Lockey’s eyes fluttered open, a sharp jolt of awareness coursing through him. His limbs felt heavy, restrained, as if weighed down by the oppressive atmosphere of the room. Blinking, he found himself in an unfamiliar setting, the sterile chill of his surroundings sending a shiver down his spine. The room was stark, dominated by the minimalist design and the dull gray tones that swallowed any warmth.
The table in front of him was cold and metallic, the two folding chairs placed symmetrically across from one another like opponents in an unseen battle. The lights overhead hummed faintly, casting a harsh fluorescent glow that illuminated the center of the room, leaving the corners draped in shadow. Lockey's mind raced, but his body refused to respond, his wrists bound tightly to the chair beneath him. It wasn’t just any chair. The faint buzzing sound confirmed his suspicion—an electric chair, designed not to kill, but to inflict pain.
“Ah, you’re finally awake,” came a familiar voice.
Lockey turned his head slowly, the motion strained. Standing near the door, arms crossed, was Yuri. The man who had interrogated him earlier. His casual demeanor contrasted sharply with the grim setting.
“You,” Lockey muttered, his throat dry. “You were the one questioning me before. What was your name again... Ah yes, Yuri.”
Yuri smiled faintly, almost amused. “Glad you didn’t forget me.”
Lockey’s gaze shifted from Yuri to the chair beneath him, the straps tight across his chest and arms. “Congratulations,” Yuri continued, his tone light, almost playful, “you’ve been brought to the torture room. That chair you're sitting in... well, it has a little kick to it.” He moved closer, his voice lowering. “You won’t die from it, not with what you are. A Cipher can endure far worse. But it’s going to hurt.”
Lockey’s frustration boiled beneath the surface, his voice sharp. “Didn’t you ask all your questions already?”
Yuri’s smile faded, his expression hardening. He glanced at Lockey’s restrained form, tapping a finger against the table absentmindedly. “Well, yes... but not until you showed us you know more than we initially thought.”
He pulled out the chair across from Lockey and sat down, his posture relaxed despite the tension in the room. “I don’t have much time. The higher-ups want results, so why don’t you save us both the trouble and tell me what you know? Make this easier for everyone.”
Lockey met his gaze, silent, his jaw set in defiance. The moments stretched between them, the hum of the lights the only sound. Yuri, unperturbed, leaned back, waiting. Time ticked by in agonizing slowness.
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One Hour Later
Yuri exited the room, his steps heavy with frustration. His hand ran through his hair, ruffling the perfectly styled strands as he let out a low sigh. He looked back toward the interrogation room, his eyes narrowing in thought. Lockey hadn’t budged, hadn’t broken, not even after the volts had been cranked higher with each passing minute.
"He may look like an ordinary teenager," Yuri muttered under his breath, "but physically, that's all it is. How do I even explain this?"
As he paced the hallway, the faint sound of footsteps drew his attention. He looked up to see Pinnochi approaching, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Looks like someone isn’t happy,” Pinnochi quipped, stopping a few feet away. “Let me guess—you didn’t get anything out of him?”
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Yuri slumped into a nearby chair, running a hand over his face. “I kept increasing the volts. Thought he’d break eventually, but nothing. He just sat there.”
Pinnochi glanced toward the interrogation room, his eyes landing on Lockey, still strapped to the chair inside. Through the glass window, Lockey appeared calm, unnervingly so, as if the entire ordeal had been nothing but a minor inconvenience. “What a pain,” Pinnochi said, shaking his head. “Good luck getting him to talk.” He waved dismissively as he turned to leave. “I’m off. Have fun with the higher-ups.”
Yuri grunted in response, his mind already racing. “I’ll have to report to Sir Afron... hope I don’t get punished for this.”
The weight of failure hung over him like a dark cloud, the looming presence of the higher-ups pressing down on his every move.
Yuri let out a long sigh before pushing himself off the chair. His footsteps echoed lightly in the dim hallway as he made his way toward Sir Afron’s quarters. He wasn’t looking forward to this conversation, especially after his failure in the interrogation room. The further he walked, the heavier his steps felt, as if the weight of Afron’s looming presence was already pressing down on him.
Arriving at the large, ominous door, Yuri hesitated for a moment. He straightened his jacket, took a deep breath, and knocked firmly. “It’s me, sir,” he called out, his voice betraying none of his inner anxiety.
The door opened with a mechanical hum, the sound unnatural and smooth, its edges disappearing into the walls as if the room itself had swallowed them whole. Yuri couldn’t suppress a small grimace. I’ll never get used to that, he thought, stepping inside.
The sight that greeted him was a stark contrast to the sterile environment of the interrogation room. The air was heavy with the scent of alcohol, the dim lighting casting a soft glow over the plush furniture and lavish decor. Sir Afron sat sprawled on an ornate bed, a half-empty bottle of whiskey in one hand, while the other lazily draped over the shoulder of one of the women lounging beside him. Several others flitted around the room, laughing softly, clearly enjoying themselves.
Yuri felt a wave of discomfort, his presence here suddenly feeling out of place. He shifted awkwardly. “Did I... come at a bad time?”
Afron chuckled, his voice slurred slightly from the alcohol. “No, no,” he waved dismissively, clumsily setting the bottle down on a nearby table. He stood from the bed, his shirt half-buttoned and wrinkled, his eyes glassy but sharp beneath the haze of intoxication. “Always time for business.”
Yuri watched as Afron approached him, stumbling slightly but recovering with a chuckle. “So,” Afron drawled, his words dripping with drunken amusement, “what did you get out of the brat?”
Yuri shifted, his discomfort deepening. “Well, you see... he didn’t say a thing. Even after I cranked the voltage to its maximum, he didn’t waver. Honestly, sir, he’s unlike anyone I’ve tortured before. It’s as if he feels nothing.”
Afron’s expression darkened, the sloppiness of his demeanor fading momentarily as he took a step closer to Yuri, his face mere inches from his subordinate's. His breath reeked of whiskey, sharp and overwhelming. “Do you understand the situation we’re in right now, Yur?”
Yuri swallowed, his throat suddenly dry as Afron’s tone grew more serious, more threatening. “Yes, sir,” he responded quickly, trying to remain composed. “I understand.”
Afron’s eyes narrowed, his hand coming to rest heavily on Yuri’s shoulder. “Then understand this. I don’t care what you have to do, but the next time you come to me, you’d better have results. I want information out of him, no excuses.” He squeezed Yuri’s shoulder tighter, his grip painful. “Is that clear?”
Yuri nodded stiffly, the pressure from Afron’s hand becoming unbearable. “Yes, sir. I’ll do whatever it takes.”
Afron released him, stumbling back toward the bed, his expression reverting to its earlier drunken carelessness. “Good,” he muttered, waving Yuri off dismissively. “Now, get out. I have... more pressing matters to attend to.” He flopped back onto the bed, one of the girls giggling as she draped herself over him.
Yuri didn’t wait for any further invitation to leave. He turned on his heel and swiftly exited the room, the door sealing shut behind him with the same unnerving smoothness. As he walked down the hall, he couldn’t help but let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.
He’d have to figure out a way to break Lockey... or it would be his neck on the line next.