"Don't play games with me, Mr. Necrotox. I know exactly who you are!" Strauss's voice was sharp as he stared straight into Necrotox's eyes.
Necrotox didn't answer—he just let out a smirk. At this point, he knew that playing stupid with Strauss was useless.
"And who the f*ck are you? My nanny?" Necrotox said with a smirk, trying to provoke the grumpy officer in front of him to get a reaction.
"Heinrich Strauss, UEC-International Hero Bureau, Level 9 Officer. Mr. Necrotox—mark my words—we'll have plenty of time to get acquainted in the interrogation process." Strauss answered in a professional, no-nonsense manner, his posture straight, clearly taking pride in his job.
"Level 9!? Wheeeew…" Necrotox whistled, his smirk still playing on his lips. "Now I feel very honored! The almighty UEC officer, who could call in a nuke, comes to visit little old me, a guy with no impressive abilities!" He paused, then spat out his next words with a victor's smile. "You UEC bastards must've nearly shat your pants hearing about my virus. Otherwise, a Level 9—someone who could call in a nuke or summon Atlas, the Number One Hero, to bust my ass… wouldn't be here."
Strauss squinted his eyes, shook his head and let out a chuckle before immediately drawing a silenced pistol and firing two shots.
Phew. Phew.
"AAAAARGH! F*ck! You shot my feet, you bastard!" Necrotox protested, clutching his bleeding wounds.
Strauss didn't reply. Instead, he stepped forward and planted his foot on Necrotox's injured feet, grinding his heel left and right to worsen the wounds.
"AAARRRGGGHHH!"
"F*cking with me is inadvisable, Mr. Necrotox. You have no idea the range of moral flexibility the UEC grants me when dealing with scum like you." Strauss said with a cold smile, lightly slapping Necrotox's face with his gloved hand.
Necrotox winced before gasping, "Heh... you're good at this, 'Officer'. How many other 'villains' have you practiced on?"
Strauss responded with a calm smile. "I don't know, Mr. Necrotox. Have you ever counted how many ants you've stepped on in your life?"
"You f*cking psycho!" Necrotox spat.
"We both are... Mr. Necrotox. I'm just the one who chooses the right victims." Strauss stepped back, retrieving a UEC-branded handkerchief from his pocket. He meticulously wiped the blood from his boot, then removed his soiled glove and replaced it with a fresh one.
He tossed both the glove and handkerchief into a bin, lit a match, and burned them with visible disdain.
"If you know what's good for you, you'll tell me what I want to know." Strauss began his interrogation, his voice like chilled steel. "What happened last night? Who knocked you and your puppets out?"
Necrotox remained silent, glaring daggers at Strauss. If looks could kill, Strauss would have died a hundred times over.
"It seems... you need some encouragement from my persuasion tools." Strauss produced a leather bag filled with rusted, medieval-looking instruments, their surfaces stained with old blood. Necrotox's eyes flickered at the sight.
"I..." Necrotox opened his mouth, realizing defiance would only bring pain.
"I don't know who he is. I didn't even see his face." A bead of sweat trailed down Necrotox's forehead as he spoke. "That man moved like a ghost in the darkness—no trace, no sound. He took us down one by one. By the time he reached me... it was too late." The memory visibly unsettled him. For the first time, Necrotox had felt true fear—not of a person, but of the darkness itself.
"Oh? Interesting.... Elaborate." Strauss leaned forward, his curiosity piqued.
For an hour, Strauss interrogated Necrotox in the secure room, extracting every detail until he was satisfied. Finally, he turned to the Special Task Force.
"Prepare a special convoy for Mr. Necrotox. We're taking him to Purgatory."
The team moved instantly, firing a specialized containment foam bullet that encased Necrotox, completely neutralizing any potential toxins hidden in his body from using it before transport.
— Noon - Maximilian New House —
In front of the cozy four-story brownstone house, Ricardo and his gang members stood staring in confusion, clutching improvised weapons... baseball bats, nail-studded pipes, and various hardware tools.
"Mommy, who are these scary-looking uncles?" a child across the street asked innocently.
"Honey, don't point! Come, Mommy will take you for ice cream." The mother quickly scooped up her son and hurried away.
Pedestrians eyed Ricardo's group warily, some already dialing the police.
At the doorway, Maximilian surveyed the gang like they were complete idiots.
"Didn't I tell you to bring cleaning tools? What exactly did you think 'clean my house' meant?"
"Er..." Ricardo stammered. They had no excuse. When their new boss summoned them that morning to "clean his house," they'd assumed that... given his violent tendencies... that he meant the other kind of cleaning.
