Chapter 45: The Files in the Shadows

  The war room was a place of quiet tension. The flicker of dim lights cast long shadows on the walls, and the scent of dust and old paper hung heavy in the air. Around a worn wooden table, the four Kurushimis sat—Martin, Krishna, Temna, and Takashi. The table was littered with half-empty mugs, scattered documents, and a plethora of digital screens. But it was the singular file in front of them that commanded their full attention.

  Martin broke the silence first, his voice low and filled with unease. "This doesn’t feel right," he muttered, his fingers trailing the edge of the file with reluctant curiosity. "I’ve been through my fair share of old documents, but this… this is different. How is it that after decades of abandonment, after everything that’s gone to hell around it, these files are still in perfect condition? It’s almost as if they were meant to survive."

  Takashi, whose eyes had never left the file, leaned back in his chair. His face was unreadable, but his tone carried a hint of suspicion. "I thought the same thing when I first found them. Everything around it—the camp, the remnants of whatever happened there—it was all rotting away. Everything except this. Whoever left it, they wanted it to last, even if it had to survive the apocalypse."

  Krishna, arms crossed, leaned forward slightly, his piercing gaze locked onto the file. His voice, usually calm, now carried an edge. "And that’s the problem," he said. "Why? Why leave this behind for us to find? Why not destroy it? We all know how valuable these documents are. The Tori no Ichizoku doesn’t leave traces like this. If they wanted these secrets buried, they would’ve done it. But now, they’re sitting here, waiting for us."

  Temna, who had been silently observing, finally spoke. Her voice was as steady as a blade, cutting through the tension in the room. "That’s the question, isn’t it?" she said, her gaze flicking from Krishna to Martin to Takashi. "We don’t know who left these files, or why. But the more I think about it, the more it feels like this wasn’t an accident. This was planned. Someone knew we would find them."

  Her words lingered in the air like a cold gust, and for a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath. Takashi shifted, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "You think we’re being played? A trap?"

  "I wouldn’t be surprised," Temna replied, her expression grim. "It feels like we’re being pushed into a corner. Maybe they want us to make a move, maybe they want us to follow their lead. Whoever’s behind this knows how we think—they know we’re going to follow the trail, dig into these files. They know we won’t stop until we uncover the truth."

  Krishna's eyes flickered with a calculating light. "And yet, they left the files here for us. Almost like they’re testing us. They know we can’t resist. The Kurushimis have always been driven by the need for answers. The need to know what happened. So, they’re putting that hunger to work. But they’re watching. They’re making us dance to their tune."

  Martin shook his head, frustration creeping into his voice. "I don’t like this. They’re too clean. Too perfect. You don’t leave something like this out in the open unless you want someone to find it. And if we’re the ones they’ve chosen… why us? Why now?"

  Temna leaned forward, her eyes narrowing as she considered his words. "The Tori no Ichizoku is always calculating, always thinking several steps ahead. They don’t make mistakes. If they’ve left this here for us, there’s a reason. They’ve been watching us, tracking us, knowing that one day we’d find these files. And now that we have, the question is, what do they want us to do with them?"

  Krishna’s lips tightened into a thin line. "We don’t know enough yet. But what’s clear is that whoever orchestrated this has a plan. They know our history, our motives. And they’ve put us in a position where we have no choice but to move forward. These files are more than just records—they’re a map. A map that leads us into the heart of something far bigger than we’ve imagined."

  Takashi, always the pragmatist, spoke up again. "What if we’re walking into a trap? What if everything here, everything in these files, is designed to bait us? We don’t know what’s at the other end of this trail. We don’t know who’s pulling the strings or what they want from us."

  Krishna’s expression darkened. "You’re right. We don’t know. But we can’t just sit here and do nothing. These files… they detail the darkest parts of our past. The Genocide Trio, the experiments, the bloodshed. The Tori no Ichizoku wants these stories buried—but someone has decided it’s time they came to light. Whoever is behind this is trying to provoke us, and that’s exactly what they want us to do. Make a move, take the bait."

