TCWGRF 21

After all, he was a prisoner awaiting his fate. It was his duty to be moderately obedient and meek, and to hope for mercy.

Drip, drop. The stream of water that had been falling powerfully toward the ground changed to the level of the water supply in Sector 28. Soon, the hinges supporting the heavy wooden door groaned, making a bloodcurdling sound. The wet footsteps touched the floor, leaving pattering marks as they moved away somewhere.

And yet, it felt as though the door might suddenly be flung open, his hair grabbed, and he be thrown to the floor, or that his abdomen might be kicked without warning, so Isaac could not let his guard down.

“Come out.”

A cold, clear voice called to Isaac, who was cowering in the small room. Although he had heard it clearly, he was so doubtful that it was really meant for him that he couldn’t bring himself to put force into the fingers gripping the doorknob.

“Was it Joshua?”

Only after hearing that name did the door slowly open. A very small crack. The firelight from the fireplace, faintly illuminating the darkness, was the first thing to register in his vision. Next in order was the man sitting on the velvet sofa. With a towel wrapped around his lower body and his arm resting on the backrest, the unguarded man showed not a hint of tension.

On the other hand, for the one walking with the clank of the shackle on his ankle, fear was revived with every step. The records archive, the red door inside it, and the terror Isaac had experienced in the basement—the source of that fear grew, its outline becoming clearer and larger.

The distance between them was about two meters. Three steps for a generous stride, five for the steps of a thoroughly cowed citizen. It was certainly farther than in the basement, but perhaps because the space had changed, it felt closer.

Beside him, the flames crackled and danced, casting a warm glow and a cozy color onto his bare, thick body.

The man’s upper body was covered with countless scars, from burns, stabs, and gunshots to those from beatings. Seeing the bare bodies of men who wore minor training injuries like medals was a daily affair for Isaac, but he had never seen such a gruesome sight.

The only pristine places were the backs of his hands and feet, and his face. Was it because he wasn’t wearing his usual uniform? Was it because his still not-completely-dry hair was falling over his forehead? He felt like a different person from the one under the flickering lights that seemed about to go out at any moment.

He, who had been hiding his eyes in the shade of his dark eyelashes, asked.

“What’s your real name?”

“…My real name?”

“I can’t keep calling you by a fake name.”

Even at this moment, Isaac hesitated whether to tell his real name, but he didn’t know what would happen if he kept the other man waiting.

“Ah, it’s Isaac. Isaac…”

The name, which had been swirling on the tip of his tongue, finally fell with difficulty, and Isaac found himself silently following the direction of the other’s gaze.

“Right. Isaac.”

Looking at his indifferent and unwavering gaze, he had the illusion that he might really be an angel. An angel who, when he opened his mouth, would let harmless words pour out like stars and offer sweet comfort to everything in the world.

“I did consider torturing you until you begged me to kill you.”

…Of course not. The other man was the city’s Commissioner General, the warden of hell. No matter how beautiful his outer shell was, that was an unchanging truth.

Furthermore, he was also a murderer and a butcher who had already committed countless massacres. There was no way in hell he could be an angel.

“It just feels so fishy.”

“…”

“So I thought I’d give you a chance.”

“What…”

A sense of relief at finally learning the reason he had been dragged here overtook his fear of the other man. Forgetting the length of the shackle, Isaac unknowingly took a step forward to hear the rest of the words more clearly.

“…!”

The freedom gained, even if it was a limited distance after being constantly tied in one place, was awkward, and he did not get used to the sense of distance in such a short time. And so, thump, because of the ankle that was mercilessly pulled back from behind, the prisoner once again had to share a deep embrace with the hard marble floor.

“Ahaha, oh dear.”

His jaw rattled and a sharp shock ran through his whole body, but from across the room, as expected, came a sneer and a dry sigh, devoid of any sorrow. That was better. If he had heard sincere words of sympathy or worry from that person, he would have surely thought it was a dream.

“…?”

He hadn’t even gotten up yet, nor had he heard the rest of the story. Squeak. The sofa let out a shriek of joy, liberated from the weight that had been pressing down on it, and his bare feet, not shod in shoes, made light tapping sounds as they touched the floor.

Surely he wasn’t coming this way.

Currently, Isaac was in the state of a frog splayed out on the floor, its hind legs caught. By the time he managed to push himself up with his palms, the other man’s feet were already close by. With just three steps from him, the gap had narrowed enough to be within arm’s reach.

The raw feet, hidden inside the black shoes that resembled the shiny bodies of ants. Freed from the expensive leather shoes, his feet were softer and whiter than his own.

Above them were straight but scarred legs, and further up was the area precariously covered by a single towel. Isaac inadvertently looked up at the other man, then thought, ‘Oops,’ and hastily lowered his eyes.

“Shall I help you? Or shall I spare you?”

As the other man squatted down, his head came close enough to touch Isaac’s face. These were the words he had so longed for, but since the one who uttered them was the infamous Commissioner General, it was difficult to grasp his intentions.

Should he nod? Should he choose one of the two? What if it was a wrong answer or a trap? Would it hurt less to be kicked with a bare foot than with a shoe?

