The beating stopped, but the damage was already done. An eerie silence swallowed the room, broken only by Bill’s ragged breathing and the ringing in his ears.
He lay on the floor trembling, his pride completely stripped away—too broken to even move, too stunned to fully process what had just happened.
Monroe stood over him in calm silence, as if nothing about the scene required urgency or emotion.
He simply watched Bill struggle to catch his breath, curled into a tight ball on the floor, blood staining his clothes.
Then he stepped forward and crouched down, lowering himself to Bill’s level.
Monroe studied him for a moment before letting out a faint chuckle.
“Do you want to hear something funny, Mr. Franklin?”
Bill didn’t answer.
He remained curled on the floor, struggling to breath
