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Chapter 11: Interrogation
[Content Warning: This chapter contains dark themes and scenes of physical torture. Reader discretion is advised.]
Location: Catskill Mountains – Main Base
Time: Late September 2007, Night
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After reaching the base...
"Stay here until I come back," I told Domino.
She looked at me with those curious, unreadable eyes. Still silent. Still watching.
I didn't wait for her response.
The truck door slammed shut behind me as I walked deeper into the mountain.
Dragging all seven unconscious men with me—my unfinished business.
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There's a place in my base—a soundproof chamber carved into bedrock. Reinforced steel walls, padded restraints, and med-tech gear mixed with the brutal tools of interrogation. I designed it myself. Pain and healing—science and punishment—merged into one.
Inside that room…
"Thud." "Crack." "Squish." "Snap." "Bang."
Bone. Nerve. Flesh. Repeat.
Those sounds echoed in sequence.
These weren't screams of strangers.
They were the ghosts of my past—those five bastards who had once broken me.
The pain Leo had endured?
Now, it was their turn.
Punch. Scream. Reset. Bone. Heal. Repeat.
I knew just how far I could go without killing them.
After all, I'm a goddamn neuro-specialist. A butcher with a medical license.
Thanks to Shifu Wenwu, I had rare regenerative tonics that rapidly healed wounds—but at the cost of cognitive breakdown. Administered just enough to keep them alive, to let them feel everything—then dragged them back for more.
Hours passed.
By the end, the five who hurt me were no longer men.
They were twitching piles of regret, barely clinging to life.
Until they weren't.
Their souls gave up before their bodies did.
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The other two survivors—guards, not tormentors—were pale with terror.
One broke first.
"Please—I'll talk. Just—don't do that to me. Please..."
I stared at him, emotionless.
"This is your only chance. Answer me clearly."
"It's Antoine! Antoine Montclair! He's the one who pays us—we just guard the warehouse. I swear, I don't know anything else. Please… please, make it quick."
He sobbed.
I turned away. No satisfaction. No forgiveness either.
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Later, I walked into my private command room.
My AI chimed in, cheerful as always.
"How was your day, sir?"
"Eventful," I replied.
I dropped into the chair and stared at the black screen.
"Start background check. The girl sitting outside—everything. I want it all."
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Meanwhile — Back at the Warehouse
Flashing red and blue. Sirens fading in the distance.
A group of NYPD officers sealed off the perimeter, collecting evidence.
Narcotics—tons of it. Women. Trauma. Bloodstains. Empty restraints. A truck.
Two women—traffickers—lay unconscious in the back, restrained by zip ties.
A detective strolled over to his partner.
"Oi, Stacy. Over here."
"Whatcha got?" the detective asked, glancing around the wrecked warehouse.
Stacy pointed toward the scattered drugs and overturned crates.
"Gang bangers. Looks like they were moving product. Maybe today was relocation day."
"And the truck?"
"Full. Maybe a shipment in or out. But whatever happened here… someone cleaned house. No witnesses."
The detective frowned.
"You saying someone hit them?"
Stacy shrugged.
"No idea. Whoever did… was a ghost."
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Back at the Cliffside Command Room
I stared at the screen.
"Report complete," my AI said.
**> Name: Neena Thurman
> Codename: Domino
Age: 11
Mutation: Subconscious Probability Manipulation (aka Luck)
Status: Mutant**
Background:
Born inside a covert Weapon Plus black site. She was the result of a gene-splicing experiment focused on probability alteration—deemed X-23 Beta. Her early life was cold steel, needles, and whispers behind mirrored glass.
At nine, the facility suffered a catastrophic system failure. Domino's powers triggered unknowingly in high-stress moments. She escaped—barefoot, confused, and hunted.
For two years, she survived in alleys and shadows. Her instincts guided her from city to city. Until one day… fate failed.
She was captured—sold into the chain.
Until she met me.
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I stared at the screen. My fists clenched.
"Erase everything. Every trace of her—gone from the internet, government, satellite logs, everything."
"Understood."
I stood and walked outside.
She was still there—sitting on the cold metal stairs of the base, hugging her knees, watching the stars.
She didn't speak.
Neither did I.
End of Chapter 11
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