Ren stands over their trembling bodies, his face blank under the mask as he watches them struggle in his grip.
The sound of the city hums faintly in the background, but here, on the rooftop, it's just him and his captives. His voice slices through the tension like a cold wind.
"Please, let us go and we'll give you anything you want." The thugs pleads.
"Shut the fuck up," Ren yells, his tone casual but laced with menace. "It goes in sequence. First, I'll introduce myself, and then I'll begin beating you up."
He lets the silence hang for a moment, savoring the looks of confusion and fear on their faces. Then he shrugs nonchalantly.
"I'm Incubi. And no, I'm not interested in you guys," Ren continues, his voice calm, almost conversational. "Earlier, you shot at me. And now, this is payback."
One of the thugs, his voice trembling, manages to stammer out, "Wh-who are you?"
Ren tilts his head slightly. "Come on, I just said that. I'm Incubi. You must have hearing problems."
The thug stares at him, still in disbelief, and Ren sighs as if explaining something to a child.
"I get it. I popped up out of nowhere, right beside your car. You panicked, pulled out a gun, and fired." Ren spreads his arms wide, mockingly dramatic.
"But I just wanted to have some fun, and you guys shot at me. Do you know how much that hurts? That's bad manners, you punks. So I'm gonna beat your ass up and you guys better silently accept that. And if you yell, I prefer that as well."
He clutches his arm exaggeratedly, pretending to wince, his voice rising a pitch in faux-pain. The thugs remain silent, still frozen in place.
Ren chuckles. "Don't feel bad, though. You guys aren't the first ones who'll be suffering tonight. I've done this before, so I'll be gentle."
With that, he releases the telekinetic grip holding them down, watching as they remain still, too shocked to try and run. After all, there's nowhere for them to escape anyway.
"Now," Ren says, crossing his arms casually, "I'll hear you out. What were you doing? Why did you steal? And you guys look... professional. Who are you?"
One of the thugs, still shaking, manages to blurt out, "W-we were hired. To steal... steal some metal from the museum."
Ren raises an eyebrow under his mask, pretending to be intrigued. "Ah, so you were just doing your job, huh?" He nods as if he understands.
"I get it. You were just working. So, as a fellow... 'bad guy,' I'll take that metal off your hands." He holds out his hand, not bothering to sound threatening. He doesn't need to; they're too scared to resist.
Trembling, one of the thugs fumbles with the small black box they've been guarding, handing it over with shaky hands. Ren takes it without even looking at it, just tossing it aside casually. It clatters to the rooftop as he focuses entirely on the fun he's having.
"Ahhhhh..." Ren stretches, letting out a satisfied sigh. "I'm really having fun, so I'll lighten your punishment." His eyes gleam with amusement behind his mask. "Start slapping each other."
The thugs blink, confused. "W-what?" one of them stammers.
Ren waves his hand as if it's the most natural thing in the world. "When I say 'begin,' you start slapping each other. And when I say 'stop,' you stop."
They glance at each other, clearly terrified and confused, but none of them dare to disobey. Ren smirks and says calmly,
"Begin."
And the sound of slaps fills the air as they awkwardly start hitting each other. Ren is watching with a grin, enjoying the ridiculousness of it all.
He sees that one thug isn't slapping hard enough, and Ren points at him.
"Hey," Ren calls out, his tone serious, "You're not hitting hard enough. Do you not get how serious this is? Do you want me to slap him instead? I might not hold back."
The thug's eyes widen, and the one being hit quickly turns to the thug hitting, "S-slap harder!" he yells desperately. "Come on, you can do it!"
"Bum! Harder! Bum! Harder! But! Harder!"
The slaps come louder now, each hit accompanied by a pathetic "Bum" sound that echoes around the rooftop. The thug delivering the slaps has tears in the corners of his eyes, his face twisted in guilt as he mutters, "Forgive me..." under his breath before delivering another "Bum."
The rooftop becomes a symphony of slaps—dum, dum, dum—as Ren watches, grinning beneath his mask, his boredom from earlier long gone.
Finally, after minutes of this bizarre punishment, Ren claps his hands.
"Stop."
The slap sounds immediately cease, and the thugs fall to the ground, cheeks swollen and red, looking up at Ren with a mixture of fear and disbelief.
Ren stands up slowly, dusting off his hands. "Ahh, your cheeks are swollen perfectly," he says, almost admiring his handiwork. "So, I'll let you guys go."
The thugs stare up at him, still too stunned to respond. Ren stretches lazily and turns to leave. "Now, remember, guys—stealing isn't bad... as long as you don't get caught. Repeat after me."
Their voices tremble as they repeat, "Stealing isn't bad... as long as you don't get caught."
Ren grins. "And we should never fire at someone who can fly."
They repeat that, too, their voices are weak and shaky.
With that, Ren gives them a mock salute and flies off into the night sky, leaving them behind on the rooftop.
The thugs watch him go, their swollen faces in disbelief. One of them, looking at the rooftop edge, mutters, "How do we get down now? The gate's locked."
As Ren soars through the sky, a smirk curls across his face. The boredom that had plagued him all day has vanished. He feels alive again, the thrill of power coursing through his veins. His earlier thoughts of emptiness and dissatisfaction seem distant now.
"I should pay Elisha a visit tonight," Ren muses as he flies, a grin spreading across his lips. The wind rushes past him, the city lights glittering below, and for the first time in hours, Ren feels... content.