DRIP. DRIP. The man's pants were soaked. He clearly wasn't some fanatic, after all; Deep's words had scared him into wetting himself.
"Good. We're off to a promising start. Now, tell me what you know about the World Crown." Deep slowly pulled the sock from the man's mouth.
"I don't know what you're talking about! All those rich people on the World Crown died long ago!"
"Wrong answer." A cruel smile spread across Deep's face. He slid the Black Thorn in his hand under the man's fingernail and, with a casual flick, turned his fingertip into a mess of blood and flesh.
Deep knew the goal of interrogation was to make criminals talk as quickly as possible. Chopping off hands and feet wasn't always necessary; sometimes, minor pain could create far more psychological pressure.
