Charles sat in the dimly lit room, his hands still cuffed to the metal table, staring blankly ahead. Across from him sat Roy, one of the Malachim assigned to the Possession Crimes Unit. There was a calmness in the air, one that seemed to settle over the room despite the weight of Charles' confession.
Charles's voice was low, almost hollow. "I've already told you everything," he began, his eyes fixed on the table. "The demon… it came to me when Charmaine got sick. Told me if I collected a hundred souls, she'd be saved. I didn't even hesitate. She's all I had."
Roy leaned forward, his face unreadable. "And you've killed ninety-nine people. All criminals?"
Charles nodded. "Yeah. I thought it made sense, you know? Taking out people who were already doing harm, like it'd balance things out. I convinced myself I wasn't really doing anything wrong. After all, they were murderers, thieves, worse than I ever could be."
