"Wakey, wakey," James said, his voice low and almost mocking.

  The man didn’t stir.

  James exhaled, already growing impatient. He raised a hand and slapped him—hard. The sharp crack of impact echoed in the small, dark space a tooth came out.

  The man jolted awake with a strangled gasp, his body instinctively trying to recoil, but the restraints held tight. His wrists burned against the coarse rope, and his legs were bound just as tightly, leaving him utterly helpless.

  "There we go," James muttered, crouching in front of him.

  The man blinked rapidly, disoriented, breath coming in ragged pants. The only thing he could see in the pitch-black room were two eerie, glowing eyes—Cherenkov blue, radiating an unnatural light in the darkness. They were locked onto him, unblinking, unrelenting.

  He swallowed thickly, panic rising in his chest.

  "W-what… what happened?" His voice trembled, thick with confusion and fear.

  James tilted his head slightly, as if considering the question.

  "Well," he said, voice smooth, deliberate, "your team had a little accident."

  The words made the man’s stomach drop. His grogginess began to clear as his memory returned—he had been standing watch, then there was nothing. A black void. And now, here he was, tied up in some dark hole with a ghost staring him down.

  "What… what accident?" he stammered.

  James grinned, though the man couldn’t see it. When he spoke again, his voice was lower, darker—almost inhuman.

  "Me."

  The man tried to speak, but James drove his fist into his gut, the impact sending a violent shockwave of pain through his body. A choked gasp escaped his lips as he doubled over, or at least tried to—his bindings wouldn’t allow it.

  "From now on, you speak when I tell you to." James’ voice was cold, detached, as if he were merely stating a fact. "Nod if you understand."

  The man wheezed, his breath coming in ragged gasps, but he managed a weak nod.

  "Good."

  James crouched beside him, tilting his head slightly, studying his captive like he was some lab rat in a cage.

  "Now, you’re going to tell me why you’re here."

  The man clenched his teeth, trying to steady himself. His breathing was uneven, his ribs already aching from the blow. He had been trained to endure pain, to resist interrogation, but nothing about this situation felt normal. The presence before him the glowing eyes, the measured cruelty in James’ voice was something far worse than he had ever prepared for.

  Still, he forced out the only act of defiance he had left.

  "Fuck you."

  James didn’t hesitate.

  Another punch, this time to the ribs. A sickening crack echoed through the dark room. The man’s body convulsed as he let out a strangled cry, his lungs struggling to expand. He coughed, a wet, ugly sound, his chest spasming with the effort.

  James leaned in close, his voice almost gentle now.

  "I asked you a question’."

  The man barely moved this time, his body trying to reclaim the breath that had been stolen from him. His stomach lurched, bile rising in his throat, but he swallowed it down.

  James sat back on his haunches, stretching his fingers idly. Then he spoke, his voice quiet, even, but carrying the kind of weight that made the air feel heavy.

  "Let me tell you how this is going to go."

  The man’s head lolled slightly, sweat dripping down his temple, his vision blurry.

  "Every time you don’t answer me, I’ll take a leg."

  The words came so casually that it took the man’s brain a moment to process them.

  "Then an arm."

  James’ fingers tapped idly against the handle of his knife, as if considering where to start.

  "Then your teeth, one by one."

  The man’s breath hitched.

  "Then your eyes."

  James let the words linger, let the silence sink into the man’s skin like a festering wound.

  "And if you still don’t talk after that…" James tilted his head, his expression unreadable, "I’ll tie a rope around your waist. I’ll make sure your stomach is nice and full—food, water, everything you need to stay alive. And then I’ll hang you from the ceiling."

  The man let out a shuddering breath, his fingers twitching involuntarily against the restraints.

  "You’ll live like that for a week," James continued, voice cold, impassive. "Hanging, starving, pissing yourself, feeling your body rot while your mind stays perfectly aware."

  A beat of silence.

  "And when I come back—because I will find them anyway—I’ll cut you down. But not to set you free."

  James leaned in until the man could feel his breath, warm and slow against his blood-slicked skin.

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  "I’ll take you back with me," he murmured. "You’ll be my little pet. My little reminder of what happens when people waste my time."

  The man sucked in air, but he couldn’t find words, couldn’t even muster the strength for defiance. His body trembled, a deep primal fear clawing through his mind like a living thing.

  James smiled, though there was no warmth in it.

  "Oh," he added, almost as an afterthought, "and don’t bother trying to bite your tongue off. That won’t work."

  The man’s breath hitched sharply and started sobbing.

  James sat back, waiting.

  "Now," he said, tilting his head, "are you ready to answer my questions?"

  "Yes," the man rasped, his voice shaky.

  James nodded, his glowing blue eyes unblinking in the darkness. "Good." His tone was eerily calm, almost conversational. Then, just as smoothly, "Why are you here?"

  The man swallowed hard. He had already accepted that he was going to die—but how long it took, how much suffering he endured before the end, was still in his hands.

  "We were tasked as lookouts," he said, voice hoarse. "To report any movement near the bunker… If someone passed through, we were supposed to let them know."

  James tilted his head slightly, waiting.

  "And if we could, we were supposed to—" The man hesitated.

  James' expression remained cold, but his hand moved. The vibroblade hummed softly as he ran it lightly along the man's arm, just enough for him to feel the vibrating edge kiss his skin. A promise.

  "Finish."

  The captive inhaled sharply.

  "If we were able… we were supposed to kill them," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "And take any women or children as prisoners."

