The car slid through the shadowed streets of Dunger City, swallowed by a thick fog that seemed to drain all color from the world, leaving only shades of gray and dried blood. Adrian remained silent. Bruce kept his hands steady on the wheel, eyes fixed on the road, but his mind raced, dissecting the lethal danger they carried.
The restraint collars were firmly locked around Alex and the Faceless Masked Man. The air inside the vehicle was thick with tension.
— "So you're telling me that this society of higher Kill Counts hired you to take over the three eastern cities?" Adrian broke the silence, his voice as sharp as a drawn blade.
Alex scratched his head, a nervous gesture that didn't reach his eyes.
— "Yes. They're too secretive. I've only met the messenger... she's my handler here in Dunger City. Her Kill Count was 203,000 last week. We meet every Tuesday night for updates."
Bruce swallowed hard. The Faceless Masked Man, normally stoic, clenched his fists until his knuckles cracked. Two hundred and three thousand. The number echoed in their minds like a funeral bell.
The car stopped in front of a building that looked like an architectural abomination — a decaying casino with blood-red flickering lights and a facade carved with ancient-looking runes. People entered and exited: some laughing, others blank-eyed like they'd sold their souls long ago.
— "Take these collars off. I'm one of the casino owners. I can't walk in looking like a prisoner."
Alex looked at Adrian, waiting.
Adrian didn't blink.
— "Release them, Bruce. Any funny move… and they die."
Bruce obeyed. The metallic clasps unlocked with a click. Alex sighed in relief. The Masked Man didn't move — a statue ready to strike.
— "Let's go, gentlemen," said Alex, leading the way.
The Death Casino
Inside, the air was dense — a blend of expensive tobacco, sweat, and something metallic.
Flashing lights lit up tables where men and women in luxury suits bet with chips... engraved with names.
— "I bet ten victims from the South District the next one doesn't scream," said a smiling man.
— "Deal," replied a woman with black lips. "But if he does scream, I take your eye collection."
Screens on the walls displayed live Kill Counts, torture stats, and betting odds on underground arenas. The bar served drinks named "Last Breath" and "Traitor's Blood."
And at the casino's center: a Ferris wheel — not of numbers, but of faces. Living people, bound and spinning slowly, while gamblers chose who would be discarded next.
Adrian walked through it all when he saw her.
For two seconds, among the condemned, a familiar face appeared:
Melisa.
Her eyes were empty. But her mouth moved, her voice reaching only Adrian:
— You promised to protect us… and now you use our blood as currency?
The world lost its color. The noise disappeared. Even the smell of blood turned to ashes — the same scent from the day she died.
Bruce noticed Adrian freeze. His fingers curled as if strangling the air.
— "Sir…? Are you seeing some—?"
Adrian turned to him. His irises glowed red like the system had activated, but his voice was calm:
— "Redemption isn't something you beg for, Bruce. You earn it... in the hell you built yourself."
The wheel spun. Melisa vanished. The world resumed.
Bruce swallowed hard. Adrian didn't flinch. His fists trembled slightly. "I'd almost forgotten the terror waiting outside."
Alex walked like a king in his kingdom, receiving bows — but Adrian saw the truth: no one respected him. They feared him.
The elevator took them to the sixth floor. The doors closed like a predator's jaws. Cameras tracked them. Somewhere in a dark room, someone watched with a sharp smile.
— "Finally… an interesting visitor."
The Messenger's Room
The elevator door opened to a narrow hallway, lit by black candles with flickering blue flames. Guards — all with Kill Counts above 2,000 — stood like war hounds ready to strike.
One of them, a giant with 2,003 marked on his forehead, blocked Adrian's path.
— "All guests must display their Kill Counts. If not, they're considered threats."
Alex stepped in quickly.
— "Cut the crap, guard! Can't you see they're with me? That clearly overrides protocol!"
The guard didn't budge.
Bruce thought: "Poor bastard." He was already calculating how long it would take to dismantle him.
Then, as if following an unseen order, the guards stepped aside.
— "The Messenger is a kind of witch. Sells prophecies. She's pretty popular here," Alex whispered. But his voice held an edge — something uneasy.
The door opened on its own.
The room was suffocating. A profane temple. Candles melted over skull piles. The scent of incense couldn't hide the stench of burnt flesh.
She appeared.
Sitting behind an obsidian desk: a woman with hypnotic curves, skin so pale it glowed in the dark. Her lips were red like fresh wounds. And on her forehead:
212,333
Bruce choked. Over 12,000 deaths in one week...
She smiled. Her teeth — too sharp to be human.
— "Welcome, gentlemen. Alex did his homework well."
Bruce gulped. Adrian didn't move. But his eyes were burning.
The Messenger leaned forward. Her voice was a razor across the throat:
— "Now… let's talk about the real reason you came."
She snapped her fingers.
The back wall opened.
Hundreds of floating human eyes stared directly at Adrian.
[☠️ SYSTEM ALERT: DANGER DETECTED][⚠️ ENEMY CONSCIOUSNESS LEVEL: UNKNOWN]