Chapter 5 - A Bottomless Void of Insanity

Children from heaven do not belong on the other side.

…What does that even mean?

Ever since yesterday, I haven't been able to stop thinking about that moment.

Especially Catherine’s silence.

Even sitting alone in my room feels different today.

It's strange how something so small can affect the mind. Maybe everyone really is wearing some kind of mask to hide parts of themselves.

…That has to be it.

As I get up from my chair, the phone on the table suddenly rings. The sound catches me off guard, making me glance around instinctively.

“Oh… it’s just this thing.”

A small wave of relief washes over me.

The caller's name on the screen instantly ruins that relief.

Sam Krotova.

A name I almost never want to hear—or even see.

I ignore the call.

The ringing stops.

A second later, it starts again.

I reluctantly answer.

“Hello,” I answer irritably.

“Tomorrow. Eleven thirty a.m. My office.”

His usual cold voice.

Then—

“Code Anomaly…”

The call disconnects.

…I seriously hate this guy.

He calls once every few months without fail.

No greetings.

No explanations.

No basic human interaction.

Just orders.

I let out a deep sigh before freezing mid-step.

“Wait a minute…”

Did he just say—

“…Anomaly?”

The word lingers in my mind. Without wasting another second, I head toward reception. I walk into the reception area while adjusting my mask. Naturally, the usual greeting awaits me.

“Good morning again, Mister Roberts,” Harrington says with her usual smile.

“You already said that earlier,” Catherine remarks while continuing to read her book.

“So? It’s still morning, isn’t it?” Harrington replies casually.

“Sure.”

“That’s basically all you’re capable of anyway.”

A direct strike from the Dove.

“You little—”

Harrington shoots to her feet.

“Stop it, you two,” I say firmly before things escalate again.

The room falls silent.

“That’s unusual,” Catherine says while staring at me.

“So, you can actually talk like that,” she continues.

“Sam called.”

“Mister Krotova? That’s rare,” Harrington says awkwardly.

“You’re not exactly calm today either.”

Catherine closes her book.

“…Anomaly.”

The word slips out before I realize it.

For a moment, the entire room falls silent.

Then Catherine sighs.

“That again…”

“He said it last time—no more anomalies for you,” Catherine says.

“You agreed too, remember?”, she continues.

“I know.”, I say quietly.

She looks directly at me.

“I'm not going, just to be clear,” Harrington declares the moment she notices me glance at her.

“Nobody's taking you anywhere, idiot,” Catherine interrupts before I can respond.

Surprisingly, Harrington looks slightly relieved instead.

She doesn’t even bother responding to Dovey this time.

She’s probably just happy she might get a day off.

“I’m going again…” I mutter.

The two of them stare at me.

“It’s just…”

I lower my gaze toward the floor.

“His voice sounded heavier than usual.”

“Maybe something bad happened.”

“And what exactly are you supposed to do about it?”

The two of them ask almost perfectly in sync.

“…I’m a licensed criminal psychologist, just so you know.”

They stare at me for several seconds before trying to hold back their laughter.

“Go for it then. Your call.”

Dovey says while casually reopening her book.

“You can do it, Mister Roberts.”

"Just one thing..." Dovey says, her tone turning serious.

“Don’t go around sympathizing with devil’s kin.”

For once, there’s barely any playfulness left in her voice.

I nod.

“There’s no excuse for brutality,” Harrington adds as well.

“I understand,” I answer calmly.

The next morning arrives far earlier than I would’ve liked. After taking the train toward the Sotarmo District, I step out onto the platform and notice the atmosphere.

Even the air feels gloomy.

Heavy.

Unpleasant.

As though the district had already heard the story before I did.

Sotarmo District is notoriously unpleasant.

This is only my fifth time visiting, yet the atmosphere never changes.

People here seem obsessed with killing each other.

Not because they enjoy it.

Violence simply becomes necessary because of the people themselves.

…It’s just sad.

As I continue walking through the streets, I notice rows of quiet isolated houses, only a handful of pedestrians wandering in the distance.

The smell of dead animals, spoiled food, and litter lingers heavily in the air. This district has always been like this.

You can't even avoid passing through it; the station is located here. The government cleans the area every week without fail, yet the people restore the filth as though it's simply the natural state of things.

