Just as he had with his helmet, Asher slowly began to remove his gauntlets from the rest of his exosuit. They clattered onto the table beside his helmet, causing the table and the tools resting on it to shake slightly.
From behind, Sinn's voice broke the silence.
"What... are you planning to torture me? Is that it? Is that what this is all about? Well, you're wasting your time—I've already told you I'm not gonna say anything. You might as well just kill me and get it over with!" Sinn's words sounded brave enough, yet there was an undeniable tremor beneath the surface.
After all, the White Fang was originally an activist group that had gradually shifted from radicalism into terrorism. Their members were trained and organized, but hardly to the extent of a professional military operation. Torture was something most of them had never experienced or prepared for.
And Sinn was no exception.
Despite being a Branch Leader, he wasn't a Huntsman, nor had he ever trained his Aura. He'd been chosen because of his talent for infiltrating and establishing footholds within Atlas, a Kingdom notoriously hostile to Faunus like himself.
Sinn continued to stare at Asher's back.
The lights flickered occasionally, still recovering from the earlier pulse that had temporarily disabled them, casting unsettling shadows across the room. The soft hum of electrical energy and the quiet buzz of the generator filled the silence until Asher spoke again, though not directly to Sinn.
"GAIA, reroute all communications directly to me unless they're marked high priority. If anyone asks, inform them I'm occupied interrogating the White Fang Branch Leader and can't be disturbed."
The robotic voice of Asher's AI assistant responded immediately.
[Acknowledged.]
Finally, Asher turned to face Sinn. He hadn't picked up any tools; instead, he simply addressed the White Fang Branch Leader directly.
"Sinn, do you know why people often choose death in situations like these? Why, despite Penny and me tearing through your compound, your people fought until the very end?"
The question caught Sinn off guard, especially given how calmly it had been asked. He thought about staying silent, but a quick glance at the tools behind Asher changed his mind.
"Because they believe in what we're fighting for," Sinn answered firmly.
Asher hummed thoughtfully, sighing before continuing, "Yes, that's exactly what many people tell themselves. Despite how much people love fighting for their 'freedoms,' they willingly surrender their ability to choose, because having fewer options makes life simpler. It's even easier when they convince themselves their choice was necessary—the best or even the only choice."
Asher stepped forward, pausing briefly before speaking again.
"You see, death is quick, absolute, and offers an escape from uncertainty. Choosing death becomes your final act of control. When someone else brings death upon you, you can comfort yourself by believing you did everything possible, that you died courageously. But that's just a lie."
"People choose death because they can assign it meaning—the meaning they want. But pain? Pain can be so intense that it erases meaning entirely. We tell ourselves that suffering gives life contrast or purpose, but that's just poetic nonsense. Because when pain is real, when it's actually happening, there's no meaning—just fire."
Asher's words lingered heavily in the silence of the control room. His voice wasn't cold or cruel, yet Sinn felt a chill run down his spine. The defiance he'd shown earlier in his eyes faded into something else, something uncertain. He became keenly aware of the wires digging into his wrists and ankles, even though he hadn't moved or struggled.
Still, Sinn forced a laugh.
"What is this, some kind of lecture?"
Hearing Sinn chuckle, Asher shook his head slightly, turning toward the table and picking up two sets of mechanical devices. They resembled toe rings, each thick enough to cover an entire toe and connected by a sturdy metal wire. Approaching Sinn, Asher bent down and began removing his shoes.
"Wha- Hey, what are you doing?" Sinn jerked instinctively, but that only made the wires bite deeper into his flesh. The instant his shoes were off, Asher slipped the mechanical rings onto Sinn's toes. Immediately sensing they'd been placed correctly, the rings tightened securely around each toe, applying a firm, uncomfortable pressure.
It wasn't exactly painful yet, just unsettling.
But a second later, Sinn heard a faint ringing—a sequence of five mechanical beeps, spaced evenly apart. Every time the five beeps repeated, Sinn felt the pressure pushing down on his toenails increase steadily, becoming sharper and more pronounced with each passing moment.
As Asher stood up again, he stared Sinn directly in the eyes.
"I wasn't giving you a lecture. I was explaining exactly what's about to happen. Pain without meaning."
With that, Asher returned to the table filled with tools. Every five seconds, Sinn heard those haunting beeps, each followed by a new surge of discomfort that quickly grew into sharp, agonizing pain. At first, it was gradual, but it rapidly became unbearable. His nerves felt as though they were on fire, forcing Sinn to grit his teeth as his eyes widened in agony.
