The Seahawk sliced through waves under a clearing sky, the storm clouds of the previous day now distant memories on the horizon. Below, in the dim confines of their shared cabin, Fin paced, his footsteps creating a rhythmic counterpoint to the ship's gentle roll. The confined space seemed to amplify his agitation, each turn at the narrow walls sharp and precise. Soga lounged on his bunk, absorbed in one of his romance novels, the kind of drivel that made Fin's teeth ache with its predictability.

"Have you talked to the pirate yet?" Fin asked, his voice cutting through the silence.

Soga didn't look up from his book, though his fingers paused on the page. "Nah. Handed him over to Tatum right after we dumped him on deck. The captain's got him locked away in that holding cell, with a core suppressor clamped tight on his wrist. No sense risking the ship going under if he throws a tantrum."

Fin nodded, coming to a stop near the porthole. "Mind if I have a chat with him?"

That made Soga pause his reading entirely. He glanced up, turquoise eyes filled with curiosity. "Why?"

Fin's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile as he slipped his mask back into place. The featureless visage clicked down with mechanical precision. "Just want to see how he thinks."

Soga studied him for a long moment, clearly weighing the implications. Finally, Soga shrugged and returned to his book. "Go ahead. Just don't let him drown the ship. Tatum might not appreciate having to swim home."

Fin chuckled and headed out. The cabin door creaked shut behind him.

The corridor belowdecks was a claustrophobic tunnel of weathered wood and iron. The air hung heavy with the eternal maritime mixture of tar, brine, and the faint but persistent tang of unwashed sailors. Fin moved through the narrow passage like a wraith, his footsteps eerily silent despite the creaking deck. As he made his way toward the stern, familiar footsteps echoed ahead, Captain Tatum rounding a corner with a ledger tucked under his arm.

"Lasair," the captain greeted. "Heading somewhere specific?"

Fin nodded toward the ship's rear. "The holding cell. I'd like to have a conversation with our guest."

Tatum's eyes narrowed to weathered slits, but he didn't hesitate long. "Aye, you can. Just keep that core suppressor locked tight on the bastard. Last thing I need is my ship sank by some vengeful pirate looking for payback. He's got enough burns to make him spiteful as a cornered rat."

Fin's laugh was barely more than an exhale. "I'll keep that in mind, Captain. Wouldn't want to swim the rest of the way."

Tatum clapped him on the shoulder and continued on his way, but Fin caught the captain's backward glance.

The reinforced door at the ship's stern was guarded by a burly sailor whose hand instinctively moved to his sword hilt when Fin approached. Recognition dawned, and the man stepped aside with a respectful nod, though his eyes never left the masked figure. The lock clicked open with metallic authority, revealing a cramped cell barely larger than a coffin standing upright.

Iron bars reinforced the walls like skeletal ribs, and a single porthole allowed a shaft of dying sunlight to paint prison stripes across the floor. The air inside was thick with the stench of burned flesh, unwashed humanity, and something else.

The pirate sat hunched in the corner like a broken doll, mechanically tearing at a hunk of stale bread and a wedge of cheese that had seen better days. His body was a cartographer's map of agony, third-degree burns mottled half his skin in angry reds and weeping yellows, transforming what had once been a man into something from a fever dream. His clothes had been reduced to charred rags that clung to his frame like mourning shrouds. The core suppressor, a bulky iron cuff etched with dampening runes, pulsed with faint blue light on his wrist, siphoning away his mana like a mechanical vampire.

Fin entered without announcement, his presence filling the small space with electric tension. He reached into his dimensional storage and withdrew a simple wooden chair, the furniture materializing with a soft pop that made the pirate's remaining good eye snap up. Fin placed the chair directly across from him and sat with deliberate slowness, crossing his legs with casual precision.

For nearly three full minutes, he simply watched. His masked gaze was unblinking, analyzing every micro-expression, cataloguing each labored breath, measuring the rhythm of the man's pulse where it fluttered beneath burned skin. The silence stretched between them like a taut wire, growing heavier with each passing second.

The pirate finally looked up, his single functioning eye, the other sealed shut by blistered flesh, narrowing with animal wariness. He swallowed a mouthful of bread, crumbs tumbling into his singed beard like ash from a funeral pyre. "You the one responsible for my new look?"

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Fin's voice emerged flat and emotionless. "Yes."

The pirate's cracked lips peeled back in what might have been a snarl, revealing teeth yellowed like old bone. "Lucky for you I've got this damn suppressor welded to my wrist. Otherwise, I'd return the favor, drown you real slow, watch the pretty bubbles rise as your lungs fill with seawater."

Fin leaned back in his chair. "Sure, sure. Maybe later."

Brokenheart snorted, tearing off another chunk of cheese with unnecessary violence. "Get on with it, then. What do you want? Come to gloat over your handiwork? Looking for information? Or maybe you're just here to play detective with the dangerous criminal?"

Fin tilted his head with the curious gesture of a scientist examining a particularly interesting specimen. "Your name, for starters."

