Where's the King?
The first thing Ayat felt was the cold.
Not your "oh, it's chilly in here" kind of cold. This was concrete-to-the-bone, "you-woke-up-in-a-horror-movie-basement" kind of cold.
Her eyes flew open.
Dark. Then click-click-BZZT. A dying overhead bulb stuttered awake like it owed someone rent. Pale yellow light flickered like it was too scared to stay on.
Ayat tried to move—and that's when she noticed the ropes.
Hands behind her back, ankles strapped to the legs of a rusty metal chair that had clearly retired from torture school but still did gigs on the side. The metal bit into her skin like it liked it.
Her breath shuddered out of her lungs.
What the hell?
And then—groaning.
Male. Tired. Deeply unimpressed.
"Ughhh… this better not be another budget basement."
Ayat blinked toward the sound.
Corner of the room. Disheveled mop of black hair. Bruised face. Inspector Kang—slumped in a chair like a hungover vampire.
"Mr. Kang?" she rasped.
He blinked at her with one eye, like she was a bad dream he wasn't ready for.
"Ayat...? Oh, fantastic. Room service must've really messed up our booking."
She didn't answer. She was too busy pulling, twisting, hissing at her restraints like a feral cat.
Kang grunted, trying the same. "This rope? What is this—Black Ops Macramé? Who tied us, a militant grandma?"
"Where are we?" she whispered, heart thudding.
Kang looked around.
Cement walls. One rust-eaten steel door. No windows. One twitchy camera in the corner blinking like it knew too much.
"Based on the smell and interior design? Kidnap Dungeon Deluxe. Probably no Yelp reviews."
Ayat's face turned serious. "If they took us, they want something."
"Or someone," Kang added grimly. "Guess who just got upgraded to 'hostage of the month'?"
Footsteps.
Slow. Loud. Threatening. Like someone wanted their entrance to come with a drumroll.
The door creaked open like it was dying for drama.
And in she walked—like Cruella de Vil, if she traded puppies for classified intel.
Stape.
Long black coat, gloves like she murdered someone stylishly, and a knife glinting at her hip just in case this conversation needed... emphasis.
"Rise and shine, little rebels," she cooed, strolling in like she owned death itself.
She stopped in front of Ayat. Tilted her head like she was inspecting a puzzle or a pet.
"Where's King?"
Ayat stared her down.
"I don't know."
Stape smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. More serial killer Barbie.
"You're adorable when you lie," she said sweetly.
Kang snorted. "She's also adorable when she's insulting war criminals, FYI."
Stape didn't even glance his way. Her eyes stayed glued to Ayat like she could x-ray her soul.
"You were there, Ayat. The night he pulled his little disappearing act. Last one to see him. Don't insult me with this soap-opera amnesia line."
Ayat's heart kicked like it wanted out of her chest.
But her voice?
Solid. Stone.
"I was with him. Then the bullets started flying. He told me to run. I turned back—and he was gone. Just... gone."
Stape's expression flickered. Annoyed? Doubtful? Scared, maybe? Hard to tell. Sociopaths aren't known for their emotional transparency.
"You expect me to believe he vanished into thin air?" Stape asked quietly.
Ayat's voice cracked now, emotion rising like a flood she couldn't stop.
"I want to find him too. He's not just my boss. He's... family. He saved me. Gave me purpose. Pulled me out of hell when I had no one. Why the hell would I hide him?"
A beat.
Then Kang, voice laced with venom: "She's telling the truth, you walking red flag. If Ayat knew where he was, she'd be the one hunting you. Not tied up in your budget dungeon with rope rash."
Stape stepped closer. In Ayat's face. Nose to nose. Snake smile.
Stape looks at her and walk back towards the exist . Ayat thought she will leave .
Stape didn't leave.
She stop stood still, like a vulture deciding which part of the corpse to tear first.
Then—without a flicker of warning—
CRACK.
Her fist collided with Ayat's face.
A wet snap echoed off the concrete. Ayat's head jerked sideways, crimson blooming in her mouth like a burst rose. Her cheek split open, swelling instantly.
The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth.
She spat on the floor.
Slowly—deliberately—she turned her face back to Stape. The bruise already forming like a violet blossom across her skin.
Her voice was quiet, laced with steel.
"I. Don't. Know."
Stape's smirk twitched.
She grabbed Ayat by the hair and yanked her head back, lips near her ear like a devil whispering bedtime stories.
"He's the only thing between me and the throne. And I know you know where he is."
Another blow—this time her knuckles dug deep into Ayat's ribs.
Ayat gasped, the air knocked from her lungs, pain spiderwebbing through her chest. Her body flinched, but her eyes—those storm-grey eyes—didn't blink.
Not once.
Kang thrashed violently against his restraints, veins bulging in his neck.
"Enough! You twisted piece of—hit me instead! Leave her the hell alone!"
