A book in which you, the infamous ability stealer, are the newest member of the Port Mafia and as witty as they come. Being the constant centre of attention, you have managed to catch the eye of the notorious young executive; Chuuya Nakahara, but no...
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The route downstairs was long and winding beyond one's mere comprehension. It wasn't as easy or as straightforward as you'd hoped, but you weren't too surprised considering the torture room was located in the very belly of the main building, which seemed to add to its ominous and inauspicious allure. You had to go through many dubious corners and complex doors, and at one point you had even managed to get lost; being forced to use your brain and gut intuition as a personal satnav to find your way out. Although, you could strangely appreciate how impeccably made the torture room was—purposefully shielded from the rest of the place.
Dingy space after space had led to an almost cavern-like area, the bottom and top of which were flagrantly dank and putrid smelling; it made you wonder how many people were brutally tortured and murdered down there. The lights were flickering, and the metallic, acrid stench of blood had lingered in the air in warning.
The smell hit you like a blow to the jaw. You gave yourself a shake. I need a mug of the darkest, bitterest coffee I can possibly find after this, you thought.
You weren't quite sure what you were expecting as your footfalls echoed sharply down the stone staircase leading to the torture room. You felt yourself shiver inexplicably with every step that you had taken, but you also weren't quite sure whether it was because of the cold enveloping this place, or the creepy feeling that had ignited within you due to the chilling atmosphere that had made your skin inevitably crawl.
The first thing that you saw was the man, your target, chained to a solid brick wall. He was in what appeared to be a starfish position against the wall; arms and legs restrained, and sweat mixed with blood trickling down his battered face. His arms were raised on either side like he were welcoming a demon to devour his soul with open arms. The metal cuffs were cold against his grazed flesh, and the smallest movements grated on his skin, his bloodied wrists aching outrageously from the force and ferocious impact of the binds. The man was in a state of unconsciousness, his head hanging limply on his neck, but you could vividly hear his breathing; erratic and untimed, like his breath was running away from him somehow. The man's fingernails were lined in grime and dried blood. Portions of his neck were caked crimson, and his bare torso was decorated with whiplashes, hundreds upon hundreds of them. He had been mercilessly hit, partially healed wounds freshly opened.
You didn't feel a single thing when you looked at him. You didn't feel squeamish, nor did you feel like you were going to be sick; it wasn't the blood you were afraid of because you were used to seeing shit like this on a daily basis, you had grown up around the darkness that had resided in this cataclysmic world; it was just the daunting and eerie atmosphere of this particular room that you didn't like.
This room was known as the infamous torture room. It was a torture and captive area that had resided in the very belly of the main building. Everything from walled handcuffs, which was where your lovely target was currently inhabited, to torture and interrogation tools had filled the vast space of this room. The room had brick walls and due to the gruesome acts that were held in this dingy old place, was fairly grimy and disgusting. It was not particularly large either, in fact, it was quite claustrophobic. Other than the noise of the generator, the room was a silent concrete box. Above him, the only source of light was an old fashioned bulb on a bare white wire and its switch was nowhere to be seen. There was something amateurish about the way the brick walls had been set. The angles weren't quite right and there was a roughness to the texture. The unwanted stench of blood, dried and fresh, which had pooled at the very base of the man's bare feet, his toenails mercilessly removed, had entered your nostrils without an invitation; causing you to scrunch your nose distastefully.
