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"When do you think he's going to show up?"
Major General Ralph stood in front of the Army Corrections Command building, one leg bouncing with nervous energy. His uniform was immaculate this morning, every button in the right place, eyepatch secured properly, but his body language gave away more than he probably realized. He checked his watch for the third time in as many minutes. Seven thirty-two AM.
Major General Axel stood beside him, arms crossed, watching the street with the calm focus of someone who had learned long ago that worrying didn't change outcomes. "It's not like he's late, Ralph. We're just early."
"We're thirty minutes early," Ralph corrected. "Because I didn't want to risk being late when picking up an S-rank death row inmate with the horror doctor."
"Fair point."
The Army Corrections Command building loomed behind them, a brutal concrete structure that looked exactly like what it was: a place where the Empire stored people it wanted to forget. No windows on the first three floors. Guard towers at each corner. Walls thick enough to contain anything short of a Mythical-rank breakout attempt. The kind of building that made passersby walk a little faster and look the other way.
Ralph shifted his weight again. "Do you think he'll actually show up? Or send some kind of... I don't know, tentacle messenger?"
"Ralph."
"What? It's a legitimate question. The man has tentacles. Lots of them. And they do things that tentacles shouldn't be able to do."
"You're spiraling."
"I'm preparing for contingencies."
Axel turned to look at his colleague properly.
"You've been checking your sidearm every five minutes since we got here. When's the last time you actually needed to draw that thing?"
"Two years ago. Gate breach in the northern district."
"And when's the last time you thought you might need to draw it on a civilian?"
Ralph opened his mouth, then closed it. The answer was never. In twenty years of military service, he had never once considered pulling his weapon on a non-combatant. But standing here, waiting for Dr. Nox to arrive, his hand kept drifting toward the holster anyway.
"He played with Steven's kids," Ralph said quietly.
"Made them laugh. They wanted him to come back."
"I know."
"And now we're handing him a death row inmate so he can do something with the body that we don't fully understand and probably don't want to understand."
"Also true."
"How do you process that? How do you reconcile those two things?"
Axel was quiet for a moment, watching a car pass by on the street. Then he said,
"I don't think we're supposed to. I think Dr. Nox exists in a category that our normal frameworks weren't designed to handle. Phenomenon. That classification exists specifically because some things don't fit into the boxes we've built."
"That's not comforting."
"It wasn't meant to be."
They fell into silence again. A few enlisted soldiers walked past them into the building, saluting smartly before disappearing through the reinforced doors. None of them asked why two Major Generals were standing outside at seven thirty in the morning. In the military, you learned quickly that some questions were better left unasked.
Seven thirty-five.
Ralph checked his watch again, then immediately felt stupid for doing it. "What if he doesn't show? What if he changed his mind?"
"Then we have a very awkward conversation with the warden about why we ordered a high-security transfer at eight AM for a pickup that never happened."
"Great. That'll do wonders for our reputations."
"Our reputations survived that time you accidentally sent a formal complaint to the Emperor instead of the supply department. They'll survive this too."
"I thought we agreed never to mention that again."
"I agreed to nothing."
Seven thirty-eight.
A man turned the corner two blocks down and started walking toward them. Average height, well-built, wearing dark jeans and a black shirt that fit him well but not too well. Dark hair that fell across his forehead in a way that looked effortless. Brown eyes that caught the morning light and turned almost amber. He moved with easy confidence, the kind that came naturally rather than being practiced.
Ralph and Axel both straightened instinctively, their military training kicking in without conscious thought.
The man approached them with a warm smile, raising one hand in greeting.
"Hello, Major General Ralph, Major General Axel. It seems you're here early."
His voice was pleasant, friendly, the kind that made you want to smile back without thinking about it. Nothing about him suggested horror or eldritch abominations or tentacles that did surgery. He looked like someone who might sell you insurance or help you pick out a nice tie at a department store.
Both Major Generals turned fully to face him, their expressions carefully neutral. Years of training in diplomatic situations and high-stakes negotiations kicked in automatically. Never show surprise. Never show uncertainty. Project confidence even when you have absolutely no idea what's happening.
"May I ask who you are?" Ralph said, his tone polite but professional.
Axel's hand had drifted slightly closer to his sidearm, a motion so subtle it was almost unconscious. Both of them knew exactly who this person was, or at least they had a very good idea, but protocol demanded confirmation. And part of Ralph desperately hoped he was wrong.
The man's smile widened, and something about it was disarmingly genuine. Not the practiced smile of someone trying to sell you something, but the real thing. Warm. Almost playful.
