Punishment Halls

As the luxurious car’s door closed shut with a soft thud, Koral let out a small sigh as she sank into the plush black leather passenger seat. The immediate wave of coolness from the air conditioning provided a welcomed respite from the scorching heat outside, and so she let out a relieved sigh while her fingers continued to absentmindedly trace a path across the edges of her new phone, its weight still unfamiliar in her hand.

The device was practically devoid of any sign of usage barring one single message. ‘Attend the Greenhouse at your earliest convenience’, it read, ‘For the Daturas are due to blossom.’ While Koral couldn’t help but scoff internally at Valerica’s penchant for theatrics, luckily the ‘code’ didn’t need any explanation —and neither did the driver, who set the engine into motion just moments after she had settled in.

As they pulled away from the curb, the teenager caught a distant glimpse of Apollo on the hotel suite’s balcony, his hand raised a halfhearted wave. Despite his original gravitas, their parting had fizzled into something far more mundane —complaining about her wardrobe as she waltzed past him.

The gravity of his earlier monologue had sizzled out into something far more mundane, complaining about her wardrobe as she’d waltzed past him.

‘You’re going to the Medardo Estate, not some trashy nightclub!’ He grumbled, complaining about her black leather skirt and crop top with clear disapproval.

The memory brought a smirk to her lips. Such a send-off was much more to her liking than some overly dramatic attempt at tearful farewells. She did take her sweet time getting ready, almost relishing on the old fool’s growing impatience.

But every smudge of eyeliner, every carefully placed strand of hair was a minute act of defiance worth its pride. If anyone wished to complain, they were entirely free to end up ignored. Koral didn’t underestimate the importance of a carefully crafted image.

And sure enough, her efforts bore premature fruit as the slightly shaky voice of the driver broke Koral away from her reverie.

“Koral, isn’t it?” The man behind the wheel ventured, his brown-hazel eyes flicking unsteadily to the rearview mirror. He was young, probably in his early twenties, with a clean-shaven face and neatly combed dark hair that betrayed his overzealous attempt at professionalism. His fingers drummed an anxious rhythm as they glided through sun-baked streets, an apprehension Koral didn’t blame him for. She was dangerous after all. “… One of La Medula’s accursed.”

“Ohoh, a fan already?” She teased him, offering a confident smile as she leaned back in her seat, one leg crossed over the other in a deliberate display of nonchalance. “Kind of unfair, since I don’t have the faintest idea who you are.”

“Right, sorry. My name’s Mauro.” He replied, a faint flush creeping up his neck. “I’m a recent addition to the Intel Division of the Cartel.”

Young as she may be, Koral wasn’t exactly naive. Looks were a weapon just like any other. Navigating his nervousness was a well-crafted tool to be employed, a means to extract as much information as possible.

“Lucky me. I get to have a big wig as my very own personal driver.” She purred while leaning forward to peek between the seats, offering a closer, playful smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Intel, huh?”

>> “So whatever are you doing escorting some meager Hitman?”

A small groan escaped from Mauro’s lips, likely because they were treading grounds he couldn’t quite readily disclose. Perhaps she was pushing too hard, but it wasn’t like she cared much exactly. The reaction alone told her enough —there were many well-placed eyes monitoring their every move.

“It’s... Complex. I don’t know all that much about it either, at least not yet.” Whether truthful or not, Mauro’s good faith didn’t sound spoiled. He did hesitate a little before continuing, though. “But I’m glad you’re out from under his shadow.”

“His shadow?” Koral asked back, her mismatched eyes narrowing. “You mean Apollo’s?”

“Yeah him.” Mauro nodded, his fingers tightening subtly on the steering wheel. “I can’t really say much beyond that.”

Pressing here seemed like it’d be a wasted effort, however…

“Aww, worried about little old me, sweetheart?” The idea was certainly worthy of a sarcastic chuckle. What a conceited loser. “Don’t be. I know how to take care of myself.”

“Don’t say that. You’re still a girl.” He quickly replied. “I’d rather you don’t end up in danger if I can help it.”

With a smug shrug of her shoulders, Koral retreated with a forced smile. As much as she understood how valuable connections were, for as fake as they could be, she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of anger at this so-called Mauro. What could this pathetic pencil-pusher possibly understand about the dangers she routinely trudged through?

Silence stretching between them, Mauro cleared his throat, either uncomfortable or frustrated with how their conversation had ran into a corner.