The group shuffled awkwardly until Maximilian sighed. "Come inside first. Ricardo, take your boys to the supermarket and buy actual cleaning supplies." He handed Ricardo some cash and shooed them off.
As the gang turned to leave—
"And leave those damn bats and pipes here! Are you planning to rob the supermarket?!" Maximilian roared.
The men frantically dropped their weapons before scurrying out.
— Ricardo's POV —
I have to admit... the boss's house is... unique.
The first floor was normal—we cleaned it quickly without any issues. Nothing unusual there.
The second and third floors were a bit barebones, but we rearranged the scattered furniture to make them look decent. Though the boss will probably need to buy more furnishings later to make them properly livable.
When we reached the fourth floor, the boss told us to skip his master bedroom while he worked on some registration and tax data. Besides the simple couch and table, we moved up from the second floor, and his room was... shockingly minimal. Just a desk, a chair, and a camping bed—the kind you'd see at outdoor gear stores.
This place feels more like a field command tent than a proper home. Rusty, our military enthusiast, pointed out that the first-floor counter is made of ballistic-resistant material.
Does the boss expect gunfights in his living room?
Things got weirder on the rooftop. We found markings labeled "For SAM Emplacement"... complete with installation slots. That's definitely illegal under civilian arms regulations.
Surely the boss doesn't actually have a surface-to-air missile system tucked away somewhere... right?
But all that was still somewhat acceptable.
Then we entered the basement.
And things went to shit...
An automated turret on the ceiling immediately opened fire on us! What the actual f*ck, Boss?!
(Not that I said that out loud.)
The turret kept shooting for three full minutes before the boss finally came downstairs and unplugged it.
"Sorry, I forgot to add your biometrics to its IFF system."
ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! ARE YOU F*CKING KIDDING ME!!!??? You call us to clean your damn house but forget to disable the damn thing?!
(Again, I kept that thought to myself.)
After that... things seemed calm. We started cleaning, removing dust covers from various objects...
And that's when we found it.
According to Rusty, we'd uncovered what looked like... an experimental railgun designed for small tactical teams… like… those LMG teams in WW2.
Wait... isn't this classified military tech?! SAM sites and turrets are one thing, but this? This is way above our pay grade... like... "UEC death sentence" levels of illegal.
Then, we discovered the containment cell.
Undisclosed forcefield technology. For containing... alien artifacts? Or something even worse?
Why the hell do you have this in your basement, Boss?!
And then... the fridge.
A secret fridge with three body bags.
One of them was occupied.
And the boss just shrugged and said:
"Ah! I'll keep steak in there later."
WHAT ABOUT THE OCCUPIED BAG, YOU LUNATIC?!
(Not that I asked. I really don't want to know who's that poor bastard.)
At that point, we just wanted to get the hell out of there.
— Evening - IHB Local Branch —
— Evening - IHB Local Branch —
Strauss sat in the conference room with three guests. The first was Thomas, captain of the Cemetery Police Precinct—the officer whose team had initially found the unconscious immigrants. Next to him sat Oldcowboy, the local hero who worked closely with law enforcement. And finally... Photon Fury, one of the IHB's top twenty ranked heroes, had been summoned to review Necrotox's capture and its aftermath.
"You're telling me someone knocked them all out and left them there for us to clean up the mess?" Photon Fury asked, her voice thick with skepticism.
"Yes," Strauss answered calmly before continuing. "According to my investigation, it appears to have been a vigilante who came across Necrotox and his puppets."
"'Came across'? Heh..." Photon Fury scoff. "Come on, Strauss! You can't possibly expect us to believe it was that simple?"
Strauss remained impassive. "What exactly are you implying, Ms. Photon Fury?"
"I'm saying it's impossible for some lone vigilante," she made mocking quotation marks gesture with her fingers, "to just 'happen upon' a villain who specializes in hiding his identity so well he bypassed all your security measures? Give me a break, Strauss—I know what you're trying to hide here." Her tone was openly antagonistic.
"If you're suggesting I'm covering up institutional incompetence to the UEC higher-ups, don't bother. I'm reporting everything strictly according to the evidence and verified facts..." Strauss paused deliberately, locking eyes with her. "...including the fact that you deemed fan meet-and-greets and autograph sessions more important than a direct mission assignment from the UEC Council."
"You—!" Photon Fury's teeth ground together audibly, her face flushing deep red. If this got reported, she'd almost certainly be demoted from her coveted top-twenty ranking!