Lucian was unhinged. He was beginning to get disillusioned with life.
When he was alive, when he was still Mako, he had fought to hold on. Every day, he had fought to stay human in a world that seemed to punish him for it.
Cruelty was everywhere. It wasn't the loud, dramatic cruelty of stories, but something quieter, something that bled into the edges of life like ink spilled on paper. People walked past each other with empty faces, hearts locked away behind walls. It was as though humanity had grown up and forgotten how to feel, like a snake shedding its old skin and leaving behind its warmth.
Mako had seen it every day.
In the streets, there were the beggars no one looked at, their outstretched hands invisible to the crowds. There were the men in suits hurrying past, shoulders stiff, eyes focused on things no one else could see. No one stopped. No one cared.
At work, Mako watched his bosses demand more and more, squeezing every last drop of effort from him, only to pay him scraps. He pushed himself harder, hoping to earn enough to get by, but no one noticed. His sweat, his exhaustion—none of it mattered.
In the markets, it was a game of greed and desperation. Sellers would jack up prices, hoping to make enough to survive, while buyers haggled them down to pennies, leaving them with nothing. Everyone was clawing at each other, fighting to stay afloat, but no one stopped to think about the person on the other side.
It was endless. A cycle of selfishness, greed, and indifference.
And yet, even as it pressed down on him, even as the weight of it made him want to scream, Mako held on. He held on because he had to. Because of her.
Mei.
His little sister was his anchor, his one light in the darkness. When the world pushed him to the edge, when he felt like his humanity was slipping away piece by piece, Mei pulled him back. Her laughter, soft and bright, was like a balm for his aching soul. Her smile, warm and pure, reminded him that there was still good in the world.
But now Mei was gone.
She was gone, and the world had lost all its color. There was no light, no warmth, no reason. The pain of losing her had shattered something inside him, something he didn't even know was there. Without her, the world was empty.
And in that emptiness, Mako died.
He didn't even realize it at first. He didn't notice the shift, the way his thoughts darkened, the way his heart hardened. But it was there, creeping in like a shadow. The pain, the loss, the anger—it consumed him.
Humans were no longer people to him. They were ghosts. Shells. Bodies moving through life without meaning, without care. Every time he looked at them, he felt only hatred. They were the reason Mei was gone. They were the reason his world was broken.
He was no longer Mako.
He was Lucian now.
And Lucian had killed two men.
And one more was about to follow.
The first time, it had felt strange. Like he was watching someone else, like his hands weren't his own. The second time, it felt easier. Quieter. Like slipping into a cold, dark room where no one could see him. The blood on his hands didn't feel real; it felt like a story someone else was telling. A story that didn't matter.
Now, the third man stood before him.
Lucian's cellmate was a brute, all muscle and arrogance. He had spent the past week posturing, trying to prove his dominance. In this prison, status was everything, and Lucian was just another step for him to climb higher. To the cellmate, Lucian was nothing but a challenge, a fight to win, another source of entertainment to feed his hollow pride.
But to Lucian, this man was nothing.
Lucian's heart was steady as his cellmate lunged at him, arms swinging with brutal strength. The man's face twisted with anger, veins bulging in his neck, but Lucian felt nothing. No fear, no rush of adrenaline. Just a calm, cold detachment and plenty of hate.
The first two cellmates had been necessary. Their deaths weren't something Lucian had wanted, but they were unavoidable. It was survival—simple, cold, and impersonal. He hadn't felt anything for them. No anger, no guilt. Just the numb detachment of a man doing what he had to.
But this one was different.
Cellmate 3 was a monster. The kind of man who thrived on the misery of others, who laughed when he saw fear in someone's eyes. He wasn't just another body in the way—he was something Lucian wanted to destroy. For the first time, he felt a spark of something in the pit of his stomach. Hatred. Pure and unfiltered.
Lucian could feel the man's eyes boring into him, could see the glint of the knife in his hand. The cellmate's movements were quick and heavy, like a predator pouncing on its prey. He aimed for Lucian's head, the blade slicing through the air with a force that could split bone.
But Lucian was faster.
He saw the knife coming, saw the rage twisting the man's face. There was no hesitation. Lucian ducked, dropping to his knees in one fluid motion, his body reacting before his mind could catch up. The knife missed him by inches, its sharp edge cutting through empty space where his head had been.
The cellmate's momentum was his undoing. He had swung with too much force, too much confidence, and now it carried him forward. His arm jabbed straight into one of the wide gaps between the bars of the cell gate.
The clang of metal echoed in the small space, sharp and jarring.
Lucian didn't move right away. He stayed low, watching as the man struggled. Cellmate 3 tried to yank his arm free, but his momentum had driven it too far through the bars. The narrow space gripped his shoulder, pinning him like an animal caught in a trap. His growls of anger turned into frustrated roars, his muscles straining as he pulled and twisted.
But he was stuck.