I move through the area quickly before finally approaching the true heart of Sotarmo—

The headquarters of the CPF.

The Constitutional Police Force.

The heat here is surprisingly mild compared to my district.

It’s strange how a distance of barely three hundred kilometers can change the weather.

As I continue walking, I notice a man sprinting toward me from the distance.

At first, I ignore him and keep walking.

But as he gets closer, something in his hand catches my attention.

I squint slightly.

…A long object.

Wait.

“A knife…”

Panic hits me instantly.

I instinctively step back before breaking into a run.

The man isn’t particularly fast—mostly because he appears both overweight and fairly old—but I have absolutely no intention of risking anything.

A moment later, police sirens echo through the street.

While running, I glance behind me and notice a CPF vehicle chasing after him.

…They’ll catch him soon enough.

At least that’s what I think.

Then suddenly—

A loud metallic thud echoes through the road.

I turn around.

The man lies motionless on the ground while the police vehicle remains stopped nearby.

…They really just rammed directly into him.

That definitely broke a few bones.

Two more officers follow closely behind him.

The injured man desperately tries to stand again, only to collapse the next moment.

One by one, the officers calmly pull out their pistols. Even from a distance, I can see everything clearly enough. I shut my eyes instinctively the moment the gunshots begin. But it changes nothing.

I can still hear them.

The screams too.

Even when I force myself not to look, the sound doesn’t stop.

And it isn’t just one shot.

Each officer fires three times.

By the time the silence returns, I slowly begin walking toward them again.

The officers notice me approaching.

Once we're only a few meters apart, the younger officer reloads his pistol and points it directly at me.

I continue walking anyway.

Just before he’s about to pull the trigger, one of the older officers grabs his arm.

“Easy there,” the older man says while forcing the weapon downward.

“That’s Roberts.”

“Masked man's one of ours,” says the long-haired officer before finally putting his own gun away.

I nod.

The older officer approaches and offers me a handshake. Meanwhile, the younger one remains still.

“Been a while,” the officer says while patting my shoulder afterward.

I stare at him for a moment before nodding again.

“Don’t remember me?” he asks with a laugh.

“I’m Ferguson.”

“We worked together during the Aquarium Maniac case.”

“Oh…”

Recognition finally clicks.

“How could I forget?”

“The beard threw me off a little.”

Ferguson laughs.

“Yeah, I hear that a lot.”

“Even Sam says the same thing.”

Ferguson introduces me to the long-haired officer before turning to the younger one, who barely says anything.

“I’ve heard a lot about the masked guy,” the long-haired officer says while offering a surprisingly firm handshake.

“Nice finally seeing you in person.”, he continues.

“Likewise,” I reply casually.

“Hey, hotshot,” Ferguson shouts toward the younger officer.

“That’s the Masked Wolf himself.”

“You better stay on his good side.”, Ferguson says while suppressing a laugh.

“Come on, guys,” I mutter awkwardly.

“We’re just speaking the truth,” the long-haired officer replies, clearly fascinated.

After hearing that, the younger officer finally steps forward.

“James Diecto,” he says firmly.

“CPF.”

After a moment—

“A prodigy personally accepted by Sam Krotova himself.”

…That introduction fits him perfectly.

He seeks validation from Sam?

Of all people?

…Sam?

I nervously glance toward the man they shot earlier.

The officers notice.

“Mind explaining that?”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Ferguson replies with unsettling casualness.

“It’s nothing unusual around here.”

“He apparently stabbed an officer after forcing his way into headquarters,” James explains while calmly walking toward the body.

“He was the victim’s brother.”

“…Or something close to that.”

“Victim?” I repeat slowly.

“Oh…”

Ferguson looks at me differently.

“Right. You’re here because of the case.”

A deep sigh escapes him afterward.

“That explains it,” the long-haired officer mutters.

For a moment, none of them say anything. They simply exchange looks between themselves. Then Ferguson finally breaks the silence.

“…Personally?”

“I don’t think you should take this one.”, says Ferguson.

The concern in his voice sounds genuine.

I remain silent.

Unfortunately, Ferguson interprets my silence as refusal to back away.

James cuts through the tension.

“At least hear everything first,” he says firmly.

“Then decide.”