"I'm Nox, of course."
The words hung in the air for exactly three seconds while both Major Generals processed them.
Ralph felt his eyebrows trying to climb off his forehead. Axel's carefully maintained neutral expression cracked just slightly around the edges, a microexpression of surprise that lasted perhaps a quarter of a second before he reassembled his professional mask.
"You're..." Ralph started, then stopped. "That is... you look..."
"Different?" Nox supplied helpfully, still smiling. "More human than expected?"
"Yes"
Both Major Generals said before they could stop themselves.
Then both of them immediately realized what they'd just implied and their hands flew up to cover their mouths in perfect synchronization, like they'd rehearsed it.
Nox laughed. Not the kind of laugh that made you check over your shoulder for danger. Just a genuine, warm laugh from someone who found the situation genuinely funny.
"Well, maybe my current body seems human," he said, and there was something in the way he emphasized 'current body' that made both officers feel like they'd just been told a joke they didn't quite understand but definitely shouldn't ask about.
Ralph and Axel exchanged a glance. Questions piled up behind their eyes. What do you mean current body, how many bodies do you have, is this some kind of shapeshifting ability, why do you look like a normal person when we've seen you with tentacles coming out of your face.
Some questions didn't have answers you wanted to hear. And some answers created more questions than they solved. This felt like both.
"Well then," Axel said, his voice returning to its usual professional calm.
"Shall we proceed with the transfer?"
"Lead the way," Nox said pleasantly.
They turned toward the building. Ralph stepped forward to push open the heavy reinforced door, then held it for Nox with the kind of courtesy that was deeply ingrained in military culture. Nox walked through with a small nod of thanks.
The interior of the Army Corrections Command building was exactly as cheerful as the exterior suggested. Gray concrete walls. Fluorescent lights that hummed with a frequency designed to give you a headache. The smell of industrial cleaner trying desperately and failing to mask the underlying scents of sweat, fear, and something darker that neither Major General wanted to name.
The guard at the front desk snapped to attention when he saw the two Major Generals approach.
"Sir! Good morning, sir!"
"At ease," Ralph said. "We're here for the transfer. Prisoner 4471, Heinrich Volker. It should be in the system."
The guard's fingers moved across his keyboard, clicking through screens. His expression remained carefully neutral, but both Ralph and Axel noticed the way his eyes flicked briefly toward Nox, lingered for just a moment, then returned to his screen. The guard was young, maybe twenty five, with the kind of face that hadn't quite decided if it wanted to be handsome or just average. Right now it was settling on
"Trying very hard not to ask questions."
"Transfer authorized," the guard said, his voice admirably steady.
"Prisoner 4471 is currently in Cell Block D, Maximum Security Wing. I'll need you to sign here, here, and initial here."
Ralph pulled out his identification and began working through the paperwork. Beside him, Axel maintained his calm observation of their surroundings, but both of them were acutely aware of Nox standing slightly behind them, hands in his pockets, looking for all the world like someone waiting for a bus.
The guard's eyes kept drifting back to him. Not obviously. Just little glances, the kind you make when something doesn't quite fit your expectations and your brain is trying to work out why.
"Heinrich Volker," the guard said, reading from his screen as Ralph finished the paperwork. "S-rank. Super speed ability. Seventeen counts of first-degree murder committed during a psychotic episode three years ago. Currently on death row, execution scheduled for next month." He looked up at Ralph.
"That's the one you want?"
"That's the one."
"May I ask what the transfer is for?" The guard's tone was professional, but the question carried weight. Transfers from maximum security to anywhere were rare. Transfers of S-rank death row inmates were practically unheard of.
"Classified military operation," Axel said smoothly. "Need-to-know basis only."
The guard nodded, accepting the non-answer with the resignation of someone who had learned not to push.
"Understood, sir. I'll need an escort to accompany you to the cell. Protocol for S-rank prisoners."
"Approved."
The guard picked up his radio. "This is Front Desk. I need an escort team to Cell Block D for a high-value transfer. Two Major Generals plus one civilian. Prisoner 4471."
The radio crackled back. "Acknowledged. Team en route. ETA two minutes."
They waited in silence. Nox seemed completely comfortable with it, standing with his weight slightly on one leg, looking around the lobby with mild interest. His eyes lingered on the security cameras in the corners, the reinforced doors leading deeper into the facility, the panic button behind the guard's desk that had clearly been installed recently judging by the still-bright paint around the mounting brackets.
