MADDOX
The scent of damp earth and aged whiskey lingered in the hidden basement, a room concealed beneath layers of stone and secrecy. The dim, flickering light of a single bulb cast jagged shadows across the walls, dancing like restless phantoms. This was my sanctuary, my hell, and my throne. It was here that I could drown in the twisted symphony of my memories without the weight of eyes judging my every move.
I poured another glass of whiskey, the amber liquid swirling in the crystal tumbler like liquid fire. It burned my throat on the way down, but the pain was a welcome distraction from the storm brewing inside me. The attack on the border, Raiden’s incompetence, and now this gnawing feeling—an itch at the back of my mind that refused to let me rest.
Were they alive? Could the Benne
