Broken Monsters

The Upper Floor – Inside the Crumbling Arena

Nott sprinted down the debris-littered floor of the upper level, his breath ragged, each inhale sharp with adrenaline. Shards of broken glass crunched beneath his feet as he passed the series of fractured windows. The air was heavy with dust and rust, and the building groaned with every movement... like a wounded beast barely holding itself together.

Behind him, Stray was relentless.

With catlike grace, he dashed across a rusted support beam above, eyes locked on Nott's movements... sharp, calculating, unwavering. Every step was measured. Every breath controlled. The uneven terrain didn't faze him. He was simply waiting for the perfect moment.

Then it came.

Stray launched himself without hesitation.

He hurled his body toward the nearest window, the very one Nott had just passed. A deafening crash exploded through the floor as glass shattered around him in a flurry of flying shards. Stray burst through like a missile, arms extended... his momentum unstoppable.

Boom!

He collided with Nott mid-stride.

Their bodies slammed together, fusing into a single chaotic blur that hurtled across the unfinished floor. They tumbled, rolling uncontrollably over cracked tiles, broken pillars, and steel girders. Every impact pushed them closer to the edge... closer to the abyss yawning just beyond the ledge.

A blur. A fall. A heartbeat suspended in freefall.

Then... a grip.

Stray's hand caught a rusted iron beam at the last second. His body jerked midair, swinging dangerously, but he held firm... muscles tense, teeth gritted. He dangled for a moment, then began to pull himself up slowly, determined, like a predator reclaiming his position.

Nott wasn't as lucky.

The floor beneath him gave way. With a dull crack, he crashed through the weakened ceiling of the level below. His body slammed into the hard concrete floor, a sickening thud echoing through the abandoned construction zone.

He lay on his back, sprawled, motionless.

His breath came in broken gasps. Blood trickled from a gash on his forehead, sliding across his temple in crimson rivulets. His clothes were torn, dust-covered. His vision was blurred, the world spinning above him. All he could see was the fractured ceiling... and beyond that, the flickering shadow of Stray standing above.

His voice came out hoarse, barely audible... a whisper from the edge of consciousness.

Nott, muttering: "Damn it… lost again…"

Below, chaos was erupting in the stands.

Spectators shouted, some standing, others waving their arms in frustration. The view had been obscured for several moments, and now the crowd demanded answers.

Referee, shouting, flustered: "Oi!! What's going on up there?! Who won the fight!?"

Beneath the roaring voices.

Spectator 1: "This is bullshit! I didn't pay to watch an empty ring!"

Spectator 2, repeating nervously: "Please let it be Stray… please let it be Stray… please…"

Back on the battlefield.

Nott didn't respond. He had blacked out from the pain and exhaustion. His limbs were limp. His breathing shallow.

Stray, not much better off, stood above him, swaying slightly, covered in sweat and blood. Despite the agony burning in his limbs, he moved forward... descending toward the broken level below.

He knelt and slowly lifted Nott over his shoulders. The weight was brutal, but he bore it without complaint. His muscles trembled. His breath came in gasps. Still, he walked.

Stray, between breaths: "Ref… call it. End the fight."

The referee hesitated, stunned, but then took a deep breath and stepped forward. Her voice rang out like thunder... clear and undeniable, slicing through the noise.

Referee: "The winner of the Street Rookie Division… is STRAY!!"

Silence. Then... eruption.

The crowd froze for a heartbeat. Then the arena exploded in wild cheers and applause. Feet stomped. Hands clapped. Voices howled in unison like a storm released.

The referee, once overwhelmed by doubt and pressure, now felt a strange peace wash over her. That single declaration had lifted a weight from her shoulders. She smiled faintly, watching the crowd lose themselves in triumph and awe.

This was more than a match... it was a moment.

Stray, exhausted, sighing with relief: "Alright, kid… let's get you to a hospital. Then… we sleep at home."

A faint stir.

Nott, still draped over his shoulder, barely managed to whisper...

Nott, weakly: "…Don't go home…"

Stray, quietly, without turning: "Oh? Still awake."

Stray paused for a moment, tilted his head slightly, and then asked incomprehension.

Stray: "But what do you mean?... Is there somewhere you want to go or something?"