The pirate paused mid-chew, then grinned with genuine wickedness. The expression transformed his burned features into something truly grotesque. "Brokenheart. Fits perfectly, don't you think? After all the ones I've shattered over the years."

Fin's laugh was humorless, cutting through the cell's stale air like breaking glass. "What sort of theatrical bullshit name is that? Tell me your real one, not whatever dramatic persona you've constructed for your crew."

Brokenheart's grin faltered slightly, replaced by a calculating stare that suggested more intelligence than his crude manner implied. He bit into his bread with deliberate slowness, chewing as if physically savoring the challenge. "Fair trade, masked man. You tell me yours, I'll spill mine. Professional courtesy between killers."

Fin considered for a moment, weighing options behind his featureless mask. "Lasair."

The pirate nodded as if tasting the name on his tongue. "Real enough. I can smell truth, you know. Mine's Lhue Begour. Used to pull nets full of fish before I learned there were better ways to fill my nets."

Fin leaned forward slightly. "What made you become a pirate, Lhue?"

Begour leaned back against the wall, wincing as burned flesh protested the movement. His remaining eye took on a distant quality, as if looking through years rather than prison bars. "Ah, you want the classic tale, do you? Parents ditched me when I was barely walking, streets raised me like a feral animal. Stole scraps to eat, killed to survive. The usual tragic backstory that's supposed to make you feel sorry for the monster." His voice dripped with practiced sarcasm. "What about you, mercenary? What drags a man with your... talents... into this particular line of work?"

Fin's tone perfectly matched the mockery. "Oh, you know, money, freedom, the thrill of it all. The romance of adventure. Blah, blah, blah."

Brokenheart threw his head back and laughed, a raspy sound that echoed off the iron bars like the cackle of a mad thing. "Ha! I like you, Lasair. A merc with a sense of humor. That's rarer than an honest captain these days."

The laughter died as quickly as it had come, leaving behind a silence that felt heavy with unspoken threats. Fin's voice dropped to barely above a whisper, but somehow it carried more menace than any shout. "Why do you really do it, Lhue? None of that rehearsed sob-story garbage. The truth. The real, ugly truth that keeps you warm at night."

Something shifted in Brokenheart's remaining eye, a darkness that seemed to rise from some bottomless pit in his soul. He began to cackle then, a sound that started low and built to a crescendo of pure madness. The laugh filled the cell like poisonous gas, seeming to seep into the very walls. With a sudden, violent motion, he hurled the remains of his bread and cheese at Fin's feet, food splattering across the floor in a show of contempt.

"Because I fucking love it!" he roared, spittle flying from his lips like venom. "I love taking what's not mine, gold, ships, lives, innocence. Everything that people think belongs to them. But you want to know what really gets my blood singing? Stabbing a man and watching the exact moment the light dies in his eyes. That instant when they realize death has come calling and there's nothing left but the dark."

His voice dropped to a whisper that somehow carried more menace than his roar. "But my absolute favorite... filling someone's lungs with water while they're still breathing air. Feeling them thrash and struggle as they drown on dry land, their own body betraying them. The power, the absolute control, it is better than any drug, more intoxicating than the finest alcohol. Their life balanced in my hands, slipping away drop by precious drop."

His grin became something inhuman. "Especially the younger ones. Lovely children. They fight so much harder, last so much longer. The fear in their eyes is... exquisite."

Fin sat perfectly motionless throughout the confession, absorbing every word like a sponge soaking up poison. Then, without a single wasted motion, he reached into his dimensional storage and withdrew his mana suppression device. He placed it on the chair's armrest with the delicate care of someone handling a loaded weapon. The device hummed to life with a surge of his mana, and immediately the air in the cell thickened with invisible pressure, creating a field that dampened all magical energies within its radius. Fin felt his own skills fade to whispers.

Brokenheart's burned face twisted in sudden confusion, the change in atmospheric pressure making his ears pop. "What the fuck are you doing? What is that thing?"

Fin stood with fluid grace, reaching over to unlock the core suppressor from the pirate's wrist. It clattered to the floor. "Giving you exactly what you want, Lhue."

Brokenheart's eye widened in triumph. He surged to his feet with renewed energy, mana flaring, or trying to. Instead of the crushing torrents of water he commanded, barely a trickle dribbled weakly from his fingertips, pathetic droplets that evaporated before they could hit the ground. "What?" He stared at his hands in growing betrayal, understanding dawning like a cold sunrise.

Fin's fist crashed into the pirate's jaw with the sound of breaking pottery. The impact sent Brokenheart staggering backward, blood spraying from split lips in a crimson arc. Fin's eyes had taken on a glassy quality, something cold and predatory rising to the surface like a shark scenting blood in the water.

"You're a rabid animal," Fin whispered, stepping forward mechanically.

Brokenheart backed against the wall, suddenly able to feel the actual heat of barely contained rage rolling off the masked figure in waves. For the first time in years, genuine fear crept into his voice.

"Wait..."

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