Broken

"We've been here for over 3 hours now, and you haven't said as much as a single word to me," said a young detective looking over the estranged man that sat cross-legged in the middle of a cell.

The man was young, malnourished and sickly looking, with dark circles around hollow eyes. The cell's stone walls were marred by fresh crimson splatters that still radiated a feverish warmth, and the smell of iron and decay mingled in the stagnant air. So did the body that lay in the right corner of the room, adjacent to the bed nearest the barred window that was partially open, doing nothing to rectify the horrid smell.

The detective caught a scent of it, even through her protection spell – a thin veil of spatial magic that layered her nose and mouth – one she'd cast many moments earlier. Just then, discreetly, she chanted something under her breath, instantly thickening the luminescent layer of compressed air.

"Look," she began, "If you don't talk to me, the gentlemen outside will prepare you for transport… to a location you - more than likely - won't make it to, given the nature of your crime."

Her voice was at a whisper, yet, she was certain he heard ever last every word. However, her brows furrowed – slightly more than she intended to show – at the man's silence.

He sat there uninterested, almost in a trance-like state. His eyes were as hollow as the body that lingered slightly behind his left shoulder. They gazed beyond the stone floor, not focusing on anything in particular but searching – perhaps – waiting.

The detective took note, recording the strange behavior into her mobile device before tucking it away into her leather blazer.

She took a moment to look him over before she spoke again.

"Can you at least explain this?..."

She motioned to the body in the corner of the cell, pleading with a wave of her hand, continuing with her interrogation.

"The man you brutally slaughtered was just exonerated earlier today, set to be released tomorrow morning. What could've possible been so justifiable?"

The prisoner simply exhaled a breath the detective was surprised to learn he'd been holding. It was heavy and laced with something that felt dangerously close to burden.

This doesn't add up, she thought, I mean, besides the victims in his case, what beef did he have with his cell mate?... This cell was just empty a day ago, so what could've transpired overnight that would've provoked this kind of violence?

Whatever it was, she had to know. It was her job to get the answers – all of them.

"I read your file," she said, finally speaking and taking a step closer to the cell. His expression never changed, though. However, he finally blinked after what seemed an eternity.

The detective caught the subtle cue, and pointedly continued:

"I know what you've been through. Growing up in the slums of Division 12 isn't easy for anyone, but for you… it was hell."

Another blink.

"You've gone most of your life fending for yourself… with parents who never cared to feed you, even if they could. And in a world like ours, that would break anyone…"

******

When the first Soul Reaper went rogue, the world was forced to face an ancient myth—the legend of the Grim Reaper. According to age-old tales, the Grim Reaper, or Shinigami, was once revered as the god of death: a dark king who commanded an army of spirits known as Soul Reapers. These beings, often called "Gami," were once seen as natural messengers of death—guiding souls to the afterlife when a person's time was up—rather than as terrifying monsters.

For centuries, that view held true—until about a hundred years ago, when everything changed. Humanity had long followed a familiar script, one that suddenly ceased to apply to some of these gami. At first, only isolated reports emerged of possessions: cases where Soul Reapers seemed to lead people astray, pushing them toward tragic, self-inflicted ends. Before governments could even react, these incidents exploded into a full-blown crisis. Eventually, the gami began to manifest in flesh and blood, wielding supernatural powers and even the ability to steal the souls of the living – those not yet destined to die.

In response, governments united to form the Shamanic Guard Association (SGA), recruiting individuals with supernatural talents—known as Shamans—to serve as Strikers against these rogue entities. Meanwhile, underground guilds sprang up among those who either didn't qualify for or refused to join the SGA, and these groups soon wielded significant political influence amongst the 12 divisions. And, in every Division, at least two guilds operated covertly, with even more emerging in the wealthier areas.

******

"Yet, for you, none of this mattered. You've felt no affinity for magic and held no special reverence for death since you were born. To you, death was just another inevitability—as your neglectful parents cursed you with a terminal illness that threatened to soon claim your life…."

******

When news of his parents' gruesome deaths broke just days earlier, a single video spread across local networks and newspapers. It showed 18-year-old Danuja Yomiyama, sitting in a pool of his parents' blood, repeatedly drawing the word "GRIM" onto the stained floor with his finger.

******

"Unsurprisingly, you were accused of their murders and detained to stand trial - dubbed the reincarnation of the Grim Reaper himself. Hence why the media have named you Grim. Now, why you haven't even attempted to put up a defense to argue your innocence – is beyond me. But it's exactly why you're sure to go down for the massacre of your own parents."

His eyes began to gloss over – barely – but it caught the light all the same. Intentionally, she tilted her head to get a better angle of the reflection, making sure it was exactly what she'd assumed. But just as her head shifted, the evidence was washed away with a deliberate blink. Then another.

Ever observant, she sensed the intent and immediately thought to herself:

He isn't just some empty shell. Nothing about his case seems to add up at all. And his cell mate... she turned her gaze to the body near the corner, then back to the prisoner, I think - no - I know… his cell mate was a result of a system breaking a man more than he already had been, not because he's... some kind of self-proclaimed Gami.

It was a long-shot, but the detective reached into her pants pocket and pulled out an energy bar. To her surprise, his eyes snapped towards the packaged treat, the hollow pupils widening as if they were adjusting to a bright light.

It was a simple reaction, but it said a lot.

"Listen to me, carefully… the neglect you've experienced here – and for all of your life – could stop here and now… if you'd just tell me the truth..."

The pause that followed took on a life of its own, altering the mood like a gami pulling strings from the shadows. It felt intentional. Especially, the way her voice returned even lower and more deliberate as she continued:

"Did you murder your parents?"

Her words hung in the air - a direct challenge to the silence that cloaked him. In that charged moment, she sensed that his next word might shatter or seal his fate forever.

For a second, it seemed as though he'd might answer, but instead of words, a heavy breath escaped his lips, his hollow gaze never tearing away from the energy bar.

Frustrated, the detective crushed the bar in a tight fist and raised her voice a few octaves.

"Quit playing dumb with me, Danuja—talk already! I'm trying to save y-"

"Don't call me that," the man growled, silencing the detective effectively.

It was the first word he said in hours. Snappy or not, his voice was a relief to hear. The detective's efforts no longer seemed in vain.

Just as the silence threatened to swallow the tension, a low mechanical hum and the distant clank of heavy boots signaled that her time had been cut short.

No… Just a little more and I'll have what I need, she thought.

But that thought was shattered once the sound of air locks un-pressurizing behind her echoed throughout the confined space. Four military officers stood on the other side of the formidable-looking armored door as it slowly crept open. Each of them were armed with automatic rifles and grim expressions on their faces as they entered the holding facility.

The detective turned to face them, her cheeks growing red from anger as she addressed the first soldier:

"What the hell are you idiots doing? I still have ten minutes left with this prisoner. You guys are comprising my investiga-"

SMACK!

The sound reverberated against the armored walls, instantly cutting her off. She pressed the palms of her hands against her face until the pain grew numb, hoping an explanation would end the silence that followed. But the officer said nothing, looking her over with complete disinterest.

After a few moments, he finally spoke:

"Get rid of her," he barked. And, with a wave of his hand, he instructed the two soldier over his right shoulder to move quickly.

Then he turned to the soldier over his left:

"Bag and gag the prison. The boss wants his body in the river before the marshals get here."