Nott, he said with difficulty as he sighed from fatigue and pain: "They saw this fight. I'm sure… they're waiting."

Stray paused. He glanced at the far distance, his tone suddenly heavy.

Stray: "Don't worry, the ones who know where I live aren't cowards."

As the echoes of the battle faded, time marched on…

Umbray Neighborhood – Steel Hotel

Lorian sat at her desk, her sharp eyes scanning the live feed of the Street Rookie Tournament displayed on her sleek monitor. The dim light of the room reflected off the glassy screen. The tense, gritty atmosphere of the underground tournament flickered before her... blood, sweat, and neon light. Then... a knock at the door interrupted her focus. Without hesitation, she clicked the laptop shut.

Lorian, calmly: "Come in."

The door opened with a quiet creak. Landon stepped in, his expression firm as always, carrying a dossier. He walked forward and stopped in front of the desk.

Landon: "I sent a message to the members we rescued three years ago. They responded and updated me on their current condition.

It seems they're stable now. Fully recovered."

He placed a few photographs on the desk. The images showed people laughing on a beach, basking under the sun, their faces radiant with something rare in their world... peace.

Lorian: "That's good. Don't bring them back yet.

Make sure they're really ready before reactivating them. Test them thoroughly… and keep me updated on what happens next."

Landon: "Understood."

He gave a curt nod and left the room. Lorian stayed seated, her eyes fixed on the photographs. A rare softness crept into her gaze. For a moment, the hum of memory slipped into her mind, carrying her back to a time long past...

One Year and Five Months Ago.

After Lorian contacted Prosecutor Harper, requesting she investigate the underground facility known as The Joker's Den...

The basement of Steel Hotel – 2:47 AM.

The lighting is dim… flickering rays seep from the old ceiling lamps, casting fractured shadows on the crumbling concrete walls. The air is cold… unnaturally cold, as if the basement preserves the frost of tormented souls.

Then... a scream tears through the silence.

A metal door bursts open violently, and a man in his forties comes running out. His face is soaked in sweat, his eyes wide with terror, his mouth trembling as he gasps for air... like someone who has just escaped an unspeakable hell.

Man: "Stay away!! Don't come near me!! He's… he's still in my head!! He's still talking!!"

He runs his shaking fingers across his face as if trying to peel off his own skin… then begins clawing at himself with his nails... digging them into his cheeks viciously, blood dripping as he screams uncontrollably.

Man: "Shut up!! SHUT UP!! I SAID SHUT UP!!!"

Two guards lunge at him, grabbing him tightly. He shrieks and kicks at the ground, almost tearing free from their grip.

Cheeta stands at the far end of the corridor, watching with blank eyes. Next to her stands Falcon, unmoved, unreadable.

Cheeta, in a tired whisper: "The fourth… the fourth man we've lost this week.

How many more? How many before we realize… he's not human?"

Falcon says nothing. His eyes stay fixed on the man... who was no ordinary person. He was a top-tier psychological analyst… a genius in his field. Was.

Now… nothing more than shattered remnants.

Then... a faint sound at the end of the hallway.

Ding.

The old elevator opens slowly, its groan adding weight to the atmosphere. Landon steps out. His strides are calm… but assured, like Death itself walking the corridor.

He walks forward without a word, past the workers who don't dare meet his gaze, and stops in front of the iron door.

He reaches for the handle.

The elderly head of security rushes toward him, pale-faced, hand trembling as he blocks Landon's way.

Elderly Man, in panic: "Sir… please! Four of our best analysts have already gone in!

They all broke in under an hour!!

You can't… you can't go back in again… not like last time…!"

Silence.

Landon doesn't even look at him. His hand remains on the handle. Then, in a cold, low voice sharp as a blade, he speaks:

Landon: "If you want to talk to the devil, you have to be a monster."

Then he opens the door.

A metallic creak slices the silence… and he shuts it behind him, leaving the rest in utter stillness.

Inside the room.

A hanging bulb flickers from the ceiling, casting a pale glow on a man strapped to an electric chair.

The Joker.

But the restraints aren't like any used for prisoners... no, they seem to be trying to hold down something… beyond human.

