True Apocalypse Game

In an interrogation room somewhere in Siberia, Joe was securely bound, awaiting interrogation.

The room was part of Russia’s Siberian prison system. Natasha, an agent from the Russian Federal Security Service, frowned as she studied the man before her.

The findings of the Ice Dragon Expedition Team had once again caused a global sensation, but the public was still unaware that Joe Thomas had gone berserk inside the submersible and attacked his own teammates.

Rumor had it that Joe Thomas was originally sent to Hua Country, but after a turn of events, he was handed over to this shithole in Siberia.

Of course, it was still a joint investigation.

Although she found it strange that he’d been sent here instead of a high-security prison in the Capital, Natasha looked at the man’s nonchalant smile and spoke in a low, heavy voice:

"Motive? Objective? Why did you attack your teammates?"

Joe chuckled and asked:

"Pretty little thing, did your Savior send you to take me down? Don’t you know I never laid a hand on them? They were the ones attacking me the whole time. I want to appeal! I want to see my lawyer."

Natasha tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, completely unfazed, and continued:

"This is Siberian Prison GLG334, part of a secret prison system run by the Russian Federal Security Service. It’s a successor to the secret labor camps of the Soviet KGB’s Gulag. The last lawyer to show up here was a political prisoner from one of those very Gulags. The Siberian permafrost has long since shattered his bones. Motive? Objective?"

Joe was taken aback for a moment, his smile faltering slightly before he forced another laugh.

"It doesn’t matter. When this world is finally purified, everything will turn to dust. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. You think you’re so terrifying right now? Trying to scare me by dropping the names KGB and Federal Security Service? Ha! I have received the blessings of the Whisperer and Cthulhu. I am fearless."

Natasha’s brow furrowed. She clicked the pen in her hand and asked again:

"One last time. Motive. Objective."

A contemptuous smile remained on Joe’s face.

"I..."

But this time, he didn’t even get a word out. The woman, who looked so pure and sweet, lunged across the table like a tigress. She grabbed a fistful of Joe’s hair and slammed his head viciously against the metal edge of the table. CRACK! Joe’s nose broke, and blood splattered across his clothes.

"AAAAHH—AAAAHHHH!" Joe struggled to raise his cuffed hands to his nose, letting out a bloodcurdling scream.

But the woman’s strength was far greater than he’d imagined. She grabbed his head again and slammed it down onto the table.

SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! SLAM...

Joe’s face was slammed into the table again and again. One of his fingers fractured from the impact, and his nose was completely shattered, blood gushing from it like a fountain.

After a dozen more impacts, Joe was dizzy and seeing stars. Natasha lifted the pen and viciously stabbed it into one of his nostrils. Forcing it upward, she asked again in that same heavy tone:

"Motive. Objective?

"AAGH—This is a forced confession! I didn’t—AGHH..." Tears and snot streamed down Joe’s face from the agony. It felt like a red-hot poker had been shoved up his nose. The pain was beyond anything he could bear, and he began to choke as blood trickled into his lungs.

Meanwhile, Natasha had grabbed a telephone cord from a nearby desk, wrapped it tightly around Joe’s neck, and began to slowly, rhythmically, tighten it.

"Motive? Objective?"

’This woman is a machine. She’s not going to stop!’

Fear flooded Joe’s heart. Ever since the previous Cthulhu had mysteriously disappeared and died, his unconditional fanaticism for the Purification Society and the Whisperer had already begun to waver. Now, faced with this terror firsthand, his conviction finally cracked. He struggled to speak:

"...I’ll talk... I... I wanted to sabotage the mission... I wanted to open the Space Wormhole..."

Natasha finally loosened her grip on the telephone cord and pulled the pen from Joe’s nostril, drawing a gush of blood with it.

She wiped the blood from her hands and the pen on his shirt, then sat back down across the table. Opening a notebook, she began to write and said:

"Continue."

On the other side of the one-way mirror, in the observation room, two tall men were conversing.

