The Mall
The mall had been abandoned before the city learned to forget it.
Power flickered.
Water collected in broken tiles.
Rats ruled the lower levels.
The lift descended.
Suresh Raj entered with bodyguards.
The power died.
One minute.
Then returned.
A man stood beside him.
Suit.
Glasses.
A blade resting casually against his arm.
The bodyguards fell without sound.
Suresh Raj screamed.
Daniel stepped forward.
"Why?" Suresh shouted. "Who are you?"
Daniel removed his glasses.
Recognition arrived too late.
Daniel listened without interrupting.
Suresh Raj's voice cracked and reformed itself over and over, like metal bent past its limit and forced back into shape. He talked because the room demanded it. Because silence was no longer an option his body understood.
"You don't understand," Suresh said. "I was protecting us. Corporate pressure was coming anyway."
Daniel stood a few steps away, coat removed, sleeves rolled neatly. His face was still. Too still.
"You spoke to them," Daniel said. "While pretending to speak about food."
Suresh shook violently.
"It was nothing," he pleaded. "Just thirty seconds. Rice prices. Oil shortages. Ration cards."
Daniel leaned closer.
"And every time," he said quietly, "you stood in the same place."
He gestured to the wall.
"PW Enterprises. That was your church."
Suresh's eyes widened.
Daniel continued, voice low, surgical.
"You thought the enemy was law.
You thought the enemy was one man.
But the script had more characters than you imagined."
He paused.
"Joseph trusted you."
That was when Suresh screamed.
Not in fear.
In guilt.
Daniel turned away for a moment. He felt something in his chest collapse inward — not loudly, not dramatically. Just a structural failure. Like a building realizing it had been hollow for years.
Arun stepped closer. "Sir—"
Daniel raised a hand.
"No."
He turned back to Suresh.
"What happened to him?" Daniel asked.
Suresh cried openly now. Words fell out of him, messy, desperate.
"He was made to talk," Suresh said. "Slowly. They wanted time. They wanted him aware."
Daniel felt his stomach tighten.
"They ruined his face," Suresh continued, sobbing. "Forced his mouth open until it didn't close again. They laughed."
Daniel's jaw clenched.
"And his body?" he asked.
Suresh hesitated.
Daniel stepped forward.
"They broke him where men believe they are strongest," Suresh whispered. "They spoke about his balls like it was a joke. Like numbers on a ledger."
Something inside Daniel went silent.
The room felt colder.
Daniel picked up the blade.
Not dramatically.
Not shaking.
He walked to Suresh and forced his jaw open — not cutting deep, not spraying blood, just enough to ruin the shape of his face forever. Suresh screamed, a sound that no longer resembled language.
Daniel leaned close.
"You sold him," he said. "So now you feed what you sold."
They dragged Suresh down.
The lower level of the mall was alive.
Water pooled in broken concrete. Drainage tunnels breathed softly. Shapes moved where light never reached.
Daniel did not watch closely.
He heard enough.
Suresh hit the ground. His scream changed pitch when the rats came — not attacking at first, just exploring, curious, bold from years of owning darkness.
Daniel heard teeth click against teeth.
Something wet.
Suresh tried to scream again.
But his mouth was no longer his.
Daniel turned away.
He did not feel relief.
He felt absence.
And absence stayed.
Arun's voice broke the silence.
"Orders?"
Daniel's face was unfamiliar now — hollowed, sharpened.
"Everyone involved," he said. "Bring them."
"Where?"
Daniel looked into the dark mall.
"Here."
"And then?"
Daniel answered without blinking.
"No light. No names. No mercy."
This was not revenge.
This was correction.
The men around him understood.
Joseph had been the last reason Daniel stayed human.
And humanity, once removed, did not return.