimyung trembled violently, her teeth chattering in terror. Mike's haunting threats were like nails, pinning her down into an abyss of pure fear.
I glanced at my watch; the ticking second hand felt like a persistent shove. There was an urgent report waiting on the Warden's desk, and I couldn't afford a single minute's delay.
"I have to go, Mike. This is enough for now."
I hurriedly gathered my notes, my footsteps echoing as I fled that stifling space. I didn't even catch a glimpse of Mike's expression as I left.
Mike stood frozen, his gaze—once tenderly following my every move—suddenly plunged into darkness. A profound sense of longing flickered in his pitch-black eyes; he watched the door click shut, letting out a heavy, melancholic sigh because his favorite obsession had departed far too soon. But that melancholy was swiftly replaced by a frigid, murderous rage.
He whipped around toward Jung Jimyung.
"Do you see? She's gone. And she still isn't truly satisfied."
Mike stepped into the cell, the rhythmic strike of his boots against the stone floor sounding like death knocking at the door. He seized Jung Jimyung by the hair, forcing her to look into his handsome face, now contorted with silent fury. One hand tightened around her throat while the other slowly drew a sharp, metallic object from his pocket.
"Your pathetic scraps of information won't make Hime happy at all. You're wasting her time, and that is a capital sin."
Jung Jimyung's soul-shattering scream rose, only to be stifled by Mike's brutal hand. He began his torture—meticulous, artistic, and utterly heartless—merely to vent his rage because this "prey's" incompetence had ruined the mood of the one he cherished most.