The iron door groaned as it opened.
A cold draft swept into the warehouse, carrying with it the smell of mildew and something sharper—fear. The room beyond was smaller, darker. A single chair sat in the center, and bound to it was a man.
Harvey froze in the doorway.
The prisoner's head hung low, a sack pulled over his face. His hands were tied behind the chair, rope digging deep into his skin. His chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. A muffled groan escaped from under the sack, weak but human.
"Who is he?" Harvey whispered.
"Does it matter?" Viktor's voice was ice. He closed the door behind them, the metallic clang echoing through the chamber.
"Yes," Harvey said sharply, his heart pounding. "I need to know who I'm—"
"You need to know nothing except this," Viktor interrupted, stepping forward. His boots thudded on the concrete. "This man works for Aldrich. He pulled a trigger, slit a throat, or looked the other way when ordered. The blood on his hands is the same that stains yours. Do you need more than that?"
Harvey's throat tightened. His stomach twisted into knots.
Viktor placed a knife in Harvey's hand. Cold steel pressed against his skin, heavier now than ever before. "This is the crucible," Viktor said. "You hesitate, you lose. You choose wrong, you die. You kill him… and you live."
Harvey stared at the blade. His reflection flickered faintly in its steel, warped by the trembling of his hand.
The man in the chair groaned again, as if sensing the weight of what was about to happen.
Harvey's pulse roared in his ears.
"This isn't training anymore," Viktor said softly, his voice sinking into Harvey's mind like poison. "This is reality. The world doesn't wait for you to be ready."
The words dug deep. Harvey saw his parents' faces, alive and laughing—then broken and bloodied in the wreck. He remembered the warmth of their voices, replaced by silence.
And in that silence came Viktor's command: "Do it."
Harvey's chest heaved. He stepped closer, the knife shaking in his grip. His eyes stung with tears, his body trembling with every movement.
"I…" His voice cracked. "I don't want to be a killer."
Viktor's gaze was sharp as steel. "You already are."
The words froze Harvey's blood.
Because deep down, he knew they were true. He had killed in the hospital, even if it was in desperation. He had felt the life leave the body beneath his hands.
The man in the chair stirred, groaning louder, struggling weakly against the ropes.
Harvey squeezed his eyes shut. Mom… Dad… what would you want me to do?
But no answer came. Only silence.
And silence was worse than any answer.
Harvey's grip tightened. He raised the knife.
One breath. Two. Three.
Then he drove the blade forward.
The sound was muffled—cloth tearing, flesh giving way, a strangled gasp. The man jerked violently, then went still. The chair creaked under his weight.
Harvey stumbled back, the knife slipping from his hand and clattering against the floor. His chest heaved like it might burst. His ears rang with the phantom echo of the man's final gasp.
His eyes burned. His stomach lurched. He fell to his knees, gagging, bile rising. His hands shook uncontrollably, his entire body trembling with the shock of what he had just done.
Viktor stood silent, watching. There was no triumph in his eyes, only a grim recognition.
When Harvey finally lifted his gaze, Viktor spoke.
"Now you understand," he said. "Revenge isn't clean. It's blood. It's pain. It's choosing again and again to destroy before they destroy you."
Harvey swallowed hard, his throat raw. "He… he was one of them?"
"Yes," Viktor said. He crouched down, picking up the knife and placing it back in Harvey's shaking hands. "Aldrich has men everywhere. You'll kill more before this ends. But remember this—every drop of their blood brings you closer to justice for your parents."
Justice. The word rang hollow.
But Harvey clutched the knife anyway. His reflection in the steel was no longer a boy's.
It was something darker.
Something born from death.
Viktor rose, his shadow stretching long across the wall. "You've crossed the line. There's no going back now."
Harvey looked down at the body in the chair, at the crimson spreading across the concrete floor. His heart hammered, but his voice came steady, low, and cold.
"Then I'll keep walking."
Viktor's lips curved in the faintest ghost of a smile.
"Good," he said. "Then your war begins."