“Should we kill them?” Flint asked, his tone casual as he adjusted his stance, still catching his breath. His gaze swept over the incapacitated opponents, his hand already twitching slightly as if preparing to move the ground beneath them.

  “No,” Vera replied sharply, her voice steady and resolute. “We should get information from them before killing them.” She looked at Flint with a hard stare, clearly deciding for the group.

  “Fair enough,” Flint shrugged, his tension easing a bit. He wasn’t one to argue over these details—he just wanted clear orders to follow.

  433 observed silently, unsure if he should speak up. He wasn’t used to taking charge, and their teamwork wasn’t something he could disrupt with hesitation. For now, he chose to watch and let Vera lead, trusting her instincts to handle this new situation.

  ***

  Isabelle’s breath hitched as she processed her surroundings, her mind struggling to piece together the nightmare in front of her. The room was dimly lit, with only a single flickering bulb casting eerie shadows on the bare walls. Her heart pounded as she stared at Bishop and Layla, their faces pale and eyes empty with shock. The grotesque sight of their missing limbs made bile rise in her throat. She instinctively tried to reach for them, but when only stumps moved, she felt a wave of nauseating panic.

  A voice, calm yet cold, echoed through the room, shattering her disorientation. “You three seem to heal quite fast,” it said, almost conversationally. Isabelle’s eyes snapped upward, locking onto Vera's figure, who loomed above her. The overhead light cast shadows over Vera’s face, making her appear even more menacing.

  Vera continued, her voice unwavering. “We cut your arms and legs off three days ago. Yet, there was minimal blood loss, and the wounds closed almost immediately. Now, I’m curious as to why that is.” Vera tilted her head slightly, examining Isabelle like a scientist might study an unusual specimen. Her eyes were intense, almost burning with a quiet intensity that sent shivers down Isabelle’s spine.

  Isabelle swallowed hard, trying to control her trembling. Her throat felt dry, her voice barely a whisper as she croaked, “What… what did you do to us?” Her mind raced for answers, grasping at anything that might make sense of the situation. But the pain and terror clouded her thoughts.

  Vera didn’t move, her gaze unwavering. “I asked you a question first,” she said, voice stern. “Why did your wounds close so quickly?”

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  Isabelle’s instincts screamed at her to stay silent and avoid revealing anything. But the sight of her stumps and the lifelessness in Bishop and Layla’s eyes broke through her resolve. “We… we regenerate,” she muttered, the words barely escaping her dry lips. “Our bodies heal faster than normal.”

  Vera’s expression didn’t change, but there was a slight shift in her eyes—almost like she had just confirmed something. “I see,” she said, her tone thoughtful. “That would explain why conventional means aren’t effective.” She looked down at Isabelle, her presence heavy with an almost predatory interest.

  “Please,” Isabelle choked out, her voice shaking, “please… don’t hurt them anymore…”

  Vera raised an eyebrow, her gaze shifting to the other two captives. “That depends entirely on your cooperation,” she replied, her voice lacking any hint of empathy. “You and your friends have something we need to know. Information. Motives. Orders.” She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper, making Isabelle’s skin crawl. “If you want to keep whatever remains of your limbs, I suggest you start talking.”

  Isabelle’s mind was a whirlwind of fear and guilt. She could barely breathe under the weight of Vera’s gaze, but she knew this wasn’t just about her survival—it was about protecting Bishop and Layla. With a shaky breath, she tried to gather the courage to speak, to answer the questions looming over them.

  But the fear of what else Vera was capable of made her hesitate, wondering if the truth would save them—or condemn them to a fate far worse than this nightmare.

  Vera stared down at Isabelle, her eyes like steel as she repeated the same cold line of questioning. The dim lighting cast sharp shadows across Vera's face, making her expression all the more menacing. Isabelle’s breathing was shallow and rapid, her heart pounding in her chest as she fought against the fog of pain and fear clouding her mind.

  “From what country are you from?” Vera’s voice was firm and devoid of emotion, each word clipped and calculated.

  “England,” Isabelle muttered through gritted teeth, her voice barely above a whisper. Her mouth felt dry, and she struggled to maintain eye contact with Vera, whose unyielding gaze seemed to pierce through her very soul.

  “Are you a high-ranking officer in your respective field?” Vera asked, unblinking, her tone carrying an edge of expectation—as if daring Isabelle to lie.

  Isabelle hesitated. She could feel Vera’s scrutiny intensify in that brief moment. “No…” she finally responded, her voice wavering ever so slightly. It felt like every word she spoke was tightening the noose around her neck.

  “Where do you rank?” Vera pressed, leaning slightly closer, making it clear there was no room for evasion.

  “A Colonel,” Isabelle answered her voice firmer this time—her pride in her position mixed with the dread of revealing even that much.

  Vera’s eyes narrowed slightly, considering the information with an air of detached calculation. The silence hung heavy between them, broken only by Isabelle’s ragged breathing.

  “What was your mission here in the US?” Vera’s question was direct and demanding, but her tone was unnervingly calm, almost casual. It was the kind of voice someone used when they already knew the answer and were merely waiting for confirmation.

  Isabelle’s chest tightened at the question. She swallowed hard, fighting back the urge to scream. How much longer could she hold out? How much longer could she stall?

  “Enough!” Isabelle snapped, her voice raw and laced with desperation. The sound of her defiance surprised her, even if only for a second. She glared up at Vera, mustering every ounce of defiance she had left. “I gave you enough information! Let me go now, and my comrades!”

  Vera's eyes narrowed, her expression darkening at Isabelle's outburst. The tension in the room thickened, and the flickering light only added to the sense of impending doom. Isabelle's voice had quivered with desperation, but her defiance was clear. It was the last shred of strength she had left to cling to.