The pain of the past days came to mind, making his insides churn, and a sharp ringing sound, squeak, clawed through his ears. Cold sweat broke out on his forehead and back, and his gaze wandered left and right, not knowing where to rest.

“Well, you must… answer, right?”

His tone was gentle, but his attitude was not. He grabbed Isaac’s frizzy hair as he had before and forcibly bent his head back to make him look at him.

Unlike the arc of his eyes or lips, the Commissioner General’s blue eyes were cold. The gray world reflected in his eyes was sinking coldly beneath the chilly sea. Isaac, flailing in it, was also gradually suffocating.

Yes, please. Please help me. Please save me.

Did he manage to say the words out loud? It seems more likely that the golden omelet and brown bread he had eaten around noon were vomited up first, turning into a yellowish, foul mush.

“Blech, hack, hack.”

“Tsk.”

With a light click of his tongue, the hand holding his hair was ruthlessly flung away as if shaking off something dirty. Thump. His head, losing consciousness, hit the floor and bounced up with the impact.

Immediately, the distant door opened, and several pairs of feet that rushed in from outside danced, sticking closely together. They methodically swept, wiped, and cleaned up the mess.

Isaac, too, was cleared away from before the Commissioner General’s eyes by them.

---

‘Joshua.’ No, what value could there be in the person who had revealed his real name to be ‘Isaac’? Even Samuel couldn’t explain it precisely. His words were completely at odds with his actions.

He had said he was not a rebel, but he had stolen an identity and entered the city, no different from a rebel. Not only had he volunteered for the Neighborhood Watch, but he had also been desperately searching for something that shouldn’t exist in a place where materials slated for disposal were stored.

The records archive, and specifically the area behind the red door, aroused even more suspicion because no rebel had ever targeted that place before. Logically, it would be much more appropriate to assume he had entered without knowing what kind of place it was, but his testimony was the complete opposite.

‘Looking for someone. Someone who might be dead. No, is he looking for a dead person?’

Furthermore, while claiming to know nothing about Vincent, he had aptly drawn attention for the ‘head’ of the rebels. From the circumstances alone, he was undoubtedly a rebel operative. And a novice at that, one who believed he could prolong his life by spouting lies as they came to him in the face of death.

‘It’s fishy as hell.’

The reason Samuel changed his mind and decided to side with his intuition was not in the inconsistent words, but in the sincerity the young man expressed with his whole body.

The face that screamed ‘outsider’ as he glanced around, the eyes that hastily scanned the letters in the dim light, the innocent gaze that claimed to know nothing, the minor gestures of hoping for a stroke of luck even while trembling in fear—all these added to the conviction that his words might be true.

He had dealt with countless cases in his long career, but this was the first time he had seen someone so unable to hide himself, so blatantly revealing.

Both the rebels and the citizens of the city were trained to the point of being sick of it in the art of disguise. Wearing a gray mask and hiding oneself in the crowd was a natural thing for survival.

In that respect, the young man was certainly clumsy for a rebel, too perfect if he was acting a given role, and too sloppy to be deeply involved with a character like Vincent.

Samuel’s targets preferred those who left no loose ends. He was a person who could casually hand out poison and order them to commit suicide before being caught, and who could even kill his own wife with his own hands, even if she was scheduled to die anyway.

Since he knew better than anyone what awaited them if they were caught, it could be said, in a way, that he genuinely cared for his subordinates.

However, it seemed that with this young man in particular, he had used him as a conspicuous bait and had not left even a common word of warning. The moment he revealed Vincent’s identity, his eyes, filled with grief and at a loss for what to do, had been so clear.

‘What is the truth? Huh?’

There were still many things to find out, and the real interrogation had not even begun yet. Instead of being grateful for the freedom gained after escaping the basement, he had shivered, vomited, and even lost consciousness.

The thought that he was already becoming a nuisance made him briefly consider throwing him back in the basement, but it was not a very good choice.

The city’s politicians showed great interest in the prisoners Samuel had hidden in the basement. Since all charges were created and named in that space, they were afraid that a fabricated conspiracy might be directed at them.

The existence of an unprecedentedly suspicious and ambiguous prisoner trapped there would eventually raise doubts about the operation led by Samuel, or it would become a pretext for them to interfere in every little thing.

As long as he had decided not to kill him until all questions were resolved, it was right to hide the young man’s existence from his other enemies. Unlike the basement, in the Commissioner General’s official residence, no matter who he brought in or where he chained them, it would be considered a part of his messy and promiscuous private life.

In any case, that naive prisoner, that foolish young man, was soon to be tamed by Samuel.

After experiencing luxurious meals he had never dreamed of, showers with warm water, soft clothes, and a comfortable bed, anyone would become addicted to the comfort the city provided. If they were told they could continue to enjoy it, they would sell even their insignificant souls.

Once they taste the sweet hope of being able to live like that, they will later not only prostrate themselves at his feet and cling to him desperately, but they will also try to list everything they know and even offer themselves as a sacrifice.

Even if what he spouted would likely turn out to be a few incoherent words or fragmented information, Samuel simply wanted to quickly turn the unfamiliar problem that had appeared before him, the vague intuition, into a familiar and certain answer.

For that, it seemed he could willingly endure somewhat uncomfortable and annoying situations.