“A sixteen-year-old girl chopped up her folks and stuffed their remains in a stuffed toy, believing it can make the teddy bear alive.”

James says the entire sentence in one breath.

“What?” is the only response my brain manages to produce.

“Yeah,” the long-haired officer mutters quietly.

“That was pretty much my reaction too.”

“The disturbing part isn’t even the brutality.”

Ferguson says while kicking the corpse beside him.

“It’s who did it.”

He kicks the body again.

“People like this guy?”

“We can deal with them easily enough.”

“But kids…”

His voice lowers slightly.

“Kids are different.”

“You can’t just get rid of them.”

Ferguson slowly walks back toward us.

“I have a daughter around the same age.”

A tired sigh escapes him.

“I honestly can’t even bring myself to face that girl.”

“Facts,” the long-haired officer says in agreement.

“I saw it myself,” Ferguson continues.

“The teddy bear…”

“…those organs…”

“…everything.”

His voice slowly weakens.

“That girl was sitting there stitching the remains together like—”

He stops speaking.

As if his own imagination interrupted him.

“Situations like this are easier to handle when the RDD doesn’t interfere,” he says coldly while glancing toward the corpse.

I understand what he means.

“I have a feeling that Mirine Zachier might attract their attention.”, James adds.

“RDD doesn’t care,” Ferguson immediately cuts in.

James pulls out a pair of sunglasses before putting them on.

Then he asks me once more—

“Are you willing to step into a bottomless well?”

Listening to their views about people makes me realize something unsettling.

Sam is shaping them.

Little by little.

He’s practically creating monsters to fight other monsters.

“Hey.”

James calls out again, pulling me away from my thoughts.

“You coming or not?”

“Yes,” I say and adjust my mask again.

“I’m just doing my job.”

“Nothing fancy.”

“Sure,” James replies flatly before turning toward the vehicle.

“Come with us then.”

They just leave the body to rot on the street as we head towards the head office.

Nobody speaks during the drive. The silence inside the vehicle feels strangely natural. Within minutes, we arrive at the CPF headquarters.

Same lifeless building with not so lively people.

And standing directly in front of the entrance—

The man responsible for shaping all of it.

Sam Krotova himself.

The moment I step out of the vehicle, Sam casually approaches and offers me a handshake.

As our hands meet, I can feel James watching the interaction carefully from nearby.

“You look… rather well,” Sam says in his usual unreadable tone.

“Can’t really say the same about you,” I reply without hesitation.

A faint smirk appears on his face.

Without another word, Sam turns and walks deeper into the building.

Naturally, everyone follows behind him.

“I’m not particularly fond of calling you here again,” Sam says while continuing down the hallway.

“But circumstances like you.”

His voice remains calm.

“Every government-certified psychologist refused to take the case.”

“We don’t have enough time to search for another one.”

He briefly glances toward me.

“So now you’re up.”

I nod.

After several more turns through the headquarters, we enter the briefing room beside the counselling chamber.

Sam stops near the entrance.

“Everyone,” he says while moving toward his chair.

“Here’s our psychologist.”

“Brief him properly and send him in.”, he says.

Everyone inside the room looks toward me.

Then the silence settles. Their confusion is understandable.

Sam notices the atmosphere instantly.

“Listen carefully,” he says flatly while sitting down near the table.

“He solved the Hikel case.”

The reaction is immediate. Several eyes widen silently around the room. Even James stiffens for a brief second. Nobody questions anything afterward.

Without another word, one of the officer gestures for me to join the briefing instead.

“We’re still fairly new here, sir, so please excuse us,” the female officer says nervously.

Instead of explaining the situation verbally, she hands me the case files.

Probably for the best.

I open the document slowly.

Mirine Zachier.

Sixteen years old.

Visible injuries and scars found across the body.

Physically fit — Yes.

Mentally fit —?

…Even the report itself seems unsure.

The thirty-six-page document explains her life as a story. Every page slowly details her childhood. The abuse from her parents.

Her isolation from school. Her growing attachment toward a single teddy bear. Then come the crime scene photographs.

And…

They’re even worse than Ferguson described.

The teddy bear hangs pinned against the wall while Mirine desperately sews human remains onto it. Another image shows her violently resisting CPF officers as they attempt to confiscate the stuffed toy from her.

The briefing finally concludes after nearly an hour.

