Chapter 12 The Interrogation
POV: Zinovia
The decommissioned freezer of the Abattoir smelled of fossilized frost, ammonia, and fresh, arterial blood.
Above them, the muffled, concussive roar of the illegal fighting ring reverberated through the reinforced concrete ceiling, shaking the heavy iron meat hooks that dangled empty in the shadows.
But inside the sub-basement, the only sound was the sickening, wet impact of Nicander Vargos’s fist connecting with human bone.
Zinovia stood in the periphery of the flickering fluorescent light, her oversized canvas coat wrapped tightly around her shivering frame. She watched with the detached, clinical scrutiny of a scientist observing an apex predator in a terrarium.
Nicander was a masterclass in kinetic violence. He did not lose his temper. He did not yell. He dismantled Olek Vane with a terrifying, rhythmic precision, treating the ledger-thug’s body like a complex knot that simply needed to be untied with blunt force.
Olek was currently suspended by his wrists from a rusted chain hoist, his boots dangling two inches above the grimy tile floor. His face was a ruined landscape of bruised purple and weeping crimson.
"The crypto-ledger, Olek," Nicander murmured, his gravelly voice incredibly soft, entirely at odds with the brutality of his actions. He casually wiped a smear of Olek’s blood from the knuckles of his scavenged leather jacket. "Who ordered the carbon tactical rigs? Give me a name."
Olek spat a thick wad of red onto the tiles, chest heaving. "Go to hell, Vargos. If I burn the broker, his people will peel my skin off while I watch. You’re just gonna shoot me. Shoot me and get it over with."
Nicander sighed, a low, exhausted sound. He stepped forward, taking hold of Olek’s left index finger, and snapped it backward with a sharp, mechanical twist.
The wet crack of the cartilage was immediately swallowed by Olek’s agonizing shriek.
Zinovia closed her eyes for a fraction of a second, feeling the synthetic hum of the temporary suppressor rushing through her own veins.
Nicander’s method was undeniable, but it was fundamentally flawed.
Physical trauma possessed a ceiling. Once a subject crossed the threshold of shock, their brain would flood with endorphins, effectively numbing the interrogation.
They did not have the luxury of time to wait for a man’s nervous system to reset. The Requiem Toxin was quietly eating away at their internal organs beneath the chemical mask she had brewed. Every hour they wasted in this freezing slaughterhouse was an hour stolen from their thirty-five-day clock.
"Step away, Vargos," Zinovia said, her voice slicing through the cold air like a scalpel through silk.
Nicander paused. He turned his head slowly, his breath pluming in white clouds in the freezing air.
His gray eyes were entirely dilated, swimming in dark, homicidal adrenaline, yet the moment his gaze locked onto hers, the violence in him completely stilled.
It was a terrifying testament to his control.
He didn't argue. He stepped back, gesturing to the hanging, bleeding man with a mocking, bloody hand. "By all means, Doctor. If you think diplomacy will work better."
Zinovia stepped into the harsh fluorescent glare. She did not look at Nicander. She kept her dark eyes fixed on Olek, whose chest hitched with panicked, ragged breaths as the diminutive woman approached him.
She reached into the deep pocket of her trench coat and withdrew a small, lead-lined glass vial she had liberated from her hidden stash during their escape. She uncorked it with her thumb.
"Do you know the fundamental flaw of physical torture, Olek?
" Zinovia asked, her voice an absolute, chilling calm.
She lifted the vial, allowing the harsh light to illuminate the viscous, amber liquid inside.
"It relies on tissue damage. And the human body is remarkably adept at ignoring tissue damage when survival is on the line. I, however, do not damage tissue."
Olek stared at the vial, his bravado faltering as he strained against the heavy iron chains. "What is that?"
"A synthesized, highly concentrated extraction of Dendrocnide moroides," Zinovia explained casually, stepping within inches of him. "A botanical neuro-agonist. If introduced to a mucous membrane, it bypasses the physical pain receptors entirely and binds directly to the amygdala."
Nicander stood perfectly still in the shadows, his eyes burning into the side of her face, completely transfixed.
"What does it do?" Olek whispered, genuine, unadulterated terror finally cracking his voice.
"It tricks your brain into believing that your blood is physically boiling," Zinovia said softly.
"There will be no actual thermal damage.
Your skin will not burn. But your nervous system will register the sensation of being incinerated alive from the inside out.
The pain is so absolute, so psychologically shattering, that subjects typically induce their own cardiac arrest through sheer panic within three minutes. "
She withdrew a glass dropper from the vial. A single, amber bead hung suspended at the tip.
"I am going to place one drop in your left eye," Zinovia stated, leaning in until she could smell the sour sweat of his terror.
"You will tell me the name of the broker.
If you lie, or if you take too long, I will not give you the neutralizing saline, and you will spend the last three minutes of your life screaming until your vocal cords rupture. "
"Wait—" Olek gasped, thrashing wildly against the chains.
Zinovia didn't blink. She grabbed his jaw with astonishing strength, tilting his head back, and squeezed the dropper.
The amber liquid fell directly onto his bruised cornea.
For one second, nothing happened. Then, Olek’s entire body went rigid.
The veins in his neck bulged against the skin, thick and purple.
His jaw locked open in a silent, agonizing scream before a horrific, guttural shriek tore out of his throat—a sound so purely, fundamentally broken that it vibrated the iron chains above them.
He violently thrashed, his eyes rolling back in his skull, completely consumed by an invisible, chemical inferno.
"Ten seconds," Zinovia counted aloud, her voice devoid of any empathy. She held up a second vial, this one containing a clear, blue liquid. "The name, Olek."
"Lusk!" Olek shrieked, weeping uncontrollably, his boots kicking wildly at the empty air. "Morvath Lusk! He paid the crypto! He organized the cathedral hit!"
Zinovia lowered the dropper. Morvath Lusk. The exiled syndicate broker. It made terrifying, perfect sense.
"Where is he operating from?" she demanded, stepping closer to the thrashing man.
"The ledger!" Olek sobbed, thick tears of pure agony streaming down his battered face. "His exact coordinates are encrypted in a hard-drive ledger at the Azure Casino! Vault forty-two! Please! God, please make it stop!"
Zinovia uncorked the blue vial and swiftly splashed the neutralizing saline directly into his face.
Olek instantly went limp, his chin collapsing against his chest as he took great, heaving, weeping gasps of air. The invisible fire had been extinguished, leaving him completely psychologically broken, but entirely unharmed.
Zinovia calmly recorked both vials and slipped them back into her canvas coat. She turned away from the sobbing man and looked at Nicander.
Nicander was staring at her. The brutal enforcer who had just broken a man’s bones without breaking a sweat looked entirely stripped of his armor. There was no mockery left in his glacial eyes. There was only a dark, consuming fascination, bordering on reverence.
He realized she wasn't just a syndicate heiress. She was a weapon, just as lethal, just as ruthless as he was.
"Remind me," Nicander murmured, his voice dropping into a low, rough register as he closed the distance between them, "never to get on your bad side, Veltri."
"You are already on my bad side, Vargos," Zinovia replied, the adrenaline making her heart hammer frantically against her ribs. She met his gaze, refusing to look away from the dangerous, electric heat flaring in his eyes. "But right now, we have a casino to rob."