One was Ivan, Director of the Russian Federal Oceanic Bureau and a member of the Arctic Undersea Wormhole Expedition Team. The other was Liu Jing, Deputy Director of the Federal Security Service.

"So, Ivan? Natasha is one of my most brilliant and talented agents. Quite satisfactory, isn’t she?" Liu Jing asked with a smile.

Ivan’s face was grim. He said:

"If a talent for torture is all it takes, then Guantanamo Bay Detention Camp must be a gathering place for geniuses... If Joe dies, we lose our only lead on the Purification Society. That will only disappoint the Commander."

At the mention of the Commander, Liu Jing immediately straightened up. His playful demeanor vanished, and he said gravely:

"Rest assured, Natasha knows her limits. These are just flesh wounds, designed to cause pain and despair. He won’t die. Besides, if you wanted someone from Guantanamo, that’s no problem either. Our comrades in Eagle Country sent over an expert."

He clapped his hands. A gaunt, hollow-faced black man carrying a briefcase entered the room. He nodded to Liu Jing and Ivan and said:

"Yimer, reporting in. Mr. Nick sends his regards to you both."

There was a melancholic quality in his eyes. He didn’t look like an interrogation expert at all; he looked more like a concert pianist.

But Ivan sensed an inhuman coldness in the man’s gaze, a look that sent a chill to the bone.

He hadn’t expected his comrades in the Salvation Army to actually bring in an interrogation expert from Guantanamo. The thought of their no-holds-barred methods made him shudder. He turned to Liu Jing, his face impassive, and said:

"I’ll be going. You carry on. Liu Jing, my dear friend, whatever it takes, we’d best get the information we need before the ’game’ begins again. Presenting that intel to the Commander in front of everyone will be the only way to showcase our success... We can’t afford to disappoint the Commander again."

"Don’t you worry, Ivan. When this is all over, we’ll have a couple of drinks together. How does some cured pork and vodka sound?" Liu Jing said with a smile, his hands in his pockets. He nodded at Yimer.

"Alright, it’s a date. But we’ll need smoked fish and pickles, too." Ivan gave a slight smile, pushed the door open, and left.

Once the door closed and he was sure his "old friend" Ivan was gone, Liu Jing’s expression shifted, his face becoming a mask of ice. He led Yimer into the interrogation room, pulled up a chair, and propped his feet up on the table. He looked at Natasha and said:

"Natasha, this is Yimer from Eagle Country. He’s from Guantanamo, one of the top men in the business. You two should get acquainted."

Natasha looked at Yimer, her face a blank slate, her eyes as lifeless as a corpse’s.

Yimer met her gaze and gave an almost imperceptible nod.

Across the table, Joe, still pinching his bleeding nose, suddenly trembled. He had the feeling that the woman before him, the standing black man, and the tall, seated Russian weren’t entirely human.

They felt like three Devils!

’He had no idea what to do now.’

’The thing was, he really hadn’t attacked the other expedition members. His mission was just to infiltrate the team, get a close look at the Wormhole, and report his findings.’

’Ivan was the one who’d suddenly attacked him. He hadn’t done anything aggressive at all.’

’The "objective" he had just been forced to confess to was a complete fabrication. He was being framed. It was the greatest injustice.’

’Even if he was a member of the Purification Society, did that mean they could treat him this inhumanely?’

’These hypocrites called themselves the Salvation Army, but their actions were on par with Devils.’

Seeing that the two had made their acquaintance, Liu Jing lit a cigarette, leaned back in his chair, and said to Natasha and Yimer:

"Alright, let’s begin. We only have..."

He glanced at his watch. It was just past seven in the evening. The game’s next mission would begin in about eight hours.

"...eight hours."

Yimer nodded. He placed his briefcase on the table, unfastened the latches, and opened it. Inside, neatly arranged in rows, lay an assortment of delicate little tools: knives, screwdrivers, pliers, a blowtorch, an electric drill, and more.

Her face impassive, Natasha stood up as Joe watched in terror. She tapped the pen in her hand lightly on the table.

It had begun.