Who?

The room is spacious, with sleek, modern furniture arranged in a tasteful manner. A medium sized desk dominates the centre of the room, cluttered with papers, folders, and a laptop. The walls are adorned with framed degrees and awards, illustrating the owner's professional achievements.The room is more formal than normal, but at least less sophisticated than an office chamber.

Suddenly, a youth storms into the office room, his face twists with anger. He clenches his fists, veins popping on his arms and forehead clearly visible,showcasing the unimaginable rage bubbling inside. He slams the door shut, causing a loud thud to reverberate through the room.

"How dare she?" Lorenzo mutters with gritted teeth. The sound of teeth grinding with each other is enough to make goosebumps crawl around one's skin.

Lorenzo marches towards his desk and sweeps everything off it in a violent motion. Papers fly chaotically through the air, and pens clatter to the floor. The sharp sound echoes throughout the room, mirroring Lorenzo's escalating frustration.

"Who gave her the right to interfere? WHO?" With an uncontrolled sweep of his arm, he sends his laptop crashing to the floor, its screen shattering into a thousand tiny pieces. The room feels heavy with Lorenzo's rage as he paces back and forth, his fists still clenched tightly.

"She has no right to play the role of mother whenever she pleases," as he continues to vent his anger, something catches the corner of Lorenzo's bloodshot eye. His gaze shifts towards a framed photograph on the wall nearby. Rather it is framed canvas.The anger in his eyes suddenly fades, replaced by a flicker of… melancholy?

Lorenzo takes a step closer to the frame, gently tracing the amalgamation of warm hues painted on it. It is a painting of a beautiful sunset over the snow filled mountains as if the rays of sunlight giving a warm hug to the frozen earth. As if the warmth also reaches Lorenzo through the painting, his calm and composed manner returns.

His shoulders relax, and his clenched fists slowly release. Lorenzo takes a deep breath, the weight of his anger dissipating like a foggy mist. He turns towards his chair behind the desk and goes to sit on it.

He sits down and again locks his gaze with the painting and smiles softly but longingly, "Noe! Even if you are not here anymore, you still know how to calm me down, isn't it?"

The bottom of the canvas reveals the name of artist: NOE STALDER

***

Deep in the heart of the city, hidden within the shadows, a secret lair serves as the clandestine meeting place for the nefarious underbelly of society. Dimly lit room exude an aura of malevolence. The air was heavy with the scent of despair and illicit dealings, while the cold stone walls whisper tales of unspeakable acts.

The leader patiently paces the room, unseen and unheard, manipulating the darkness to his advantage. His face embraced by the darkness, conceals his identity. He is the master of his domain, feared and respected by many.

The subordinates, all dressed in sleek black suits, nervously fidget in their position, their anxious eyes darting around the room. They know better than to question the leader's methods, for a mere glance from him was enough to send shivers down their spines. The sound of leather soles on the floor echoes ominously, magnifying the tension in the room.

The leader finally stops at the centre of the room as well as the attention. The atmosphere grows even more foreboding as he takes his place at the head of the table, the only space illuminated by a single spotlight. The dim light cast eerie shadows across his face hiding his expression skillfully.

"So, this is what you managed to acquire after months of work?" with a voice as cold as ice, he breaks the silence that envelops the room. Each word, carefully chosen, drips with authority and power, sending a chill down the spines of his submissive subordinates. The words hang in the air, like venom, as they try to digest the clear disappointment and irritation he lays out before them. Fear was palpable, etched onto their hardened faces.

Outside, the wind howls relentlessly, its mournful cry seeping through the cracks in the windows. A storm brews, mirroring the tempest within the hearts of those present. Thunder rumbles ominously in the distance, punctuating the atmosphere with its infernal roars, as if nature itself becomes restless with the aura inside those four walls.

The leader's eyes gleam with an unnerving intensity, his gaze piercing through the souls of his subordinates. Trapped under the weight of his authority, they dare not look away, desperately hoping to escape the iron grip of their own fate.

"Sir," gulping down his nerves of the subordinates who appears to be in somewhat higher authority than the others spoke, "There is one more file of information that we got today," gripping the blue rectangular object in his hands, he proceeds hurriedly towards the desk and keeps it before their boss fearfully.

Hands turn the pages impatiently as the eyes skim through each and every word etched in that file. Slowly a victorious smile replaces the crease of irritation from the face of the leader,

"I see my boys are not completely useless"