The room was dimly lit, with a single overhead light casting long shadows on the walls. A metal table occupied the center, surrounded by three chairs. On one side of the table sat Mr. Black (37-45), the notorious criminal, his hands cuffed in front of him. He was a strikingly handsome man, with an air of calm that contrasted sharply with the gravity of the situation. His lips curled into a confident smirk, as though he were above it all. Across from him, two FBI agents sat: Agent Daniel Briggs (39-45), a stern American with a no-nonsense demeanor, and Agent Sarah Coleman (31), an African American woman with sharp, analytical eyes that seemed to cut through the darkness of the room.

  Agent Briggs leaned forward, his voice firm but controlled. “Mr. Black, we have sufficient evidence to prove your crimes. What we don’t understand is your motivation. Why would you turn yourself in now?”

  Agent Coleman’s voice was measured, but there was a sharp edge to it. “You’re on the FBI’s Most Wanted list, hunted in eight countries, not including the United States. Why surrender now?”

  Mr. Black leaned back in his chair, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “I’m well aware of my identity, Agent Coleman. The real question is, what do you want to know?”

  Agent Briggs exchanged a glance with Coleman before continuing. “As my partner said, we’re interested in your motivations. Why did you commit these crimes? And why turn yourself in?”

  Agent Coleman’s gaze narrowed as she leaned in. “You caused the economic collapse of three countries, orchestrated bombings at world heritage sites, and killed over 14 million people. You’re the leader of Black Clover, a terrorist organization that even China, Britain, and Russia couldn’t dismantle. Why now? Why turn yourself in?”

  A smile tugged at Mr. Black’s lips as he interrupted. “First of all, Sarah—may I call you Sarah? I noticed your ID card.” He paused, enjoying the shift in her expression. “As I said, there’s no need to remind me of my identity. And just to be accurate, it was 14 million, 759 thousand deaths—not quite 15 million, unfortunately.”

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Agent Coleman’s jaw clenched, but she didn’t respond.

  Mr. Black leaned forward slightly, his tone taking on a chilling calm. “Now, to your question. Let me tell you a story.”

  The room seemed to darken as his voice grew more sinister, his words deliberate.

  expectant.

  “There was once a boy,” Mr. Black began, his voice smooth, controlled, almost hypnotic. “He lived in a small town, just another nameless face in the crowd. He was poor—his grandmother, his only family, barely scraped by. He had no power, no influence. He was nothing.”

  Briggs and Sarah listened, their expressions unreadable.

  “One day, he made a mistake,” Mr. Black continued. “During lunch, in front of the entire school, he accidentally spilled hot coffee on someone—the son of the richest man in town. The golden boy. The prince of the school.” He smiled faintly, as if savoring the memory. “The prince’s friends decided to teach the boy a lesson. They dragged him to the assembly hall, forced him to his knees, and beat him while the entire school watched. No one intervened. Not the students. Not the teachers. No one. And afterward?” He exhaled a slow breath. “The school didn’t punish the bullies. No, they expelled the boy instead. Labeled him a troublemaker. An embarrassment. His grandmother—his only family—couldn’t bear the shame. She died shortly after.”

  Sarah’s expression flickered, just for a moment, before she steeled herself. “That’s tragic,” she said, her voice gentler than before. “But being bullied doesn’t justify—”

  Mr. Black cut her off, his voice sharp. “Who said anything about being bullied?”

  A cold pause filled the space between them.

  Briggs frowned. “You just described—”

  Mr. Black leaned back, his smirk returning. “I never said I was the boy.”

  Realization dawned in Sarah’s eyes, the pieces clicking together in a way that sent a chill down her spine.

  “I was the prince,” Mr. Black continued, his voice almost wistful. “And that was the day I discovered something.” His gaze darkened, his amusement taking on a more sinister edge. “I had spent my childhood bored. Life was too easy—every luxury at my fingertips, every desire met before I could even voice it. It was all so… dull. But that day? Watching that boy’s life fall apart because of me? That was exhilarating. The helplessness in his eyes. The raw, unfiltered misery. It was the first time I felt truly alive.”

  Briggs stiffened. “You’re saying all of this… everything you’ve done… was just because you enjoyed it?”

  Mr. Black’s smirk widened. “If one person’s suffering could entertain me that much, imagine what a thousand could do. A million. A nation.” He exhaled, as if reminiscing. “When I realized how easily the world could break, how fragile it all was, I knew I had found my purpose.”

  The room fell into a suffocating silence.

  Sarah stared at him, barely containing her anger. “You ruined millions of lives… because you were bored?”

  Mr. Black shrugged. “I prefer the term neurodivergent. It has a nice ring to it.”

  Neither agent spoke. There was nothing left to say—only the chilling truth of the man sitting before them, smiling as

  if he had just recounted a fond childhood memory.