MAFIA'S WRONG TARGET

21: BUNCH OF BETRAYERS

A week later

SYBIL'S POV

Hunter's basement,
09:21 p.m.

As per King's last command, I'm trapped in a torture room, the duration of my confinement is a mystery. Time has lost all meaning here; the cramped space prevents me from discerning whether it is day or night. I've managed to keep track of my meals, which have come fourteen times, suggesting I may have been here for about a week.

This is the most horrific place one could imagine. In one corner, there is a bathroom, and above me, a dim spotlight casts unsettling shadows.

His men bind me into a water-filled bathtub and subject me to electric shocks every two days; the jolts turns my senses numb.

Sometimes I am left in a room with an icing system that doesn't turn off until I can't feel myself anymore. It chills me to the bone, turns my skin ghostly white, and leaves my throat painfully dry. The sensation is disorienting, and I often find myself shivering uncontrollably, trapped in a cycle of extreme discomfort.

In stark contrast, I'm also confined in a room with a heater that raises the temperature to unbearable levels. I force myself to stand on one foot to avoid the scorching surface that burns my skin.

My sustenance consists of half a piece of bread a day, so stale that I have to dip it in water just to swallow it. It's a meager ration, barely enough to keep me alive.

I'm given a loose blue prisoner's uniform, which makes me look like one of the prisoners, yet I'm isolated from the others. Communication is forbidden.

Right now, my hands are tied to a chain above my head, and I've been in this position for hours. My toes barely touch the surface, and I can't even move a muscle. The strain is unbearable, and my head hangs low, heavy with exhaustion. My arms feel completely lifeless from the hanging, and every second stretches into an eternity. The pain is sharp, and I can feel the blood rushing away from my fingertips, leaving them numb.

I'm so tired that I don't even try to find a way out. The weight of hopelessness is no joke, I wonder if anyone will ever come to rescue me or if I am destined to remain in this nightmare forever

I moved my head up, hearing the sound of the door opening. My hair was matted to my face, drenched in sweat from the ordeal.

A man walked toward me slowly. Unlike the others, who usually show no emotion, this one seemed to be assessing me, taking a full circle around my suspended form.

"You have great stamina," he remarked, his voice dripping with a strange mix of admiration and something darker. As his hand reached out to my face, my instincts kicked in, and I instinctively turned my head aside, avoiding his touch.

I heard a chuckle escape his lips, a sound that sent chills down my spine before he closed the remaining distance between us. His body slightly brushed against mine, but I couldn't take a step back, as that would mean losing my footing entirely, leaving me to dangle helplessly.

He moved his hands up and untied me. I immediately rested my ankles and moved back, feeling the blood rushing into my arms after being bound for so long. I rubbed them.

I wasn't looking at the man's face, but I was able to sense his filthy gaze lingering on my body, which made me fix my clothes.

"Follow me," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for disobedience.

I had no strength to take a single step, yet somehow, against my will, I found myself following him down the dim corridor barefoot. Each step felt like a betrayal of my instincts as if I was being dragged deeper into a trap.