DALKEY DISTRICT;IN BETWEEN HERMIT CAVE,NAUL AND HERMITAGE CAVE,LUCAN; PORTANCE IN DUBLIN IRELAND...10 PM.
The Bentley Mulliner Batur purred to a stop in front of what could barely be called a house. Madden Banks stepped out, his polished shoes clicking against the cold asphalt. His coat swayed slightly in the crisp Irish night air, sharp as the weight in his mind.
The building looked… ordinary. Windows like any other. Door like any other. A shell with the deceitful face of suburbia. But if anyone dared cross its threshold, death would greet them at the door with open arms.
He whistled softly as he entered, the sound echoing with eerie comfort. Inside, the air was still. The sort of stillness that didn't feel abandoned...but waiting.
At the center of the room, Madden stood poised. Then, deliberately, he began his stride.
Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right.
The pattern of movement etched an invisible 'M' on the tiled floor.
Mors. Latin for death. His signature.
One step forward with his left foot. A diagonal step back with his right. Another sidestep forward with the left. Then one final backwards shift with the right foot.
The moment the M completed, the ground trembled. The wall across from him groaned, split open down the center. A sequence of doors began unlocking in rapid succession,one triggering the next in a perfectly-timed domino effect.
This was the Mors Protocol.
A passageway revealed itself beyond the final door. But the path to it was laced with precision and death. Fifteen vertical tiles. Three horizontal. Miss one...just one...and you vanished into a trap that would never be found.
Madden stepped on the center tiles only, silent and precise, counting off twelve doors. At the twelfth, he broke pattern, stepping on all three tiles. A single deviation. A calculated ritual. Then back to the center steps until the final door welcomed him.
He descended into darkness.
The tunnel narrowed. The ground sloped downward. With every step, the air grew colder, heavier,until he arrived at the edge of a massive underground cavern.
And there it was.
A colossal python, mouth agape, glistening fangs gleaming in the dim red torchlight.
Most would panic. Scream. Run. But Madden knew the rules: silence. Stillness. No sudden movements,else the python will feed on you.
He stepped forward. Calm. Willing.
The snake swallowed him whole.
And he slid through the beast's throat like a smooth tunnel,landing perfectly on his feet inside the Portance dungeon.
The screams greeted him like music. A whip cracked somewhere behind a wall. A faint buzz from the bone saw echoed in the distance.
A perfect symphony of agony.
Madden walked with the authority of a god through hell, his long coat trailing behind him like a cloak of death. One by one, the guards at each cell bowed in silence. No words. They knew better.
He reached the final cell. The door opened immediately.
The scent hit him first. Metallic. Raw. Like rust and rot. Blood had painted the walls in abstract violence. The man in the center was unrecognizable,skin flayed, tongue partially gone, limbs twitching with reflexes that weren't his own anymore.
"Has he spoken the name?" Madden asked, voice low, unfeeling.
Kane, the guard nearest to the prisoner, shook his head. "No, sir. Still holding out."
Madden's smile was calm. Detached. "Today's going to be a long night."
He reached for the shelf, selected a fresh pair of black gloves, and slid them onto his hands with ritualistic grace. Then extended a hand toward Kane.
"Pass me the finger guillotine."
Kane obeyed.
The man whimpered, limbs shivering as two guards yanked him upright and forced his right hand onto the metal table. It locked with a sharp click.
"I don't even know you," Madden said, inspecting the polished chrome of the device. "There's no personal grudge here. But the principle… the principle is important."
The man tried to scream, plead...something...but his throat was torn. Only wheezes came out.
"This device," Madden said, holding up the guillotine like a treasured tool, "was built for hackers like you. The arrogant. The disposable." Madden looked at him and smirked. " But it's so bad that it's little Rose that'll get to experience the pain behind this toy instead of you."
At the mention of his daughter's name...Rose...the guy's body convulsed. Panic returned like lightning.
"Please, please! Not my family!" His voice cracked into a desperate cry.
Madden pressed the guillotine to the man's pinky. "I hate when families are pulled into filth. I'd never forgive myself if something happenes to my sister because of my decisions."
SNAP.
A scream ripped through the chamber as the finger hit the metal floor.
Madden's face didn't flinch. "So dramatic," he muttered. "It's just a pinky. Save the theatrics for something serious."
The man sobbed, trembling in his restraints.
"Next finger."
"No...no! I'll talk. I'll talk!" he gasped. "I don't know his name. I swear! He wired the money first. Told me to breach your asset logs… that's all!"
Madden's lips curled. "And you failed at both: breaking in and staying anonymous."
He applied the guillotine again. Then again. Until all five fingers from the right hand lay severed in a neat pile of pain. Blood dripped down the table's edge in slow rhythm.
Only then did Madden pull another chair and sit across from him,legs on either side of the chairback, arms folded atop it like a king prepared to listen to a fool.
"Start talking," he whispered, voice ice-cold.
The man babbled between sobs. "He's in Italy… that's all I know. I swear on my daughter's life!"
Madden leaned in, unimpressed. "I didn't ask for a geography lesson. I asked for a name."
Madden signalled his men to put all the toys...they are torturing machines...on the table and the man shivered involuntarily. "I...I just know that he's from Italy...I swear...if..."
Before the words had finished leaving his mouth, the man lurched. Head slammed down onto the table in desperation.
But,he miscalculated.
His temple met the edge of the craniotome.
A mechanical whir followed. The device flared to life. And then...grind.
Screams shrieked out as the machine ripped through skull and bone. His body spasmed once, twice,then fell limp.
The skull dropped, bounced once on the table, and cracked open, scattering brain matter like grey confetti.
Madden stared at the pulp in distaste. "Small brain for a hacker."
He dusted off his gloves, turned without another word, and exited the cell with the silence of a man who just took out the trash.