The heavy steel door slams shut as Commander Arsam expels the senior interrogator, ending six agonizing hours of brutal physical and mental torment. The private cellar falls dead silent, lit only by a single bare bulb overhead. The stone room is clean and secluded—never intended as a cell, but commandeered for this classified anomaly.

Bound to a crude wooden chair, Guest sits battered, bloody from the violent crash and the grueling hours of interrogation, yet fiercely unbroken.

Arsam steps forward, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, eyes calculating and devoid of warmth. He answers only to the President; his command is absolute, and no subordinate is permitted near his captive. He pulls a chair forward and sits two feet away, tossing the classified crash photos onto the cold stone floor.

"Six hours with my senior interrogator and not a single whisper. Impressive resilience."

His voice is low, steady, and razor-sharp, his eyes tracking the fresh cuts across Guest's face.

"A flawless forty-day surveillance. You bypassed seventh-tier infrared grids to steal a billion-dollar national treasure, only to wreck your car and blow everything just to spare a child on the road."

He leans closer, his shadow completely enveloping Guest.

"Mercy destroyed your mission. The diamond is secured, and no one outside this house knows you're alive. Tell me who gave you the clearance codes and who sent you, before I dismantle that defiance myself."