Soon afterward, they guide me toward the counseling room.

Naturally, Sam observes everything from the adjacent chamber separated by a two-way glass panel.

A female officer and Ferguson accompany me inside.

Then—

I finally see her.

A small girl sitting in handcuffs. She wears nothing more than a plain green dress, her dead eyes and non-existent smile making her seem far older than sixteen.

The moment our eyes meet, Catherine's warning resurfaces—

Don’t go around sympathizing with devil’s kin.

Keeping those words in mind, I slowly sit down across from her.

Mirine barely moves at all.

Her empty eyes remain fixed on me without a single visible expression.

I was only given three sessions to evaluate her condition.

Whether she is:

sent to prison, transferred into juvenile custody,
or spends the rest of her life inside a rehabilitation facility…

That decision may ultimately rest in my hands.

Then, without warning—

“I can’t see your face,” she says.

Her voice is softer than I expected.

“You despise me that much?”

Her empty eyes remain fixed on the mask.

“Is that why you’re wearing it?”

“She talks?” the female officer whispers in disbelief.

Ferguson remains silent.

I continue staring at the girl sitting across from me.

“…Do I really need a reason to hate you?” I ask calmly.

“Of course, not...”

Even after I intentionally try provoking her, her expression barely changes.

"Everyone hates someone without a reason," she adds.

“You’re not exactly an exception either.”

“…Who do you hate?” I ask.

Mirine stares at me for several seconds without answering.

“So, you’re the exception then?” I press further.

Then—

“I never really had the luxury to hate anyone like that.”

For the first time, her voice trembles. She tries to cry, yet no tears come.

“People just…”

She slowly joins her cuffed hands together.

“…gave me too many reasons,” she says.

“Who is it that you hate?” I ask once more.

Mirine falls silent again.

This time, she doesn’t open her mouth at all.

But—

Her eyes answer everything. Unfortunately, the system requires her to say it aloud.

If she doesn’t talk, she doesn’t count as a human being. That’s how the system works.

I try everything afterward.

Different approaches.

Different tones.

Different methods accumulated through years of experience. I pour every bit of professional knowledge I have into making her speak again.

Nothing works.

All I receive in return are those same blank expressions. Hours slowly pass inside that suffocating room.

Then—

The siren finally echoes through the hallway. The first session is over.

Without another word, we return to the adjacent room.

I exit the counselling room only to find Sam standing near the far corner alongside James.

“Not your day, huh…” Sam says the moment I approach.

“More like incompetence,” James chuckles from beside him.

Sam turns toward him.

“Leave.”

The single word instantly wipes the amusement off James’ face.

Without another comment, he quietly walks away.

Once the hallway falls silent again, Sam finally looks back toward me.

“What do you think?”

“Is rehabilitation still possible?”

Catherine's earlier words resurface in my mind.

Don’t sympathize with devil’s kin.

“So, you’re siding with the devil’s kin now?”

Sam’s expression immediately changes.

“…What?”

Before I can react properly, he grabs my collar and slams me against the wall.

“Who are you to decide?” he says through restrained anger.

“Who gets to be what?”

His grip tightens slightly.

“Just do your job.”

The entire hallway is speechless.

Even the nearby officers stare in shock.

None of them have likely ever seen Sam lose composure like this before.

After several tense seconds, he finally releases my collar. But his eyes never leave mine.

Why are people always like this? Constantly expressing contradictory emotions. For someone whose profession revolves around analysing them, people like Sam are the hardest to understand.

“I’ll find a way,” I finally say.

This time, with complete sincerity.

“Don’t worry.”, I assure Sam.

I continue reviewing the documents again and again.

Every detail.

Every report.

Every photograph.

The hours blur together.

One by one, the officers eventually leave for home.

Yet—

Sam remains.

Ferguson too.

Even James stays behind without saying much.

The entire night passes without results.

Still—

I cannot find the thread.

Every patient I’ve ever treated possessed one. A thread connecting them back toward reality.

Something fragile.

Something human.

That was the same method I used with Rosvena as well. But no matter how many times I reread Mirine’s records…

I find nothing.

Does a thread for Mirine not exist?

A point of no return flashes in front of my eyes.

Before long, the regular staff members begin arriving for the morning shift again.

Apparently, none of them slept.