His face is covered in bruises, dried blood around his eyes, and yet his mouth forms a grin. Evidence of electrocution is clear... but not alone.

His skin is torn. His nails removed. His nose broken.

And still...

He laughs.

A soft chuckle that rises slowly, creeping like poison smoke through the silence, piercing the air like a cold blade.

Landon approaches. He lifts his sleeve, revealing his watch, adjusts his stance.

Then, he takes two steps forward.

The Joker, in a distorted whisper, smiling: "Welcome back, Landon… Did you come to understand? Or to lose your mind too?"

Outside the room, the tension thickens.

The guards and workers remain frozen, waiting, listening, with a palpable fear in the air.

Suddenly, a sharp thud echoes from within the room... a hit. Then another, even louder. The sound of flesh colliding with bone, the sickening crack of something snapping under pressure.

Then…

A grotesque laugh breaks through the air, low and erratic, escalating into a full-on manic cackle.

The Joker's voice... it's clear now, no longer just words, but a twisted symphony of madness.

Joker, laughing maniacally: "Ha-hahahaha-hah!! Is that all you've got, Landon? Hahaha! Come on, show me something… SOMETHING real!"

With each word, a splatter of liquid, sharp and thick, echoes through the door. Blood. Red, dark, and unmistakably real.

The workers flinch. Some take steps back, unable to hide their disgust and terror. One of them, pale-faced, whispers:

Elderly man, hushed, trembling: "Is… is he…?"

But no one answers. The sickening sounds of another violent blow... another thud... followed by the Joker's echoing, unhinged laugh fills the silence again.

Joker, shouting: "Foolish! Foolish! You think you can control me!? Hahaha! I'm the one who controls EVERYTHING!!"

Another crash, followed by a final laugh... longer, deeper, the sound of madness consuming all. The sickening rhythm of the blows becomes almost indistinguishable from his laughter, as if they're one and the same.

Outside, the workers can only stand in horror, knowing the inevitable truth: the Joker's mind had shattered long ago, and now it was all being unleashed.

Inside…

The laughter dies down for a moment, then… silence. A silence so deep it almost feels worse than the madness before. The faint echo of a final crunch sounds, followed by the soft drip of blood pooling on the floor.

This scene amplifies the madness and brutality of the Joker, leaving the tension hanging in the air for those outside. Would you like to continue with their reaction or the aftermath?

Inside Lorian's office – the air was thick with tension.

Lorian stood near the tall window, arms folded, the glow of the city flickering across the dark glass and reflecting against her sharply tailored suit. The world below pulsed with life... but up here, everything felt still. Watchful.

The door creaked open.

Landon stepped in slowly. His face was stone-cold, unreadable... but his hands spoke louder: stained crimson, the towel he used to clean them already soaked and dripping at the edges.

Lorian turned sharply, her eyes narrowing like blades drawn in silence.

Lorian: "Did he talk?"

Her voice cut the quiet like a scalpel.

She stared at him, unblinking. The seconds that followed felt longer than they should have... drawn out, stretched tight like wire.

Landon: "Unfortunately... no."

He hesitated, the silence between them thick and uneasy. His fingers clenched tighter around the blood-soaked towel, knuckles pale beneath the red.

Landon, quietly: "But... he left us a riddle."

Lorian inhaled sharply, then let out a long, slow breath... part sigh, part resignation.

Lorian, barely above a whisper: "Of course he did... typical of him...

Outside, a siren wailed faintly in the distance. Inside, silence reclaimed the room... haunted, thoughtful, and far from over.

Lorian handed her a blood-stained sheet of paper. Lorian's eyes scanned the words:

| The Riddle: "I am where rust crawls over bone.

No voices here, only the whispers of wind between walls.

You are close, yet a liquid barrier lies between us.

You passed me once, but never noticed.

Seek where the small city river joins its longer course,

Where waters bend toward the woods,

Where machines have long slept, and water carries memories." |

Lorian closed her eyes briefly, the weight of the night pressing down on her shoulders like the city lights pressing against the glass.

Landon, cautiously: "Do you know where that is?"

There was a beat of silence.

Lorian, quietly, eyes still shut: "No... it requires deep thought. And I'm not in the mood for that."

She opened her eyes slowly, gaze unfocused for a moment. Then, after a pause, her tone shifted... quieter, more resolute.