“Listen, I… Kind of wanted to ask you something.”

“Hah?” Koral dragged her indignation, an eyebrow arched skeptically. “Aren’t you intel anyway? What could I possibly tell you that isn’t already in some dusty file somewhere?”

“This isn’t about work. I apologize if I’m overstepping, but…” Mauro paused, seemingly to muster up some courage. “I know you were raised alongside Kyros Zabat.”

>> “Is he… Important to you?”

Koral’s laughter filled the car, sharp and genuine. So that’s what this was about. He was fishing to see whether she was ‘available’ or not. Still, the idea of her being romantically involved with Kyros, of all people, was absurd enough to break through her mask. Wherever did that guy get the Zabat last name anyhow?

“Me and Kyros? You can’t be serious.” She corrected Mauro with a hearty cross of her head. “We shared the same cage, that’s it. Not interested.”

>> “The guy’s a straight-laced good boy for the Cartel. I don’t go for sticks in the mud of that kind.” Her gaze glinted with mischief as her voice dropped into a playful lilt. “I prefer someone with a bit more… Spark.”

“Spark?” Mauro asked back, teetering between interest and fright.

“Why don’t you tell me yourself? Think you can keep up with me?” Though she already knew he had no chance of entertaining her too long, that didn’t stop her voice from dropping into a conspiratorial whisper.

She was overstating her interest in this nameless nobody, of course, but there was truth in her dismissal of Kyros as a potential partner —and she was also pretty sure the sentiment was mutual. There had been just too many instances where her emotional instability had reared its ugly head around him to ever hope to be alluring.

As frustrating as it was to fall into Apollo’s original design, she saw Kyros as more of a brother figure than anything else. Ultimately it was for the better, Koral thought.

“But hey, why don’t we chat about far more interesting things?” Koral deftly pivoted, while the city streets of Punta Luzbel gradually fell behind them, giving way to more secluded and affluent areas. “You work for intel, no? Surely you’ve heard your fair share of fun stuff.”

>> “La Flor, for example, what’s her story?” Her tone shifted, a predatory edge creeping into her voice.

Mauro’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel, his discomfort palpable as he wrestled the decision to share information. The friendly mood between them had taken on an edge, enough for Koral to deduce he was quite easy to scare —understandable reaction from a regular guy caught in a world full of monsters.

“I don’t think…” He stammered, caught off guard by the sudden conversational shift. “That’s not something we’re really supposed to discuss.”

“Aw come on, like I could ever betray you.” She began her coax, words in a blend of honey and steel. “I barely get to hear anything in my position. I’m just told who to kill, that’s all.”

>> “You don’t have to share the really obscure stuff. Why not start with simply the well-known shit that everybody talks about anyway?”

She wasn’t lying there. In her sheltered lifestyle, even openly shared rumours were kept from her by Apollo’s tight-lipped stoicism. Mighty fine time to change that.

“Ok… But don’t mention my name if it ever comes up.” In more of a surrender rather than eagerness, he finally relented —earning a triumphant smile from the teenager. “Valerica Flora Medardo Bizarro hasn’t actually been the ringleader of the Cartel for too long.” As he spoke, Mauro’s voice lowered as if afraid the very walls could be listening to him. “Less than a decade, as far as I know.”

>> “Her father was the one who founded La Medula.”

>> “He went by the name of Carroña.”

These were the bits of information she had been starved for, pieces of the puzzle that could define her allegiance and choices in the cruel world she lived in.

“It’s a barely disputed conclusion… That she was the one who did him in.” So Valerica killed her own father? It tracked, she certainly did appear the type to do so in pursuit of power. “But y’know…”

>> “Nobody has ever seen his corpse. Not even a symbolic burial.”

>> “He Just vanished from one day to the next.”

Lack of a body, huh… To simpletons like this Mauro-guy, such a detail might be mystifying, but if factors like Punishers were added into the equation, it wasn’t all that strange.

Koral had glimpsed some of Valerica’s powers before, but it was disappointingly unlikely she’d learn anything concrete about the woman’s true capabilities through this buffoon.

Guess she’d cross that bridge when she’d get to it.

As of the time being, such conversation was better brought to a halt for the Medardo Estate loomed before them in its characteristic decadent excess. As the car began to decelerate at the outer plaza, Koral’s gaze swept over the suited-up men standing at attention by the gates, their rigid postures contrasted by the figure that truly caught her eye.

