In the world of contracts, some people don't fear losing emotions—
because they stopped feeling guilt a long time ago.
The corridor opened into a vast hall resembling the ruins of an old courthouse. Cracked stone pillars leaned at odd angles, the floor covered in overlapping contract symbols, as if hundreds of agreements had been made here—and failed.
Aira stepped inside without hesitation.
At the center stood a man holding a nearly transparent contract. His expression was calm. Too calm. At his feet lay two motionless bodies—other contractors, eyes staring blankly.
"Don't come closer," the man said casually. "I just cleaned this place."
Aira looked at the bodies. Rationally, this should have shocked her. Instead, only cold analysis surfaced.
"You killed them?" she asked.
"No," the man smiled faintly. "Their contracts did. I just… sped things up."
The man beside Aira stiffened. "You crossed the line."
"The line?" The man chuckled. "Lines exist only for those who still have empathy."
He turned to Aira. "You smell different."
"Smell?"
"Cracked empathy," he said confidently. "And your fear is gone. Interesting."
Aira didn't deny it. "Why kill other contractors?"
The man raised his contract. "Because when one collapses, leftover emotions flow to the nearest survivor."
Aira understood instantly.
"You consume their emotions."
"Borrow," he corrected. "So I can keep walking."
A scream echoed from the side of the hall. A young contractor crawled from the rubble, his contract pulsing weakly.
"Ple—please…" his voice broke.
The man walked toward him calmly. "Sorry. You're already late."
Aira moved fast, stepping between them.
"Stop."
The man smiled. "This doesn't concern you."
"It does now," Aira replied calmly.
Her contract pulsed violently. The man raised an eyebrow. "You're willing to waste your empathy on someone who won't reach the end?"
Aira looked at the young contractor. Logically, saving him offered no long-term benefit.
Yet something—though fractured—still pushed her forward.
"Yes," she said.
The man sighed. "Such a waste."
He raised his hand. Symbols on the floor flared. Pressure crushed Aira's chest—emotions forcibly pulled out.
Pain.
Not physical. Absence.
She nearly fell but stayed standing.
"You're foolish," the man said. "You won't last."
"Maybe," Aira replied.
Then she extended her contract—not to attack, but to open it.
The symbols froze.
The man flinched. "What are you doing?"
"I'm changing the terms," Aira said softly.
"You rely on excess emotions. So I…"
Her contract flared white.
"…cut the flow."
The man screamed as his contract cracked. The emotions he had stolen poured out—returning to no one.
They vanished.
He collapsed, fear finally flooding his face.
"What did you do?!"
Aira gasped, the emptiness in her chest widening.
"I chose," she said quietly. "Even if that choice makes me emptier."
She turned to the young contractor. "Go. Now."
He didn't hesitate.
When silence returned, the man beside Aira spoke heavily. "Each time you do this, you move closer to the point of no return."
Aira nodded. "I know."
But if being human means losing faster—
then maybe that's the price worth paying.
In the distance, a massive door slowly opened.
And beyond it waited something that no longer needed emotions to destroy them.