The room was silent, save for the crackling sound of the broken overhead fan. The room was cramped and unkempt, with noodle packs littered on the ground and rats occasionally scuttering around.
A man breathed raggedly as he lay on the cold ground weakly, blood staining his shirt, some dried, some fresh. Blood crusted over his busted lip, one eye already swollen shut.
Kai stood in front of him, dressed in black, sleeves rolled up. His face was devoid of warmth, and his eyes were sharp and ice-cold. In Kai's hand was a rusted iron rod, its end already slick with blood.
"I'll ask one last time," Kai said quietly, though his voice carried a hint of danger. "Who sent you?"
The man spat out a mixture of blood and saliva on the ground, his eyes filled with terror. "I-I told you! I don't know! I was just paid! I swear—"
