Considering how filthy and ramshackle the surface dwellings were, it was hard to say this cell wasn’t actually an upgrade—borderline luxury by Duskwight Lands standards. It wasn’t a real prison, though. It felt more like an experimental chamber.
That said, the way their "test subject" had been treated was enough to make the two teens’ stomachs turn.
The wall behind Peter looked almost futuristic at first glance. But a closer look revealed engraved lines running across the stone, metallic modules embedded directly into the surface as if they were part of the architecture itself.
Peter was slumped against that very wall.
Emaciated. Filthy. His old emo look nothing more than a distant memory.
He was caked in dried fluids and chemical residue so rancid it took everything Tim and Lily had not to gag. The air was thick with lingering fumes, enough to make their eyes water despite their high stats. Just imagining what their junkie friend had been pumping through his system for who knew how long was nauseating.
Then they noticed the translucent tubes.
They extended straight out of the metallic modules behind him, piercing into his arms... and two more disappeared beneath the skin of his back.
Colored traces of liquid still lingered inside the conduits.
At Lily’s stunned gasp, the familiar prisoner jerked his head up sluggishly. His gaze was unfocused, hazy—like he was still riding something.
Given how the tubes trembled slightly with each movement, they probably weren’t fully dry yet.
The moment he saw them, his yellow eyes—split pupils unmistakable—lit up. A grin cracked across his gaunt face.
"So?" he asked, voice vibrating with excitement. "What’s on the menu today?"
He shifted slightly, testing the restraints without really trying to break them.
"What are we going with? The one that melts your nerves? Or that new one that had me tripping through multiple futures? If I’m being honest, the one that makes you feel like you’re suddenly a fucking genius? That one slapped. Seriously. That one had potential."
Instead of answering, Tim grabbed one of the bars with one hand. And ripped.
Metal screamed. Stone cracked. He tore the entire door and its frame straight out of the wall like it was cardboard.
Peter blinked, mildly confused. The smile stayed.
"Oh. New staff? You guys expanding the team? Nice. I like variety."
Lily stood frozen.
The tubes buried in his veins. The pupils too wide. He didn’t look like a prisoner. He looked like a guy waiting for his order.
"You’re the only prisoner here," Tim said flatly.
Peter made a theatrical pout.
"Oh..."
He sighed dramatically.
"Been a while since I was the only one left alive." He tilted his head slightly toward empty space to his right. "I liked talking to Hiri. Shame... Haven’t heard him in a few days, though..."
He shrugged.
"Sometimes I feel like I’m talking to myself."
His eyes shimmered with something unstable.
"Actually... sometimes I still hear him. But I think that’s just the high. When it starts flowing through there..." He tilted his chin toward the tubes.
A soft chuckle.
"I ramble a bit."
He studied them more carefully now. Their empty hands. No capsules. No injection system primed. His smile faltered for half a second.
"Wait..." He tilted his head, wary now. "If you’re not here to inject me with something..."
A pause.
"Then what are you here for?"
Tim’s eye twitched. He raised a finger and jabbed it toward his own face.
"What? Are you serious right now? You don’t even recognize me?"
Peter blinked again, still half-floating. Tim stepped forward.
"Fuck, I even bought your overpriced crap before... And I sold you my own blood when I needed one of your services. You don’t remember that?"
Silence.
Lily turned slightly toward Tim, surprised. What service was he talking about?
How Peter Brady sourced his merchandise had always been a mystery. Rumor had it it had something to do not only with his Thousand-Poison Hydra Bloodline, but also with his Soul Class—Dealer. The same Soul Class could manifest completely different abilities depending on the user, and the addict’s version was said to be one of a kind. Or maybe that was another skill entirely.
Peter remained still. His hazy gaze flickered. He blinked again—this time without smiling.
He studied Tim’s face more closely.
The features. The jawline. The eyes.
Something clicked.
His pupils tightened. The fog receded just enough. His eyes widened.
"...Timmy?" He stared at him. Then let out a long breath.
Not joy, not relief. Just a faintly disappointed look.