The Devil's Bargain

The order was given without hesitation.

Before Allen could react, a gunshot shattered the tense silence. The bullet tore through his leg.

A scream ripped from his throat as he collapsed onto the cold, sterile floor, clutching his bleeding limb. His body convulsed, pain wracking every inch of him. His breathing was ragged—sharp gasps between choked sobs, the agony unbearable.

Stein's stomach lurched, but before he could move, Francis raised a hand.

The soldier who had fired instantly lowered his weapon.

Good. Francis exhaled a slow breath, watching the scene with detached calculation. He followed my orders—aim for the legs or hands, never the head. Make them hurt. Make them fear.

Francis had prepared for this. Before stepping into the lab, he had already anticipated that Stein—sentimental, weak, foolish—would try to resist. He couldn't allow that. The Republic couldn't allow that. So he made arrangements. The soldiers had explicit instructions: if Stein revolted, they were to injure, not kill.

It wasn't mercy. It was necessity.

Stein was too valuable.

The assistants? Expendable. Their deaths would be collateral damage, unfortunate but irrelevant. But Stein... he was different. The Republic needed him. The Major needed him.

And no one defied the Major. No one defied the devil incarnate.

Stein was the sharpest mind of his generation—a genius shackled by fear, his brilliance twisted into a weapon of destruction at the Republic's command. He had no choice but to obey. Because if he ever stopped being useful... well, than he would be better off dead.

Allen was alive only because of Francis's orders. Orders meant to protect Stein. Orders that, by chance, had spared the boy's life.

Francis took a step forward, his boots echoing against the cold, white tiles. Each deliberate footfall rang like a death knell.

He crouched beside Allen, tilting his head as he observed the wounded man writhing on the floor.

His voice, calm yet menacing, sliced through the thick silence.

"Now, kid… do you still not understand?"

Allen lay there, his leg a searing epicenter of agony. Blood pooled beneath him, a stark contrast against the clinical white. His breaths were ragged, shallow. Fear and pain blurred his vision.

Alex stood frozen in place, horror painted across his face. His hands trembled, his mind screaming at him to move—to do something—but he couldn't.

Stein's voice cut through the tension, trembling with a mix of fury and desperation. "What are you doing, Francis?"

Francis exhaled a plume of smoke, his gaze indifferent. "What needs to be done. The kid was losing it."

Stein swallowed hard, trying to steady his voice. "Alright, Francis. Alex and I will take Allen and leave. We'll make sure the research goes no further."

A humorless smile ghosted across Francis's lips. "It's not that simple anymore."

Stein's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Francis took another slow drag from his cigarette, letting the words linger before delivering his verdict. "You and Alex can leave." He let the sentence hang in the air, the unspoken consequence suffocating. "But Allen… he's too much of a liability now. He won't stay quiet."

Panic surged through Stein. "Please, Francis. I swear we'll keep him in check. Just let us go. I've already got so much blood on my hands... I... I don't want my students—my assistants—dead because of me, too."

Francis's gaze turned cold. The last thread of his patience had worn thin. "Apprehend them. Take them outside."

The soldiers moved without hesitation, locking their grips around Stein and Alex before dragging them toward the door.

Francis turned his attention back to Allen.

"As for this one... we'll handle him here."

Stein fought against the soldiers' grip, his protests echoing down the corridor as they dragged him away. His voice grew fainter, swallowed by the sterile walls of the lab.

Francis remained unmoved.

He crouched down beside Allen once more, his voice dropping to a near whisper, soft yet merciless.

"No risks, Stein. I told you this would happen. Didn't I?"

He didn't turn to look, didn't need to. He knew Stein was listening, his pleas falling on deaf ears.

"You know who the Republic despises most, Stein? After the Major and those bloated bureaucrats? It's you."

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he flicked the ash from his cigarette. "I know you didn't do all of this because you wanted to. You were afraid. Because the moment your knowledge becomes useless, you're better off dead."

He inhaled deeply, watching Allen's blood spread across the pristine tiles, his words a venomous whisper. "But are you really afraid of death, Stein? Or are you afraid that once you die, your quest for knowledge dies with you?"

Francis chuckled, low and mirthless. "You're a good man, Stein. But your hunger for knowledge? It's the hunger of a madman. You disregard everything for it. You ignore everything for it. So don't blame me."

The room fell into an eerie silence.

Stein had no response.

He couldn't. Because Francis was right.

The scientist tried, one last time, to plead, to beg for his student's life. But Francis had enough. With a dismissive wave of his hand, he silenced Stein's protests, his fate already decided.

The doors slammed shut.

Allen let out a shaky breath, his body trembling as Francis's shadow loomed over him.

The Major's right hand knelt beside him, watching him with a strange, unreadable expression. There was no hatred in his gaze, no malice—only duty.

The finality of it all was suffocating.

Francis let out a slow breath, voice eerily soft.

"Let's end this."