A few hours later, as dusk painted the sky in bruised purples and oranges, a black SUV pulled up outside. Discreet, unmarked. Two large men, quiet and efficient, emerged when I signaled from the window. They didn't ask questions. They saw Riley, wrapped him in a tarp, and carried him out like so much refuse. I followed, leaving the wrecked apartment behind.
They brought me straight to him. He was in a spacious, minimalist study, overlooking the twinkling lights of the city below, a delicate teacup in his hand. The contrast between his refined appearance – sharp suit, immaculate hair, calm demeanor – and the cold, assessing look in his eyes was jarring.
"Damon," The Rose said, his voice smooth as silk. "You did well."
I just nodded. I still hadn't spoken much since confronting Riley. The words were stuck somewhere behind the fury.
"He is... secured?" The Rose asked, gesturing vaguely.
"Barely alive," I replied, my voice still rough. "Like you wanted."
A slow smile spread across The Rose's face. It didn't reach his eyes. It was a smile that promised pain, control, and absolute ruthlessness. It was a dangerous smile.
"Excellent," he purred. "I knew I could rely on you, Damon. Despite... the personal nature of this task. You understand the importance of following instructions."
He stood up, setting the teacup down with an almost audible click. "Some men," he continued, walking around the desk towards me, "would have allowed emotion to cloud their judgment. Would have taken the quick, messy path. But you... you have discipline. Control. Even in your... altered state. Looks like the training is working, yeah?" He nudged my arm with his elbow.
He tilting his head slightly. His eyes held mine, examining me, probing. I didn't flinch. I'd learned not to with him.
"Hmm." He nodded slowly, a thoughtful expression on his face. "A debt. A profound one." He gestured down a hallway I hadn't noticed before, hidden behind a sliding panel. "Come, Damon. I have something for you. A gesture of my appreciation. And... a space for you to finally settle this debt."
He led me down the hallway. It was short, ending in a heavy, insulated steel door. He opened it with a keycard.
The smell hit me first. Metallic, clinical, with an underlying coppery tang. The room was soundproofed, the walls lined with smooth, dark material. In the center, under bright, harsh surgical lights, was a table. Restraints. Drains in the floor. Tools gleamed on a nearby cart, a horrifying array of blades, saws, clamps, wires.
It was precisely what it looked like. A private torture chamber.
And there, on the table, tied down securely, was Riley. He was conscious again, his eyes wide and fixed on me. Terror. Abject, soul-shattering terror. He couldn't speak, his face too mangled, his chest too broken for coherent words, but his eyes screamed.
The Rose walked over to the side of the room, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. He looked completely at ease, like a connoisseur admiring a piece of art.
"Your personal space, Damon," he said, a hint of genuine pleasure in his voice. "A place where you can... unwind. Pursue your interests without interruption. Or... simply express yourself." He glanced at Riley. "He is all yours. Take your time. Explore the possibilities. I find... focused work... can be quite cathartic."
He smiled again, that terrifying, detached smile. "I will be watching. Learn from this, Damon. Learn what you are capable of. What you are truly for."
He wasn't giving me permission. He was giving me a command, wrapped in the guise of a gift. Settle the debt. Show him what I could do. Let him see the monster he now owned.
Standing there, looking at Riley, years of pain, of loss, of stolen life crashed over me. I saw the empty chairs at my kitchen table, the toys that would never be played with, the pictures frozen in time.
Riley. It all came back to him. He wasn't just a man on a table. He was the embodiment of every nightmare, everything good I lost. There was no more hesitation. No more holding back. The rules of the world outside, the faint flicker of the man I used to be... they were gone. Drowned in the red mist of vengeance and the cold, approving gaze of The Rose.
My body shifted. Not just muscle contracting, but bone and tissue rearranging. A low grind, a silent scream of biological adaptation. My forearm blades extended, slick and sharp, bone honed to a terrible point. They slid out of my wrists, gleaming under the harsh light. My jaw widened, the shape of my face subtly changing as retractable mandibles shifted into place behind my lips, revealing rows of sharper, deadlier teeth.
