Death Justice System

Chapter 6

Cold water struck Elias's face.

He jerked awake, gasping greedily for air. For a few seconds, he had absolutely no idea where he was. His throat still burned, his chest felt tight, and a sickening exhaustion pinned his body down. A weak fluorescent light flickered above him, casting harsh shadows across a stained ceiling.

Then, someone nudged his leg with the toe of a heavy boot. "Get up."

Elias blinked. He realized he was lying on a narrow bench inside what appeared to be a security room. A battered desk occupied one corner, surrounded by monitors displaying various sections of the institute. A metal cabinet stood against the wall, and the air in the room smelled like a stale mix of coffee, sweat, and disinfectant.

A security guard towered over him, holding an empty plastic bottle that dripped the last of its water. "You awake?"

Elias slowly pushed himself up to sit. His first thought upon opening his eyes wasn't about this room. It wasn't about Adrian Kaelen. It wasn't even about the System shackling him.

"Marcus."

The guard's expression hardened. "There you go again."

Elias stared straight at him. "Marcus Vance."

"Stop saying Professor Vance's name with your filthy mouth."

Elias merely stared without blinking. The guard crossed his arms over his chest in an arrogant posture. "Professor Vance is one of the most respected people in this institute. Show some respect."

Elias remained silent.

The guard stepped closer. "What?" Elias continued to stare with a piercing, hollow gaze. The man's jaw tightened. "What are you looking at?" Still no answer. The guard leaned down slightly, trying to intimidate him. "You challenging me?"

Elias's gaze remained as cold as ice. He had spent ten years of his life learning to read body language, facial expressions, and microscopic changes in human behavior. The guard was angry because Elias wasn't giving him the fear or submission he expected. But Elias had absolutely no energy left to waste entertaining him.

Before the situation could escalate into a physical altercation, another security guard sitting behind the desk reached into a paper bag nearby. "Just get rid of him." The man tossed a plastic-wrapped sandwich across the room. It landed squarely on Elias's chest. "Eat that and get out of here."

The first guard pointed roughly toward the door. "And don't ever come back."

Elias looked down at the sandwich. For a few seconds, he didn't move. Then, he slowly picked it up. He stood tall. His legs trembled slightly under his own weight, but he steadied his balance against the wall before walking toward the door. Neither of the guards tried to stop him.

Elias walked away without saying a single word.

The afternoon air felt increasingly cold and biting as he walked down the sidewalk. Elias moved slowly, the brim of his cap pulled low to hide his eyes. The sandwich was still in his grip. He hadn't eaten anything since waking up in this fragile body.

Eventually, he tore open the plastic wrapper and took a bite. It was hard and dry. Cheap bread, leftover processed meat, and a single leaf of wilted lettuce. It tasted bland, like chewing on dust.

He kept walking. His mind drifted elsewhere.

Marcus.

Every revenge scenario Elias had imagined always ended with Marcus. However, confronting him directly today had proven to be a failure. That damn System had prevented him from revealing his true identity. Worse, Marcus had simply walked away as if Elias's accusations were nothing more than the ramblings of a madman.

And yet, something else lingered in his mind. That final look. The moment Marcus turned back before disappearing at the end of the corridor. The fear that flashed for a fraction of a second in the man's eyes.

Elias wasn't hallucinating. Marcus realized something. Perhaps the man hadn't immediately recognized that the corpse of Elias Thorne was standing right there, but he sensed an anomaly. That fact proved one thing: Marcus's armor of composure had a crack. There was a weakness. Elias just didn't know what it was yet.

He needed information. Not emotion. Not wild assumptions. Empirical information.

He needed to understand what had actually happened after his death in the St. Jude autopsy suite. Who had officially declared him dead. Which pathologist had dared to autopsy his body. What evidence had been fabricated and collected. What was written in the autopsy report. And most importantly, he needed to know, step by step, how Marcus had manipulated a premeditated murder to look flawlessly like a natural death.

Elias's steps slowed. His gaze swept across the street, and a small, dimly lit sign caught his attention.

INTERNET CAFE

He stopped walking. For a moment, he merely stared at the sign. Then, he turned and crossed the street toward the entrance. The first thing he needed to do right now was not physically hunt Marcus down. It was to find out exactly how Elias Thorne had been recorded in the history of his own death.

Elsewhere, Marcus Vance sat alone in his spacious office.

The double doors of the room were shut and firmly locked. The blinds were drawn halfway across the windows, leaving a muted, silent afternoon light. His expensive jacket had been removed and draped neatly over the back of his leather chair. His tie remained perfectly straight and precise.

However, his expression was now vastly different.

There was no smile. No warmth. Not a single trace of the charismatic professor who had captivated an audience of hundreds less than two hours ago.

Marcus glared at his computer screen. A high-resolution personnel database filled the monitor. At the very top, a portrait photo was displayed.

ADRIAN KAELEN

Marcus leaned closer to the screen. His eyes moved slowly, tracing every line of text on the page. Age. Date of birth. Academic history. Residential information. University enrollment status. Marcus's index finger rested tensely on the edge of his mahogany desk. Then, he read one line aloud in a low voice.

"Currently enrolled at..."

He stopped reading. His eyes narrowed sharply.

The silence in the room felt increasingly heavy and suffocating. Marcus leaned back slowly, letting his spine sink into the soft leather of his chair. For a few seconds, he stared straight at Adrian Kaelen's name. Then, he looked again at the photograph of that pale, weak face.

"Adrian Kaelen. That woman should know."

Then, Marcus picked up his smartphone, scrolled for a specific contact, and made the call.