A pair of guards emerged from a door on the left side of the lobby. Both were heavily armed, wearing tactical gear that suggested they took the "maximum security" part of their job description very seriously. Body armor. Helmets. Rifles slung across their chests.
"Major Generals," the lead guard said, saluting sharply. "We're ready to escort you to Cell Block D."
They moved deeper into the building. Down a hallway that smelled like industrial strength disinfectant. Through three separate checkpoints, each one requiring identification scans and confirmation from armed guards. Past holding cells where lower-security prisoners sat on concrete benches, staring at nothing with the hollow expressions of people who had already accepted their futures.
The building seemed to get darker as they descended. Not literally the fluorescent lights were just as bright here, but something about the atmosphere changed. The air felt heavier. The sounds became more isolated, echoing differently off the walls.
They passed a room where someone was screaming.
It wasn't the scream of someone in immediate danger. It was worse. It was the scream of someone who had been screaming for a very long time and would probably keep screaming for much longer, the sound worn down into something raw and mechanical, more reflex than conscious expression.
Nox's expression didn't change at all. Ralph found that more disturbing than if he'd reacted.
"Medical wing," one of the guards explained without being asked, his voice carrying the flat affect of someone who'd heard those screams so many times they'd stopped meaning anything. "Research subjects."
"Research subjects," Nox repeated, his tone carefully neutral.
"The Empire's advanced interrogation and biological research program," the guard clarified. Not proudly. Just stating a fact.
"Most of them are prisoners who volunteered for reduced sentences. Some are political dissidents. Some are monsters we've captured alive from gates."
They passed another room. Through the small window in the door, Ralph caught a glimpse of something strapped to a table, IV lines running into its arms, electrodes attached to its head. It was hard to tell if it had started as human or not.
"The Empire doesn't really follow the international conventions on prisoner treatment," Axel murmured to Nox, his voice low enough that only the three of them could hear.
"This is a military state. The rules are... different here."
"I noticed," Nox said. His tone was conversational, like he was commenting on the weather.
They descended another level. The screaming faded behind them, replaced by a different sound: the low, constant hum of the building's ventilation system working overtime to cycle the air down here.
"Cell Block D," the lead guard announced as they reached a reinforced door at the end of the corridor.
"Maximum security. Death row. Every prisoner on this level is scheduled for execution within the next six months."
He swiped his keycard and pressed his palm against a biometric scanner. The door clicked open with a sound like a bank vault unsealing.
The corridor beyond was lined with cells on both sides. Each one was small, maybe three meters by three meters, with concrete walls and a single narrow slit at eye level that served as a window. The doors were solid metal, the kind that would take an S-rank hunter using their full power to break through.
Most of the cells were silent. A few had sounds coming from them: muttering, quiet sobbing, the occasional burst of laughter that didn't sound entirely sane.
They walked past cell after cell. The guard checked the numbers on each door, counting down toward their destination.
"Prisoner 4471 is at the end," he said. "We keep the S-ranks separated from the rest. Less chance of them coordinating an escape attempt."
The cell at the end of the corridor had an additional security feature: two guards stationed permanently outside the door, rotating shifts every four hours. Both snapped to attention when they saw the Major Generals approach.
"We're here for the transfer," Ralph said.
One of the guards unlocked the cell door. The mechanism was complex, requiring three separate keys turned in sequence, plus another biometric scan. The door swung open with a heavy groan of metal on metal.
The cell inside was bare except for a concrete bench bolted to the wall and a toilet in the corner. No windows. No personal items. Nothing that could be used as a weapon or tool.
And sitting on the bench, hands clasped between his knees, was Heinrich Volker.
He looked younger than Ralph had expected. Maybe thirty at most. Short dark hair, pale skin, lean build. His eyes were bright blue and completely lucid, which somehow made everything worse. This wasn't a monster. This wasn't a raving lunatic. This was a person who looked perfectly normal and had murdered seventeen people anyway.
Volker looked up when the door opened. His eyes moved from Ralph to Axel to Nox, assessing each of them in turn. Then he smiled.
It was not a friendly smile.
"Well, well," Volker said, his voice carrying easily across the small cell.
"Two Major Generals and some random civilian. Must be my lucky day." He stood up slowly, hands raised to show he wasn't a threat.
"Let me guess. You're here to tell me the execution's been moved up? Or is this one of those 'suicide mission' recruitment speeches I've heard so much about?"
Ralph stepped forward, his expression stern.
