Horatio sat in a chair, his white trousers and black boots crossed at the ankle, his fingers interlocked, looking majestic and imposing.
Louise, Archie, and six red-uniformed Navy Guards stood behind him, rifles held ready.
Everyone's gaze was utterly cold, filled with a ruthless disgust, as if they were looking at a pile of hazardous waste.
"S-sir…" The boss, his legs trembling with fear, his not-so-bright fat face full of terror, stammered, his speech slurred after failing to escape and facing the dark muzzles of the guns.
Horatio flung a newspaper at his face.
"Read it!"
Horatio merely leaned forward slightly when flinging the newspaper, scaring the man so much that he plopped onto the floor.
The office was well air-conditioned, but he was sweating profusely from fear, looking like a shiny, braised egg under the lights, his thick, purplish-red lips panting, his face flushed, like a fat hamster that could die of fright at any moment.
"My esteemed s-sir, I… I was wrong, please… please be merciful."
"Read it!"
Seeing Horatio's relentless anger, the fat man's brain had already crashed from fright. His trembling, chubby hands mechanically picked up the newspaper and began to read haltingly.
"The head of the Military Intelligence Department… Vice Admiral Alexander Hood assassinated… Internal power struggles within the Gothic Fleet…" His voice grew softer and softer until only a sharp whimper remained.
"Keep reading!" Horatio urged coldly, his terrifying gaze seemingly warning him that if he didn't comply, he would crush him like a cockroach.
"The Gothic Fleet… openly infighting, a dignified Vice Admiral…" He trembled more and more as he spoke: "Became a sacrifice for personal gain… Eek—!"
After uttering the last sentence, he passed out cleanly with a white-eyed stare amidst his own meaningless gasps, falling backward and hitting the wood-patterned tiles with a heavy thud.
Splash! —
Perhaps he still harbored a slim hope of escaping reality; even facing the gray concrete walls of the Adeptus Arbites upon waking would be better than continuing to face this Naval Officer. But all he got was a bucket of purified water filled with printing waste splashed on him by a Guards.
The fat man shivered, returning to the miserable reality. He clumsily propped up his greasy body and sat up, his soaked body still trembling.
"Continue." Horatio, like a merciless interrogation machine, lifted his chin, signaling him to pick up the water-soaked newspaper from the floor.
The boss looked utterly despondent, his eyes hollow. Finally, his voice like a mosquito, he buzzed out word by word: "In-depth exposé… A shadow of gloom hangs over the Gothic Fleet, power struggles led to yesterday's tragedy, what is the meaning of the fleet's existence…?"
He understood that speaking these sentences to the actual individuals involved would be enough to get him killed a thousand times over.
How could a legendary fleet endure such slander from petty individuals?
"What's on the back?" Horatio flung another newspaper.
This time, it was the back side that was exposed.
"You've got some guts, daring to pry into and leak information about our Imperial Navy officers, huh?"
Horatio leaned forward in the boss's chair: "Do you know what these crimes of yours are enough to turn you into?"
"D-death sentence."
"Death?" The young man sneered.
Then he opened his portable data pad and projected a hologram from it.
It was a person tied to a machine resembling a lumberjack.
His upper skull and eyelids had been removed.
His brain, submerged in artificial tissue fluid, along with his naked eyes, had terrifying mechanical neural tendrils directly implanted into them, as if being bitten by ten thousand snakes.
Then, a neural torment helmet, connected to all the tendrils, covered this horrifying sight, leaving only pale limbs twitching and convulsing under the restraints.
Horatio played an audio file.
"Ugh ugh ugh!! Ah!!!! Ah!!! Ee wuwu ee!!!" The collapsing vocal cords emitted a final, extremely tragic, hoarse scream. That instinctive wail, long devoid of thought, felt like a chilling wind passing through everyone, even Archie and the other Naval Officers couldn't help but shiver.
"These are called Atonement Mechs. They are piloted by the Empire's unforgivable criminals.
