(Warning, this chapter contains mild depictions of torture)

When I awoke, a familiar feeling of darkness enveloped me. I attempted to shift positions, but an immovable force held me back. The air hung heavy with the musty scent of damp stone and something metallic, probably blood, though I hoped it wasn't mine.

Clink,clink, clink.

My wrists were bound by heavy chains that rattled with every move, splaying my arms wide. The cold metal stuck to my flesh at a painful angle, forcing me to maintain this unwilling position. My bare chest exposed me to the icy cold air that caused me to shiver. The hard stone floor pressed uncomfortably against my knees as I surveyed the constrained room that surrounded me. I was in a cell.

Before me stood two figures. The first one was female. Her skin was a deep shade of blue with yellow eyes that glowed in the dark. A black leather bodysuit clung to her like a second skin, accentuating her every curve. In her left hand, a spiked whip hovered like a coiled spring ready to be unleashed. The way she handled it, letting it slither across the floor before coiling it back up, you could tell she'd practiced that move in front of a mirror. A lot.

Next to her was a daunting figure of a man whose skin was blood-red decorated with battle scars. He had full horns that cast a shadow across his face. He kept his arms crossed and was leaning against the wall watching me. He carried with him an intimidating aura that hinted at violence.

“Your crimes are as follows” The lady said. Her six-inch heels clicked against the stone as she paced before me. “Pursuant to section six, sub-section three, paragraph two, clause three of the terms of services. The User shall not create multiple accounts. The User shall not sell (or buy), rent, exchange, or give away an account”

Her eyes locked onto mine as she delivered the verdict. The whip creaked in her grip. “We find you in violation of these terms. How do you plead?”

My lips formed a wry smile. So this is what it was all about. Game Masters’ (GMs) jail. A pocket dimension where the laws of both game and reality bent to administrative will. The regular rules of Lumindarael didn't apply here. This was pure system space, where GMs could take whatever form they wanted to intimidate problem players. Unfortunately for them, this wasn’t my first rodeo.

Rule number 1: Never admit your guilt.

If they had conclusive evidence, I'd already be banned. My presence here spoke volumes about their lack of irrefutable proof. I still had room to maneuver.

Rule number 2: GMs are incompetent.

GMs were salaried workers who lack the tenacity to pursue the case to their bitter end. With thousands of infractions to investigate, they'd likely abandon this case if I made things tedious enough.

Their chains might hold my body, but in this battle of wits and will, I held the upper hand. Let the interrogation begin.

“Not guilty” I declared. “Such a serious accusation. Where is the proof?”

A whip crackled through the air and struck me on the shoulder, leaving a stinging mark.

“The gall on this boy.” She said. “We caught six hundred and twenty-five accounts created within seconds of each other. And they all miraculously teleported to the same location to assist a certain knight in completing a quest. Quite a coincidence wouldn’t you say?”

It’s eight hundred and fifty-six accounts. Incompetent indeed.

I met the woman's accusatory glare with a smirk. “Is it wrong for my relatives to help me in a quest? The M in MMO stands for multiplayer you know. It’s a social game.”

“Crack!” The whip lashed out again, this time finding its mark on my face. A line of red bloomed across my cheek, but I refused to flinch.

“All six hundred and twenty-five are your family? Her voice dripped with contempt. Who are you trying to kid?”

I chuckled despite the burning pain. “What can I say, my grandfather was a virile man. Runs in the family.” I cocked an eyebrow suggestively. “Why don’t you loosen the chains and I’ll show you how he did it”?

The slap cracked across my face. As my vision steadied, I found her glaring down at me, lips pulled back in a snarl. Whatever patience she'd had was gone.

"You think you're funny?" she hissed, a muscle twitching in her jaw as she gripped the whip.

"I have my moments," I replied, winking at her. "Gotta say though, that shade of angry really brings out your eyes. Almost like cheap glowsticks."

She grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking my head down with a vicious pull. I grunted as her stiletto heel dug into my bare back like a knife. The cold stone floor swam inches from my face as she held me there.

Then, she lifted her foot and swung it at the side of my skull. The kick connected causing my head to reel back and throb in pain. I nearly collapsed but the chains kept me upright. She stepped back, her breathing heavy with exertion and anger.

Blood trickled from my mouth as I spat on the floor and grinned.

“Don’t stop now.” I rasped, blood trickling from my split lip. “My safe word is edgelord.”

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

The horned man laughed. He peeled away from the wall, boots scraping stone. "Your strategy is fascinating." His voice rumbled deep in his chest as he approached. His shadow fell over me. "But entertaining as this is, it won't help you."

He walked up to me and lifted my chin, forcing my gaze to meet his. “We know all about you. The mysterious player who somehow managed to select a legendary class. We never did figure out how you managed that particular trick. And now you have the audacity to pull something like this? We tire of your disrespect. We have you here now.”

The blue-skinned woman circled behind me. Her nails, sharp as razors, dragged across my shoulders, drawing blood. “And we have ways of making you talk. I promise, none of them are pleasant.”

"Ooh, classic. Page one of Interrogation for Dummies, right? ”I quipped, " Or did you skip straight to the clichés chapter?'"

Her nails dug deeper, finding muscle. The chains rattled as I tried to pull away, but that only seemed to motivate her to press harder.

“That's enough.” The horned man crouched down, bringing his face level with mine. This close, I could feel the heat emanating from him.

