Into the Shadows

The car raced through the city streets, the bright lights of luxury buildings flashing by in a blur. Pascal sat rigidly in the backseat, his breath still coming in shallow gasps as he tried to wrap his mind around what had just happened. Victor Kraus sat across from him, his eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched with barely restrained fury. The silence in the car was thick, broken only by the sound of the tires on the pavement and the distant hum of the city outside.

Sasha, seated in the front passenger seat, glanced back at Pascal and Kraus. She looked as calm as ever, her face a mask of detachment. The driver, a man Pascal had never seen before, kept his eyes focused on the road, speeding through the city with practiced ease. He didn't speak, and Pascal got the feeling that this wasn't his first time driving a getaway car.

Pascal's mind was spinning, his thoughts racing from one frantic idea to the next. What the hell had he gotten himself into? The weight of their actions—kidnapping one of the most powerful men in the city—was beginning to sink in. They had Kraus in the car, bound and gagged, and yet it felt like they had just unleashed a storm they couldn't possibly control.

As the car sped toward the outskirts of the city, the streets became darker, quieter. They were heading into the industrial district, a far cry from the glitz and glamour Pascal was used to. He'd partied in high-end clubs, rubbed shoulders with billionaires, and indulged in every vice his father's money could buy. But this—this was something else entirely.

Sasha broke the silence, her voice calm and steady. "We're almost there."

"Where are we going?" Pascal asked, his voice shaky.

Sasha turned her head slightly, just enough to give him a sideways glance. "Someplace safe."

Pascal wasn't sure what she meant by "safe." Nothing about this felt safe. He could feel the weight of Kraus's stare burning into him. The man hadn't said a word since they'd forced him into the car, but his silence spoke volumes. Kraus wasn't afraid—he was angry. Furious, even. And that scared Pascal more than anything.

The car eventually pulled off the main road, winding its way down a narrow street lined with abandoned warehouses and crumbling factories. It was the kind of place where no one would come looking, the kind of place where secrets were buried and forgotten. The driver slowed the car to a stop in front of a dilapidated building, its windows broken and its walls covered in graffiti.

"We're here," Sasha said, opening her door.

Pascal followed suit, stepping out of the car and onto the cracked pavement. The air was cool, and the smell of rust and decay hung heavy around them. Kraus was pulled out of the car next, his hands bound tightly in front of him. Pascal watched as the driver and Sasha exchanged a few words in low tones before the driver got back into the car and drove off, disappearing into the night.

Pascal's stomach churned. They were on their own now.

Sasha led them toward the entrance of the abandoned building, her steps sure and confident. Pascal followed behind, his pulse still racing. Kraus, forced to walk between them, remained silent but alert, his eyes darting around, taking in every detail.

The inside of the building was just as decrepit as the exterior. Broken machinery and discarded tools littered the floor, and the air was thick with dust. Sasha led them deeper into the building, until they reached a large, empty room with high ceilings and exposed beams. There, in the center of the room, was a single wooden chair.

Sasha gestured for Pascal to help her, and together, they pushed Kraus into the chair, securing him tightly. Once Kraus was bound, Sasha stepped back, folding her arms across her chest.

"We need to talk," she said, her voice cool and commanding.

Pascal stood next to her, unsure of what to do next. Kraus's eyes locked onto him, and for the first time, the man spoke.

"You think you're in control, don't you?" Kraus's voice was low and dangerous, each word laced with venom. "You have no idea what you're dealing with."

Pascal felt a shiver run down his spine. There was something about Kraus's voice, about the calm way he spoke, that made Pascal feel like he was standing on the edge of a cliff. He glanced at Sasha, hoping she would say something, but she remained silent, her gaze fixed on Kraus.

"You think this little stunt is going to get you what you want?" Kraus continued, his eyes narrowing. "I'll tell you right now—it won't. You don't have the stomach for what comes next."

Pascal clenched his fists, trying to steady himself. He had been in tight spots before, but this was different. This was life or death. He glanced at Sasha again, but she still didn't speak. Instead, she walked over to Kraus, her movements slow and deliberate.

She leaned in close, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "You're going to tell us everything we need to know about your deal with Mendes Boomerang."

Kraus raised an eyebrow. "Is that what this is about? Money?"

Sasha smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "Oh, it's about much more than money. But let's start there."

Kraus leaned back in the chair, his expression unchanged. "You're wasting your time. I don't make deals with amateurs."

Pascal's heart pounded in his chest. He had known this would be dangerous, but he hadn't expected Kraus to be so…unflappable. The man was completely unfazed, even while bound to a chair in an abandoned building. It was unnerving.

Sasha, however, didn't seem bothered by Kraus's bravado. She straightened up, her face a mask of cool professionalism. "We'll see," she said. "You might change your mind once we get started."

Pascal watched as Sasha pulled out her phone and dialed a number. After a brief conversation, she hung up and turned to him. "We have someone coming who can…persuade Mr. Kraus to cooperate."

Pascal's stomach twisted. He didn't like the sound of that.

"What do you mean, persuade?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Sasha didn't answer. Instead, she walked to the far end of the room, leaving Pascal and Kraus alone in tense silence. Pascal could feel Kraus's gaze on him, heavy and piercing.

"You don't want to be a part of this, kid," Kraus said, his voice low and menacing. "Walk away while you still can."

Pascal swallowed hard. Part of him wanted to listen, to run as far away from this situation as possible. But another part of him—the part that had always craved excitement, danger, the thrill of the unknown—kept him rooted in place.

"I don't have a choice," Pascal said, though he wasn't sure if he was trying to convince Kraus or himself.

Kraus's lips curled into a cold smile. "Everyone has a choice."