Once you become its pilot, as long as you live, you must continuously endure physical and psychological torment and torture 24 hours a day, as punishment for your crimes.
When you think about it, dying on a battlefield riddled with bullets and shells is a form of release, isn't it?"
Horatio said indifferently: "But with your crimes, the Navy will send you to the most distant war zones. Which means that before you can seek release on the battlefield, you might endure decades, or even centuries, of torment and torture in this steel cage."
Hearing Horatio's words, and the heart-wrenching, terrifying screams continuously emanating from the holographic image.
The man knelt on the ground, dirty water reeking of pulp dripping constantly from his hair.
He looked as if he were already dead, his eyes lifeless and hollow.
He knelt before Horatio, looking at the officer information and fabricated stories above, his lifeless eyes showing a look of utter collapse and tears: "Sir, he! They! It was them! They!"
The fat boss, who had been trembling a second ago, suddenly became agitated, looking around frantically like a madman, finally pointing at a group of accomplices behind him, who were kneeling with bayonets pointed at them.
Everything was within Horatio's calculations. When a person is driven to a dead end, they naturally start biting like a mad dog, determined to drag others down with them even in death.
Horatio's gaze fell upon a group of people dressed like paparazzi.
"Bring them over!"
As soon as the disheveled paparazzi heard him say that, they immediately cowered and hid behind others.
"He, he, he! Yes, it's him! And him! They, they provided these manuscripts! I'm illiterate, so if you start with these guys, you'll definitely find out who wrote the manuscripts!"
"I don't know anything! He's talking nonsense!"
"Exactly! Boss Polly is a mad dog biting wildly before he dies, he just wants to drag people down with him! We're just a few lowly workers, we came here today to apply for Overseer positions, Sir, look, we don't even have cameras, how could we be the ones providing information and manuscripts?!"
Horatio couldn't be bothered to argue with them.
"Take them to the Sky Dome Cage. Prepare the interrogation tools and a physician in advance. I think our Inquisitor will greatly enjoy these new toys."
Upon hearing the term 'Inquisitor' from the young officer's mouth, everyone in the room fell silent.
The boss trembled, let out a final whimper, and collapsed onto the ground again.
Louise stepped forward to check his condition and said, "He's in a state of feigned death shock."
"It was a person wearing a bird-beak mask! Dressed very decently, constantly toying with a creepy vulture-man silver coin in his hand! He threw these at our studio and then disappeared. That's all we know! Really! We just polished up the manuscripts a bit, and the information we got was too good to waste!"
"Oh? Vulture-man silver coin?"
Horatio's eyes circled thoughtfully.
He pulled out the bizarre, creepy silver coin that he and Farida had confiscated from the cult's receiving office. One side of it was stamped with the profile of a stooped vulture-man holding a staff. He held it up to the paparazzi and asked, "Is it like this?"
"Yes! It's exactly like that!"
"When and where did they give you these manuscripts and information?"
"Our studio is on the mezzanine of the WGS-2102-K7 building, the 9th room counting from top to bottom…"
"Seal this place, continue the search. Escort these guys back to the Sky Dome Cage. The others are to be detained first for identity verification."
For safety's sake, at the moment, all these people, including the laborers, could only be locked up.
Although his order was met with a chorus of lamentations, he knew that to prevent any leaks and to avoid hidden dangers, this was a necessary measure.
Before the incident was resolved, he absolutely could not release these people.
However, given the conditions of the Navy's detention facilities, he could at least guarantee two meals a day for these people.
This was the maximum extent of his benevolence.
Horatio ignored the pleas, turning a deaf ear to the tide of wailing, and continued to lead the Navy Guard in their operation.
He led his men, taking some confiscated newspapers, ensuring that all printing data and copies beyond what they held were completely destroyed. He then escorted the group of people away from the raided illegal printing factory.
Lieutenant Stirling and Minister Hank needed to take this seriously and realize how important the task they were currently undertaking was.
That is, on a battlefield without smoke, using quills and ink, to wage a battle for the hearts of the people against the hidden enemy.
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