"Heinrich Volker. Prisoner 4471. By authority of the Azareth Empire Military, you are being transferred into the custody of—"
"Save it," Volker interrupted, his smile widening.
"I don't care about the official speech. Just tell me: am I getting executed today, or am I getting sent to die on some suicide mission at the front lines?"
"Neither," Axel said.
Volker's smile faltered slightly. "Neither? Then what the hell are you doing here?"
"You're being transferred," Ralph continued, ignoring the interruption, "for purposes related to classified military operations."
"Classified." Volker laughed, but there was no humor in it.
"Right. Because everything the Empire does is classified. Tell me, do you jackasses classify your breakfast orders too? 'Secret Mission: Eggs and Toast, Operation Sunny Side Up'?"
The guards tensed slightly. One of them took a half-step forward, hand moving toward the stun baton on his belt.
Volker noticed and laughed again.
"Oh, what are you going to do? Beat me? Tase me? I'm on death row, you moron. I'm already getting the worst punishment the Empire can dish out. What are you going to do, kill me harder?"
"Settle down," Ralph said, his voice carrying command weight.
"Or what?" Volker took a step forward, his movements casual but carrying an edge of violence.
"You'll shoot me? Go ahead. I'd rather die quick from a bullet than spend another month in this concrete box waiting for them to pump me full of chemicals."
He looked directly at Nox, and something in his expression shifted. Not quite recognition. More like a predator identifying something that didn't smell like prey.
"And who the hell are you?" Volker asked.
"You're not military. Look too soft. Too clean. You some kind of researcher? Here to study the crazy murder man before they put me down?"
Nox didn't respond. He just stood there, hands still in his pockets, expression pleasantly neutral.
Volker's smile returned, sharper now.
"Oh, you're the strong silent type. I get it. Think you're too good to talk to a death row prisoner. Think you're better than—"
Nox moved.
One moment he was standing still. The next he was directly in front of Volker, close enough that the prisoner's eyes went wide with surprise. Volker's S-rank reflexes kicked in automatically, his body starting to blur with super speed.
But Nox was faster.
Something silver flashed in Nox's hand. A syringe, thin and precise, already moving in an arc that ended at Volker's throat. The needle punched through skin and muscle with precision, hitting the carotid artery on the first try.
Volker's mouth opened to scream, but Nox's other hand was already there, pressing firmly against his lips, muffling the sound.
The plunger depressed. Green liquid flooded into Volker's bloodstream.
Awakening Anesthetic.
Volker's eyes went wide. His body locked up instantly, muscles seizing as the anesthetic spread through his system faster than his enhanced physiology could process it. His super speed ability tried to kick in, tried to accelerate his metabolism to flush the drug, but the more his body fought it, the faster it took effect.
Ten seconds later, Volker's eyes rolled back in his head. His body went completely limp, held upright only by Nox's hand against his chest.
Nox lowered him carefully to the concrete floor, arranging him almost gently so that he was lying flat on his back, head tilted to the side to keep his airway clear.
Then Nox straightened up, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the blood from the injection site off his fingers. He tucked the empty syringe back into his coat with practiced ease.
"Now then," Nox said pleasantly, his voice carrying across the suddenly very quiet cell. "Finally. Peace and quiet."
Both Major Generals were staring at him. The guards were staring at him. Everyone in the immediate vicinity was staring at him.
Ralph found his voice first. "That was... efficient."
"He was annoying," Nox said, as if that explained everything.
Axel's mouth twitched. It wasn't quite a smile, but it was close.
"I have to admit, I'm impressed. Most people would have let him finish his rant."
"Most people have more patience than I do," Nox replied.
The guards looked at each other, then back at Nox, then at the unconscious prisoner on the floor. One of them cleared his throat.
"Sir, we can arrange for a medical transport to take the prisoner to wherever you need him."
"That's very kind of you," Nox said, his tone genuinely appreciative.
"But I can take it from here."
"Are you sure?" Ralph asked. "Volker's an S-rank. Even paralyze, he's dangerous. We have specialized vehicles designed for this kind of—"
"I'm sure," Nox said. He was still smiling that pleasant, friendly smile. "Really. I appreciate the offer, but I can handle it."
There was something in the way he said it that made both Major Generals hesitate. Not threatening. Just... certain. The kind of certainty that made you realize arguing would be pointless.
"Very well," Axel said slowly.
Nox walked over to Volker's unconscious form and knelt beside him. He reached up with both hands and grasped his own face, fingers pressing against the skin just below his hairline.
Then he pulled.