They had all stayed awake with me.

And despite all of that—

I still couldn’t find anything.

My composure begins to crack.

Sensing it, Sam pats my shoulder from behind.

I flick his hand away before I even realize it.

The moment I realize what I did…

“…I’m sorry.”

Sam simply shakes his head.

“No need for that.”, he says.

“Just do your job... That's enough.”

His voice screams exhaustion, but his eyes don't waver in the slightest.

Soon afterward—

The second session begins.

We step inside the counselling room.

Mirine slowly lifts her gaze toward me. Then, after sitting down across from her once more.

“The infinity of the mind breaks the solitude of thought.”

“Huh…”

For the first time, a faint reaction appears in her voice.

“You think throwing around fancy words is going to work?”

“Yes,” I answer.

Mirine lowers her gaze for a moment.

“…Infinity of mind, huh…”

“Imagination is another dimension.”

Her voice remains still.

“It can turn the mind into a sanctuary…”

“…or more like a prison.”

I watch her.

I only intended to provoke a reaction out of her.

But—

this works too.

“In reality,” she continues,

“Truth isn’t just a collection of fancy words floating around inside someone’s mind.”

Then—

“It’s either insanity leading to oblivion…”

“…or insanity leading you to heaven.”

And just like that—

Her voice goes numb again.

I want to ask the questions that matter for her trial.

The required questions.

The ones the system cares about.

But whenever the conversation shifts toward those topics—

she stops talking again.

Mirine is already far beyond empty “you can still be saved” conversations.

Her eyes alone make that painfully obvious.

…No.

I can still change that.

But the thread—

The thread…

Another hour flies by.

I try engaging her philosophically again, hoping for even the slightest reaction.

Nothing.

She no longer responds.

Then—

I realize something.

If a thread doesn’t exist…

Then I’ll simply create one for her myself.

I ask the female officer to step outside the room for a while.

She refuses.

“It’s against protocol.”

“…Fair enough.”

Then I reach for my mask.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”, I say.

The moment I remove it and place it onto the table in front of Mirine—

the officer lets out a scream before rushing straight out of the room.

I did warn her.

Mirine’s expression finally changes.

Meanwhile, Ferguson remains sitting nearby, barely awake at this point. I think exhaustion already defeated him hours ago.

I look back at Mirine and ask once more—

“Who is it that you hate?”

"Those scars... How are you still... going?" she asks, her voice finally cracking.

“It’s simple, really.”

“I hate myself, and it makes me do things I never thought I was capable of.”

I stare directly into her trembling eyes.

“Just admit it already.”

The tears come naturally.

Mirine desperately tries wiping them away, but the handcuffs around her wrists are far too restrictive.

Then—

Footsteps approach from outside.

I hurriedly put my mask back on.

A moment later, Sam enters the room.

“You need to step outside,” he says firmly.

I try negotiating with Sam, explaining that Mirine had finally begun to open up, but he refuses to overlook the protocol violation.

The crying Mirine finally breaks.

“I hate myself…”

Her voice quivers uncontrollably.

“And it makes me do things I never thought I could do…”

We both turn toward her.

Then Sam quietly turns toward me.

“That should be enough to support psychiatric rehabilitation placement, correct?”

“You bet,” I answer.

“Can she answer the remaining questions then?”

His exhausted eyes remain fixed on Mirine.

“The court won’t accept this alone. You already know that.”

I glance toward the crying girl again.

“…She will,” I answer firmly.

I begin asking the required questions once more.

Mirine answers this time.

Not perfectly.

Not consistently.

But she answers.

It’s not as though seeing my scars healed her.

No—

she simply accepted her own scars instead.

That was the difference.

By the end of the session, she answers fourteen of the twenty-three required questions. For this case, it feels like the best possible outcome. Satisfied enough with the progress, I decide to conclude the session myself.

To my surprise—

Sam is nowhere to be seen.

I glance around the hallway, but every face I recognize is present except his.

Then—

a hand lands on my shoulder.

I immediately turn around.

James.

“Huh.”

The reaction slips out before I can stop it.

James folds his arms casually.

“Oh…”

“That disappointment on your face is painfully obvious, you know?”

“Sorry.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Sure.”

His voice sounds colder than usual.

“Anyway, start packing up.”

“…What?”

