Turning the page, Samuel found that although the newspaper devoted only a few columns to the incident, the sparse strokes between the lines were more than enough to convey the chaos and the uncanny horror of that day. Words possessed a peculiar power. Through nothing more than ink pressed onto paper, they could reconstruct something loathsome inside the reader's mind until it seemed to breathe.
According to the report, Nibel had been nothing more than an ordinary office worker. There was nothing remarkable about him, nor anything particularly disagreeable. He was simply another anonymous citizen, the sort of man the city forgot the moment he disappeared. Yet it was precisely such a man who had suddenly descended into apparent madness.
Those who knew him described him as withdrawn and socially isolated. In the bleak, frostbitten city, that alone was enough for many to conclude that unbearable pressure had finally broken him.
As Samuel continued reading, the scene unfolded vividly before his eyes.
The man had collapsed onto his knees, sobbing uncontrollably as he begged for salvation.
The mounted police dared not rush him. After clearing the civilians away, one of the more experienced officers cautiously approached. Judging by appearance alone, the object strapped to Nibel's chest was a crude time bomb. Incidents like this were rare. No one knew whether it would merely tear Nibel apart... or send the entire bank skyward.
Still kneeling, Nibel wept without pause.
Judging from his frantic muttering and erratic behavior, everything he had done seemed to have been forced upon him. Someone had strapped the bomb onto him and compelled him to rob the bank. The robbery itself had been a complete failure. There had been no planning, no preparation—indeed, it hardly seemed that Nibel had ever intended to rob a bank at all.
Everything had happened too quickly for anyone to decide whether he was a criminal or a victim.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
The hands of the timer marched relentlessly forward.
With every passing second, Nibel's cries became more desperate. His face twisted into something monstrous, his bloodshot eyes swelling as though they might burst from their sockets.
"Help me! He did this! It was all him!"
Again and again, he screamed those words.
It was as though something unspeakable pursued him.
Something monstrous.
Something so horrifying that anyone who looked upon it would lose their reason and collapse into hysterical insanity.
Amid the chaos and weeping, one officer finally made his decision.
Ignoring the danger, he slowly approached.
"Don't move," the officer said calmly. "Leave everything to me."
"No! Don't! He's insane!" shouted the man who had been bitten earlier.
Nibel, meanwhile, looked utterly broken.
"It wasn't my fault," he pleaded with painful sincerity. "He made me do it... I had no choice."
For a moment, the officer hesitated.
Yet he continued forward.
Whether Nibel had regained his senses or had simply realized death was truly at his doorstep, he offered no resistance. Raising both hands obediently, he allowed the officer to begin dismantling the bomb.
Fortunately, it was a remarkably crude device.
Its maker clearly possessed little knowledge of explosives, making the task far less difficult than expected. Had Nibel possessed even basic technical knowledge—and enough composure—he could probably have removed it himself.
Everyone held their breath.
As the timer clicked onward, every heartbeat seemed to synchronize with its relentless rhythm.
No one knew what this madman might do next.
Would he suddenly embrace the bomb and drag everyone around him into death?
Thankfully...
Nothing happened.
Nibel remained astonishingly cooperative.
It truly appeared as though he had been nothing more than another victim.
Wiping the sweat from his brow, the officer finally ripped the bomb free.
The timer had stopped.
For the moment...
They were safe.
Several officers rushed in immediately, carrying the bomb toward an open area while others evacuated the surrounding streets. Another policeman fastened handcuffs around Nibel's wrists.
Though his remorse seemed genuine, suspicion had not yet been lifted.
"What exactly happened?" one officer demanded.
Handcuffed beside the street, Nibel's expression flickered strangely between terror and excitement.
"I... I was forced. He made me do all of this."
"Who was he?"
The question visibly troubled him.
Silence.
Then he began whispering to himself.
"Who... who was it...?"
Pain returned all at once.
Nibel desperately searched his memories for the man's face.
Yet the effort itself became agony.
It felt as though someone had pried open his skull and thrust a massive hand inside, kneading his brain, digging through the soft flesh in search of something hidden deep within.
Layer after layer of bloody flesh was peeled away.
Amid the gore...
A face emerged.
Both familiar...
And utterly alien.
It was his own.
Yet unlike the pitiful, ordinary man he had always been, this other self radiated reckless grandeur. Blood stained his face, and a wild, triumphant grin stretched across it.
Then...
Nibel laughed.
