A bloodcurdling scream echoed through the facility, reverberating off the cold concrete walls as the steel pole struck its target outside. Ethan surveyed the remaining captives with a cold stare.

"Do you understand now? I am not playing games, and I do not exaggerate," Ethan said.

The room fell into a suffocating silence. The women, in particular, trembled with a dark fear, looking at the fifty armed men and imagining a fate worse than death.

Suddenly, a young man stood up. He wasn't a mountain of muscle like the genetic soldiers, but he moved with a strange, calm dignity.

"I am the personnel manager. Everything that happens here is my responsibility. Please, release the others. I am the one you are looking for. I don't know what harm we have done to you, but I am certain your vengeance is against me, not them. I beg of you," the man said.

The young man fell to his knees, his head bowed. Ethan froze for a second, genuinely surprised. He activated his Qi-Scanner, but the readout showed no hesitation, no spike of deception, and no hidden traps. His intent was pure.

A true gem in the middle of this manure? Almost too incredible to be true, Ethan thought.

"Fine. Since that is what you wish, follow me," Ethan said.

Ethan pointed toward a private side office. As they walked, Ethan paused and looked at Jason. "Interview the victims. I want to know the truth about these people—if they can be saved, or if they deserve to die alongside their boss," Ethan said.

"Understood, Boss. We'll find out who's who," Jason said.

Inside the office, Ethan took a seat, leaning back and propping his feet up on a small coffee table in a show of total dominance. He casually placed his 9mm on the table between them, as if telling the man: Even without a weapon, I am far above you.

"How long has this place been standing? What the hell do you want these people for, and where are you sending them?" Ethan said.

The young man took a breath, meeting Ethan's eyes. "From your questions, I see you already know the truth, so I won't beat around the bush. I don't know how long this place has been here. It's older than I can imagine—there are records here dating back a hundred years. As for why... it's for processing test subjects. This place collects people from all over the country and prepares them to be sent further north. As for exactly where, I don't know. Perhaps not even the doctor you killed knew that. We simply receive orders and a deadline. If we don't deliver the subjects on time, we are killed," the man said.

Ethan rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "The old man Jason just impaled... he was the head of this place. How do you know so much?" Ethan said.

"He was the Chief Researcher. He handled the experiments. However, I am the General Manager. I procure the supplies and process the intake of the subjects," the man said.

Ethan kept his focus locked on him, while Crul's voice whispered in his ear.

[Master, his statement is factually consistent, but he is hiding something. His heart rate and respiration are unusual. When he speaks of the victims, his speech patterns fluctuate, and he displays signs of genuine empathy. He does not fit the psychological profile of a Scavenger sociopath,] Crul said.

Ethan reached into his spatial inventory. A bottle of premium aged whiskey and two crystal glasses materialized on the table. He poured two generous measures, the amber liquid catching the dim light of the office.

Albert's eyes nearly bulged out of his head. He stared at the spot where the bottle had appeared, then back at Ethan, catching his breath. Has it evolved? Or is it high-tech spatial storage? I knew he was powerful, but to have abilities like the inner circle... Albert thought.

Ethan took a long, slow sip to show the drink wasn't tampered with, then pushed the second glass toward the young man. "Drink. You look like you need it," Ethan said.

The man hesitated for a second before taking the glass. The warmth of the alcohol seemed to settle his nerves, though his hands still trembled slightly.

"There's something behind those eyes of yours. Tell me. You look like you empathize with those victims, yet here you are, working as a butcher in this slaughterhouse. Why?" Ethan said.

The man stared into his glass for a moment. "My name is Albert. I come from a small town near Ontario," Albert said.

"And what are you doing all the way out here?" Ethan said, taking another sip of his whiskey.

"It's a long story. I'm an eighth-generation descendant. I don't even have the right to carry the Scavenger name. People like me... we don't even have surnames. We are just tools for the main branch," Albert said.

Ethan leaned back, his gaze calculating. "And how does someone the family doesn't even want end up as the manager of a high-privacy confinement center?" Ethan said.

Albert sighed, the weight of years of resentment finally showing on his face. "I know you know what this place is. Your people came in here sweeping through us like you already had the map. You knew who the villains were. You knew what we were doing here. Your questions... they sound like they come from someone who has been in a place like this before," Albert said.

"You could say I've been in one similar," Ethan said, his voice dropping an octave.

Albert looked down at the table, a look of genuine shame crossing his features. "I'm sorry. Truly. My family is a piece of shit, honestly," Albert said.

Ethan watched him closely. It was a strange sight—a member of the most ruthless organization on the planet apologizing for its existence.

"If you hate them so much, why stay? Why manage the 'intake' of innocents?" Ethan said.

Is there someone you care about?

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