  Temna folded her arms, the weight of the situation sinking in. "But if we’re careful, if we don’t rush into this blindly, we might just be able to turn the tables. They think we’re going to follow their plan. But what if we play our own game? If we’re going to survive this, we need to outsmart them, stay ahead of their moves. We don’t play by anyone’s rules but our own."

  Martin looked around the table, his frustration giving way to cold determination. "It’s not about playing their game. It’s about taking control. They think they can manipulate us, but we’ve been manipulated before. This time, we set the terms. We’re not going to be pawns in someone else’s game. But we need to be strategic. If these files are a trap, then we need to find the trap’s trigger before it catches us."

  Krishna’s eyes flickered with a new intensity. "We need to move quickly. The longer we wait, the more likely it is that they’ll tighten their grip. Whoever is behind this, they’re watching, waiting for us to make a mistake. We can’t afford that. We need to make our move—but we do it on our terms. We learn everything about these files, about the history they hold, and we use that knowledge to stay ahead."

  Takashi nodded slowly. "Agreed. We can’t let our emotions cloud our judgment. We need to stay sharp, stay focused. Every detail in these files might hold the key to understanding who’s really behind this. And if we can figure that out, we might just be able to turn the tide."

  Temna’s eyes gleamed with cold resolve. "We’re not alone in this. There are others out there—others who want answers just as much as we do. Whoever left these files for us is part of something much bigger, and we need to find out what that is. We can’t let them pull the strings. We’ll find the puppeteer."

  Krishna stood, his body tense with the weight of their decisions. "We’re in this now. No turning back. But remember—this is just the beginning. Whoever’s behind these files has set a plan in motion, and we’re just the next piece. It’s time to make sure we’re the ones who control the game, not them."

  The four Kurushimis exchanged looks—each of them understanding the gravity of the situation. The files were more than just documents; they were the first step in a much larger scheme. One that would challenge their strength, their will, and their ability to adapt.

  But if there was one thing they knew, it was that they were no strangers to the shadows. And this time, they weren’t afraid to step into the heart of darkness and take control.

  Temna’s Realization

  Temna’s fingers brushed the surface of the blade, its steel gleaming under the dim light of the bunker. It was a long, menacing weapon—over five feet in length. The sight of it sent a cold shiver through his spine, and a wave of realization slowly crept in. This was no ordinary blade. He had seen such craftsmanship before, heard whispers of its creator, and felt the deep unease of encountering it again.

  It was the blade of Dr. Machinist.

  Temna’s heart pounded as he carefully examined the weapon. Despite the fact that it had been abandoned in the wreckage of the Tori no Ichizoku building for over sixty years, it was as if time had no effect on it. No rust. No corrosion. The steel was still sharp, still perfect. A few faint scratches marred its surface, but it appeared untouched by the ravages of time.

  His hands trembled as he spoke, breaking the silence that had fallen over the room. “This… this can’t be right,” Temna muttered, his voice low and full of disbelief.

  Krishna, Martin, and Takashi turned to face him, their eyes narrowing in confusion.

  “What is it, Temna?” Martin asked, stepping closer.

  Temna held the blade up, its length stretching across the table between them. His gaze locked onto his brothers as he spoke, trying to make sense of the overwhelming horror and realization settling deep in his gut. “This blade... It’s Dr. Machinist’s. I found it in the ruins of an old Tori no Ichizoku base, and it shouldn’t be in this condition after so many years.”

  Krishna’s brow furrowed, his sharp mind quickly processing the implications. “Dr. Machinist’s blade? How can you be sure?”

  Temna exhaled slowly, still shaken. “I’ve seen it before... during the files we read. It matches the descriptions—the hilt, the design. But what makes no sense is how it's still in pristine condition. This place was abandoned long ago, forgotten. Yet this weapon... it’s practically untouched. There’s no rust, no decay. It's as if it's been preserved... on purpose.”

