Darkest Hours

The walls of the interrogation room in the lowest levels of Abysra were cold, damp, and reeked of metal and rot. The only light came from a single flickering bulb overhead, casting long, warped shadows across the stained floor. Chains rattled as Barry shifted slightly in his seat, wrists locked in reinforced steel cuffs bolted to the chair.

Across from him, Captain Stone stood with arms crossed, her sharp eyes drilling into him. The air between them was thick, suffocating.

She had been here for hours. And for hours, Barry had said nothing. Stone exhaled sharply, then suddenly—SMACK.

Barry's head snapped to the side as her gloved palm struck his face. Blood dribbled from the fresh split in his lip. He barely flinched.

"How many?" she asked, voice cold.

Barry stared at the table, silent. A fist. Straight to his gut. The impact was solid, forcing the air from his lungs. His body tensed, but he didn't make a sound.

Stone took a step back, rolling her shoulders, shaking out her fist. "You know, I read every file. Every crime scene. Every detail. You weren't just a killer—you were an artist." She leaned in, her voice lowering to a venomous whisper. "And yet, you want to pretend that life never happened?"

Barry lifted his head, his golden eyes dull but unwavering. Stone's jaw clenched. Then she grabbed the chair and tipped it backward, slamming it—and Barry—onto the cold concrete floor.

The impact sent a sharp, burning pain up his spine, but still, he said nothing.

Stone circled him like a predator. "How many did you kill, Barry? Thirty? Fifty? A hundred?"

Silence. Her boot came down hard on his ribs. Barry grunted but didn't scream.

Stone crouched beside him, grabbing his hair and yanking his head back. Her expression was one of pure disgust. "What, you suddenly can't remember?"

Barry inhaled slowly through his nose. "I remember every single one."

Stone's grip tightened. "Then say it."

Barry exhaled, steady. Controlled. "No."

Stone slammed his head against the ground. The metallic tang of blood flooded his mouth. His vision blurred for a moment before sharpening again. His werewolf instincts begged him to retaliate, to fight back, to tear her apart. But he remained still.

"Fine," Stone muttered, standing up and cracking her knuckles. "If you won't say it, I'll just have to beat it out of you."

And she did. She rained down punches, kicks, slaps—a relentless assault meant to break him. But Barry had been through worse. He had endured far worse.

Minutes passed. Then an hour. By the time she finally stopped, her breathing was heavier, sweat forming at her brow. Barry, slumped in the chair again, was bruised, bloodied, and battered—but not broken.

Stone exhaled slowly, composing herself. She straightened her coat, wiped blood off her knuckles, and looked at him one last time.

"I don't know why the hell you play pretend, Sheriff," she said. "But you will talk. It's only a matter of time."

Barry exhaled, spitting blood onto the floor. His body throbbed. His head ached. The next hour was nothing but pain.

Stone didn't stop. Fists, boots, elbows— she used whatever she had to make him break. Barry's chair rattled with each blow, his body jerking under the force of her hits. Blood dripped from his brow, smearing down his cheek. His breath was ragged, but he never screamed.

Stone's knuckles were split from striking him too many times. Her patience was gone.

"You think this is bad?" she muttered, shaking out her sore wrist. "You have no idea what bad is."

Barry chuckled—a low, dark sound. "Funny," he rasped, spitting blood to the side. "That's what I used to tell my victims."

Stone's face twisted in disgust. Without hesitation, she slammed her boot against his chest, pinning him against the chair.

"Don't act like we're the same."

Barry grinned. It was a wolfish, mocking expression despite his swollen lip. "Aren't we?"

Stone pushed harder, making him gasp. "No. I beat the truth out of killers." She leaned in, voice cold. "You were the killer."

Barry exhaled, slow. "Is that all you officers do? Beat prisoners like animals?"

Stone pulled back, arms crossed. "Animals don't deserve mercy."

Barry's eyes darkened. He slowly lifted his head, golden irises burning through her. "Then why do you expect it from me?"