Before Pascal could respond, the sound of a car engine echoed through the abandoned building, growing louder as it neared. The harsh, metallic squeal of brakes followed, and Pascal turned his head toward the entrance. The tension in the room seemed to thicken, as if the very air had grown heavier.

Sasha straightened up from her place in the corner, her sharp gaze locked on the doorway. Pascal could hear footsteps approaching, slow and deliberate. Whoever was coming wasn't in a rush, and that only made Pascal's anxiety spike. He wasn't ready for this. He didn't even know what "this" was, and yet here he was—deep in a situation that was spiraling out of control.

The door creaked open, and a tall, broad-shouldered man in a black coat stepped inside. His face was partially shadowed by the dim light of the warehouse, but his cold, calculating eyes caught the faint light as they scanned the room. He carried a black duffel bag slung over one shoulder, and the moment Pascal saw it, dread pooled in his stomach. This wasn't just some hired muscle—this man was something far worse.

Sasha moved toward him with a small nod. "Everything ready?"

The man dropped the duffel bag onto the ground with a thud, his eyes flicking briefly to Kraus before he answered. "Ready as always."

Pascal's heart pounded in his chest. He hadn't signed up for this. Sure, Sasha had told him they'd need to "handle" Kraus, but he hadn't expected things to escalate to this point. Not so quickly.

The man knelt by the duffel bag and unzipped it slowly, methodically, like he had done this a hundred times before. He began pulling out various items—tools, Pascal realized. Implements of fear. There was a roll of duct tape, a pair of pliers, zip ties, a small toolkit, and something wrapped in cloth that Pascal couldn't quite see.

Panic surged through Pascal as he watched. He glanced at Kraus, who remained eerily calm, though his eyes darkened with something more dangerous than fear. It was anger. Kraus was a man used to power, and even bound and helpless, he wasn't about to give in easily. Pascal wondered how long Kraus could hold out under whatever methods this man was about to employ.

Sasha glanced at Pascal, sensing his discomfort. "You can step outside if you want," she said, her voice as calm as ever.

Pascal swallowed hard. He wanted to leave. He wanted to be anywhere but here. But something kept him rooted to the spot—a toxic mix of pride, curiosity, and fear of appearing weak in front of Sasha.

"I'm fine," Pascal replied, though his voice wavered slightly.

Sasha's eyes narrowed just a touch, but she nodded and turned her attention back to the man, who was now standing over Kraus, examining him like a craftsman looking at raw material.

"You know how this goes, Kraus," Sasha said, stepping closer to him. "You tell us what we want to know, and this ends quickly."

Kraus chuckled darkly, his voice steady despite the situation. "Do your worst. I've dealt with worse than you."

Pascal watched, frozen in place, as the man in the black coat began to work. He didn't rush. Every movement was deliberate, controlled. First, he bound Kraus's legs more tightly to the chair, securing him in place. Then, with practiced ease, he taped Kraus's mouth shut, though it was clear the gag wasn't meant to completely silence him—just to muffle the inevitable screams.

Kraus's eyes never left Pascal's. Even with everything that was happening, Kraus seemed to focus on him, like he knew Pascal was the weakest link in this twisted scenario.

"You have no idea who you're dealing with," Kraus's voice echoed in Pascal's mind, despite the gag now covering his mouth. The intensity in Kraus's gaze made Pascal's skin crawl.

Pascal's breath quickened, and he finally turned his eyes away, looking down at his feet. He could feel sweat forming on his brow, his heart hammering in his chest. What had he gotten himself into? This wasn't supposed to happen. They were supposed to scare Kraus into talking, not… this. He glanced at Sasha, hoping for some kind of reassurance, but her expression was cold and focused.

The man pulled out a small metal tool from his bag and approached Kraus, his hands moving with the precision of a surgeon. As he raised the tool toward Kraus, Pascal's stomach turned. He could barely stand to watch, and yet, his feet remained glued to the ground.

For the next few minutes, Pascal stood in horrified silence as the man methodically began his work. Kraus's muffled grunts and groans filled the room, growing louder with each passing second. Pascal could see the pain etched into Kraus's face, but the man's defiance never wavered. He held out, even as the torment increased.

Sasha stepped in, her voice soft but commanding. "Kraus, it doesn't have to be like this. Tell us about the deal with Mendes. Tell us about the money."

Kraus's eyes darted toward her, filled with hatred and defiance. He shook his head, his breath coming in ragged gasps as the man continued his work.

Pascal felt a cold sweat drip down his back. The scene in front of him was too much. He was no stranger to high-stakes situations, but this—this was beyond anything he'd ever imagined. He wanted to run, to escape from the horrors unfolding before him, but his legs refused to move.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Kraus's resolve began to crack. His eyes fluttered, and his body slumped slightly in the chair. The man in the black coat paused, stepping back for a moment as Kraus gasped for air, his body trembling from the pain.

Sasha stepped closer, her eyes narrowing. "Are you ready to talk?"

For a moment, Pascal thought Kraus might give in. He looked broken, beaten, but there was still something in his eyes—a flicker of resistance. He turned his head toward Sasha and let out a muffled grunt that sounded suspiciously like laughter.

Sasha's expression didn't change. She nodded to the man, and he stepped forward again, ready to resume.

Pascal's chest tightened. He couldn't watch this anymore. He couldn't stand by and let this go on.

Sasha turned sharply, her eyes narrowing as she studied Pascal. "You think this is a game?" she snapped. Kraus's muffled laughter echoed in the room, feeding Pascal's fear. He felt trapped, caught between his growing conscience and the escalating chaos. "I can't do this," he finally whispered, his voice trembling.