There was never any relief; every cycle of beeps intensified the torment, making any attempt at struggling useless.
"Agh…" Sinn finally cracked, groaning aloud. It was at that exact moment that Asher turned back to him, and Sinn's heart sank at the sight of what he was holding—thin, precise needles, twenty of them in total. As Asher moved closer, his expression disturbingly calm, Sinn's mouth went dry.
Before Sinn could plead or protest, Asher grabbed one of his hands firmly and slid the first needle beneath his fingernail.
"Auugh! Wait!" Sinn screamed out, desperate, but Asher didn't pause. Instead, he raised a leg and pinned Sinn's chair firmly in place, preventing any movement. One by one, Asher methodically forced each needle beneath Sinn's fingernails. The burning, stabbing sensation was overwhelming, tears forming rapidly in Sinn's eyes as he gasped between screams.
When Asher finally stopped, blood trickled from Sinn's nailbeds, the puncture wounds already swelling painfully. Sinn was panting heavily, vision blurred with tears.
Asher stood over Sinn, the bright lights casting harsh shadows across his face. He reached down, roughly grabbing Sinn's hair, forcing his head upward to look him straight in the eye.
"Ten more," Asher muttered, a subtle shift in his voice—some barely-contained emotion lurking just beneath the surface.
"Wh-what…?" Sinn stammered weakly, confused, until Asher held up the remaining ten needles clearly in his other hand.
"I have ten more needles for your toenails. So I'll ask now. Who's supporting the White Fang here in Atlas? How did they interfere with the CCTS communications during the hijacking?"
The questions came relentlessly, leaving Sinn hardly any time to breathe as his body twitched uncontrollably with each beep.
"I- I don't… Fuuuaaag!" Sinn's attempt at defiance shattered into another scream as the pressure on his toes increased, leaving Asher to straighten back up, silently observing his captive's torment.
"Alright then," Asher muttered quietly.
The nails sliding beneath Sinn's toenails brought a whole new level of agony, intensified by the mechanical rings already clamping down on his toes. Blood seeped from his toes, drying quickly, painting his skin in messy streaks of red before it could even drip to the floor.
When the pressure increased again, this time driving the nails deeper, Sinn's breath caught sharply in his throat. His scream followed a moment later, echoing through the room as if his body needed time to fully process the shock.
Turning away, Asher went back to the table, his eyes gliding over the assortment of cruel instruments laid out before him.
He hated this.
No words could truly capture just how deeply he hated it.
He hated that he understood exactly why he'd brought each tool on this mission. He hated that he knew precisely how and where to use them on a body. Most of all, he despised the eerie familiarity that gripped him as he reached for the heated tweezers—the echoes of screams like Sinn's from past lives ringing clearly through his memories.
His expression remained blank—he would never allow it to shift in front of someone he was torturing—his grip tightened around the tool in one hand and the bottle he'd pulled directly from his Nexus Space in the other.
Without hesitation, Asher turned around, striding back toward Sinn, who writhed desperately in the chair. He gave Sinn no chance to register what was happening before flipping the switch on the heated tweezers and firmly clamping down on the flesh of Sinn's underarm.
The sharp, heated tips punctured skin instantly, searing the wound shut just as fast as it made it.
Sinn convulsed violently, his scream ragged and raw as tears, mucus, and saliva mixed on his face. But Asher wasn't done. Methodically, he continued across Sinn's body—his calves, inner thighs, every sensitive area of thin skin—each puncture accompanied by a fresh sizzle and hiss of seared flesh.
Every new injury bled briefly before being cauterized by the relentless heat.
Once finished, Asher switched the tweezers off, carefully placing them back onto the table. He then approached Sinn again, slowly circling the Branch Leader, whose screams had reduced to hoarse, shuddering gasps. Still, Asher wasn't done yet. Flicking open the bottle he'd brought, he stood behind Sinn and began to pour.
He didn't aim carefully—he simply let the liquid splash freely onto Sinn's head, soaking through his uniform and hair, sending streams cascading down his battered body. The water felt cold, an immediate contrast to the burning agony he'd endured moments earlier.
But when the liquid found its way into the fresh, raw wounds—still seared, torn, and bleeding—Sinn felt a sudden, sharp sting.
