"It's like a dungeon down here." Apollo walked over the stairs, going towards the top and a small little way that lead to the glass box.

"Can you believe Turnus would do this? I thought he was weird...but this...this..."

"I'm not surprised though, I knew the minute I talked to that piece of shit that he was bad news. Human trafficking is something else though." Apollo said.

"I don't know. What would he want with this? What does a man who's already rich want with this kind of business, I'd guess it's more of a liability than anything good." Dion helped the child upstairs. The crow flew across the room, with a kind of joy and squealing bliss that you could only find from a freed beast. They weren't open skies (they were still within the confines of an underground arena) but they might as well have been.

"Who knows? Sadism? That's my guess. He probably gets a kick out of being owning people." Apollo said.

"Do you think he's evil enough to kill his dad then? Do you think it was him?"

"I think he's more than capable of being Thomas Seniors killer. I think he did it too, I don't know how but he did," Apollo came to the door which strictly read 'VIP only.' "When I find him, I'll be more than happy to ask him myself."

Apollo punched a hole through the wooden door, he moved his fingers around, struggling to find the lock to disengage. With a click, it opened. The air smelled strongly of cigars, the kind of musk that doesn't seem to rise, that lingers near the atmosphere as if chained to the very ground below. There were tables of alcohol, leather sofas, and giant television screens. Ornate carpet, shiny and chrome silverware gave the small room a kind of opulence missing from the savagery below. Truly, a despot kings quarter.

There was a door at the end of the room. Apollo went to it.

"Time to investigate," Apollo said. He kicked the door open, a move that he was sure he enjoyed more than he should have. There was a stretch of hallway, along both sides were doors leading to private quarters. They were open, and inside were small love beds or stripper poles or dressing rooms. Sometimes...awful things too. Things involving whips and knives and weights and clamps; perversions that seemed to scare the boy, who held Dion's arm tighter when he passed them along the halls. But no one inside. No, it was only at the end of the hallway that they saw the curious thing.

A room, open with an open slightness so small only a tiny line of light could shine through. Overlayed, covering this light, was a shadow moving with sporadic rush across the room. He was screaming.

“I can’t do that-” His voice was wheezing, each letter taking a breath away. “You can’t make me. I shredded everything you told me, I risked myself! Staying here! You can’t just tell me-” He said. “Wait. What?”

His voice softened. Apollo approached the door, telling the other two to wait with a simple finger point. He tip-toed to the door, putting his hand against it gently.

“You’ll do what?” The man gasped. “Please, not to them. You can’t mean-”

The supiscious man paused. He was talking on the phone, it was loud, as if on speaker.

“And if I kill myself, will it take all my burden away? Will it keep my daughter safe?”

Those were the words Apollo needed to hear to break through the door. The man turned, in shock, the phone dropped and dangling by the tableside. The man looked at Apollo, then turned his gaze to the tabletop where a revolver rested. He rushed to it. It must have been a few yards between Apollo and the man, at least that’s all he could figure in the short time. It was too long a distance to run, even with his speed. So he did all he could really do, he reached inside his coat and took out his blade. It came out, the long iron, massive and overbearing. He twisted his feet, shifted his momentum and threw his blade with a quick stride. It flew across the room towards the desk, shattering it to dust and splinters. The bullet casings, the gun, scattered and flew off.

The man fell to the floor. There was nothing, and he noticed it quickly, he rushed for the gun now in the corner of the room. He made it only a small crawl before Apollo put his foot down on the man's heel.

“What happened?” Dion rushed in.

“I think I caught someone.” He looked at the small office, there were plenty of curiosities each worth their own interrogation; a vault, shredded papers, the gun, and plenty of alcohol.

The man tugged at Dion’s pants. His eyes were wide, his face was sharp and tense and tight like a feral animal. And he pointed at the men held down on the floor.

“Take yourself and the kid away,” Apollo said. “I need to talk to him.”

“You’re not going to kill him, right?”

“That depends on him.” He knelt down, going eye to eye with the man’s disheveled face. It was fat, swollen. Like a chipmunk. “Doesn’t it?”

When Dion was gone, and the door closed, Apollo lifted the trash from the floor from the cuff of his suit. A cheap blazer with a black shirt and a gold chain across.

“What do you know about Turnus?” He asked.

“N-Never heard of him.” Apollo slammed the man against the wall. “Yeah, the people here have a tendency to forget their boss. Either it’s a bad case of dementia or an even worse case of tight lips.”

“What we do here-” The man swallowed spit. “Is a private affair. I’ll happily surrender myself to the police, but I won’t talk without my lawyers-”

“Is this a fucking joke?” Apollo slapped him. “What do I look like?”

“What?”

He slapped him again.

“I asked you, what do I look like?”

The man looked down, then up.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” He punched him in the liver. The man coughed something up, it expanded his cheeks, but he kept it in his shut mouth and swallowed. “Then why the fuck would you think I’m police?”

Apollo dropped him. Let him breathe and cough and vomit. Only for a moment, only to remind the drowned man what air tasted like, before grabbing him again and plunging his face down into doom.

“I know what you do down here.” Apollo grabbed him by the hair. “I know what you sell and who you abuse. For what, for whom. I know everything about you, scum. I smell it in the air, the putrid shit. I taste it from your sweat, I see it in your eyes. You're god fucking awful, I know that. What I need to know is who enabled your behavior and where they’re at.”

“I-I don’t know!”

Apollo raised his head, closed his eyes and sighed. Dion, from behind the door, said simply; “Remember what I said. Don't do it.”

“Shut up,” Apollo shot back and carried the man to the only half of the table still remaining.

He rubbed his fingers down the man’s fat belly, stopping at the lowest rib on his cage. He got a good grip of it in between his fingers.

“Each lie you tell me will cost you,” Apollo said. “And I can tell a lie from a mile away. It’s my job, so don’t test me.”

The man’s cheeks shook, the sweat piled underneath his eyes.

“Do you know who Turnus is?”

“No!”

It went snap. The man wheezed, a never-ending gasp. Apollo raised his hand to the second to last rib.

“Did Turnus give you the money to fund all this?”

“I don’t know who Turnus is!”

Crack. The man tried to push Apollo off. He became aware of the futility immediately when he looked with tired eyes at Apollo’s unchanging scowl.

“You have two sides, I’m more than happy to start on the other one.” He shifted his hand, the left portion of his ribcage now.

“Do you know where Turnus is?”

“No! No!”

Apollo squeezed.

“I’m telling the truth!” The man said.

“What do you know, and you answer now, or I’ll make sure your ribs stab your lungs with each fucking breath you take.”

The man looked left to right, anything to avoid Apollo’s gaze.

Apollo squeezed his fingers, almost rubbing and toying with the bone.

“Do you really want to find out what it feels like to have your lungs filled with blood?”

“His girlfriend!” He shouted out. “I know where his girlfriend lives. That’s it! I promise.”

Of course, the eccentric girl living him. He remembered her, even in the darkness of that loud room.

“Alright, stop talking.”

“You gotta keep me safe!” The man grabbed Apollo by the clothes like a beggar thrown at him, desperate and alone. “He’ll kill me.”

“That’s your fucking problem.”

“I’m dead if I talk!”

Apollo slammed his neck down on the table.

“You’re dead if you don’t talk,” Apollo screamed, he kept his grip.

“Alright. Alright. Alright alright alrightalrightalright,” The words came with such quick intensity like bullets in a machine gun. “I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you where Dolores lives.”

And he stayed quiet to listen.