The van rattled through rain-slicked streets, its engine humming low.
Max sat against the cold wall, wrists loose on his knees, boots planted. He wasn't cuffed, but it didn't matter. Across from him, Justice sat with his arms folded, crimson spikes of hair dripping but refusing to fall. His eyes were steady, unblinking, sharp enough to slice through silence.
They hadn't spoken in nearly an hour.
Max kept his gaze fixed on the floor. The hum of the tires made a rhythm, steady and predictable, but his thoughts drifted where he didn't want them to.
Cargo.
That word whispered inside him with every bump in the road.
Finally, he asked, "Where."
Justice's reply came without hesitation. "Judiciary Wing."
"I know that. Where is it."
Justice's glare didn't soften. "Not here."
And that was all.
Hours passed. The city gave way to highways, the highways bled into countryside. Streetlights thinned, until only the van's headlights carved through the dark.
Max closed his eyes, but the voice came quick.
They'll kill you when they're done. You're not going to trial. You're going to disposal.
His eyes opened again. His fists clenched just enough to push the thought away.
Across from him, Justice hadn't moved. He looked like he could sit like that for days.
By dawn, the van slowed, turning into a fenced compound. Floodlights swept across wet concrete. A hangar yawned ahead, metal ribs glistening.
Inside, a black aircraft waited. Sharp, angular, silent. Not military gray. Not commercial white. Something else.
Justice stood as the van door slid open. "Move."
Max followed.
The air smelled of fuel and wet steel. Soldiers in masks moved in silence, loading crates into the plane. No insignias. Their rifles were etched with faint markings that gleamed under the lights.
Justice jerked his chin at the ramp. "On."
The plane's interior was stripped bare. No rows of seats—only benches along the walls, restraint hooks bolted into the floor.
Max sat. Justice sat opposite him, again.
The engines roared. The ramp sealed. The floor shook.
The aircraft lifted into the gray morning.
For the first hour, neither spoke. Max closed his eyes, tried to focus on the hum of the engines. It pressed against his skull like static.
Justice broke the silence. "You erased Vanity."
Max opened his eyes. "Defeated Vanity."
Justice shook his head. "No. Erased. Gone. Like it never existed. That's not what cursed people do"
Max didn't answer.
Justice leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "You don't carry a Vice. You are one."
The words sat heavy between them.
Max's face didn't change. "And if you're wrong."
Justice's jaw tightened. "I won't be."
The plane jolted, caught in turbulence. Neither flinched.
Hours stretched. Somewhere over the ocean, Justice stood, walked to the narrow window. His reflection was a red streak in the glass.
"When we land, you'll understand," he said.
"Understand what."
"Why containment exists. And why people like you don't walk free."
Max's voice stayed level. "You think I'm dangerous."
Justice's stare didn't shift. "You're not dangerous. You're inevitable."
Max tilted his head. "You want me to admit it."
"I want you to stop pretending."
Max smirked faintly. "If I were what you say, I'd already have burned this plane down with you in it."
Justice almost smiled back. "Not yet. You're careful. But fire doesn't stay small forever."
The hum of the engines swallowed everything else.
The descent came at dusk.
Through the window, Max saw cliffs carved by the sea. On top, a fortress of concrete and steel rose, towers bristling like knives. Floodlights turned the waves into silver fire. The runway stretched out into the water like a scar.
The plane touched down with a scream of wheels.
Justice didn't look back. "Stay close. Don't test me."
The ramp hissed open. Salt wind rushed in.
Max stepped down into the cold air.
Inside, the Judiciary Wing swallowed him whole. White halls. Black glass. No reflections. The lights never flickered. Doors hissed shut behind them.
Max slowed at the first window.
A boy his age sat inside, restrained, staring blankly at the ceiling. His lips moved, but no sound carried.
Another cell held a woman whispering to something in the corner. Black veins crawled up her arms.
A third was empty, only scorch marks along the walls.
Justice kept walking. "Keep up."
Max didn't. "What happens to them."
"They failed containment."
The next corridor stank of antiseptic. Doctors moved around a teenager strapped to a table, tubes running into his arms. His chest rose and fell too fast. A monitor beeped.
Max caught his eyes. Hollow. Already gone.
Justice saw the flicker in Max's face. "Don't sympathize. They're not victims. They're evidence."
"Evidence of what."
"That curses always win."
Max's voice was low. "Maybe your system fails, not them."
Justice's glare sharpened. "That's why you're dangerous. You don't see the line."
They turned a corner. The sound of fists on metal echoed. Behind reinforced glass, two cursed youths fought in a training pit, blood on their knuckles, faces blank. Guards watched, clipboards in hand.
Max stopped. "You make them fight."
"They volunteered," Justice said.
"Did they."
Justice's lips curved, not quite a smile. "Choice is a luxury. Not everyone earns it."
Max said nothing, but his jaw tightened.
At the end of the hall, heavier doors waited. Guards stood on both sides, rifles ready.
Justice placed his hand against the panel. The locks hissed.
He looked back once. "Welcome to evaluation."
The doors opened.
The room inside wasn't like the cells. It was bigger, round, a circle painted on the floor. Cameras lined the walls. Chains hung from the ceiling, their ends scorched.
Justice stepped in first. "Stand in the center."
Max didn't move. "What happens if I don't."
Justice's voice was flat. "Then we find out right here how Vice you really are."
The silence stretched. Guards waited, tense.
Max stepped forward. Into the circle.
The paint beneath his boots was scarred, burned through in jagged lines from whoever had stood there before him. The air felt colder inside the ring, like the circle itself was alive.
Justice's eyes never left him. "This is where we see what's under the skin."
Max's pulse steadied. His jaw clenched. "You won't like it."
Justice almost smirked. "That's the point."
The doors sealed behind them with a heavy hiss. The guards shifted but didn't follow.
Max stood alone in the circle. Justice outside it, watching. Measuring.
The lights above flared, bathing him in white. The room hummed like a machine waking up.
Justice's voice cut through the silence, steady as a blade.
"Welcome to judgment."