  Takashi’s expression darkened as he moved closer to inspect the blade. His voice was cold, filled with a creeping dread. “Are we certain this is the only thing that survived?”

  Temna nodded, slowly pulling the blade closer to his chest, its weight grounding him in the disturbing realization. “The rest of the building... it’s in ruins. But this blade... it’s as if it was meant to be kept. Protected.”

  Martin rubbed the back of his neck, discomfort spreading across his face. “Protected? By whom? And for what purpose?”

  The room fell silent. The weight of the question was heavy, and no one dared voice the answer, though each of them felt it in their bones. Dr. Machinist, known for his sadistic genius and manipulative brilliance, had a way of leaving his mark on the world—often in ways that defied the natural order. And this blade, preserved against all odds, was a symbol of that twisted legacy.

  Krishna exhaled slowly, the gears in his mind already turning. “The files... they spoke of his brilliance. His cruelty. This... this could be a signal of something larger. A message, maybe. That blade—untouched, unyielding—could represent something far more dangerous than we realize.”

  Takashi met his gaze, his voice soft yet resolute. “If Dr. Machinist’s influence is still lingering, then we’ve only scratched the surface of what we’re dealing with. The Tori no Ichizoku didn’t leave just history—they left pieces of themselves behind. And we’ve just found one.”

  Temna’s fingers clenched tighter around the blade, his mind spinning with the endless possibilities. The Tori no Ichizoku were gone—at least, that’s what they’d believed. But now, in the presence of this blade, it was as if their shadow still lingered. And that reality was as chilling as it was inescapable.

  The four brothers exchanged glances, an unspoken understanding passing between them. Whatever lay ahead, it was clear that the remnants of the Tori no Ichizoku weren’t simply a part of the past—they were a living, breathing threat, hidden just beneath the surface of history. And they had just uncovered the first sign of its return.

  The Realization of Terror

  The atmosphere in the room shifted the moment Temna’s words sank in. The blade—Dr. Machinist’s blade—was more than just a relic of a forgotten past. It was a symbol of something far darker, something none of them had wanted to confront. The four brothers stood frozen, as if the air had thickened with an unseen pressure, each one silently grappling with the same horrid thought that clawed its way to the surface of their minds.

  No. It can’t be him.

  They had been through hell. They had faced countless enemies, but none had ever instilled the kind of fear Dr. Machinist did. His cruel genius, his twisted innovations, his unyielding drive to torment—it had been a nightmare none of them could forget. The thought that the man, the monster, could still be alive was something none of them were prepared to entertain.

  Krishna was the first to break the silence, though his voice was hardly a whisper. “No. It can’t be possible. Akuma killed him. I saw it with my own eyes,” he said, his words betraying a flicker of doubt. His fingers gripped the edge of the table, and for a moment, his usual composure faltered.

  Martin’s face had gone ashen. “You’re telling me that after all these years, after everything we’ve been through, that man is still out there?” His hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white with tension. His thoughts were spiraling, unable to process the implications. “No… there’s no way.” His voice shook, betraying the fear that had taken root in his chest.

  Takashi’s gaze was fixed on the blade, his usually calm demeanor shattered. He had always prided himself on keeping his emotions in check, but there was no denying the creeping dread spreading through his veins now. His body was rigid, every muscle tense, as though ready to spring into action, yet trapped by the sheer terror that gripped him. “He can’t be alive. He’s dead, right? Akuma finished him off. It’s over.”

  But even as he spoke the words, a terrible doubt lingered in the room. The blade—the very weapon that had once belonged to the cruel, calculating doctor—was as pristine as if it had never been touched by time. No rust. No decay. Just perfect. It was as though the blade had been kept waiting, preserved, for this moment.

  Temna’s hands trembled as he let the blade drop gently onto the table, his breath coming in shallow gasps. “We’ve all been through enough,” he muttered, voice tight with disbelief. “But Dr. Machinist… he was different. He was evil in ways none of us could truly understand. If he’s still alive, if he somehow survived…” His words trailed off, and for the first time, the usually unshakable Temna seemed at a loss for what to do next.

