Ava took a deep breath, her eyes clouding with memory. "He used to work for my brother, Carter," she said, her voice laced with sharp distaste. "But he was consumed by jealousy. For years, he tried to sabotage Carter's career by leaking classified intel. When Carter finally caught him, I thought he was locked away for good. I thought the nightmare was over."
Ron tapped his chin, his mind racing through the players on the board. "I think I know who opened the cell door. It was Carter's other wife."
"That woman," Ava hissed, her hands clenching into fists. "Of course it was."
Ron stared at the monitors, the digital pieces finally shifting into place. "The Judge is the link. He's working for Foster—or whoever Foster answers to. If we find the Judge, we find Foster. And Foster leads us straight to Locki."
Without another word, Ron retreated to his room. The air shimmered and tore as he teleported, reappearing in the **World of Dark Souls**. He stood before an ancient, sprawling graveyard, but the world was a haunting study in grayscale—completely devoid of color.
Ron frowned, looking at the ashen sky. "Yardy! Where are you?" he bellowed.
A man emerged from the mist, tall and imposing, gripping a gnarled staff. He looked down at Ron with cold, piercing eyes. "Who are you?" the stranger demanded.
Ron didn't blink. "Who are you?"
"How can a mere human trespass in this realm?" the man, Ezekiel, growled.
"Mr. Ezekiel, wait! He is an acquaintance of Wulkranoth," Yardy said, scurrying out from behind a row of tombstones. Ezekiel looked Ron up and down, his suspicion barely masked.
"Why is this world black and white?" Ron asked, gesturing to the colorless horizon.
Both Ezekiel and Yardy flinched. "You don't want to know," Yardy whispered, his voice trembling. "Anyway, why are you here?"
"You're coming with me," Ron said.
Yardy shook his head. "I can't. Wulkranoth gave me strict orders to fulfill a task here."
"Come with me anyway," Ron countered. "If Wulkranoth asks, tell him I was the one who took you. He won't mind."
"Enough!" Ezekiel's voice boomed. "I will not allow anyone to disobey my King's orders."
Ron rolled his eyes. "And who is this guy? Get lost, man. Nobody asked for your input."
Ezekiel's face contorted with rage. "I will kill you, human!" he roared. The world trembled. Black and white lightning crackled across the sky. Ron remained perfectly calm, meeting the warrior's gaze with bored indifference.
"You certainly have guts, human," Ezekiel spat, a blue and purple aura swirling around his staff. "But guts won't save you. You're dead."
He raised his staff to strike, but suddenly froze.
The gray mist evaporated. In an instant, the world flared back into vibrant, terrifying color. Heavy footsteps echoed against the stone.
"What is happening here?" a deep, resonant voice asked.
Wulkranoth emerged from the shadows. Spotting Ron, his grim expression vanished. "Ron!" he laughed, opening his arms wide. "How are you, my friend?"
He moved to embrace Ron, but Ron held up a hand to stop him. Ezekiel began to shake, his knuckles white as he gripped his staff. He dares to disrespect my King? he thought, fuming.
"So, Ron," Wulkranoth said, unfazed. "What brings you to my doorstep?"
"I'm taking Yardy. I need his help."
Ezekiel stepped forward. "But Sire, Yardy has a mission. I will not—"
Wulkranoth silenced him with a single raised hand. "It's fine. Take him."
Yardy nodded, looking relieved, while Ezekiel stood paralyzed in shock. My King has a soft spot? For a human? He watched as Ron and Yardy vanished in a flash of light.
"Sir, may I ask why you let him go?" Ezekiel asked quietly.
"Ron is a friend," Wulkranoth replied simply.
Ezekiel bowed his head, but his mind was racing. A friend? No, the King is not the type for sentiment. That human must be far more dangerous than he looks.
Back on Earth,
Finian consulted his phone. He had plugged in a strange USB drive that had led him to a remote coordinates on the map. He gunned his bike, tearing through the woods until the road began to incline sharply upward.
He eventually reached a high, secluded plateau. Following the GPS, he stumbled upon what looked like a gated society. The massive entrance doors lay in ruins, as if something—or someone—had smashed through them.
"A village? Out here?" Finian murmured.
He rode past rows of crumbling, old-fashioned houses until he reached a structure that looked wildly out of place: a massive, modern hospital. It was in a state of total decay, overtaken by vines and tall grass.
Is this the 'Smart Prison'? Finian frowned. It doesn't look very smart. It looks like a tetanus shot waiting to happen.
He parked his bike, his heart drumming against his ribs. It felt like being a kid again, standing at the entrance of a carnival haunted house. He reached for the hospital door, then paused.
"Nah," he muttered, turning back. "Locki wouldn't be in a dump like this. I'm leaving."
He turned toward his bike with a forced smile, but his blood ran cold. The bike was gone. The clearing was empty.
"Damn it! Who stole my bike? That was my favorite!" Finian yelled into the trees. His bravado vanished instantly. "Okay, fine! I'll go inside! Just please don't eat me, whatever you are!"
He stepped into the lobby, his boots crunching on broken glass. He used his phone's flashlight. On the floor lay a heavy iron crowbar. He picked it up, noticing the dark, wet blood coating the tip.
"Nobody messes with me now," he whispered, trying to convince himself.
Suddenly, the sound of shattering glass erupted from the somewhere. Finian nearly jumped out of his skin, the crowbar trembling in his hand.
"Who is there?" He said, tremblingly.