Silence. For the first time, Stone hesitated.

Barry licked blood off his teeth. "You talk about justice, but all I see is another brute with a badge. If you really think we're just animals, what does that make you?"

Stone's hands balled into fists.

Barry pressed further. "You chain us, cage us, beat us down. Do you ever wonder if that's why some of us snap?" His voice turned sharp. "Or do you just enjoy it?"

Stone exhaled sharply, regaining control. "You're trying to make yourself the victim?"

Barry smirked. "You're the one kicking a chained man."

Stone's temper cracked. She grabbed the nearest baton from the table and swung—but this time, Barry caught it. His grip was iron. Stone's eyes narrowed.

Barry's jaw clenched as his strength surged through his bruised arm. His fingers tightened around the baton, veins pulsing. Even restrained, his mutant power was there. Lurking. Ready.

His voice dropped dangerously low.

"How long," he asked, "until you realize you're worse than me?"

Stone yanked the baton free, breathing hard. She turned away, running a hand down her face.

"This isn't about me," she muttered.

Barry tilted his head. "Then why are you so angry?"

Stone turned back to him, her eyes cold. "Because I've seen what monsters like you do."

Barry's smirk faded.

Stone stepped closer, voice quiet but sharp as a blade. "You think I enjoy this? I don't. But I've been there, Calendar. I've walked through homes filled with butchered families. I've seen what your kind does when left unchecked. And you—" she pointed at him, "were one of the worst."

Barry held her stare. His voice was calm. "And what are you now?"

Another pause.

Stone exhaled. "The difference between us, Barry?" She leaned in close. "I still sleep at night."

Barry chuckled darkly, his golden eyes flickering. "Then you're either a liar… or a monster."

The silence stretched. Then, Stone straightened, jaw tight. "You're rotting here, Calendar." She turned toward the door. "And when they finally put you down, I hope you stay dead."

Before leaving, Stone grabbed Barry's face. Her fingers dug into his bruised jaw, yanking him forward until their faces were inches apart. Barry gritted his teeth, golden eyes glaring up at her, but Stone didn't care. Her breath was hot against his skin, her grip firm, nails pressing into his flesh.

"You think you've got me figured out?" she hissed. "You think I enjoy hurting your kind?"

Barry didn't answer, only smirked—mocking her.

Stone's fingers tightened. "You wanna know why I hate mutants?"

Barry's smirk faltered. Stone's eyes darkened. She exhaled sharply, then spoke in a low, measured tone.

"When I was a kid… my family was butchered. Torn apart."

Barry's wolfish grin disappeared. Stone continued, voice raw, bitter. "One night. That's all it took. One night, and I lost everything."

Her breathing grew heavier. "It wasn't war. It wasn't some criminal syndicate. It was one mutant." Her eyes locked onto Barry's. "One."

Barry's jaw tensed. Stone's voice shook slightly, but her grip didn't loosen. "I remember the screaming. The blood. The sound of bones snapping." She inhaled sharply. "My mother didn't even get to finish her last words. My father's face—unrecognizable."

Barry could feel her rage bleeding through every word.

"But the worst part?" She swallowed hard. "My little brother survived."

Barry blinked, surprised. Stone let out a bitter laugh. "Yeah. He lived. Just like me. But not like me."

She leaned in closer, her lips nearly brushing his ear.

"I got scars," she whispered, voice shaking. "But he got something worse."

Barry's breathing slowed. Stone pulled back slightly, her grip on his jaw softening. Her expression was unreadable—somewhere between fury and deep, festering sorrow.

"My brother was infected."

Barry's golden eyes widened slightly. Stone clenched her jaw. "Whatever that mutant did to us… it changed him. Slowly. Steadily. He didn't die that night, but he was never the same."

Barry remained silent. Stone exhaled sharply, her breath uneven. "He had to be contained. For his whole life. Even now." She let out a bitter chuckle. "I visit him when I can. Talk to him through a glass wall." Her grip on Barry's face finally loosened. "He doesn't even answer anymore."