"You hide your tracks well. Our forensics ran their analysis and says you’re clean. None of those alt accounts share the same IP address, hardware ID or geolocation as your account. It’s impossible to pin it to you "

But of course. I had paid good money for those proxies and VPNs to hide my location. Multi-accounting 101.

“But I know better.” He stood up and tapped his temple. “My instincts say it was you. And my instincts have never failed me. My conviction rate is over ninety-nine percent.”

“Listen, math probably isn’t your strong point, but ninety-nine percent literally means that you have failed before. Never isn’t the word you’re looking – “

The woman's whip cracked through the air again, this time wrapping around my throat. The words died in my throat as the leather tightened, cutting off my air supply.

"Do not speak back.” She barked. “Perhaps a few minutes without oxygen will dull that silver tongue of yours."

Black spots danced at the edges of my vision as I struggled for breath. The room began to spin, but I managed to wheeze out, "Kinky... but… tongue... later... dinner… first."

The horned man raised a hand, and the whip loosened slightly. I gasped, drawing in precious air.

"Enough games.” He studied me intently; his red eyes seemed to peer into my very soul, searching for weakness. “I’ve seen many like you. Each one thinking they're clever enough to beat the system. You all talk big, wearing this false bravado, pretending to be someone you’re not. But peel off the layers and what will we find.”

A silence fell over the cell. The only sound was the soft crackle of torches along the walls. Then, his hand moved. I tensed, expecting a blow, but instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a peeling knife. He held it up against the flickering torchlight, examining its edge, before running his finger against it.

“Still sharp” he said as a streak of blood oozed out of his finger. He watched it with an almost childlike fascination, turning his hand to observe how the crimson droplet caught the torchlight before falling to the floor.

Then, he pressed the cold metal against my cheek. Not quite breaking skin but promising pain with even the slightest twitch. The blade was so sharp I could feel each microscopic serration. The chill of the metal made me want to shiver, but I forced myself still. Even the slightest movement now would draw blood.

“Shall we see what lies under this mask of yours.”

I met his gaze, steady and cold. He was searching for signs of fear or guilt, those tiny tells that betray a liar: a quickened breath, a nervous swallow, a flicker of the eyes. He wouldn’t find any.

The blade's edge pressed harder and harder still, becoming impossible to ignore. The cold metal warmed against my skin as the pressure increased. Eventually, it stopped hovering and started cutting. Warm blood trickled down my neck. The first drop hit my collarbone, then another traced its way down my chest. I almost smiled. This was nothing compared to those lessons.

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I was tied to a chair in a dimly lit room with that man standing before me. Hour after hour of the same questions, while hunger and thirst gnawed at me. Day after day until the discomfort became normal, until the fear of pain became duller than boredom.

"Pain is temporary," he would say, circling my chair. "Fear is a choice. When they have you at their mercy, remember, they want something. That means you have the power."

The lessons started small. Sitting in uncomfortable positions for hours. Going without food or water. Sleep deprivation. Then something physical… Each time I broke, each time I gave in, he would make me start over.

"Focus on your breathing. Count the seconds. Make your mind a fortress. Let them think they're breaking you while you study their weaknesses."

Sometimes he would describe in clinical detail what interrogators might do. Sometimes he would demonstrate. Hammers, fists, water, fire, I learnt them all. All for the sake of stripping the power from threats before I ever faced them.

"Most will try to break you quickly. They have quotas, deadlines, other cases. Your greatest weapon is patience. Make yourself more trouble than you're worth."

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The memory faded as blood trickled down my neck.

"I... didn't... do it." Each word made the cut deeper as my cheek moved against the blade, but I kept grinning as blood dripped onto the stone floor. Let him see the truth in my eyes. Not the truth he was looking for, but the truth that mattered: I would never break. The growing puddle of red below me only proved my point. After all, what was a little pain compared to the satisfaction of beating them?

Seconds stretched into an eternity as we stared each other down. I could see the calculation in his eyes, the weighing of possibilities. He was good at his job, I had to give him that. But I was better at mine.

Finally, the horned man straightened up, his expression unreadable. His massive frame cast long shadows across the cell as he stepped back, studying me with something that might have been respect. Or perhaps it was just irritation at finding prey he couldn't break.

"We’re done for now," he said, wiping my blood from the blade with deliberate slowness. He turned to face the lady. “Release him”

"Sir?" The woman's whip cracked against the floor. "We can't just—"

"We can and we will." He crouched down to my level again and lifted my head with his index finger. "You're good, kid. Almost like a harden criminal.” His burning eyes stared into mine. “But here's what's going to happen: We're going to flag your account. Every quest, every item, every interaction gets logged. And when you finally slip-up. Not if, when. " He snapped his fingers, the sound echoing in the cell. "Permanent ban. No appeals."

The chains fell away with a heavy clank. I rubbed my wrists, keeping my face carefully neutral despite the victory singing in my veins. Sure, they'd be watching. But they'd been watching before, hadn't they? And I'd still pulled it off.

“This isn’t over,” she hissed. “We will get you next time.”

“I look forward to our next date then. Though maybe less whips, more wine?”

Her fingers tightened on the whip, but before she could respond, reality began to blur. As darkness crept in at the edges of my vision, I caught the horned man's final whisper.

“We'll see just how good you really are.”

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