“I never want to see you back here, Dante,” the Noah said, unlocking the handcuffs. 

“Next time I’ll be in the big boy's prison, silly,” Dante replied, stretching out his shoulders. The past year was dreadfully boring—no one even tried to kill him. It made the past year worse.

Noah patted Dante on the shoulder when he saw the black car park in front of them. “That’s even a bigger reason, then. Do sports or martial arts. Hell, go vent in virtu—"

“Noah,” Dante said, placing on hand on his neck. “Some people just need to be beaten to a pulp.” 

Noah sighed, shaking his head. “Just don’t kill anyone, alright? Even your father will have a hard time getting you out of that one.” 

Dante laughed. He hugged Noah, squeezing him as tightly as he could, which wasn’t much when Noah was about twice his width. “Jarckal was the one who put me in here, Noah.” Dante said his goodbyes and wished the man the best of luck. Noah was the only good thing about juvenile prison. He’ll miss that old dofus. 

Dante walked towards the car, finally a free man. There was a single road leading out of the prison with the empty plains on all sides. There were no trees and he couldn't even see a single building down the horizon. He really was in the middle of nowhere.

Still, he wouldn't have minded running all the way home. The last thing he wanted to be was inside a cramped place, but he had to get there as quickly as possible. Each minute he dallied was a minute that Jarckal got to further mess with Dante's life.

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Dante swung the back door open and jumped in. “Drive, Carl, drive. I need to see the old bastard.” 

“I miss you too, young master. I see you lost a few pounds,” Carl said, chuckling in his peculiarly slow rhythm. The freak hadn’t aged a bit in the past months—hell, he hadn’t aged in the past 10 years. His white mustache covered most of his lips and his beard hid the wrinkles. Combined with his high stature and an ocean deep voice, Dante wouldn’t be surprised if Carl lived up to a century and a half. Not even time itself dared to hinder his physical capabilities.

“The food sucked. What time of stupid non-sense is Jarckal preparing for me this time?” 

Carl glanced at the rear-view, locking eyes with Dante for one second before returning them to the steering wheel. He started driving the way Dante always liked it: press the gas and don’t let go. “I believe...it’s best you hear it from the boss.” 

Dante felt his heart tightening tensing, the way it always does before a fight. He tried to fish for answers a couple of times before he remembered who he was talking to. No amount of pestering would get through. Dante tried turning his attention to the scenery outside, but even that was cut short. Not a moment later the dark blinds went up on the side. The front window was built at an angle that only the driver could see out from.

“Is this really necessary?” Dante asked, letting himself drop across the cushions. “You think I would remember this place? Not even the guards knew what state we were in.”

“Apologies, young master. The boss does like to be thorough,” Carl said, bowing slightly mid-apology. “Your favorite peach-strawberry soft drink is in the cubby.”

“Paranoia, you mean,” Dante said, opening the secret latch under his seat. A box of ice-cubes slid out. In it was one cheap-looking tin can with a mixture of bright colors splattered all over it. In dark ink the icon of the united states food department security stuck out. 0 nutrition. The drink was so bad that the drugs Carl had injected into it only made it healthier.

Unfortunately, he had grown too used to its horrid taste. He opened it, drank it in one satisfying chug, and then rested his head on the seats his body began to shut down. Depending on how “careful” Jarckal was being, Dante would be out anywhere in between an hour and a few days. 

“Could you at least tell me if Sai is doing alright?” Dante asked.

“Good night, young boss,” Carl said in his typical monotone voice as Dante began to lose consciousness.

Ah, whatever. When Dante wakes up he'll be sure to give Jarckal a good beating.

Well, that's if I wake up. This was Jarckal, after all. Being the son of a corrupt businessman that threw away people's lives like expired mints for a profit didn't mean Dante wouldn't get the same treatment. Getting rid of Dante and finding a new heir to his cruel empire wasn't below him. 

Just in case, Dante focused all his hatred on the bitter memories he had with that bastard. At least this way, if Dante does die, he'll have chance of becoming a ghost and haunting that devil.