  James didn't react. He just let the words sit there, suffocating in the stagnant air of the room.

  "Where is the bunker?"

  The man hesitated again, but only for a moment.

  "I—I have a map," he stammered. "In my right pocket."

  James reached in and pulled it free, unfolding it carefully. His glowing eyes scanned the paper, taking in the layout. A detailed pre-war structure. An underground fortress.

  "How many of you are there?"

  The man shook his head weakly. "I don’t kno—"

  The blade flashed.

  The scream that followed was raw, primal his body convulsed violently as the vibroblade carved through muscle, sinew, and bone like butter. The severed leg hit the ground with a sickening thud, blood pooling rapidly.

  James didn't even flinch.

  A second later, his wielding lazer pressed against the stump, searing hot plasma bursting to life. The flesh hissed and bubbled as it cauterized, the scent of burning meat filling the air. The man's screams turned shrill, desperate, the pain overwhelming. His body bucked against the restraints, but there was nowhere to go.

  James watched him writhe, his expression unreadable.

  "I told you," he said evenly, tossing the discarded leg aside like trash. "Answer my questions."

  The man’s breaths came in ragged, uneven sobs, his entire body shaking uncontrollably.

  James crouched, resting his forearms on his knees as he leaned in, his eerie, glowing stare locking onto the man's tear-streaked face.

  "Now," James said softly, the weight of inevitability in his voice. "Do you want to try that again?"

  The man’s breaths came in short, panicked gasps, his face pale from blood loss, sweat slicking his brow. He trembled, barely holding himself together, his eyes darting between James and the severed leg discarded like garbage.

  "All I know," he choked out, "is that there are fifty—maybe more—guards. I swear, I don’t know how many scientists or administrative staff…" His voice cracked, desperation bleeding through. "Please… I don’t know."

  James didn’t blink. He just stared, letting the silence suffocate the man.

  The captive swallowed hard, his mind scrambling for something—anything—that might make James stop. And then it hit him. A memory. A fragment of conversation. Something that hadn’t seemed important before but now burned in his mind like a brand.

  "O-oh… yes! Yes, that’s right!" he blurted, his voice shaking. "There was… there was this one psycho chick!"

  James’ expression remained cold, unreadable.

  "She—she had silver hair," the man continued, words tumbling over each other. "And these blue… glowing… eyes…"

  His voice trailed off, the weight of his own realization sinking in like a stone in water. His breath hitched.

  James smirked, just a ghost of one.

  His fingers drummed idly against the handle of his knife as he leaned in slightly, letting his unnatural blue stare bore into the man like twin specters in the dark.

  "What’s wrong?" James murmured, voice smooth as glass. "Cat got your tongue?"

  The man’s face twisted in horror.

  “Your one of” The man’s words barely left his lips before James’ fist slammed into his face, the impact snapping his head back violently. Blood sprayed from his nose, a sickening crunch echoing through the dark room.

  "I didn’t ask you who I was," James said coldly.

  The man coughed, sputtering, his head swimming from the blow. His breath was ragged, his mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood.

  "Now," James continued, his voice unwavering. "Tell me how many bases MGI has."

  The captive groaned, shifting slightly against the ropes. "I… I only know about ten or so small bases scattered throughout the East Coast. But to my knowledge, the bunker is the main base."

  James nodded slightly, absorbing the information. His glowing blue eyes remained locked onto the man like a predator waiting for the final twitch before the kill.

  "What type of defenses does it have?"

  The man hesitated, but James didn’t move—didn’t even lift his hand in threat. The silence alone was enough to make the captive’s stomach twist. He swallowed hard and started talking.

  "The bunker is heavily fortified," he gasped. "It was built pre-war, reinforced to withstand bombings. Most of the original defenses are still operational, but they’ve been upgraded since then."

  He inhaled shakily before continuing.

  Some time later, James smiled—a rare, fleeting expression that never quite reached his eyes. He crouched beside the man, tilting his head as he observed the wreckage he had left behind.

  “Well, you’ve been very helpful,” James said, his voice carrying an unsettling calm. He gestured vaguely at the man's broken, ruined body—both legs gone, one arm severed, blood pooled thick around him. “And as I’m a man of my word, I’ll kill you painlessly.”

  The man's breath hitched. His face was pale from blood loss, his skin slick with sweat. There was no fight left in him, no last attempt at defiance. He simply nodded, accepting his fate.

  James reached down, grabbed the man’s own sidearm from where it had been discarded earlier. He pressed the barrel against the captive’s forehead.

  A single shot.

  The man’s head snapped back, the light in his eyes gone instantly. His body slumped against the ropes, now just another corpse in a room full of them. James let the gun drop onto the lifeless body, the metal clattering softly against blood-soaked concrete.

  He stood, rolling his shoulders, and walked toward the exit.

  The door creaked as he pushed it open, stepping out into the open air just as the first golden rays of sunlight crested the horizon. The warmth touched his skin, dispelling the lingering chill of the night.

  For a moment, James simply stood there, inhaling deeply. The air was fresh, crisp with the scent of damp earth and salt from the nearby coast. It was almost beautiful—majestic, even.

  If not for the bodies.

  Blood stained the ground, drying in dark, ugly patches. The corpses of the men he had killed lay scattered across the ruined rooftop and within the building, their empty eyes staring at nothing.

  James stretched, feeling the tension ease from his muscles. He exhaled slowly, watching the sun climb higher.

  It was time.

  Time to finish what the nuclear war had started.