Riley saw the transformation. His eyes went wide, fixed on the bone blades, the changing shape of my face. A final, desperate whimper escaped his torn throat. He tugged at the restraints, a futile struggle against the inevitable.
I approached the table slowly, deliberately. My footsteps were heavy on the concrete floor. Riley flinched with every step.
"You wanted to see what you created, Riley?" I finally said, my voice distorted now, a low growl layered with mechanical clicks from my shifting jaw. "You wanted to push the limits? See what happens when you rebuild a man?"
I stood over him, the bone blades inches from his chest. He was sobbing now, silent tears tracking through the blood and grime on his face.
"Look," I said, lifting a blade slightly. "Look at your masterpiece."
The rage was cold now, sharp and focused. It wasn't blind fury; it was intent. Every blow he'd inflicted, every moment of fear, every tear my wife had cried, every question my son would never ask... it all fueled this.
I didn't need The Rose's permission or his room. I would have found a way. But having it, having him presented like this, in this crucible of pain and death... it was fitting. A stage for the final act.
I plunged one of the bone blades into his chest.
Riley arched his back, a choked scream escaping his lips. The metal restraints dug into his skin. There was no mercy. No hesitation, no guilt. Nothing but the grim satisfaction of the blade sinking home. I twisted it. Slowly. He convulsed, his body trying to reject the intrusion.
I pulled the blade out, then drove the other one in. Again, and again, targeting vital organs, prolonging the agony. His blood ran down the table, pooling in the drains.
I lowered my head, letting the retractable jaws extend fully, the razor-sharp teeth clicking into alignment. The final terror in Riley's eyes was a powerful sensation. He saw his end, reflected in the inhuman shape of my face, a shape he had molded.
I leaned down, pressing my face close to his. He could smell the death on me, the metallic tang of my transformation. "You took them from me," I whispered, the sound a low growl. "Now I take everything from you."
And then, I used the jaws.
The act was brutal, visceral. There was ripping, tearing, the wet sounds of flesh giving way. Riley's body spasmed violently one last time. His eyes glazed over, fixed on the ceiling, but the terror remained frozen there.
I didn't stop. Not until there was nothing left that resembled the man who had ruined my life. It was messy, horrifying work, even for me. But it was necessary. Every tearing sound was a release, every spurt of blood a purification.
When it was done, when Riley was nothing but mangled ruin on the table, I stood back, breathing heavily, though not from exertion. My blades retracted, my jaw shifted back to a more human form, slick with blood and gore.
The room was silent save for the dripping of blood.
I looked over at The Rose.
He hadn't moved from the wall. He was still leaning there, arms crossed, watching. And he was smiling. Not just the cold, professional smile from before, but a genuine, pleased expression. A connoisseur satisfied with the performance.
His eyes met mine, and for a brief, chilling moment, I saw not just approval, but recognition. He saw the monster he had acquired, sharpened and unleashed. He saw something utterly broken, utterly remade, capable of terrible things.
And he liked it.
He pushed off the wall, walking towards me through the carnage. He didn't seem bothered by the blood on the floor, stepping carefully.
"Well," he said softly, his voice betraying nothing but satisfaction. "Now that..." He gestured to the table, to the ruin of Riley. "...is closure."
He clapped me lightly on the shoulder, the gesture strangely paternal in the blood-soaked room.
"Clean yourself up, Damon," he instructed. "You've earned your rest tonight. We have... other matters... to attend to tomorrow. Important work."
He turned and walked out of the torture chamber, leaving me alone with what was left of Riley and the chilling knowledge that while my vengeance was complete, my servitude to The Rose, and the monster I had become under his eye, had just truly begun. His smile lingered in the air, a promise of darker things yet to come.