The air in the interrogation room had grown thick with tension, the walls themselves seeming to lean in closer as Noel recounted his tale.

His voice, laced with a fervor that bordered on madness, painted a vivid picture of the chase that had unfolded, transforming the sterile room into a theater of war.

Dustin's question cut through the charged atmosphere.

His voice steady but his eyes betraying a spark of something more—curiosity, perhaps, or the thrill of the chase vicariously lived.

"So what happened? Did you manage to catch him?" he inquired, leaning forward ever so slightly.

Noel's shoulders slumped, the weight of his failure momentarily crushing the energy from his frame.

He stared at the floor, the memories of that fateful day flashing behind his eyes like ghosts.

"Unfortunately, I failed," he whispered, each word laden with the bitterness of defeat.

Dustin's brow furrowed, the puzzle pieces not quite fitting together in his mind.

"How so? You had the power to catch him," he pressed, the question hanging in the air like a challenge.

Noel's voice trembled with the raw edge of frustration as he recounted the final moments of the chase.

"I wanted to catch him as soon as possible," he said, the words heavy with the burden of his unspent fury.

"But there were guards, a relentless tide, each one a barrier to my vengeance."

He took a deep breath, the effort to control his emotions evident.

"I was exhausted. Constantly using my powers had drained me, each teleport a knife twist of fatigue in my already weary body. And the one minute—those precious sixty seconds—kept slipping away, each one hammering home the impossibility of my task."

Noel's eyes grew distant, as if he could see the scene unfolding before him once more.

"I saw him then, the scientist, sprinting towards a helicopter. The rotors were already spinning, the roar of the engine a countdown to my failure. He was almost there, and I... I felt a rage like never before. It was a white-hot fury, a burning storm within me, but it was impotent, a tempest raging within a cage, for I could do nothing."

His hands clenched into fists, the knuckles white with the echo of that helpless anger.

"I fought my way through the guards, each second slipping through my fingers like sand, but it wasn't enough. I saw him board the helicopter, saw the smirk on his face as the machine lifted off the ground. He escaped, and I was left standing there, powerless, the sound of the explosion behind me a cruel punctuation mark to my failure."

Noel's voice broke, a choked sob escaping his lips.

"I could do nothing. Nothing. And that moment... it haunts me. Every day, every night, I see his face, hear the rotors, feel the crushing weight of my failure. He escaped, and I was left with nothing but my rage and the ashes of my broken dreams."

The room seemed to contract around him, the stark walls and harsh lighting pressing in as if to magnify his confession.

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

Dustin's voice sliced through the tension, a note of mockery in his tone that made the air in the room seem colder.

"That's quite unfortunate then. All your wishes for revenge went unfulfilled," he taunted, his words dripping with sarcasm.

Noel's response came with a lightness that belied the gravity of their previous conversation, his finger tracing patterns in the air as if to rewrite the narrative of his past.

"Nope. It didn't," he declared, a playful lilt in his voice that caught Arther off guard.

Dustin leaned in, his curiosity piqued by the sudden shift in Noel's demeanor.

"What do you mean?" he probed, searching Noel's face for clues, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

Noel's gaze grew distant, introspective, as if he were peering into the depths of his own soul.

"Who do you think should be the target of revenge? The scientist who did experiments on me? The guards who threw me in prison? Or the one who handed me over to those people?"

His words hung in the air, a riddle wrapped in the enigma of his past, each question a thread in the tangled web of his vendetta.

Dustin's eyes widened in realization, a piece of the puzzle clicking into place.

"No way! Are you talking about the orphanage?" he gasped, disbelief etched into his features.

A smile, slow and deliberate, crept across Noel's lips—a smile that held the shadows of countless untold stories.

"Yes. You're correct," he affirmed, the satisfaction of a secret finally revealed shimmering in his eyes.

"Now let me tell you about my first crime you were so much curious about."

The room seemed to close in around them, the walls themselves eager listeners to the tale that was about to unfold.