Lorian: "But I know someone who might be able to solve it."

Landon tilted his head, brow slightly furrowed, curiosity piqued.

Landon, softly: "Who?"

Lorian turned her gaze to the left, toward the wide window. Outside, the Joker building loomed in the distance, its crooked silhouette casting a long shadow across the skyline... like a scar across the city's face.

She reached for her phone, the screen lighting her expression with a cold glow. With a few swift taps, she dialed.

The line rang.

Natalie, voice sharp, on the phone: "Yes?! Are you enjoying watching me clean up your mess from above? Also, good job keeping those idiot thugs quiet. But I'll make sure they pay... and confess your involvement."

Lorian smirked faintly, unbothered by the venom in Natalie's voice.

Lorian, dryly: "That's lovely. Good luck with that."

On the other end, Natalie exhaled... long and slow. She pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose, tilting her head slightly as a headache crept in. A pause, then her voice dropped, laced with fatigue.

Natalie, grudgingly: "Anyway... why are you calling me, then?"

Lorian, calmly: "I have a task for y... "

A sudden click. The call dropped.

Lorian blinked, then cleared her throat, unfazed. She redialed.

A beat later, the line connected.

Natalie, exasperated: "Yes...?"

Lorian, firmly: "Don't hang up. What I'm about to tell you is important. It's related to what you're working on."

There was a pause... no words, only breathing.

Natalie, finally, with a sigh: "Fine."

Lorian: "I'll send a car. It'll pick you up now."

She ended the call and set the phone down on the table with quiet finality. The distant hum of the city filled the room again.

Landon, hesitant: "Are you sure she can solve it? Last time she was... loud. And stubborn. If she learns what we're really after, she might become a problem."

Lorian's lips curved into a subtle smile... calm, confident.

Lorian, softly: "That's exactly what I like about her. She's stubborn... meaning she won't rest until the riddle is solved."

Minutes later, a knock.

Lorian: "Enter."

Natalie stepped in. She glanced right, noticing the glass wall revealing the city below. Lorian sat in her leather chair, Landon across from her.

Natalie, approached and stood tall: "What's going on?"

Lorian: "Don't just stand there. Sit."

Natalie let out a tired breath and took the seat near the window. Lorian placed the riddle on the table.

Lorian, calmly: "Someone wrote this for us. It's a riddle. We need to find the place it points to."

A brief silence followed. The faint rustle of paper filled the air as she held the note. The tension in the room thickened, unspoken yet palpable.

Natalie. frowning slightly: "Why give you a riddle if he knows the location?"

Lorian's eyes dropped for a moment, as if replaying an old memory. Her fingers gently traced the edge of the paper, hesitant but familiar.

Lorian, exhaling lightly: "He's... insane. But smart. He enjoys watching others struggle through his twisted games."

She leaned back slightly, placing the riddle on the table. Her tone was restrained, but her jaw had tightened.

Natalie, suddenly alert: "Wait... is this from the one who ran that underground facility?"

Landon shifted where he stood, a subtle motion... until Lorian raised her hand silently, signaling him to stay still. He obeyed immediately, frozen by the weight of her unspoken command.

Lorian, softly, after a pause: "How did you know?"

Natalie hesitated. Her eyes narrowed slightly, her mind clearly working through connections at a rapid pace.

Natalie, calculated, quiet: "You said it was related to my work up there. And a large secret facility that remained hidden all this time... only someone like the man you just described could be behind it."

Lorian gave a slow, humorless chuckle, almost under her breath. She tilted her head slightly as she met Natalie's eyes.

Lorian, with a trace of irony: "Exactly. That's him. He calls himself... Joker."

Landon, immediately, voice sharp: "Lorian."

Landon muttered while he stepped forward, concern flashing across his face. His tone cut through the room like a blade.

Natalie, alarmed, voice rising: "The Joker?! He's a dangerous criminal... wanted by both the police and the Attorney General's office!

You... you're telling me he was in your custody?!!"

A heavy silence fell, lasting just long enough to turn discomfort into unease. Lorian didn't move, only met Natalie's gaze evenly.

Lorian, quiet, steady: "No. If we had him, we'd know where that place is. We found this paper after breaching his facility."

