The atmosphere inside the visitation room was bitterly cold.
Lifeless gray concrete walls. Only thick bulletproof glass and iron bars separated freedom from imprisonment. On the other side of the glass, Zen sat waiting.
He wore a faded orange prison uniform. His once impeccably styled hair was a disheveled mess falling over his face. He bore dark bruises and the exhaustion of relentless interrogation, day-and-night interrogation. Yet, those eyes remained twisted. They were still brimming with arrogance, madness, and a stubborn refusal to accept defeat.
Click... The door unlocked. Heavy footsteps entered the room. Ren led the way, with Yurin walking closely by his side. Both looked dignified, strong.
Zen broke into a psychotic smirk the second he saw them. The corners of his mouth stretched into a chilling grin. His handcuffed hands reached out to pick up the telephone receiver.