James’ expression remains unreadable.

“The case has been transferred to RDD.”

“You are no longer needed.”, he continues colder than ever.

“I don’t understand.”

“One more session still remains.”

“Alright,” James replies bluntly.

“Then listen carefully.”

“Let the fiends fall.”

“That’s what we do here.”, he says.

“Rehabilitation is a privilege for the noble—not for her.”

As officers continue working normally throughout the headquarters behind us, James calmly keeps explaining his twisted worldview as though it were the most obvious truth imaginable.

I walk away while ignoring James’ rambling.

For a brief moment, I hear him clench his teeth behind me.

But in the end, he says nothing else.

Instead, the usual smirk returns to his face.

My thoughts race as I search the entire building for Sam.

Every hallway.

Every office.

Every floor.

He feels almost invisible.

Then I realize where he went. I rush outside the headquarters.

And there he is.

Standing beside his vehicle while smoking alone. Sam notices me approaching from the distance.

But says absolutely nothing.

I stop beside him silently. He keeps smoking without looking at me.

One minute passes.

Then another.

Still—

neither of us says a single word.

Eventually, Sam throws the cigarette onto the ground before crushing it beneath his shoe. Without looking at me once, he starts walking back toward the building.

“I had a feeling this would happen,” I finally say while watching him walk away.

“That you’d run from it.”

Sam continues walking for a few more steps before slowing slightly.

“Even corpses are more reliable than you.”

My own voice sounds colder than expected.

“At least they communicate death honestly instead of pretending to express life.”

The moment those words leave my mouth, Sam finally stops moving.

Then slowly—

he turns back toward me.

He casually forms a small circle with his thumb and index finger, then looks at me through it. Then the usual smirk returns to his face.

“Hypocrite sounds better.”

“It feels softer though.”

“Just go home already.”

Sam’s exhausted voice barely carries any emotion now.

“Trust me…”

“You really don’t want to know what’s happening inside.”

He resumes walking.

“I don’t trust you at all.”

“In fact, why don’t you explain your incompetence instead?”

I continue provoking him intentionally.

Sam simply yawns while stretching his shoulders tiredly.

No reaction.

No irritation.

He only turns back briefly before staring at me.

The moment I prepare to speak once more, he points toward me lazily before yawning.

That finally irritates me.

“…Are you seriously kidding me right now?”

For the first time since leaving the building, Sam’s expression loses even the faint trace of amusement.

“That….”

“…is exactly what I said after reading the mail this morning.”

“Mail?” I repeat.

Sam exhales slowly before answering.

“Earlier, they approved three sessions.”

“Complete documentation.”

“Court appeal through CPF.”

He pauses briefly.

“Public reports too. Media coverage. Everything.”

A morning breeze passes between us as Sam looks up at the sky.

“I know how insane it sounds.”

“Psychological evaluations like this usually take months.”

“But they’re treating it like paperwork.”

A bitter silence follows.

Then Sam lightly kicks a small rock across the pavement beneath his shoe.

“It feels deliberate.”

“They’re making sure she doesn’t escape.”, he says with concern.

“It’s not just the brutality.”

Another exhausted yawn escapes Sam midway through speaking.

“That part is normal in Sotarmo.”

His tired eyes remain fixed somewhere distant.

“There’s something else here we still aren’t seeing.”

I look toward him afterward.

The exhaustion.

The desperation.

The sleeplessness hidden beneath his composure.

I still fail to say anything comforting.

Instead, with slightly trembling fingers, I ask:

“…Wouldn’t juvenile detention only break her even further?”

Something shifts in his expression.

Without another word, he walks toward his bike parked nearby.

A thin file rests on the seat.

“Oh…”

“Good thing you reminded me.”

“I almost forgot this here.”

He hands the file directly to me afterward.

The cover reads:

RDD Final Assessment Report
Officer: Fedrick Amanton

I open the first summary page immediately.

Mirine Zachier is not a victim but an anomaly capable of endangering society itself.

The brutality of the act alone is not the concern.

Rather, the concern lies in the voluntary nature of her actions.

Instead of seeking external intervention for prolonged abuse, the subject independently pursued extreme violence through conscious decision-making.

Furthermore, the subject deliberately refused cooperation during CPF-approved psychological evaluation sessions, further indicating retained awareness and self-control.