Natalie slowly calmed herself, regaining focus. She picked up the paper from the table, her eyes scanning the handwritten riddle.

| The Riddle: "I am where rust creeps over bones. No voices here, only the whispers of wind between the walls. You are close to me, yet a liquid barrier separates us. You crossed me once, but never noticed. Look where the city's small river meets its longer path, At the bend where the waters turn toward the woods... Where machines have long since slept, And the water carries memories." |

Natalie exhaled deeply, lowering the paper. Her voice was low, quiet, as if she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to speak.

Natalie, softly: "Why do you want to solve this?"

There was a pause. Lorian's expression remained unreadable as she stepped closer to the table.

Lorian, quiet, firm: "It's personal.

The Joker has something that belongs to me. And it's hidden in that place."

Natalie blinked, visibly confused.

Natalie, raising a brow: "Huh? Something of yours?.."

She shook her head with a faint scoff.

Natalie, coldly: "Sorry, but if you've been robbed, go to a police station, not a prosecutor."

She turned and began walking toward the exit. The paper slipped from her fingers and landed gently on the table.

Lorian, calling out, calmly: "The prosecutor General."

Natalie stopped in her tracks.

The air grew heavier. Her face paled slightly, and her expression darkened. She didn't turn around.

Lorian, measured tone: "...I'll make sure he's removed from office."

Natalie finally turned her head, her voice low and disinterested.

Natalie: "I don't care."

Lorian, with careful precision: "I have evidence. It proves he's been embezzling, taking bribes... and other illegal operations."

The room froze as Natalie spun on her heel, rage bursting from her chest.

Natalie, shouting: "You caused all of this!!!

Now you want to get rid of him when you were the one behind all those filthy operations?!"

Lorian didn't respond immediately. Her face was still. Then... A quiet breath.

Lorian, softly, yet decisively: "The position of Attorney General...

It'll be yours."

Landon jolted upright, startled.

Landon, alarmed: "My lady! That's too much... "

Lorian, cutting him off, calm: "Landon. Don't break her focus. Let her think."

Natalie's eyes widened.

For a moment, she didn't speak. Her breath caught. Thoughts swirled... anger, disbelief, confusion.

Natalie, furious: "I refuse. I won't help you with your dirty business in any form. No matter what. As for the Attorney General... I'll handle his case myself. I don't need your backing."

She took a step closer, voice unwavering.

Natalie. sharply: "And no... I'm not interested in his position. I like my current post as a prosecutor. I'm not planning to give it up."

Lorian's tone shifted... slightly colder, more deliberate.

Lorian: "I didn't mean you have to take the position yourself."

Natalie hesitated, narrowing her eyes.

Natalie, quiet: "Then what?"

Lorian, clearly: "You don't have to claim the seat. You can give it to someone of your choosing.

And I'll support your decision."

Natalie froze. Her breath hitched slightly.

The offer was unexpected. And tempting.

She stood there, eyes fixed on nothing, deep in thought.

The idea danced in her mind... A chance to restore justice without interference.

A way to uproot corruption…

But it would mean accepting help from someone like Lorian.

Her hands clenched. A storm of emotions swirled in her chest; Resolve... guilt... purpose.

Then, after what felt like a long silence... She breathed out slowly. A heavy sigh that carried the weight of every decision she had ever made.

Natalie, low and final: "...Fine.

I'll accept the offer."

Lorian smiled. Just faintly.

Lorian, with quiet approval: "Good."

She rose from her seat with quiet elegance, each step measured, her presence commanding yet calm. As she reached for the paper, the low light above caught the sharp contours of her face... composed, determined, and unreadable.

She paused.

Her eyes found Natalie's... just for a fleeting moment.

Then, without a word, she extended the paper toward her, hand steady, unshaking.

Natalie accepted it in silence. Her fingers curled around the page, firm and decisive.

No words. No thanks. No promises.

She turned, the air thick with unspoken tension.

Her heels echoed sharply against the marble floor... Click... click... click...

A sound that lingered, sharp as a verdict, as she disappeared through the suite's doors.

Upstairs, the weight of justice awaited her.

And for the first time in a long while...

The path forward felt both terrifying and entirely her own.