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  The thought was too much. His mind raced to dark places—the memories of the children he had seen suffer under Dr. Machinist’s experiments, the agonized cries of those twisted by the doctor’s sick inventions. That man had been a monster, someone who could tear apart minds and bodies with no remorse. And they all knew the kind of terror he inspired.

  Krishna’s jaw clenched, and he forced his voice out through gritted teeth. “We fear him.” The simple truth hung in the air, heavy with the weight of shared experiences.

  The others didn’t need him to elaborate. They all knew. The fear was instinctive, ingrained in them from their first encounter with Dr. Machinist’s sickening brilliance. Fear of his intellect. Fear of his cruelty. Fear of the man who had torn through the lives of everyone he touched, leaving destruction in his wake. They had seen his work up close, felt the cold hand of death trailing them as they’d barely escaped his machinations.

  Temna's thoughts were a whirlwind of images—the twisted experiments, the pain, the endless torment—and for the first time, his resolve wavered. "No matter what happened to him before, he was the mastermind. If he’s back… if he’s somehow still alive, then all of this—" He motioned to the files, the blade, the mess of old and new fears entwining their fates. "It’s all a warning. A message from a man who never stops playing the game."

  The others understood. Each of them knew what this meant. If Dr. Machinist was alive, it was no longer just a matter of unfinished business or old enemies. It was a declaration of war.

  There was a silence between them, but it wasn’t an empty silence. It was a shared understanding, a bond forged in fear. And that fear was primal. For all their skills, their intelligence, their strength—Dr. Machinist was still the one figure who had made them feel utterly powerless.

  A grim, collective thought passed through each of their minds: No. It can’t be him. Yet, the realization was unavoidable.

  The terror of facing Dr. Machinist again, of being caught in his game, was a nightmare none of them had wanted to revisit. But now, staring down at the blade, at the files, at the twisted remnants of their shared history, the truth was undeniable.

  Dr. Machinist’s shadow had never truly faded. It was waiting for them—patient, calculated, and cold—as it always had been. And it was here, once again, to haunt them.

  The Kurushimis feared him, not because of the man he was, but because they knew what he could do. What he had already done. What he would do next. And that fear, deep and gnawing, became the thread that bound them all together in this new nightmare.

  then we’re facing something far worse than we’ve imagined," Temna said, his voice cracking under the weight of the fear that had settled in the room.

  The brothers stood in a tense silence, their minds racing. Dr. Machinist’s name had become synonymous with terror, and the thought that his shadow might still loom over them was something none of them had dared to consider. Krishna's face tightened, his sharp mind struggling to reconcile the facts before them with the nightmare they all feared was coming true.

  "It’s not just about him being alive," Krishna said, his voice cold and calculating. "It’s about what he’s left behind. The Tori no Ichizoku, the experiments, the destruction—all of it could be part of a larger scheme. If Dr. Machinist is still out there, he’s playing a far more dangerous game. And we’re already part of it."

  Takashi exhaled slowly, his breath shaky. "He’s not just a man. He’s a force. He knew how to manipulate people, how to make them dance to his tune. If he’s still out there, it’s not just us he’s after. He could be preparing something even worse than we’ve seen."

  Martin’s fists clenched again, his anger rising. "We can’t let him win. We’ve fought so hard to get this far. We’ve survived the worst, but if he’s still out there, we can’t just wait for him to come to us. We need to take the fight to him. We need to destroy whatever hold he still has over the world."

  Krishna’s gaze hardened, his mind already piecing together the puzzle. "We don’t know enough yet. But we will. We’re going to track down every lead in these files, every piece of evidence. We’ll uncover whatever remains of his plans and destroy it before he can use it against us."

  Temna shook his head slowly, still in disbelief. "How are we supposed to find him? How do we even begin to track someone like Dr. Machinist? He’s always been one step ahead of us. And now… now, we’re dealing with the possibility that he’s left more traps, more experiments, more horrors for us to uncover."