Leaning casually against a bright-red sports motorcycle was a dark-skinned man whose presence immediately commanded notice —a guy far too familiar to her. Gone was the oftentimes lost boy she met him as; in his place stood someone whose very presence exuded an undeniable aura of danger and confidence.

Kyros had grown into his frame, lanky limbs now corded with pronounced muscles that his slightly unbuttoned and rolled-up shirt made no effort to conceal. Dark, tousled hair fell just above his jawline, framing sharp cheekbones and a strong brow that lent him a rugged exterior.

“Ha, I get a welcoming committee?” Koral murmured with a sly grin, her sight fixed on Kyros. The comment warranted Mauro to clear his throat, perhaps sensing her waning interest in him.

“You know, maybe I could fill you in on all the Cartel’s Accursed you’ve yet to meet.” The driver offered, his voice a mixture of hope and desperation. Was that a last-ditch effort to try and impress her? “Being aware of potential enemies is important, no?.”

>> “Just like making friends also is.”

And while there was some truth and allure to Mauro’s proposal, if only for the intel to be had, Koral was already reaching for the door handle as soon as the car had stopped. Her attention had already wandered far away from him.

“Yeah, yeah, that sounds great and all.” Koral answered absentmindedly, though she did turn back to Mauro one final time as she left the car. For pathetic as his expression filled with disappointment was, she figured there was one more use for him. “You’ll wait for me here, right?”

>> “What if I need a ride back home? You wouldn’t let me at the mercy of strangers would you?”

Superficial words that waited for no response, a thin veneer of sweetness over indifference as she swiftly dismissed him to click her way across the pavement towards Kyros. It had been little over a few months since they’d last seen each other, yet the air between them was already this tense, with his sharp brown eyes locked onto hers with anticipated annoyance.

Kyros had changed dramatically in his short time apart from Apollo. His intense eyes seemed to burn with a cold, premeditated intensity that made even Koral second-guess herself for a brief moment. He looked every inch the dangerous and efficient killer he was molded to be —but her irreverence quickly prevailed.

“Well, well.” Koral joined him, her height dwarfed by his even in heels not an impediment for a tone full of mockery and sweetened poison. “Didn’t quite expect to see you here. Almost didn’t recognize you without that droopy look on your face.”

>> “Come to welcome me to the big leagues?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’m here on orders.” Kyros’ response came swiftly, his voice cool and measured. Despite his alleged disinterest, Koral caught a flicker of concern in his eyes, no matter how much he tried to mask it. “Miss Medardo requested my presence. That’s all there is to it.”

Though he attempted to keep her influence at bay, acting all disciplined and controlled, Kyros still held a sly, almost serpentine edge to him —accentuated by the ethereal markings coiling down his arms. It was something Koral took pride in, especially since he didn’t accept it as readily.

However, his presence there on this particular day led her to overthink. Was it possible that they were being paired for future assignments? It was an idea in direct contradiction with Apollo’s teachings, which had emphasized on the solitary nature of their work.

Sicarios operated alone, for safety and efficiency. Partnerships only complicated things, created unnecessary vulnerabilities to operations; therefore…

“If that bitch thinks I’m going to let her get away with a stupid change of handler…” Koral scoffed, her eyes narrowing with displeasure. “And to go as far as to leash me with a chump like you, of all people?”

>> “Man, is she sorely mistaken.”

The venom-charged words elicited only a tired sigh from Kyros. Refusing to take her bait, he simply limited himself to step away from his bike.

“Just follow me, alright?” He asked, turning towards the sprawling mansion. “I’d rather we don’t keep her waiting.”

He did have a point. There was no reason to trouble herself too much about the possibilities for now. Better to just go through with whatever game Valerica intended to play here —the one that required Kyros’ presence.

And so she approached the manor, all of its grandeur a grotesque celebration to the power and cruelty with which the Cartel so callously shattered her life. Its opulent facade was nothing more than a means to conceal the rot within, one she wouldn’t let herself to be easily deceived by.

Climbing the lateral staircase, the teenager paused for a moment, allowing herself a parting glance at the garden behind her —bathed in the warm glow of the evening sun. The oblivious driver waited patiently by his car, a reminder to the mundane world that existed beyond this den of monsters.

The place before her seemed almost peaceful, a cruel illusion of normalcy not meant to last.

Whatever cruel machination awaited her beyond these ornate doors, Koral had already steeled herself to face them head-on, stepping fearlessly into the well-lit halls of the mansion.