She wasn't even close to the Directors César had encountered in his life, the ones who first tortured and then asked questions, or didn't even ask a single one. They just kidnapped you to torture you for fun… and that was the best part, because if they kidnapped you for answers, you got fucked like César did. They always started light, shocking you, cutting you, needles under your fingers just to introduce themselves and then they escalated… spraying acid, cutting off fingers, maybe a bit of skinning, pulling out teeth, gouging eyes… they were real motherfuckers.
What Sirina just did was the lamest, cringiest threat he had ever received… and yet, it told him even more about this world. Like, how the fuck could anyone fold under words this light, this meaningless?
If criminals could fold under this, then this was a fucking playground for César. Moreover, if Sirina herself thought she could threaten him, pressure him… it was just a laugh. Nothing more to him, well, except that it meant it was now his turn to show her what a real threat was, how to do it properly, and how to do it effectively.
"Oh, that is funny." His voice came.
"Why so?" Sirina asked back, though she knew the threat she had delivered barely even reached him, it was like it bounced off and that only made her more excited to see what would work, what wouldn't, or, more importantly, how he would respond.
"Because it's laughable that you think you're the danger."
"So you mean you are the danger? If so, why would you be a danger to me?" Sirina asked back, sensing that her threat hadn't really worked, and that now she would receive one in return. It felt like a back-and-forth, though it was something else entirely.
She never thought this day would play out like this, that any of this would be happening at all. It felt like she was back in her early twenties, when she was a field agent.
[System: Please do not do stupid things.]
Well it is late for it.
César smiled as he slowly pulled a switchblade from his pocket. It was laughably small, more like the kind of switchblade used for cleaning nails or something. Still, he carried it for a reason. If things went wrong, that three‑centimeter blade could do damage and now it came as a clutch.
"See… you're wearing high heels, and the door is exactly behind your back. It opens inward, not outward, which means you lose time standing up, and more time pulling it open." He flicked the knife open. "Which means I can stab you in the neck, in the head, in the back… and you'll just bleed out. And your goons outside or any police officer won't stand a chance once I grab the pistol that holstered on your back."
Silence… César simply held the knife in his hand. Silence from Sirna as well. She didn't even look at it, she just stared straight at him, because she knew… she was fucked by the situation he had just laid out.
Moreover, it only gave the small‑dick vibe, how he noticed every single little detail he could use to his advantage, and now he was doing exactly that and moreover he was right.
The gun was holstered on her back, under the suit jacket, and pulling it out would take time… time she didn't have. César could easily lean over the table and stab her, and neither the heels nor the door would help her escape.
"What are you, some action‑movie star? Gunning down everybody?" She asked, giggling slightly… but it was clearly forced, and she was preparing herself. Even if it sounded like César had just said something far‑fetched, like pulling off a move that was almost impossible … she was already stepping out of her heels to run better if something happens.
"No, Sirina…" César began, slowly rolling up the sleeve on his arm before looking straight into her eyes. "I once was the worst of the worst… or rather, the best of the best." He showed his hand to her… more precisely, the tattoo. "I hope you understand your situation, Sirina."
Well indeed, she just froze, staring at the tattoo. She looked like a confused dog, her mouth open, her eyes wide, just staring at it. "Ohh… what an interesting twist…."