  Krishna’s lips curled into a grim smile. "That’s the game. He’s always wanted to see how far we would go, how much we would endure. But we’ve been through worse. And if he’s still alive, if he’s pulling the strings, then we’ll make sure we’re the ones who get the last move."

  The tension in the room was palpable, but there was also a new determination growing in the brothers' hearts. They had survived the worst of what the Tori no Ichizoku had thrown at them, but this—this was something entirely different. Dr. Machinist, or whatever was left of his influence, was a shadow that could not be easily escaped. But they were the Kurushimis, and they weren’t about to let anyone control their fate.

  As the brothers gathered their resolve, each of them knew that the coming days would be filled with challenges. But there was no turning back now. The files in front of them were just the beginning. Dr. Machinist had left a legacy of horror, but they weren’t going to let that define their future.

  Krishna stood, his expression as cold as steel. "We have a choice now. We can either let fear dictate our actions, or we can take control. We will find out what’s really going on, and we will stop it. Whatever’s left of Dr. Machinist, whatever’s left of the Tori no Ichizoku—it ends now."

  Temna nodded, his resolve solidifying. "We’ll find him, and we’ll put an end to this nightmare, once and for all."

  The four brothers exchanged one last, unspoken glance, a silent pact to face whatever came next together. The weight of the past, the terror they had endured, and the uncertainty of the future pressed heavily on them. But there was one thing they knew for certain: they were no longer the pawns in someone else’s game.

  It was time to turn the tables. The Kurushimis had been through hell before. But this time, they would be the ones to bring the darkness to an end.

  The Reckoning of Machinist

  The brothers moved swiftly, the echoes of the horrors they had just witnessed still reverberating in their minds. They could feel the weight of their steps, the heaviness of what they had seen dragging at their every movement. The girl’s eyes—wide, empty, and pleading—were burned into their minds, the image impossible to shake. They had left the chamber of hell behind them, but her face, contorted in the agony of unimaginable suffering, would follow them for as long as they lived. Her eyes spoke volumes of the torment she had endured, and the moment she was taken from this world left an indelible mark on their souls.

  The hallway they rushed through felt like it had no end, as if the very walls themselves were pushing them to hurry, to escape the sinister world they had just entered. They were no strangers to violence, to death, to brutality. But what they had just seen? That was something beyond mere cruelty. It was the work of a mind so twisted, so consumed with madness, that it didn’t just take lives—it destroyed everything that made them human. It shattered the spirit, erased the soul, and left only a hollow shell. That was the legacy of Dr. Machinist.

  Beside them, the Disjawment Mask sat on the cold, unforgiving metal tray, its dark gleam taunting them as they moved further from the scene. It was the focal point of the doctor’s depravity—a device not merely designed to take life, but to strip away everything that made a person whole. The mask was a grotesque perversion of technology, engineered not only to kill but to inflict suffering so profound that it tore apart a person’s very essence. It was the symbol of everything Dr. Machinist had become—something far worse than a villain. He was a monster of flesh and steel, a man who had lost the very concept of humanity.

  The fresh air outside hit them like a wave, cold and sharp against their skin, but it did nothing to cleanse them of the vile images still seared into their minds. Each breath felt like an attempt to escape the choking weight of the girl’s death, but no matter how hard they inhaled, the stench of her suffering clung to them, suffocating their every thought. The ground beneath them felt stained, as if it, too, had witnessed the tragedy they had just left behind. And in some ways, it had.

  Krishna walked in silence, his face a mask of determination. Since leaving the building, he had been unusually quiet, and the others could feel the shift in his energy. This wasn’t just another mission to him anymore. He hadn’t just seen a girl die—he had witnessed the destruction of everything that was sacred. That mask had torn away her dignity, leaving behind nothing but a broken shell. And the thought of that twisted, grotesque invention gnawed at him. It was a symbol of everything that needed to be destroyed.