Stape turned, eyes wild.
"Oh, I intend to."
She stormed toward him, eyes burning.
WHACK.
The butt of her pistol smashed into his temple.
Once.
Twice.
Blood dripped, slow and thick, from the fresh gash above his eye.
Kang groaned, vision spinning, the world blurring into patches of light and shadow. His limbs went numb. His heart pounded like a drumbeat underwater.
His last coherent thought:
Ayat...
And then, darkness swallowed him whole.
Stape stepped back, panting, wiping blood from her knuckles like she'd just taken out the trash.
But then... she heard it.
A sound.
Not a groan.
Not a whisper.
A laugh.
Low. Hoarse. Not quite human.
Ayat.
Head down. Blood dripping from her chin. Shoulders trembling—not with pain.
With laughter.
Her head tilted upward slowly. Her lips curled in a grin too wide. Too wrong.
The laugh grew louder.
Crazier.
Unhinged.
It echoed through the chamber like a song from the underworld.
The flickering light above blinked faster, then burst—POP!—showering sparks over them.
The air thickened. Heavy. Oppressive. Like the room itself was holding its breath.
Stape's smile faltered.
"What... the hell is this?"
Ayat's voice came soft. Cold. With the weight of something ancient beneath it.
"I told you the truth. I don't know where he is."
She raised her eyes—now gleaming with something unnatural.
"But it's also true... that he disappeared because of me."
The ropes around her wrists began to move.
They slithered—like snakes waking from slumber—uncoiling, falling limp around her feet.
Stape stepped back.
"What is this about?"
Ayat stood.
Slowly. Painfully. Powerfully.
Bloodied, bruised, yet somehow... untouched.
Something radiated off her.
Not heat.
Not cold.
Control.
"You asked the wrong question," she said, her voice layered—like something else was speaking through her.
Stape's pupils shrank.
Her mouth dried.
"What... what are you?"
Ayat tilted her head, eyes wide, lips curling in eerie amusement.
"I'm an enigma."
"You... you have powers?" Stape stammered, sweat prickling her neck.
"Yes."
Ayat stepped closer.
"I'm one of the successful enigmas. King's best-kept secret. His masterpiece."
Stape froze. Every muscle locking up as Ayat lifted one blood-streaked hand.
The camera in the corner crackled.
The floor groaned beneath her feet.
"You shouldn't exist," Stape breathed. "Wait—wait, this much power... Dee doesn't know. Does she?"
Ayat's smile widened.
"No. And it's better if she doesn't. If she knew, it would only bring her more danger."
"Danger?" Stape's voice trembled. "From who? Who's going to hurt her?"
Ayat's expression darkened. Her voice dropped.
"Ask the right questions."
Stape stumbled back, mind racing.
"King never said anything. Not about this. Not about you. So who's behind it all? His disappearance? Dee's kidnapping? Duke's vanishing act?"
She paused.
Then her eyes widened.
"…It's you, isn't it?"
Silence.
Ayat blinked slowly.
"Maybe."
Stape took a shaky step forward. Her voice cracked with emotion now—almost pleading.
"I'm going to tell her. I don't care what you are—I won't let you hurt her."
Ayat's voice came sharp, calm, final.
"You can't save her from me."
She tilted her head.
"Save yourself first."
Stape's voice shattered.
"What…?"
Ayat's lips began to move.
No sound.
Just whispers.
Creeping. Slithering. Curling in the air like smoke.
And then—
SLAP.
Stape's own hand shot up and struck her cheek.
SLAP.
Harder.
SLAP. SLAP.
Her face twisted in pain.
"MAKE IT STOP!" she shrieked.
But her body was no longer hers.
She punched herself in the gut.
Slammed her head into the wall.
Over and over.
"Ayat—AYAT—PLEASE—!"
But Ayat just stood there.
Watching.
Expression blank.
Emotionless.
A goddess of chaos in a bloodstained shirt.
With a final twitch, Stape dropped.
Unconscious.
The room fell into silence.
Thick.
Suffocating.
Ayat turned to Kang's limp form.
She knelt beside him, gentle fingers brushing the blood from his face.
"Wake up, Mr. Kang. We're done here."
He stirred, eyelids heavy.
"Ayat...? Wha… what happened?"
She smiled faintly.
"The tables turned."
She lifted him with ease—like gravity didn't apply to her anymore.
Walked toward the steel door.
And with a mere glance—
BOOM.
The door blew open, metal screaming as it warped and bent to her will.
The camera sparked. Fried. Died.
Ayat didn't look back.
She stepped into the hallway, carrying Kang with her.
Behind them, the room smelled of blood, burned wires, and fear.
And the woman on the floor who thought she was in control…
Lay broken.
---
> "Some girls cry when they're scared.
Ayat laughs.
Because when she laughs... something ancient wakes up."