His tears mixed with blood as he violently struggled against the handcuffs.
"It's me!" he roared. "Yes... it was me!"
The officer immediately drew his revolver.
Every instinct screamed that this man was insane.
He ordered Nibel to stop resisting.
Instead—
Nibel froze.
For a heartbeat, the officer thought he had obeyed.
Then came a sickening crack.
Nibel bent his thumb backward at an angle no human joint should ever endure.
His hand trembled violently from unbearable pain.
Sweat poured from his face.
Slowly...
He raised his head.
"Have you ever wanted to change?"
A strange unease swept through the scene.
The surrounding officers sensed it instantly.
Weapons were drawn.
They formed a circle around him.
Only moments earlier, he had appeared to be a helpless victim.
Now...
He resembled a murderer whose scheme had unfolded exactly as planned.
"You wear those ridiculous uniforms every day... work until you're old... work until you're dead... spend your final breath feeding this cursed city."
Another crack echoed.
Ignoring the shattered bones, Nibel twisted his mangled thumb further until his hand slipped free from the cuffs.
He was thin.
Weak-looking.
Hardly imposing.
Yet the madness pouring from him eclipsed every ounce of physical frailty.
"Get on the ground! Now!"
A warning shot split the air.
Even so, the officer's hands trembled around his revolver.
It was as though Nibel's madness itself was contagious.
Thoughts no one dared acknowledge began surfacing inside every mind.
"Have you truly never wondered?"
His smile widened.
"Standing atop a rooftop late at night... and simply stepping forward?"
"Or picking up a gun..."
"...throwing away every chain around your life..."
"...and embarking on one glorious, insane adventure?"
He no longer bothered hiding behind the frightened victim he had pretended to be.
The officers still had no idea what he truly wanted.
Finally—
Someone fired.
The bullet shattered Nibel's leg.
He collapsed onto one knee.
Yet he laughed harder than ever.
It was as though pain itself no longer existed.
"Why not try it?"
His laughter echoed through the street.
"People spend their entire lives wearing masks just to fit into this world."
"So why not throw every mask away..."
"...and let your real self breathe?"
"Why not..."
"...live once?"
The instant those words left his lips—
The earth exploded.
Not above.
Below.
This had never been an impulsive bank robbery.
Nibel had planned everything from the very beginning.
Not for money.
Not for escape.
Only to indulge his own insanity.
Explosives hidden beneath the streets erupted simultaneously.
Manhole covers blasted into the sky.
Stone avenues cracked apart beneath the tremendous force.
Mounted officers were hurled through the air.
The policemen surrounding him were thrown sprawling across the ground.
At that exact moment—
Already prepared—
Nibel dragged his shattered leg forward.
Like a starving beast,
he threw himself upon the nearest officer,
biting and tearing at anyone unfortunate enough to be within reach.
It had never been a bank robbery.
It was nothing more...
than a madman's entertainment.
Samuel folded the newspaper.
That was where the report ended.
He could not help sighing.
Old Dunling truly lived up to its reputation.
Every conceivable absurdity seemed capable of happening there.
According to the article, after the underground explosion, the supposedly defused time bomb had somehow begun ticking once more before detonating a second time. Fortunately, civilians had already been evacuated, leaving no fatalities—though a great many officers had been injured.
The authorities believed Nibel had intended to escape beneath the cover of steam released by the explosion. Unfortunately for him, the gunshot wound to his leg had made escape impossible, and he was captured at the scene.
Because the attack had occurred during the diplomatic visit, officials treated it with the utmost seriousness.
Yet no matter how they interrogated him, Nibel revealed nothing of value.
In the end, it appeared to be nothing more than the meaningless rampage of a lunatic bent on revenge against society.
For that reason, he was provisionally declared mentally ill and transferred to Black Mountain Hospital. The final conclusion would await the official investigation.
Samuel found the whole affair strangely fascinating.
Had fate introduced just a few fewer variables...
the madman might actually have succeeded.
Still, he had only been reading for amusement.
Right on cue, a waiter arrived carrying his meal.
"Our house specialty. Please enjoy."
The man departed as swiftly as he had come.
Samuel lowered his gaze toward the plate.
Then froze.
He stared blankly at the collection of fish heads resting upon it.
Each wore the vacant, wide-eyed expression of something that had died unwillingly.
...
"So... he came all the way out here just to eat?"
