The smell of smoke hung in the air, but it wasn't just any fire. It carried the weight of countless lives that had just become part of history. Pistachio stood at the edge of a makeshift crematorium, gazing out over the Indian Ocean. Behind him, massive furnaces roared, consuming bodies that had only yesterday been deemed a threat to society.
"Everything's set, Detective," Sergeant Malik's voice pulled him from his thoughts. Malik looked pale, his medical mask doing little to conceal the nausea in his eyes.
Pistachio nodded slowly, gripping a metal container filled with ash. Inside were the remains of the Block C prisoners—the men he had watched pass away with serene expressions right at midnight. "This isn't a funeral, Malik. It's forced atonement."
As he scattered the ashes into the sea, a fierce wind picked up, blowing the particles back toward the shore. It was as if they were reluctant to leave. Suddenly, Pistachio's phone buzzed violently. A news alert flashed: A minister had just been found dead in his office, moments after receiving a briefcase full of bribes. His face wore the same unsettling calm.
Pistachio's fist tightened. The "Purge" wasn't confined to the prisons. The Executioner was now targeting those who thought they were safe behind their power. If every sin was met with instant death, then what was the purpose of the law he had vowed to uphold?