"Saltwater," Asher calmly informed him, watching impassively as Sinn's body jolted and twitched, reigniting his screams anew.
Sinn's mind felt overwhelmed, his body utterly wrecked as the wounds beneath his restraints worsened with every passing second. Perhaps due to that overwhelming pain, Sinn found himself looking directly up at Asher as the boy circled back in front of him.
In that blurry, pain-riddled moment, Sinn was still lucid enough to recognize Asher's expression. Despite the mask of calm detachment he'd worn this entire time, there had always been something hidden beneath the surface, lingering just behind those indifferent eyes.
Now Sinn finally understood what that hidden emotion was.
Enjoyment.
He could see it clearly—just a faint flicker in Asher's eyes, but more disturbingly, the subtle upward curve at the corner of his lips as he stared down at Sinn's broken state.
Perhaps Asher himself noticed this encroaching smile because, a second later, his hand came up to cover his mouth. He carelessly tossed the empty bottle of saltwater aside, the plastic clattering loudly against the stone floor before rolling out of sight into shadow.
Turning away, Asher lowered his hand slowly, collecting himself once again.
Once more, he approached the table filled with tools.
He hated this, didn't he?
Or was that just something he told himself—a lie to convince himself that he was still sane after everything he'd endured?
No. There was definitely something he hated about all of this. He hated the fact that he was forced into this role by that 'thing.' He hated the truth that he was breaking apart another living being solely for the amusement of something lurking beyond reality's edge. The thought of it disgusted him completely.
Yet humans were contradictory creatures. Capable of both despising and enjoying something simultaneously, but for entirely different reasons.
So why, exactly, was Asher enjoying this?
From behind, he heard Sinn sniffling weakly, trying desperately to form words as he watched Asher carefully choose yet another tool from the table.
"W- Wait... I- I'll tell-" But before Sinn could even finish speaking, Asher had already picked something from the table, turning his head slightly to glance back at his captive. Raising a single finger to his lips, Asher made a gentle shushing sound.
At that moment, Sinn clearly saw the unmistakable and unapologetic smile on Asher's face, accompanied by a gleam in his eyes as he quietly whispered, "Shh, not yet. There are still a few more things I'd like to try. Hold on just a little longer."
The reason Asher found enjoyment in this twisted act was straightforward:
It was precisely what he had been forged into, shaped and reshaped through countless cycles of life and death—all under the guiding hand of the being he so deeply despised.
And behind the veil of reality, that same being watched from a place beyond comprehension, releasing a laugh that echoed with unnatural madness.
"Oh, this is exactly why I love humans," ᛗᚩᛞᛟᚱᛁᛟᛃᛚᚢᛗᚾᚨ whispered, their voice dripping with amusement and a twisted affection potent enough to churn anyone's stomach. Their will reached out eagerly, pressing against the boundaries of Asher's reality, watching the boy intently as he continued his work on Sinn.
Their words brushed gently against the fabric of Asher's existence, heavy with a possessive obsession, as they spoke once more.
"Asher... my perfect player."
=====================================•=====================================
When it was finally over, Asher stood silently, staring blankly at the ceiling lights of the control room with a distant expression.
Before him, Sinn remained bound to the chair, but the screaming had long since stopped.
The man's clothes were gone, replaced by dried blood that stained his battered body, the chair beneath him, and the floor around his feet.
Mutilated was the only way to describe Sinn's current state. Deep gashes and lighter cuts covered every inch of his skin, digging into muscles and tendons. Each finger and toe was swollen and bloody. Patches of skin had been torn away, and what remained was scarred, burned, and littered with fresh lacerations.
His ankles and wrists had long since bled dry, and his face—eyes swollen shut, lips split open—was so brutally disfigured it was nearly impossible to recognize.
Sinn, the Branch Leader of Atlas's White Fang, was already dead.
After another long moment, Asher's gaze slowly fell onto Sinn's lifeless form. He only looked on for a moment before he turned back toward the table behind him and quietly began putting the tools away, returning each of them to the Nexus Space.
As he did, he spoke softly into the silence, "I extracted as much information as I could before he died. I've done what you asked. Are you satisfied now?"
A brief silence filled the air before the control room's speakers crackled to life once more, Mori's voice echoing from above.
"Oh, there's no need to lie to me, Asher. I can tell you've been holding that inside for a long time, haven't you? This world is far too orderly for someone like you. You enjoyed this even more than I did. Let's not pretend for even a moment that you only did it for information."
