The night had no mercy.
Wind clawed at the old building , rattling it's windows like it wanted in. Somewhere beneath the city, far from the city lights - screams echoed against concrete walls. Hoarse. Broken. Repeating.
The basement smelled of iron, smoke, and fear.
A single yellow bulb hung from the ceiling, swaying slightly, casting uneven shadows across the room. Every little movement stretched longer than it should have. Every single sound felt louder.
At the centre of it all, a man lying on the floor- bloodied, gasping, no longer sure which part of him hurt the most. Two guards stood near the walls, silent and unmoving as if they were carved into the darkness itself. The door behind them was locked. It always was.
Another blow landed. The scream that cracked halfway through , dissolving into a whimper.
In the far corner , a man sat on a chair with his legs crossed, posture relaxed - almost casual. A cigarette burned slowly between his finger, smoked curling upward like it belonged there. A Rolex glinted faintly on his left wrist, catching the yellow light with every subtle movement.
He didn't flinch.
Didn't speak.
Didn't look away.
His expression wasn't cruel. It was worse - empty. As if what was happening infront entertainment nor punishment. Just necessity.
Beside him stood another man, taller, broader, leaning casually against the table. He lit his own cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating sharp eyes and a face that had seen too much to be surprised anymore. This was not just a subordinate.
This was his right hand.
His shadow.
The only man who stood beside him without fear.
"They checked the records three times", the standing man said calmly, exhaling smoke. "Data didn't vanish on its own".
The man on the chair finally moved - just enough to tap ash into the tray.
"So", he said quietly, voice deep, low and steady, " he chose them over me".
The words were not loud. They didn't need to be.
The man on the floor shook his head violently, trying to speak , to deny , to beg but nothing coherent came out. His body trembled under the weight of his own mistake.
The seated man watched him then. Really watched.
"You didn't steal money", he continued, tone almost thoughtful. "You stole trust".
Silence fell heavier than the screams.
The guards shifted slightly. Even they felt it .
The standing man straightened, flicking his cigarette away, "What do you want to do"?
For a moment, the only sound was the wind howling outside and the faint hum of electricity above them.
The man with the Rolex stood up.
He was tall, built with quiet strength - not exaggerated, not loud. The kind of presence that didn't demand attention but took it anyway. When he stepped forward, the room seemed to tightened around him.
He crouched in front of the man on the floor , meeting his terrified eyes.
"This city runs on order", he said softly. "And I am very particular about mine".
Then he stood, turning away without another glance.
"Finish it", he told his friend.
And as he walked towards the stairs- towards the world that knew him as a brilliant businessman, a visionary leader - another scream ripped through the basement.
Above ground, no one would ever hear it.