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—She was a drug to take in moderation.
The Port Mafia headquarters is a formidable structure that exudes power and prestige. Built from dark, imposing stone, the exterior of the building is marked by high walls, intricate carvings, and imposing gates that hint at the secrets within. The interior is equally impressive, with spacious hallways, grand staircases, and polished marble floors. The walls are adorned with priceless art, while the ceilings soar high above, giving the impression of infinite space.
The atmosphere within the Port Mafia headquarters is one of exclusivity and intensity. It is a place where only the most influential and powerful members of the organization are allowed to gather, and where deals are made and alliances formed. The air is thick with intrigue and danger, and visitors will feel the weight of history and tradition that permeates every corner of the building.
As Nakahara Chuuya entered Mori Ougai's office, he immediately felt the tension in the air. The usually sparsely decorated office was now cluttered with maps and files scattered across the desk and floor. Mori sat at the desk, his eyes fixed on a screen displaying a stream of information. The room was dimly lit, with only the soft glow of the computer monitors illuminating the space.
The air is thick with anticipation and apprehension as both men face each other in silence, their eyes locking in a silent exchange of unspoken words. The room feels almost suffocating, as if the walls themselves are closing in on them.
Every movement, every breath seems amplified in the stillness, heightening the level of tension to an almost unbearable degree.
The weight of Mori's power and authority can be felt in every corner of the room, his presence dominating the space around him. It is clear that he holds the fate of all those present in his hands, and every person in the room hangs on his every word.
Chuuya remained a few feet in front of Mori's desk, his eyes scanning the room nervously. He could feel the weight of the situation bearing down on him, a palpable sense of urgency and danger permeating the atmosphere.
"Chuuya-kun," Mori's voice was low and serious, cutting through the silence like a knife. "We have a serious problem. It seems like a group of terrorists have emerged from the very depths of hell. Tell me, have you heard of the Decay of Angels?"
Chuuya wasn't stupid. Far from it. He had heard rumors about them,whispers of their brutality, their inhumanity. He knew that they were a force to be reckoned with. He had heard whispers of their atrocities, bombings, assassinations, and acts of wanton destruction. They were said to be a group of fanatics, obsessed with bringing chaos and destruction to the city and its people. And the demon himself, Fyodor Dostoyevsky, was one of them.
"I've heard some things going around. What do you know about them, Mori-san?" Chuuya asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He couldn't help but feel a sense of dread creeping up inside him.
