The Prototype

39. Four Days Later

*This chapter contains gruesome and explicit content! You've been warned*

MARCELLUS

Four Days

That's how long they've been down here—in the hole—an underground tomb of silence and darkness. Four days, rotting in their own filth, festering in the stink of piss and sweat. The only sound they've had to comfort them is their own ragged breathing, echoing off the cold, damp walls. No food, no water, no light. I've kept them on the edge of existence, teetering between life and death, because that's where fear thrives. When you strip a man down to nothing, when you rob him of the most basic things—air, food, water—fear becomes all he has left.

Rubien and Pier have been marinating in their own terror, waiting for me to come. They don't know when, but they know it's coming. And that's the beauty of it. That's the power I wield down here. I'm the one who controls time, space, life, and death. Down here, in this pit of despair, I'm God.

Descending down the narrow, concrete stairs, the sound of my footsteps filling the space. A slow, deliberate rhythm that builds the tension. The door creaks shutting behind me, locking us all in. The walls seem as though they are closing in around us, the weight of the dark pressing in, choking the air. Down here, there's no escape, no reprieve. Just me and them.

The air is heavy, thick with the rancid smell of their filth, their sweat, and their fear. Clinging to my skin as I reach the bottom of the stairs, the pit growing darker and more suffocating with every step. Hearing them breathing, labored and shallow, each breath a struggle, a fight to hold on to the little life they have left. They don't know how close they are to the end.

Flicking the switch on the wall making the single, weak lightbulb above flickers to life, casting long, distorted shadows across the room. The light is dim, but it's enough to illuminate their sorry state. Rubien and Pier in chairs, chained to the floor, slumped in opposite corners like broken dolls.

Their wrists chained behind their backs against the wooden chairs. Their ankles shackled to the cold, unforgiving concrete leaving them attached to their seats. Rubien looking worse off—his eyes hollow, his skin pale and clammy, his body trembling from exhaustion and dehydration. Leaving him barely clinging to life, his mind already slipping.

Pier, though... Pier still have some fight left in him. His eyes meet mine, though they're filled with desperation. He's weak, his body shaking, but there's still a flicker of defiance in him. He thinks he can resist. That's good. I prefer them that way. The ones with fight are always the most satisfying to break.

The light is almost too much for them after days in darkness. Making them flinch, recoiling like vermin exposed to the sun. Making me smile—a slow, cruel twist of my lips. Pathetic. These two thought they could rob me? Thought they could take from me and walk away unscathed? The audacity. Grinding my teeth at the thought, feeling the familiar burn of anger stirring in my gut.

I step forward, slow, deliberate, letting the silence stretch between us. My hands resting casually in my pockets, my face blank, unreadable. Seeing them watch me, their wide, terrified eyes tracking my every movement like prey cornered by a predator. I can almost taste the fear rolling off them, thick and suffocating. It's intoxicating.

"Rubien. Pier." My voice echoed in the stillness, low, controlled, like a blade slicing through the air. "You've been here for four days. Four days of silence." I let the words hang in the air, watching their reactions. Rubien trembles harder, his body barely able to hold itself up. Pier clenches his jaw, fighting to keep his composure. But I can see it—the fear behind the bravado. It's always there.