Devon's eyes snapped open, the sting of icy water dripping from his face, his head throbbing like a hammer on an anvil. The warehouse loomed around him, flickering fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting jagged shadows across the cracked concrete floor, where rusted chains dangled from the ceiling, swaying with faint clinks that echoed like whispers of doom.

His wrists burned, bound tight behind him with coarse rope that dug into his skin, each twist sending sharp jolts of pain up his arms.

The armored men from the ambush stood in a loose semicircle, their black gear streaked with the grime and blood of the Geneva street fight. Rifles leaned against crates or hung across their backs, pistols glinted at their hips, and a few held knives that caught the flickering light. Two men towered over the rest, their presence filling the warehouse like wolves in a den. The taller one, his face a roadmap of scars, a deep gash slicing through his eyebrow, stared at Devon with a mix of curiosity and disdain.

He held the dented bucket that had doused Devon, his gloved hand loose on its handle, water still dripping to the floor with a soft plink. The other, broader and bald, his jaw heavy with stubble, leaned against a rusted table piled with weapons, pistols, grenades, a sleek sniper rifle, his combat knife spinning lazily in his hand, the blade flashing with each turn.

Five or six others moved in the background, checking ammo, pacing the shadows, their boots thudding on the concrete, their low murmurs sharp with tension. One cleaned a rifle with a rag, another tested a radio with a burst of static, their movements precise, like soldiers prepping for war.

The tall man stepped forward, his voice a low growl, thick with an accent Devon couldn't pin down, Eastern European, maybe, or something older, rougher. "Your security team was a joke," he sneered, tossing the bucket aside with a loud clatter that echoed off the walls. "All they had were Fancy vests, shiny guns, look at how they folded like cheap cards.Elite my ass?" He smirked, his scar twisting like a snake, as the broad man let out a gravelly chuckle, his knife pausing mid-spin.

"Bunch of amateurs, tripping over each other. You're lucky we were told to get you out alive." The others joined in, their laughter harsh and guttural, bouncing off the crates like a pack of hyenas.

But Devon's face stayed still, there was no smile, no frown, just a blank expression , his eyes flicking between them, noting every detail, the tall man's hand hovering near his pistol, the broad man's knife glinting with each slow turn, the way the others kept glancing at the exits. He wasn't panicking, he was studying, listening, piecing together what they wanted, his mind sharp despite the pain.

The tall man crouched, his face level with Devon's, his breath reeking of stale tobacco and coffee. "So, Devon, what's your deal with the Velvet Circle?" His voice dropped, the mockery replaced by a cold edge that sliced through the humid air.

"You're in deep with them, aren't you? Don't play stupid." Devon's expression didn't budge, his eyes locked on the man's, steady and unblinking, giving nothing away. He stayed silent, only staring at the man in front.

The broad man stepped closer, his knife stopping, now pointed loosely at Devon's chest, the blade's edge catching the light like a warning. "Answer the question, doc," he said, his voice deeper, colder, like a blade pressed to skin. "What's your deal with the Velvet Circle?"

The warehouse seemed to shrink, the air tightening, the other men shifting, hands inching toward weapons, their eyes narrowing like wolves sensing weakness.

Devon shook his head, a slow, deliberate motion, his face still blank as a wall.

The tall man's eyes flashed, his scar twitching with irritation. "Nothing? You're gonna sit there and say nothing?" He stood, pacing a tight circle, his boots scraping the concrete, the sound grating in the quiet.

"Then why'd you make Aerothrax cure for them? You don't cook up a miracle drug like that for no reason." The broad man leaned in closer, his knife now inches from Devon's throat, the blade's cold steel reflecting the flickering lights. "Talk, or we start carving answers out of you."

The threat hung heavy, the other men stepping closer, their shadows looming, but Devon's gaze didn't waver. He shook his head again, his voice breaking the silence, flat and direct. "I had no choice." His words were simple, there was still no fear, no hesitation, like he was explaining a grocery list.

The men exchanged quick glances, their faces unreadable, but a flicker of doubt rippled through the group, the tension shifting like a crack in ice.

The tall man stopped pacing, his eyes narrowing as he studied Devon, searching for a lie. "No choice, huh?" he muttered, almost to himself, then gestured to the broad man. They stepped back a few paces, their voices dropping to a low murmur, too soft for Devon to catch more than fragments: "…Velvet Circle… not connected… hired for the cure… doesn't know…"

The words painted a picture, they were hunting this Velvet Circle, some kind of elusive target, and they thought Devon was a key, a link to their prey. But his calm denial, his unshaken demeanor, seemed to throw them off, like a puzzle piece that didn't fit. The tall man's phone buzzed, a sharp sound that cut through their whispers like a knife.

He yanked it out, his face hardening as he answered. "Ma, it's us. He's awake. But we've questioned him, he Doesn't seem tied to the Velvet Circle. My guess? They contracted him for the cure, nothing more. He doesn't know them." His voice was clipped, professional, but there was a trace of uncertainty, like he wasn't sure he believed it himself. The broad man stayed quiet, his knife now sheathed, his eyes locked on Devon, studying him like a code he couldn't crack.

Devon's ears strained, catching more snippets as the call continued. "No, ma, he's not talking specifics…" The tall man's posture stiffened, his responses shorter, his jaw tightening. The other men watched, their hands restless on their weapons, the warehouse's shadows seeming to grow darker, the air heavier.

"Yes, ma. Understood. And what do we do with him?" A pause stretched, long and heavy, the kind that made the hairs on Devon's neck stand up. He tested the ropes again, feeling a slight give, his fingers working subtly, probing for weakness.

The tall man's face darkened, his voice dropping to a whisper, barely audible. "Kill him."

The words landed like a hammer, cold and final, the call disconnecting with a click that echoed like a gunshot in the silent warehouse. The men turned back to Devon, their eyes hard as steel, the tall man drawing his pistol, the broad one cracking his knuckles with a slow, deliberate pop that sounded like bones breaking.

The tall man stepped forward, his pistol glinting under the flickering lights, the barrel catching the buzz of the fluorescents. "See you in the afterlife, doc," he said, his voice low and mocking, a twisted grin splitting his scarred face. He raised the gun, the barrel leveling at Devon's chest, his finger tightening on the trigger.

The other men closed in, their faces grim, rifles shifting in their grips, ready to end it. The broad man drew his knife again, the blade flashing as he stepped to the side, like he wanted a front-row seat. The warehouse seemed to hold its breath, the chains above swaying slower, the buzz of the lights louder, the air thick with the promise of death.

But Devon was just as ready. His fingers, working behind his back, found the rope's weakest knot, loosened just enough from his subtle twisting. Adrenaline surged, his muscles tensing, every sense sharp as a blade. In a flash, he moved, throwing his weight backward with a violent jerk. The metal chair screeched, tipping fast, the ropes slipping as he swung it up in a desperate arc. The chair smashed across the tall man's face with a bone-crunching thud, the impact like a thunderclap. The pistol flew from his hand, skidding across the concrete, as he staggered back, blood spraying from a shattered nose, his scar twisting in a howl of shock and pain.

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