Rule 7 : Rage

CHAPTER 31: Conspiracy, Cigarette and Secrets.

ZAYN'S POV

My jaw hung agape, captivated by the majestic tower's grandeur and the meticulous order that surrounded it. DNA, with a subtle gesture, directed the guards to lead the way as we trailed behind.

A chill washed over me, embracing me like a veil as we stepped into the hallowed halls of the building. The allure of art permeated the clandestine quarters of the Shadow Pact, and I silently contemplated, "Every group linked to the Shaque shares an undeniable penchant for the exquisite world of art."

My spine tingled at the riveting and chilling array of firearms within the building. As we advanced, my gaze locked onto the variety of drinks neatly arranged on a sleek bar, each one beckoning my hands to explore and my mouth to savor.

The atmosphere was nothing short of perfection—a realm unknown to me, except for encounters within the enigmatic domain of the Shaque.

My eyebrows furrowed as I gazed at a cabinet adorned with various art designs, interspersed with what seemed like bombs, blood prints, and images that sent a wave of fear down my core. I tentatively raised one hand to touch, but DNA's stern voice made sweat form on my mustache. "If you dare touch, you are gone," he declared, cutting me off abruptly.

He passed his cigarette to a guard, gesturing for its disposal. Advancing toward the elevator entrance, the guards came to an abrupt stop. The doors slid open, and they entered. DNA and I followed suit.

While the elevator ascended, my mind drifted to the mysteries that awaited me. A blend of courage and apprehension filled me, with a faint spark of hope propelling me forward. When the elevator halted, and others stood resolute, my grip on the ground weakened.

Exiting the elevator, I marveled at the vast surroundings, questioning the luxury I had just experienced. A brisk, cold breeze greeted me as I scrutinized the complexities of the space.

It resembled a training ground, reminiscent of those used by terrorists to hone their shooting skills. Various facilities, targets, and firearms adorned the environment, casting an eerie spell on my senses.

DNA interrupted my silent consideration with a firm declaration, "Zayn, welcome to the Shadow Pact's shooting range—a realm where mercy is merely a facade." At those words, my heart skipped a beat, and my gaze instinctively shifted to the guards, who exchanged smirks as if sharing a secret conspiracy.

I realized I was about to experience something far from the ordinary, yet doubt lingered in the air. DNA relaxedly lit a stick, the smoke spiraling around him, and I nodded in reluctant agreement.

DNA retrieved a pack of cigarettes from his inner pockets, the smoke effortlessly curling from his mouth as he spoke, "You should try one, have a stick." He extended a cigarette toward me. My lashes fluttered, avoiding direct eye contact with him. His face, this time, carried a mysterious and intimidating aura that left me scared.

Reluctantly accepting the cigarette, I pondered the whereabouts of my earlier bravery, the courage I proudly displayed in the gym when I first met him.

My eyebrows furrowed in contemplation, wondering if I had perhaps portrayed an excess of confidence during our initial encounter.

My eyes examined the cigarette as though it were a worthless object. DNA bellowed at me, ordering me to position it in his mouth for smoking. I sighed in self-pity as the cigarette touched my lips for the first time. DNA wore a sardonic smile as he ignited the stick in my mouth, commanding, "Inhale."

In my entire life, I had never smoked or touched a cigarette, reflecting back on the orphanage days when we were all known as devout Christians. I yearned to refuse this one, but my vulnerability rendered me helpless. Tears welled up in my eyes as I reluctantly took the first inhale.

I was morphing into an identity I never wished for, despising the person I was becoming. A fit of coughing seized me, tears streaming down my face as I clutched my chest. DNA's laughter echoed in the expansive area, portraying smoking cigarettes as an everyday activity.

He motioned for me to persist, but I resisted this time. DNA's gaze bore into me with an intensity that could ignite flames. The guards, like statues, remained impassive, unable to intervene as I burst into a cough spell.

I wondered, "Were they trained to endure this too?" Inhaling three times only increased the coughing, yet DNA, with a nonchalant expression, appeared unfazed by my distress. "It hurts my chest," I uttered slowly, a pang of sadness festering within me.

YOUR VOTES MATTERS.