I Am a Hero With A Hundred Abilities

Chapter 31 - 31: Ch 30. June 6th 2006

The warehouse was silent except for the creaking of rusted metal in the wind. Located far off in a forgotten part of town, it was the kind of place no one visited, where even the rats avoided nesting.

The air was thick with dust and the faint scent of oil and rust. A single overhead bulb swung slowly, its dim light casting twisted shadows across the room.

Micheal was slumped in a metal chair, his arms and legs bound tightly with chains that scraped against his skin every time he moved.

His dirty blond hair was matted and wet, clinging to his wrinkled forehead. Though only thirty-five, the years had not been kind to him—substance abuse had hollowed him out, leaving behind an aged husk of a man.

His sunken eyes, jaundiced and glassy, barely stayed open. His beer belly strained against the stained fabric of his shirt, completing the image of a man long past redemption.

Suddenly, a splash of ice-cold water hit him full in the face.

He jolted upright with a choked gasp, coughing violently as water rushed up his nose and down his throat.

His eyes darted around in a panic, trying to make sense of where he was. He saw the chains. The concrete floor. The table next to him lined with unfamiliar, menacing tools—pliers, blades, clamps.

Then his eyes landed on a boy standing a few feet away—Ethan. Young, expressionless, but with an unsettling calm in his gaze.

Micheal's mind, scrambled by fear and confusion, immediately jumped to the wrong conclusion.

"Please!" he blurted out, his voice cracking. "Give me more time! I swear I'll get Pablo his money! Just—just tell him I need a week!"

He didn't even stop to consider that Ethan was too young to be a debt collector—panic had replaced reason.

The only thing he knew was that he was chained, helpless, and facing someone with clear intent.

Ethan tilted his head slightly, unblinking. His voice was calm but heavy with suppressed rage.

"June 6th, 2006."

Micheal froze. The name Pablo was gone from his mind now. "Wh-what?" he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Ethan took a step forward. "In an alley near Genesis Theatre. Do you remember what happened on that day?"

Micheal blinked, confusion twisting his features. 2006? That was long before he got involved with Pablo.

Long before the gang life fully took over. What was this kid talking about?

Then, a sick realization began to creep into his mind. Why would a teenager be collecting money for Pablo?

Pablo had more than enough grown men to do that work. His confusion deepened… until the pit in his stomach turned to dread.

Ethan's voice cut through his spiraling thoughts. "I can see that you're distracted. Let me help you focus."

Without warning, Ethan grabbed the chain, yanked Donaldson from the chair, and dragged him across the concrete floor to the far corner of the warehouse.

There, a basin filled with murky water sat waiting. Floating inside were red pepper seeds—hundreds of them. A burning concoction for pain.

"This might jog your memory," Ethan said coldly.

Micheal's eyes widened. "Wait—no, please—!"

His protest was silenced as Ethan shoved his head into the basin.

Water bubbled violently as Micheal thrashed, the spicy mixture searing into his eyes and nose.

He struggled wildly, coughing and gagging. After twelve seconds, Ethan yanked him up.

Donaldson screamed. "My eyes! My eyes! They're burning—please—!"

"You're not trying hard enough to remember," Ethan replied, and pushed his head back in.

Again. And again.

Each time, Micheal came out red-eyed, crying, coughing, mucus and tears streaming down his bloated face.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Micheal broke.

"I remember!" he screamed. "I remember what happened!"

Ethan paused, standing over him, watching.

Micheal sobbed, barely able to speak. His face was red and puffy, nose leaking, lips trembling. "It… it was supposed to be simple. Just a robbery. Scare a couple, take their money, that's all." he was struggling as he spoke.

"I found my targets so I followed them, and waited until they were alone… But it was my first time.

I was nervous. When the man stepped toward me, I panicked—I didn't mean to shoot, I swear I didn't mean to!"

He broke down in heavy sobs, guilt finally clawing at his chest. "I just… I just wanted to scare them…"

Ethan stared at him in silence, his voice low and cold. "Do you take me for a fool?"

Micheal looked up, dazed. "What?"

"One bullet might be panic. But you didn't just shoot my father. You aimed and fired at my mother, too. You didn't run. You chose to finish the job."

Ethan stepped closer, shadows crawling across his face. "Don't lie to me."

Micheal held his breath, frozen.

Ethan leaned in. "So unless you're ready to tell me why you really did it... I'll continue to make every single day of your life worse than death."

He grabbed Micheal by the hair, dragging him back toward the basin.

"No—wait—please! You have to believe me—it was a mistake—I didn't want to kill them!"

But Ethan didn't respond. His grip tightened, and he shoved Micheal's head into the burning water again. The muffled screams filled the warehouse, bubbling with every second.

The night had only just begun.

****

It became routine. A dark, twisted ritual that Ethan performed with unwavering precision. Every day, he stepped into that desolate warehouse tucked away in a forgotten corner of the world.

For Micheal, each day was a cycle of pain and despair. For Ethan, it was something close to therapy.

He didn't mind the screams—they were background noise, a symphony of guilt and anguish.

The smell of blood, sweat, and urine didn't bother him. If anything, it grounded him. Each flinch, each sob, each plea was another brushstroke on a canvas painted with retribution.

His seven years of

...

...