It was a moment of revelation, the lifting of a veil that had shrouded Noel's deeds, and the beginning of a confession that would change everything.

-----

Each step was measured, a deliberate echo in the stillness of the day.

One step.

Then another.

A rhythmic advance toward a destiny long deferred.

The Gifted Orphan Center loomed before me, its silhouette a stark contrast against the open expanse that cradled it.

The building was a monolith of dark memories, its walls soaked in the silent screams of the betrayed.

"You seem excited," Sauron's voice, a familiar presence, whispered in the recesses of my mind.

Excited?

Perhaps.

It was a complex tapestry of emotions that wove through my being—a blend of anticipation, resolve, and a tinge of something darker.

The air was thick with the scent of impending rain, a fitting prelude to the storm I was about to unleash.

Each breath I took was a mix of the present and the past, the cool night air mingling with the suffocating memories of confinement and pain.

My hands flexed at my sides, the muscles coiling and uncoiling with the anticipation of action.

A shadow of a smile tugged at my lips, an involuntary response to the rush of adrenaline coursing through my veins.

The excitement Sauron mentioned was there, but it was underscored by a deeper, more primal urge.

This wasn’t just about revenge; it was about reclaiming my narrative, rewriting the story that had been written in my blood and tears.

The orphanage stood silent, an unassuming predator waiting in the dark.

Its windows, like empty eyes, stared back at me, daring me to remember every moment of torment.

My heart pounded with a rhythm that matched my steps, a steady, relentless beat that propelled me forward.

As I approached the gate, memories surged, unbidden and relentless.

Faces flashed before me—faces of those who had betrayed us, sold us, watched our suffering with cold indifference.

My jaw clenched, the taste of bitterness sharp on my tongue.

"Focus," I reminded myself, pushing the memories back into the dark corners of my mind.

Today was not about the past; it was about forging a new future from the ashes of what had been.

The gate creaked open under the pressure of my telekinetic push, a sound that seemed to reverberate through the empty courtyard.

I stepped inside, the weight of the night pressing down on me, every sense heightened, every nerve on edge.

The anticipation was a living thing, coiled within me, ready to strike.

Inside, the orphanage was a labyrinth of shadows and silence.

Each corridor was a tunnel of forgotten anguish, each door a portal to another horror.

But today, these halls would bear witness to something new.

Something transformative.

"You know what you have to do," Sauron’s voice reminded me, a whisper that was both a command and a comfort.

I nodded to myself, a silent affirmation.

The time for hesitation was long past.

With every fiber of my being, I was ready.

Ready to set the past aflame and watch as the flames danced, cleansing the darkness that had taken root here.

I moved forward, my steps silent now, a ghost gliding through the remnants of a broken sanctuary.

My pulse quickened, the final threshold nearing. And with it, the promise of retribution, of justice served cold and absolute.

A smile—or rather, the shadow of one—played upon my lips.

It was not the soft curve of joy, but the hard line of determination, a silent herald of my return.

I am back.

The words resonated within me, a mantra to steel my spirit.

The center stood as a monument to memories best forgotten, yet here I was, drawn back to the place that had set my fate in motion.

Its walls loomed like sentinels of sorrow, each brick steeped in the pain and suffering of countless children.

The shadows of the past clung to the building, whispering of betrayal and lost innocence.

I had faltered once, my target slipping through my grasp like smoke.

But not this time. This time, my aim was true, my purpose clear.

The past would not repeat itself; the missed opportunity that haunted me would be laid to rest. This time, I would not miss.

The air was heavy with the weight of my resolve, each breath I took a declaration of my intent.

My heart beat a steady drum, a warrior’s cadence driving me forward.

As I approached the front doors, memories surged unbidden—faces of the caretakers who had hurted me, the cold eyes of the guards, the laughter of those who reveled in my suffering.

They were ghosts, all of them, and tonight I would exorcise them.