Mirine Zachier is an individual fully aware of herself who proceeded to commit one of the most heinous crimes in Sotarmo’s recorded history.

Immediate execution is recommended for individuals of this nature due to the continued threat they pose toward society.

Mirine Zachier — 19 years old — has been deemed physically and psychologically competent at the time of the offense.

Therefore, in accordance with Article 12 of the Independent RDD Penal Code, the subject is transferred under anomaly containment authority. Civilian judicial review and rehabilitation procedures are hereby suspended. Immediate execution is to be carried out at the earliest authorized opportunity.

Yours sincerely,
Fedrick Amanton

I close the file and hand it back to Sam, my hands trembling. My mask suffocates me. My mind curses me. My heart feels like it's collapsing. Yet I can't force out a single word. I crouch on the ground in complete silence.

Yet despite everything, not a single word leaves my mouth.

Sam watches the rare sight silently before letting out a tired sigh.

Then, with those same sleepless eyes, he slowly reaches a hand toward me.

“Don’t think anymore.”

“Just go home.”

For once, his voice sounds strangely gentle.

“They didn’t even consider the second session… right?”

“…Yeah.”

Sam answers.

“They reviewed the first session and compiled the report from that alone.”

A bitter silence follows.

“The media attention probably pressured them.”, he says in the end.

“What’s with the age?”

My exhausted voice barely comes out properly.

“Did you lie to me?”

“Nothing unusual.”

“Just a convenient trick used to execute foul children while technically remaining lawful.”

Then Sam looks down toward me.

“…Never thought I’d see you like this.”

There’s no mockery in his voice.

Only disappointment.

He pulls out another cigarette before lighting it without hurry.

The orange glow briefly reflects across his tired eyes.

“A prodigy capable of interpreting the infinity of the mind.”

A bitter smirk appears on his face.

“That’s what Chief Garett kept telling me.”

Slowly, cigarette smoke begins filling the air between us.

The moment he mentions Garett’s name; I stand up.

Sam continues smoking casually as though nothing changed.

“The old you would’ve finished this in a single session.”

Smoke drifts from his mouth.

“Whoever this softy is, isn’t the one Garett trusted.”

...he says, pointing the cigarette at me.

Then a faint chuckle escapes him.

“Or maybe you just got lucky back then.”

The words land harder than expected.

Sam watches me silently for a moment before tilting his head slightly.

“What?”

“The mask replacing your real self or something?”, he says.

I say nothing.

“With age, I became colder.”

Sam casually exhales smoke into the air.

“I’m grateful for it.”

“Still better than whatever you turned into.”

He keeps pressing the issue, cigarette still between his fingers.

“Provoking me won’t magically hide your own insecurity.”

“Don't you get it?”

“Mirine never wanted revenge.”

His eyes shift ever so slightly towards me.

“She wanted someone who could stand beside her.”

I take a slow breath.

“That teddy bear was the only thing she ever believed wouldn't abandon her.”

“She thought... if she could give it real organs... it'd come alive.”

The words begin spilling out faster.

“The people hurting her were already inside that house.”

“So, she used them.”

I lower my gaze.

“She stitched everything together...”

“...and waited.”

“She kept waiting for her companion to wake up.”

“But it never did.”

I force the next words out.

“She never realized there was no one left for it to fight.”

For the first time, Sam's expression felt like genuine confusion.

“Mirine dies in a few weeks.”

The words leave his mouth without hesitation.

“And that’s your failure.”

“Why exactly would I feel insecure?”

Without waiting for an answer, he tosses the cigarette onto the pavement before crushing it beneath his shoe. Then he resumes walking back toward the building.

A moment later, James comes running out from the headquarters carrying what appears to be my belongings.

“Excellent timing, Jamie.”

Sam’s tone shifts instantly back to normal professionalism.

James grins at the compliment before handing the bag over to me.

“Just leave already.”

Sam says it without slowing down or looking back.

This time—

He doesn't look back.

James remains standing in front of me for a moment instead.

“Looking forward to never meeting you again.”

The brat says it with genuine satisfaction.

Then, almost as an afterthought—

“Goodbye.”

Without waiting for a reply, James turns around and jogs off to catch up with Sam. And just like that—

I’m left standing there alone