Chapter 10 : Shattered loyalties part 1

A Broken Return

The dim lights flicker overhead, casting long shadows along the cold concrete floor as Sora drags his battered body through the hallway. Each step is a painful reminder of his failure—his bruised ribs aching, his arms shaking from exhaustion. The smell of disinfectant and stale air fills his lungs, but none of it can numb the sharp throb of defeat he carries with him.

Sora’s vision blurs as he stumbles, and for a fleeting moment, he considers collapsing. But no. He can’t afford to show weakness. Not here. Not now. He forces himself forward, determined to face whatever comes next, despite the gnawing pain that threatens to overwhelm him.

As he rounds the corner, he sees the door to Renzo’s office at the end of the hall, looming like a predator’s den. The weight of his failure presses down on him, suffocating him with each agonizing step. He’s failed. And Renzo doesn’t take failure lightly.

As he reaches the door, it swings open, and there stands Renzo—arms crossed, his icy blue eyes fixed on Sora like a hawk watching its prey. The silence between them stretches on, thick with unspoken expectations.

Renzo (calmly) : “So, you failed. What will you do now?”

Sora’s chest tightens at the sound of his voice. He can barely lift his head, his exhaustion and shame evident in the way his shoulders slump. He tries to speak, but his throat feels like it’s closing up from the weight of what he’s about to admit.

Sora (weakly) : “I’m sorry… I tried.”

Renzo’s expression never changes. He’s impassive, emotionless—like a machine designed to pass judgment without mercy. He steps forward, his footsteps echoing through the room as he approaches Sora.

Without a word, Renzo grabs Sora’s wrist, his grip like iron. He yanks it with terrifying force, twisting Sora’s arm into an unnatural position. The crack of bones breaking fills the air, and Sora gasps in pain. His finger snaps—one clean, brutal motion. The agony flares in Sora’s mind, but he doesn’t scream. He doesn’t dare.

Renzo (coldly) : “You want redemption? You’ll have to earn it. Prove you’re still useful to me.”

The words land like a death sentence. Sora’s vision swims in and out of focus, his body collapsing to the cold floor in a heap. The pain in his hand is nothing compared to the weight of Renzo’s words. He knows what’s coming next: more missions. More suffering. More bloodshed.

Renzo looks down at Sora with disdain, his eyes calculating. He’s already thinking about how to break Sora further, how to use him until there’s nothing left to take.

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Relentless Missions

The next few weeks pass in a blur of pain, exhaustion, and violence. Renzo sends Sora out on mission after mission, each one more dangerous than the last. There are no breaks, no time for healing. Sora is sent into the field with fresh injuries from the previous task, his body barely holding itself together.

The first mission after his return is a clean-up operation in a rundown part of the city. A rival syndicate member has gone rogue, and it’s Sora’s job to eliminate him. It should be an easy job for any agent—take out the target, clean up the mess, and report back.

But for Sora, it’s far from simple. He’s running on fumes, his muscles aching, his mind clouded by fatigue. The mission goes sideways almost immediately. He’s ambushed. His heart pounds in his chest as he fights back, struggling to stay on his feet as bullets whiz past him. He takes out one target, then another, but his movements are slow, sluggish. His vision wavers, his senses dulling with every passing second.

Sora barely escapes with his life, stumbling back into the shadows of an alley, the cold air biting at his skin. He’s covered in blood—his own and the blood of those he’s killed. But he’s alive. Barely.

After the mission, he drags himself back to the agency, where Renzo is waiting for him. There’s no praise. No acknowledgment. Only silence as Renzo watches Sora’s broken form with cold eyes.

Renzo (disinterested): “You’re still standing. That’s all that matters.”

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The Mental Toll

Every mission begins to blur together. Sora’s body and mind begin to deteriorate. The constant violence, the pressure to perform, and the pain of each new injury weigh on him. He’s becoming numb—numb to the violence, to the bloodshed, and, worst of all, to the person he used to be.

He no longer recognizes the reflection in the mirror. His face is pale, his eyes hollow, and his body is a map of bruises and scars. Each new mission feels like it could be his last, and there’s no escape. Renzo won’t let him rest. There’s always another task to be completed, another person to kill.

Sora starts to wonder if this is all he’ll ever be—nothing but a weapon, a tool to be used and discarded when he’s no longer useful. The idea gnaws at him, but he can’t escape it. He’s trapped.

In the midst of this, there’s Kaito—a fellow agent who watches Sora’s decline in silence. Kaito has known Sora for years, and he can see what’s happening. He can see the destruction in Sora’s eyes. He can see how Sora is slowly losing himself, piece by piece.

One night, after a particularly grueling mission, Sora stumbles back into the agency’s headquarters, his body aching with exhaustion. Kaito is waiting for him in the hallway, his arms crossed, a grim expression on his face.

Kaito (quietly): “If you keep going like this, you’ll have nothing left. You’re killing yourself, Sora.”

Sora doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know what to say. Kaito’s words feel like a distant echo, something he can’t grasp, something too far removed from the world he’s in now.

Sora (quietly): “What else is there to do, Kaito? I don’t have a choice.”

Kaito’s gaze softens for a moment, but then he shakes his head.

Kaito (muttering): “You always had a choice. You just forgot.”

Sora doesn’t respond. He can’t. There’s nothing left to say.

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Breaking Point

Days bleed into weeks, and Sora finds himself pushed further and further into the depths of exhaustion. He’s no longer sure if he’s even alive or if he’s simply existing—each mission stripping away another piece of who he was. But no matter how broken he becomes, Renzo keeps pushing him. He’s still useful.

Sora lies in a cold, dark room late one night, staring up at the ceiling as his body trembles from the aftermath of another brutal mission. His head spins with the memories of what he’s done, the faces of the people he’s killed haunting him. It’s not the bloodshed that gets to him—it’s the emptiness. The deep, aching void inside him that grows with every passing day.

And then there’s Mikuya.

She’s been a ghost in the back of his mind for weeks now, ever since their encounter. He still remembers the look in her eyes—the same disappointment he saw when she looked at him. She saw through the mask he’d built, saw him for what he really was. A broken tool. A weapon.

He clenches his fists, angry at himself. He hates the person he’s become. But he doesn’t know how to change.

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The Dark Truth

Sora wakes up one morning to find that Renzo has already prepared the next mission for him. He barely has time to catch his breath before he’s sent out again. This time, the task is different—it’s personal. Renzo has given him a target, a man who was once an ally to the Syndicate but has now turned against them.

The target is a former agent, someone Sora knew well. It’s a simple execution job. But the moment Sora lays eyes on the man, a wave of recognition hits him. He knows this man. They fought side by side in the past. This man is someone Sora once considered a brother.

But now, he’s the target.

Sora stands frozen for a moment, torn between duty and the memories of the past. But Renzo’s voice rings in his ears, cold and unforgiving.

Renzo (sternly): “Kill him, Sora. Or you’ll be next.”

Sora’s hand tightens around the gun he’s holding. He doesn’t want to do it. He doesn’t want to kill this man, not after everything they’ve been through. But there’s no escape. Renzo’s voice, Renzo’s orders, are all that matters.

Sora hesitates for only a moment, then raises his weapon. His heart pounds in his chest. He pulls the trigger.

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The blood on his hands feels like a weight that will never go away.