  When Krishna spoke, his voice was low, like a whisper that seemed to hang in the air, heavy with unsaid words. “That wasn’t just a death. It was the death of humanity itself. That mask... it wasn’t meant to kill. It was made to erase everything that makes us human. That girl... she wasn’t just tortured. She was... broken. In ways that no one should ever endure.”

  His hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white with the force of his grip. His mind raced with images of the girl—her shattered jaw, her eyes gouged from their sockets, her ears ripped away in savage brutality. Her skull had been fractured, her teeth broken into fragments. And yet, the most haunting thing was the emptiness in her gaze. She had been taken from the world in the most unspeakable manner. A soul had been broken, erased, and her agony would never fade from Krishna’s consciousness.

  The fury that surged through him wasn’t just a reaction—it was something deeper, something colder. It was a resolve forged in the darkest fires of rage and guilt. Krishna’s mind was clear now. Dr. Machinist had to pay. No corner of the world, no place beyond the reach of his fury, would be safe from the reckoning he was about to unleash. He would hunt the madman down. He would tear apart his legacy. And he would make sure that no one else ever suffered the way that girl had.

  Martin, ever the calm one, now exuded a quiet, deadly intensity. His usually steady hands, clenched into fists, betrayed the storm of fury inside him. “We need to know everything about that mask. Everything. How it works, who else it’s been used on, where it came from. Dr. Machinist is still out there, still building these... monsters. We need to stop him before there’s anyone else like her.”

  Takashi, the youngest of them, still stood in shock, his mind unable to fully grasp what they had just witnessed. His words were soft, heavy with disbelief. “How do we even stop someone like that? This is beyond taking down a villain. This is... confronting the darkest parts of human nature. How do you fight something like that?”

  Temna, who had been silent for a long time, finally spoke, his voice strained but resolute. “We find every last one of his creations. We dig into every corner of the world, find every shadow he’s cast. His legacy isn’t just in machines or inventions—it’s in the people he’s ruined. The broken, the twisted, the tortured. We need to bring them all into the light. We need to burn everything he’s built to the ground.”

  The group fell silent as they processed the enormity of the task ahead. It was clear that their journey would be fraught with peril, that their pursuit would test their limits in ways they could not yet fathom. But there was no turning back. Their path was set. They would find Dr. Machinist, and they would dismantle everything he had created. It wasn’t just a matter of justice anymore—it was a matter of survival. The soul of humanity was at stake.

  As the brothers walked through the dim-lit streets, each lost in their thoughts, they realized that they had crossed a line. This wasn’t just a job anymore. It was personal. Dr. Machinist had shown them the depths of cruelty, the true face of madness. And now, they would make sure he never inflicted that terror on anyone again.

  Krishna felt the weight of it—the girl’s death was like a mark on his soul. He could feel it in his chest, like a physical presence, her suffering echoing through him. But he knew this: the world would burn with the fires of vengeance, and Dr. Machinist’s legacy would not survive. It would be eradicated. The terror he had unleashed would be his undoing.

  The brothers moved forward, their resolve hardened. They weren’t just warriors anymore—they were the reckoning. And no matter where Dr. Machinist hid, they would find him. Because some monsters didn’t just live in the shadows. Some monsters could be hunted down and destroyed.

  The Broken Girl

  The brothers slowly removed the Disjawment Mask from the girl’s face, their hands trembling despite their best efforts to steady them. The mask, cold and alien in its design, seemed to mock them as they stared down at the girl. It was as if the mask had somehow become a part of her, a grotesque extension of the suffering she had endured. The moment it came off, a horrific silence filled the room, broken only by the soft sound of their ragged breaths. The reality of what they were looking at hit them all at once, like a punch to the gut that left them winded and sickened.