Not far away, at a street corner, Robin lowered the newspaper he had been hiding behind and looked toward the utterly bewildered Samuel.
"I suppose so..."
Red Falcon replied beside him.
Since the arrival of the Fiorenza diplomatic delegation, the Purification Bureau had been operating at its absolute limit. The unlucky few like them had been working endless rotating shifts without the slightest chance to rest.
Robin and Red Falcon had been assigned to monitor the embassy's movements.
Naturally, they were far from the only observers.
For security reasons, however, every surveillance team remained ignorant of the others' existence.
Arthur had never trusted the delegation's true intentions.
As long as the ownership of the Apocalypse remained unresolved, constant vigilance was mandatory.
"His expression looks strange," Robin observed.
"What happened?"
Alarmed, Red Falcon immediately raised a compact telescope.
Through the lens, he watched Samuel hesitate for several long moments before finally gathering enough courage to bite into one of the fish heads.
"...All right."
"He probably just isn't used to the local cuisine."
Robin shrugged.
Red Falcon let out a weary sigh before lowering the telescope and returning to his newspaper.
According to the identities assigned to them, they were merely two unemployed drifters pretending to be cultured by reading the daily news.
"Let's take advantage of the lull and rest a little," Robin said, lifting his teacup without ever taking his eyes off Samuel.
"As long as he stays within sight."
The surveillance itself was almost laughably obvious.
The pair were practically stalking their distinguished foreign guest like two hopeless eccentrics.
Robin did not particularly care.
If their guest possessed even average intelligence, he had probably already realized he was under surveillance.
In that case, there was little point pretending otherwise.
With Robin watching Samuel, Red Falcon finally had a moment to kill time.
Entertainment in this era was painfully scarce.
The newspaper would have to suffice.
He silently prayed not to find another report blaming everything on a gas explosion.
The Cleaners never seemed capable of inventing more creative excuses.
Before long, however, another headline seized his attention.
The Madman Nibel.
He quickly read through the entire case.
Meanwhile, Samuel appeared to have adapted remarkably well.
Another fish head disappeared beneath his fork.
Crunchy.
Surprisingly delicious.
"So..."
"He ended up at Black Mountain Hospital."
The final sentence sent an involuntary chill down Red Falcon's spine.
"You saw that case too?"
Robin asked quietly.
They both knew exactly what Black Mountain Hospital truly was.
"Yeah."
Red Falcon nodded.
"That poor bastard's finished."
Officially, Black Mountain Hospital was merely a private psychiatric institution within Old Dunling.
In reality...
it served as the Purification Bureau's psychiatric facility.
Anyone suffering demonic corruption was transported there for treatment.
Those who recovered eventually left.
Those who did not...
received a frontal lobotomy.
After all, standing beside Black Mountain Hospital was an enormous long-term sanitarium built precisely for those unfortunate souls.
Both Red Falcon and Robin had been patients there.
Though the place had saved their lives, neither man could claim to harbor any affection toward it.
Every day brought another strange medicine.
Their heads were shaved clean.
Electrodes were fastened into place.
Endless examinations followed.
Only after they had been broken down to something barely resembling human beings would the doctors finally declare them "normal" and permit discharge.
Like the Eternal Pump, Black Mountain Hospital was also a research institute.
Countless corrupted patients provided an endless supply of material for studying demons.
In matters concerning the human mind, its research stood among the finest in the world.
Rumor claimed that an underground freight elevator connected the hospital directly to the Eternal Pump, making it easier to transport anatomical specimens between the two facilities.
Every time Red Falcon left that place...
he felt as though he had crawled back from the edge of Hell itself.
Every corridor overflowed with vacant-eyed lunatics.
Every night echoed with inhuman screams.
One could only pray that one's will remained strong.
According to the Purification Bureau's employment contract, if corruption reached the point of no return, the Bureau possessed absolute authority over one's fate.
If fortunate—
a frontal lobotomy.
One would survive.
Mind shattered, but still recognizably human.
If unfortunate—
a brief entry in the records...
and then straight into the furnace.
Will.
The essence dwelling within the brain.
The force governing every human action.
And Black Mountain Hospital existed for one purpose alone—
to dissect that very essence.
Red Falcon quietly folded the newspaper shut.
He had no desire to read another word.
To him, Black Mountain Hospital resembled a cemetery far more than a hospital.
It was a place overflowing with death...
and despair.
If fate allowed it...
he prayed he would never set foot there again.