Maximilian's jaw hung slack, full of shock. He couldn't wrap his mind around what was happening. This simply could not be reality.

His head snapped left, finding an empty hallway.

He snapped it right, seeing just concrete and rust.

No guards.

No voices.

Nothing.

His pulse skyrocketed.

"GUARDS!" he shrieked, his voice breaking immediately. "GUARDS! This is death row! CONTACT BETWEEN INMATES IS FORBIDDEN! DO YOUR FUCKING JOBS!"

His screams ricocheted off the walls, desperate, panicked, and beyond humiliating. But in this moment, the man couldn't care less.

Dante didn't even flinch.

Instead, the giant lifted both hands… and began moving his fingers through the air.

Slow, precise motions.

As if he were conducting an orchestra,only he could hear.

His eyes slid closed, head tilting back slightly, savoring the sound of Maximilian's terror like a man absorbing a symphony.

They kept going on like this for nearly a whole minute.

But then, having run out of air, Vice sucked in a ragged breath, pausing only to inhale.

"Aaahh…" Dante murmured, lips curling into bliss. "Music to my ears."

Maximilian's throat burned. He staggered back, staring at the man, at the mountain of dark flesh in front of him. Dante was smiling.

Actually smiling.

Enjoying every second of his screams.

Vice's panic doubled.

He opened his mouth and kept screaming, higher, more frantic, so much so that his throat began tearing with the strain. And Dante continued conducting, fingers flicking left, rising right, wrist turning with the elegance of a maestro drawing out a crescendo.

"I'll pay you anything! ANYTHING! I still have friends! I still got people in high places! I'll set you up with jobs away from this dead-end SHIT! JUST COME AND GET THIS MAN AWAY!"

Suddenly, Dante's hand stilled.

He opened his eyes.

And the look that entered them shut Maximilian's mouth instantly.

"Okay," Dante said calmly. "That is enough. I no longer find it amusing."

He stepped forward.

Just one step.

But inside that narrow steel stall, it was like a tank rolling into a closet. The air compressed around them. The walls seemed to close in. Maximilian's spine flattened against the cold concrete as Dante's presence swallowed the space.

In blind panic, Vice fumbled the bar of soap in his hand.

It slipped.

Time slowed.

Dante's eyes tracked it…

A slow, downward glide…

Spinning once…

Twice…

Then…

*Tap.*

It hit the wet concrete with a soft clatter, bouncing once before settling in a small puddle between their feet.

The giant's gaze followed it all the way down.

So did Maximilian's. And on their way down, the recently sentenced man's eyes noticed something. A slumbering, serpentine monster was staring back.

Maximilian couldn't tear his eyes away. Every single memory he ever experienced was rushing past his head in a single moment, as if he were dying.

Then, slowly… very slowly… Dante lifted his head and saw the face Maximilian was making.

And the expression that spread across Dante's face… Starting as a small twitch at the corner of his lips. Then stretching wider and wider…

Until it became a full, predatory, knowing grin.

"It's rude to stare, y'know?" Dante mused, forcing Maximilian's expression to snap up to his face.

"H–how… how is this happening…?" he stammered, voice paper-thin.

Dante chuckled, releasing a low and rolling sound.

"Thought you'd be safe in here, hmm? Thought the rules, the walls, the guards… Thought all that was gon' keep the big bad wolves outta your little cage."

He tilted his head, that predatory grin never fading.

"Shoulda known better."

Maximilian pressed himself harder into the concrete, trembling.

"Those Radiant fuckers came in with their shiny armor, their glowy bullshit, and their big hero speeches. Walked right into my home, planted fake evidence right before my eyes, and dragged me out like they were doin' the world some holy favor."

He lifted his hand, tapping a finger against his own chest.

"Ain't nothin' holy about them. They talk justice, oh, how they love that word. Justice. But in truth?"

He leaned in, lips curling with disgust.

"They all 'bout clout."

His voice grew razor-sharp beneath the weight of that accent, just a little rhythm, a hint of street-worn swagger, enough to make every word hit harder.

"They got me. The big dog. The one with a name people whisper. And once they had that trophy? Oh, they moved right on, not even bothering to find proof of my actual crimes. My men? My crew?" He snorted. "Capturing them would've taken work. Time. Risk. And there ain't no medals for that."

"Hypocrisy, my friend. Beautiful, ain't it? They claimed to bring justice to the streets… but what they really wanted was a headline."

Maximilian swallowed hard. "B-but your gang! They… they fell apart, didn't they? It was all over the news!"

That earned a loud, booming laugh.

"Ha! My boys?" Dante shook his head. "Naw. They never fell. You cut down the head, but the body keeps movin'. Keeps breathin'. Keeps killin', if need be."

His voice dropped to a deep, dangerous murmur.

"They're still out there. Still makin' money. Still runnin' things I started. And they still listen when I whisper. Those boys are loyal to a fault."

Maximilian's breath shuddered.

"And what matters most, lil' Maxie…?" Dante asked, leaning closer until their foreheads nearly touched.

"I'm still filthy rich."

"I still hold influence."

"And even stuck in this little box, on this damned death row… I ain't never been powerless."

"Not for one… single… day."

Maximilian felt his stomach drop out of his body. The truth spilled into him like ice water.

The guards weren't missing.

They weren't dead.

They weren't knocked out.

Something far worse was happening, and he was trapped inside a stall with the man responsible.

"But… why?" Maximilian rasped, voice hollow. "Why are you doing this to me? You must've called in so many favors, and for what?! I've never done anything to hurt you!"

Dante's expression shifted.

He leaned back with the amusement draining from his face. His smile went flat. His eyes darkened. And for one terrifying heartbeat, Maximilian saw something ancient, hateful, and huge staring at him from behind those pupils.

"Never hurt me…?"

The words slid out quiet.

Too quiet.

Dante's jaw flexed.

His nostrils flared.

And then, like a storm rolling over open ground, the man's fury surged up so suddenly that Maximilian's knees buckled. A hot shock ran down his spine, and he nearly pissed himself right there.

Dante didn't raise his voice.

Didn't move.

Didn't even breathe louder.

He didn't need to.

The anger radiating off him was thick enough to choke on.

But then, after a few beyond frightening seconds, the man exhaled, long and heavy, like he was blowing out smoke that had been trapped in his lungs for years.

"Boredom. The silent killer."

Maximilian blinked.

"…W-what?"

Dante rolled his broad shoulders, eyes drifting up toward the concrete ceiling, expression suddenly tired in a way that frightened Maximilian even more.

"You ever been on death row for seven years, Maxie?"

He didn't wait for an answer.

"Let me paint it for you. Imagine wakin' up every day to the exact same sound. The same clang of metal. The same buzz of busted lights. The same footsteps. Same food. Same faces. Same walls."

His voice slowed, a dragging rumble, heavy and worn.

"No seasons. No streets. No night sky. You breathe recycled air and eat recycled slop, and every hour bleeds into the next until you ain't sure if a week passed or a year. Every conversation is the same. Every inmate acts the same. Every guard moves the same."

He closed his eyes.

Sunken, exhausted.

"Mundaneness so thick it gets inside your skull. Makes you think slow. Makes your heartbeat lazy. Makes time itself feel like it's rottin'. Some days, I swear the world outside ain't real no more. Just some memory I dreamt once."

He opened his eyes again.

They were razor-focused now.

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