  Her face was no longer recognizable as human. The once delicate features had been obliterated beyond recognition. Her jaw—once a place for speech and expression—was shattered, not just broken, but pulverized. Bone fragments stuck out at odd angles, jagged and uneven, as if the very structure of her face had been violently torn apart. Her mouth hung open, a gaping wound, revealing the carnage inside. Teeth, once neatly arranged, had been shattered and broken, the remnants scattered throughout her bloodied mouth. Some had been pushed so deeply into the gums that they seemed fused with the flesh, as though they were part of the horrific damage done.

  Her eyes—those innocent, wide eyes—had been gouged from their sockets. There were no longer any pupils, no iris to speak of. Just raw, empty voids where her sight had once been. The empty cavities stared back at them like dark pools, echoing the silence of her demise. The absence of her gaze sent a chill down their spines, as if the very essence of the girl had been erased from existence, her soul plucked from her body in the most brutal way imaginable.

  The horror didn’t stop there. Her ears—once delicate, capable of hearing the world around her—had been torn from their place, the eardrums ripped out with brutal force. What remained was an empty, gaping hole on either side of her head, a grotesque reminder of the violence she had endured. The destruction was so complete, so thorough, that it was hard to imagine her having ever been a living, breathing person at all. She had been reduced to nothing more than a broken shell, a victim of the worst kind of sadism.

  But the true extent of the torment became clear when they looked at her skull. Her head was crushed, the bone caving in from all sides. It wasn’t just broken—it had been compressed, as if some unseen force had bent her very skull into a shape that nature never intended. The damage was so severe that it was almost unrecognizable as human. It was a grotesque mockery of the human form, a deformed, twisted version of what should have been.

  The brothers stood in stunned silence, the weight of the sight settling heavily on their hearts. They had seen death before, but this… this was something different. This was not just the end of a life. This was the destruction of humanity itself. Whoever had done this wasn’t simply a murderer—they were something far worse. They were a force of chaos, someone who reveled in the complete annihilation of another being, not just their life but their very identity.

  Krishna’s stomach turned as he looked at the shattered remains of the girl’s face, the once-beautiful visage now a crumpled mass of blood and bone. His hands shook with barely-contained fury, and his heart pounded in his chest. This wasn’t just cruelty—it was something far more sinister. It was an act of pure malice, a desire to make a person suffer in every possible way until they were nothing more than a twisted memory of what they once were. It was as if the girl had been reduced to a thing, an object to be tortured, to be destroyed. She had become less than human in the eyes of her tormentor.

  The others stood in stunned silence, each struggling to process the magnitude of the brutality before them. Martin’s usual calmness had been replaced by a palpable anger, his jaw clenched tight as he turned away, unable to look any longer. Takashi’s eyes were wide with disbelief, the young man shaken to his core. Even Temna, who had seen countless horrors in his time, was visibly affected by what lay before them. There was no part of this that could be brushed aside. This was no longer just a mission. This was a personal vendetta against everything they stood for.

  “Who… who could do this?” Takashi whispered, his voice cracking as he spoke.

  Krishna didn’t answer at first. He couldn’t. His mind was racing, trying to comprehend the depths of depravity that could lead to such an act. No explanation seemed sufficient. There was no logical reason for this. No justification that could make sense of the horror they were witnessing.

  “Dr. Machinist,” Martin said quietly, his voice low but filled with unmistakable resolve. “This is his doing. He’s the one behind all of this.”

  Krishna’s heart tightened as he thought of the man responsible—the one who had turned this poor girl into nothing more than a piece of broken flesh, a tool in his sick experiments. The thought of Dr. Machinist’s twisted mind, the malice and cold calculation behind his every action, filled Krishna with a deep, unrelenting anger. This wasn’t just an enemy to defeat. This was a monster—a man who had become something less than human.

  “We need to find him,” Krishna said, his voice steady, but the fury behind it was clear. “We need to make him pay. This is no longer just about stopping his experiments. This is about ending him—making sure he never does this to anyone else ever again.”

  The others nodded in silent agreement, the weight of the girl’s death heavy on their minds. The mission had just become personal. They weren’t just fighting for justice anymore. They were fighting for a reckoning. And Dr. Machinist would be the one to answer for it.

  .