the scene of of his past

[Scene: High-security prison chamber. Glass walls, chains, and a metal table. Martin sits on one side, hands chained but relaxed. Across from him, James slowly enters, watched by Lucas behind glass.]

James (sits down, eyes cautious): So... we meet again.

Martin (without looking, sipping tea): Indeed. I felt your steps before you even entered. It has a rhythm I rather enjoy. Familiar. Like an old symphony.

James: I didn't come here to talk music. I came to understand why you did it. Why you became... this.

Martin (places teacup down, smiles slightly): Of course you did. But you already know, don't you? You just want to hear it from my mouth. A little confession from the devil himself.

James: Call it what you want. Just talk.

Martin: Alright. Let me give you a story then. No lies. No tricks. Just the raw, unpolished truth. I was nineteen. Just a name on a form at the College of Unity Aboveese. I came alone. No parents, no friends. No background anyone cared about.

James (curious, leans forward): You were a student?

Martin: For a time. A curious one. I remember my first friend there—Oliver. Shy, fragile, always looking down like the ground was more comforting than people. We weren't alike. And yet... I saw myself in him. Or maybe the version of me that never survived.

James: What happened to him?

Martin (eyes darken): He was hunted. Not with weapons. With humiliation. A boy named Blake. A rich monster with a bright smile and black heart. You see, Blake loved control. He treated Oliver like a joke, a toy to break in front of others. Told him to lick his shoes. Asked for nude photos of his mother. It was... grotesque.

James: And you just watched?

Martin: At first. Until the day Blake struck Oliver's father—an old man who tried to protect his son. He punched him so hard, the man was hospitalized. That was when I decided. Blake needed to be... taught.

James (quietly): You planned it.

Martin: Yes. I followed Blake and his friends to an abandoned building. I knocked each of them out, one by one. Quietly. Precisely. Then Blake... he got the special chair. Ropes, nails, darkness. When he woke up, I let him see the corpse of his best friend lying beside him.

James: You made him watch?

Martin: I made him remember. I asked him, "How does it feel to be helpless?" He begged. Cried. Promised money. And then I handed the knife to Oliver.

James: And?

Martin: He couldn't do it. I don't blame him. He was too kind. So... I did it for him. I started small. A few fingers. A few words. He didn't scream at first. But oh... when I took his tongue...

James (stands up, angry): Stop.

Martin (calmly): You asked for truth.

James: You enjoyed it.

Martin: I learned something that day. Pain has a language. And I was fluent. The world ignored me, so I gave it a scream it couldn't forget. I burned Blake alive, James. And I watched his eyes melt while Oliver sobbed.

James (sits back down, shaken): You think that justifies anything?

Martin: Not at all. I'm not asking for forgiveness. I'm offering understanding. You said you wanted to know why I became this. It started there. In that room. With fire, blood, and silence.

James: What about Oliver?

Martin: He left. Changed his name. Hid from the world. I never saw him again. But I carried his pain with me. Alongside my own. That's when I realized... monsters aren't born. They're crafted.

James: You're wrong. You chose this.

Martin: So did you. When you picked up a gun. When you stepped into darkness to find people like me. The only difference is... I stopped pretending I was anything else.

James: I'm not you.

Martin (leans forward, whispering): Aren't you?

**[Silence.] Martin leans back, sips his tea.]

Martin: Next time you visit, I'll tell you about Isabela. About the day she made me truly feel fear. You'll like that one. Bring stronger tea.

James: This was a mistake.

Martin: No. This was the beginning.

**[James walks out. Behind the glass, Lucas stands waiting. Martin sits alone, smiling at the chains around his wrists, as the violin plays softly from a player in the corner. Fade out