She stared at Barry, her expression unreadable.

"I pity him."

Barry met her gaze. Something flickered behind his eyes—not sympathy. Not guilt. Just understanding.

Stone scoffed, letting go of his face. She took a step back, shaking her head. "So, no. I don't hate mutants because I 'enjoy' it. I hate them because I know what they do. I know what they take."

She turned sharply, walking toward the door. But before she left, she threw one last look over her shoulder.

"That's why I'll never trust your kind." Her voice was cold, firm. "Because even when you say you want to be better—"

She narrowed her eyes.

"You always end up proving me right."

Then, she left, slamming the door behind her.

Stone sat on the bench in the locker room, her elbows resting on her knees. The fluorescent light above flickered slightly, casting sharp, sterile shadows across the cold metal lockers.

She ran a hand down her face, exhaling slowly. Her fingers brushed over a faint scar on her cheek—one of many reminders of that night.

Her family. Their screams still echoed in the back of her mind, as if time refused to let her forget.

Stone closed her eyes, trying to focus on the present, but it was useless. Her mother's voice. Her father's firm but kind gaze. Her brother's laughter before it was replaced by silence. She clenched her fists. Then—static from the intercom.

"Captain Stone, report to the registration room. You have visitors."

Stone opened her eyes, blinking away the ghosts of the past. Visitors?

With a tired sigh, she stood up, grabbed her jacket, and left the locker room.

The registration room was dimly lit, separated by reinforced glass and steel barriers. When Stone stepped inside, her eyes instantly landed on the four people standing in front of her.

Lilian.

Thorne.

Gideon.

Samuel.

Her gaze hardened. What the hell are they doing here?

Stone crossed her arms, stepping forward with slow, deliberate movements.

She locked eyes with Lilian first—who, despite her usual quiet demeanor, stood firm. Beside her, Mayor Thorne looked as composed as ever, though her eyes held something deeper.

Stone's attention shifted to Gideon, who gave her a crooked grin like he knew something she didn't. She ignored him and turned her focus to the last visitor.

Samuel.

She nearly took a step back. He was standing. Stone's eyes flickered over him. No heavy bandages. No crutches. No sign of the fatal wounds he had suffered.

That was impossible. Her jaw tightened. CPG medical technology was advanced, but this? This was unnatural. Stone's voice came out cold and sharp.

"What the hell do you want?"

Stone barely had time to react before Samuel stepped closer. He leaned in, his breath warm against her ear as he whispered, his words slow and deliberate.

"We want you to bail out Barry. If you refuse, the 0-6 Councils will know about your little 'daddy issue.'"

Stone's heart froze. Her face remained unreadable, but something in her eyes flickered—rage, humiliation, maybe even fear. Samuel stepped back, his expression smug but measured.

Silence filled the room. The tension was suffocating. Stone clenched her jaw so hard it hurt. She wanted to kill him. She wanted to kill all of them. But she couldn't.

The 0-6 Councils were ruthless when it came to CPG scandals. If they caught even a whiff of her personal affairs, she was finished.

She swallowed her pride like poison. Without a word, Stone reached into her pocket, pulled out a set of prison keys, and tossed them onto the desk.

The metal clanked loudly. Lilian, Thorne, and Samuel moved past her without hesitation. But then—Gideon stopped. That damn old bastard creep.

Stone didn't even have time to react before Gideon leaned in close, his rancid breath hitting her cheek.

Then, he kissed her. A wet, sloppy, mocking kiss on the side of her face. Stone's entire body tensed.

And as he pulled back, grinning like a devil, he whispered, "Didn't you like old dogs?"

Stone didn't move. She didn't even blink. The only sign of her rage was the slight twitch of her fingers, her nails digging into her palm hard enough to draw blood.

Gideon chuckled and turned to follow the others, leaving Stone standing alone in the dimly lit room. Behind her, the prison keys sat on the desk. And in her mind, the desire to rip them all apart burned hotter than ever.