There was pure delight in Mori's voice, along with the faint, amused undertone of laughter.
Asher offered no reply, but for once Mori didn't seem to mind, continuing cheerfully, "Still, I certainly enjoyed the show. So, of course, I'll uphold my end of the deal. All the information about your three rewards is already waiting in your room at the Frostvale Manor. Don't worry—it's secure. Nobody but you will be able to find it."
Once he finished stowing the last of his equipment into the Nexus Space, Asher turned his head upward, speaking quietly to the empty air.
"Of course, you couldn't just give it to me directly."
Mori didn't respond to that with anything but a laugh, instead switching topics as he asked, "So did you notice it this time?"
Asher paused for a moment before nodding and saying, "Yes."
He had noticed it the moment Sinn had died. The thing Mori had been teasing him about was failing to notice up until now. It was true, it was something he missed, but that was more so because he never focused on the sensation. At the very moment Sinn died, Asher had felt like something had flowed into him.
A pulse, perhaps, creating ripples through his mind, and by extension, the Nexus Space.
It had grown, and not just once. Every time Asher had killed someone, taken a life, the Nexus Space had been growing. It wasn't very noticeable, and Asher hadn't had the time to look into the details, but without a doubt, the Nexus Space had expanded itself.
"Good, about time you noticed. I'll be looking forward to seeing how you go about handling this, but I think I'll be taking my leave now. It was a fun show, but I do, believe it or not, have a life outside of you." Asher couldn't tell if that was true or not—and frankly, at this point, he didn't care.
He remained silent, even as Mori added cheerfully, "Toodles!"
His voice echoed one final time, trailing off with a laugh as the speakers crackled and went silent again.
The moment Mori's voice faded, Asher fell into action. He quickly surveyed the control room—the scattered bodies, weapons, and chaotic mess—and then retrieved something from his Nexus Space. It resembled an S.G-2 grenade, but was nearly three times larger. He adjusted its settings swiftly, then tossed it to the floor.
It rolled to Sinn's cold, lifeless feet as Asher began reattaching the gauntlets of his exosuit, followed swiftly by his helmet. The final piece, his mask, clicked into place with a soft hiss, bringing his HUD back online.
After a brief moment of preparation, he charged toward the metal door of the control room. He slammed into it shoulder-first, sending it flying off its hinges and through the frame he himself had jammed it into earlier. As he landed roughly outside the doorway, the grenade exploded, creating a massive shockwave that rocked the entire sub-basement level.
The ground shook violently, flames and debris erupting from the entrance behind him. The control room walls fractured, and the ceiling cracked and collapsed inward.
"Asher! Are you okay?" Penny called out anxiously, clearly having waited outside the control room. She hurried over, helping him to his feet while glancing worriedly at the blazing inferno consuming what had once been the White Fang's central hub in Atlas.
"Yeah, I'm fine," Asher answered, grunting softly as he stood up fully.
"I managed to defeat the Huntsman who blocked my path," Penny reported. Asher glanced at her, noting her hair was dusty and her body showed several bruises, but no serious cuts or wounds.
Clearly, she'd emerged mostly unharmed.
"You're alright?" Asher asked gently.
Penny nodded brightly, giving him a reassuring smile.
"Mmhm! They were strong, but they got tired faster than I did—a benefit of being an android. When I reached here, I tried contacting you, but GAIA told me you were busy interrogating the White Fang Branch Leader. I didn't want to interrupt, and I couldn't see or hear into the room because the walls were lined with something. What happened in there?"
Asher listened carefully before turning to the smoldering remains of the control room entrance.
"I managed to get some information from the Branch Leader. But just as I was about to arrest him and take him out, he committed suicide and activated a hidden explosive. He probably wanted to take me out along with him."
Penny's eyes widened in shock.
"Really? That's surprising."
"Yeah, it caught me off guard, too," Asher responded, allowing just a hint of disbelief into his voice.
"Well... at least you're safe. That was my main mission anyway," Penny said warmly.
"I'd much rather he blow himself up than see you hurt trying to capture him." Her caring tone drew a quiet chuckle from behind Asher's mask. Without thinking, he reached out to pat Penny's head—a gesture she clearly hadn't anticipated.
Her expression froze briefly, then softened as she glanced up at him.
"Thanks, Penny," Asher said sincerely.
"I'm glad you're safe, too."