Dimitri arrived at the high-security facility with a calm demeanor, his appearance deceptively casual. The familiar prison gate stood about 16 feet high, a gray mass of steel beams and mesh, topped with razor wire. It shone with viciousness, savagery, and pride as if mocking whoever was about to come into it. The guards in the watch tower opened the gate to him without question. His reputation preceded him after all. The heavy metal gate slid open with a loud hum. As he walked past the gates, the eyes of the guards followed him, a mixture of respect and apprehension in their gaze. They knew that this man had faced horrors they could barely comprehend and had emerged victorious each time.
But Dimitri wasn't without his own demons. Beneath his laid-back exterior was a man haunted by his past, a past that had left him with a dark, simmering anger he kept tightly controlled. He was fascinated by the minds of criminals, not just out of professional curiosity, but because they reflected the parts of himself he feared the most. The darkness in others called to the darkness within him, and though he prided himself on his control, he sometimes wondered how thin the line truly was between him and the monsters he studied.
With practiced familiarity, Dimitri strode through the cold, sterile corridors —cool, collected, and unnervingly insightful, as though on a casual stroll along the beach. The stark contrast between his demeanor and the harsh environment only added to the unsettling aura he carried.
When Dimitri entered the interrogation room, he came into the presence of two men. The first was a younger man, close to his age, with blond hair and cheerful blue eyes that seemed out of place in such an environment. This was Axel Warren, the youngest warden in the prison's history. He sat carefree on the couch, his posture was relaxed and nodded at Dimitri with a slight smile. Alex and Dimitri had worked together too many times to count and their relationship had evolved into a tentative friendship over the years.
The second man, however, was unfamiliar to Dimitri. He was slightly older with a buff physique and his skin dark, exuding a quiet strength. Dimitri took a second to study the man's stance, the slight way he shifts his weight, and the small details—his clean-shaven head, the minimalistic silver watch, and the fact that he's wearing a simple but high-quality black jacket. Even with the sound of the door opening, he remained standing with his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the reflective glass on the other side of the room. His posture was relaxed but guarded and disciplined—a telltale sign of someone used to maintaining a presence.
Military, maybe. Or FBI. Definitely someone of high position, someone accustomed to high-stakes situations, Dimitri thought.
Dimitri followed his line of sight and saw him. Seated in one of the only two chairs in the interrogation room and bound tightly in a straitjacket, was the figure Dimitri had heard so much about but had never seen.
That was him.
That was Thanatos—Kian Orlov.
The realization hit Dimitri like a bolt of electricity. As it dawned on him, Kian's eyes suddenly snapped in his direction, locking onto the exact spot where Dimitri stood behind the glass.
Their gazes collided and though Dimitri was sure Kian could not possibly see him, the intensity of that stare made him doubt it for a moment. He knew then why the authorities were having such difficulty getting to this man. This was no ordinary criminal. This was a monster who understood the fear he inspired.
"Let's get down to business," Axel said, gesturing towards the man standing, "This is Agent Carver, the head of the FBI team tasked with catching Thanatos."
Agent Carver broke his intense gaze from Kian and stepped forward with a firm, authoritative presence, extending his hand for a handshake. Dimitri accepted it, meeting his grip with a nod of acknowledgment.
"And I'm sure you already know," Axel continued with a mischievous smirk, "but this is Dimitri, the so-called genius criminal psychologist—arguably the best in the world." Agent Carver's eyebrows lifted slightly, his expression one of amusement as he looked at Dimitri.
Dimitri sighed inwardly, a headache already coming on. Axel's tendency to exaggerate and his endless chatter was something he had grown used to, though they never failed to embarrass him.
"Just ignore him," Dimitri said, managing a wry smile. Agent Carver nodded his head in understanding before they delved into serious matters. Axel and Agent Carver began to lay out all the classified information they had on Thanatos. The briefing was detailed and exhaustive, filled with secretive data and chilling revelations about the elusive and dangerous criminal, revelations that had been kept from the public eye. For the next hour, Dimitri absorbed every fact and nuance, piecing together the complex puzzle of Thanatos's psyche.
***************
Finally, the moment arrived for Dimitri's first encounter with Thanatos. Agent Carver moved toward the command center, heading for the control panel to activate the intercom that would broadcast to the interrogation room.
"Don't!" Dimitri called out, his voice firm. "I'll go in myself. It's better if he doesn't know I'm coming."
Agent Carver hesitated, then nodded, understanding the necessity of maintaining an element of surprise. With a final glance at the control panel, he stepped aside, allowing Dimitri to proceed.
Dimitri's pulse quickened with anticipation. This was the part he relished most—the twisted thrill of unraveling a mind on the brink, where sanity and madness danced on a razor's edge. It was time to confront Thanatos directly.
The door creaked open; the sound eerily amplified in the room. As Dimitri stepped inside, Kian glanced up and their gazes locked. His hazel eyes, a swirling vortex of unfathomable emotion, flashed with a dark intensity before settling into a cold, disinterested gaze. The oppressive silence that followed was palpable, a living entity between them. Dimitri took his seat, feeling the weight of Kian's stare as it bore into him with a chilling precision. The room was deathly still, the quiet so profound it felt almost tangible, pressing in on them from all sides.
Dimitri's eyes meticulously scanned him, each detail recorded with an almost obsessive rigor. His dark hair was a chaotic tangle, an outward manifestation of the disorder that simmered beneath the surface. But it was his hazel eyes that truly captured Dimitri's attention. They were unlike any he had ever seen. They should have been warm, inviting—a source of beauty. Instead, they radiated a malevolent brilliance, a cold menace that seemed to cut through the very fabric of reality. There was a cruel beauty in that danger, a terrifying allure that twisted in the dim light.
Kian, too, was observing Dimitri with a disturbing intensity. His gaze traced over Dimitri's features, a silent caress, lingering just long enough to send shivers down his spine. It was as if Kian was dissecting him with a meticulous, almost sadistic scrutiny, mirroring Dimitri's own examination. The briefest of moments, yet it was laden with the weight of inquiry and calculation.
Dimitri could feel the creeping satisfaction of it all—this was the unsettling, sadistic pleasure that came from the silence, the anticipation, and the unseen boundaries being tested.
This is fun, he thought.
But Dimitri refused to relent. It was a psychological chess game, and he knew the rules all too well.
Rule number one: Never be the first to talk.
To break this rule was to betray a desperate eagerness, a signal that would tip the scales, turning one from predator to prey. In that chilling moment, the predator's instincts would ignite, a feral, bloodthirsty drive awakening with the scent of vulnerability. It was like a starving beast catching the whiff of fresh blood—its hunger, raw and unrestrained, would sharpen to a lethal edge. Dimitri knew that to speak first was to concede defeat, to show that he was vulnerable, that he was, in essence, prey.
The most ruthless killers thrived on such moments, their predatory instincts honed to detect even the slightest hint of weakness. They were driven by an insatiable, brutal hunger, a visceral need to dominate and destroy. The silence was their playground, a space where they could feast on the fear of their victims, their cruelty heightened by the mental anguish they inflicted.
The unspoken challenge was clear: endure the crushing weight of the silence, stand your ground, and refuse to break.
Then, unexpectedly, Kian smirked, a slow, almost lazy curve of his lips. It was a smile that promised nothing good, yet Dimitri found himself both intrigued and repelled.
"So," Kian finally said, his voice smooth and measured, "You're the famous psychologist they've brought in to try and crack me, hmmm? Dimitri Romano, the man who sees into the hearts of killers."
He lost.
And Dimitri won.