"Do we knock?" My question was meant to be a minor puncturing of an extremely tense atmosphere. But it seemed to have caused an opposite effect as the atmosphere thickened.
I stood alongside Mangé, who stood in front of the entrance, staring intently at the large black door while taking in deep, uneasy breaths.
The moment he heard my question, he turned toward me, a look of firm determination plastered on his perfectly chiseled face.
Then slowly, I moved my neck left, inspecting the various executives that lined up behind us.
It was supposedly their first operation under Mangé's rule. And the dreadful air that they all emitted was thick and palpable. I could practically feel their nervous glares digging holes all over my body.
But what I strangely admired about them all was the fact that, even though they were all nervous, none of their facial or bodily expressions portrayed their nervousness. Their faces were, in fact, perfectly masked by resolved, determined expressions. Same as Mangé.
And as they heard my words, their determined expressions evolved into something else. Something that I liked to call 'Immersed State.'
A state of perfect flow.
My lips widened; their expressions had tugged at some warm memories that floated within my mind, buried in the deepest parts.
It truly had been a while since I'd been involved in a good old operation.
Mangé,
I turned to look at Mangé once more.
"You're a terrible leader, you know," I whispered so the executives wouldn't hear me. "You can't even give your men a single word of reassurance. You're letting your poorly contained nerves eat at your mind."
Mangé stood, stunned. His widened eyes stared straight at mine, mouth half open as if to say, 'Ah, you're right.'
Then, he whispered back to me, "Thank you, my friend." He closed his mouth, and a rather forced smile outlined his lips as he turned to face the executives.
I tapped his shoulder. "No need to thank me."
I'm just good like that.
"Now get this done quickly so we can get out of here," I demanded.
Mangé nodded. Then, he cleared his throat.
"I'll keep it short and concise." He declared, with a voice that wasn't too high, and also wasn't too low. It was at the perfect tempo. "We're going to go in there…"
As he spoke, his grip on his pistol tightened. Seemed as though his little speech also affected him. This was why I adored prep talk.
"And we're going to show them why we're called the Cyclo Gang…"
I couldn't bear to listen to him anymore. I wonder where the hell his charisma had vanished. Maybe it disappeared anytime he was nervous. Poor guy.
While he rambled on and on, spitting random motivational words that escaped his mouth, I turned, impatient and bubbling with barely contained excitement.
I pushed the door open.
"It isn't locked," I muttered, a faint smile present on my lips.
I took a calm step inside the building.
The moment I entered, a calm, cool breeze blew against my skin. The air was cold. Terribly so.
I clenched my fists tightly, and my jaw even tighter.
The excitement that had built up within me effectively crumbled as none of my five senses picked up the trace of any spiff. Or any lifeform at all.
Then slowly, the excited, almost belated heartbeats began to dwindle, their rhythm matching the pace of my slow, deliberate breaths.
Replacing the excitement was a slowly creeping dread that crawled from my stomach, slithering until it made its way and eventually wrapped around my spine.
My instinct was warning me.
Something feels wrong.
My nose was assaulted by the foul smell that cascaded through the air. The place reeked of both rotten food and garbage.
Sucking in a deep, tense breath, I took another barely calm step.
Then, as my strained gaze scanned the room in which I found myself, I noticed two things. The place was poorly lit. And it was empty.
A single, faint, fluorescent light bulb hung above. The light it showered flickered on and off with every slow breath I drew.
–"Huh? Stella?" Mangé's voice cut through from outside.
It seemed he finally noticed that I had stepped into the building.
Calmly, I raised a hand, gently facing my outstretched palm toward Mangé's direction. It was a signal that informed him to tread cautiously. A signal that I assumed he understood and had seen in the flickering half darkness. After all, his sight was sharper than any others'.
My strained vision peered further into the room. And I moved my neck frantically, searching left and right for an obvious way forward.
I could barely make out my surroundings under the faint light. But there were two things that I could faintly make out. Barely.
And that was the general sense of just how spacious the room was.
I must say, it was really large, with thick milk-colored walls that were most likely the source of the cold air that was being radiated in the room. An air that failed to cool the hot feeling that wrapped around my spine, tingling with every breath.
The room could probably fit up to a hundred men without any problem, assuming those men were average-sized.
The other thing that my strained gaze could make out was the faintly gleaming metal staircase that loomed at the far end of the room.
Where does the staircase lead to?
As I quietly pondered, the only sound that streamed through my ears was that of the echoes of the incessant beating of my heart against my ribs.
That was until Mangé and his executives' cautious footsteps echoed behind me as they slowly made their way in.
My neck snapped immediately, gaze stretching toward their direction.
The confused, shaky voices of the executives intruded on the calm but eerie silence that enveloped the room as they began whispering things like:
—"Is this the place?"
—"I can't see anything."
—"It's huge."
—"Where the hell are the spiffs?"
I turned my neck and my gaze away from them, and once more, toward the strangely suspicious staircase.
Is this… a trap?
It sure looks like one.
I think… was the Orned Gang informed of our coming here?
Countless questions spiralled on and on in my mind as my gaze stayed steady on the staircase.
None of those questions could be answered.
But there was one logical conclusion that the whole scenario painted:
It was probably a trap.
"Shhh." Mangé's voice echoed as he shushed his executives. The sound of his calm, measured footsteps was slowly approaching me.
And as his footsteps stopped, he stood right next to me.
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" I asked him in a hushed tone.
He replied to my question with a question of his own, delivered through an almost shaky whisper, "A trap, right?"
I nodded.
"Did the mole tell you anything about the interior of this building?" I asked.
"The mole?" He mused, "Come to think of it, I don't think he ever had…"
I'm beginning to suspect this mole.
"But what do you think we should do?" I asked, my gaze still focused on the staircase.
"I'm sure you're thinking the same thing that I am. Although the likelihood of it being a trap is very, very high. We have no other option." He responded.
And I completed, "We have to climb up the staircase."