How much blood have I lost? Can I keep going? … The pain fades in and out in bursts.
“It's a moving song, really.” Amour paced back and forth, indifferent to his victims. He was completely absorbed in his own analysis. “Every note is sophisticatedly tinged with the longing to be with the person of one's dreams, but it also takes the time and consideration to make the point that many people have never met or experienced something that would take them to such lofty heights of subtle emotion.
“Marvin's ballad evokes feelings that give a person the sudden ambition to find that special one who can, by all means, complete them.”
It was as if Amour was delivering an abstract sermon; his words were carefully chosen and deliberate.
“Marvin laments that so many will never know what it's like to have true love grace their existence, and that resonates very strongly with me, Executive…”
Tomas Howard screamed as another wave of agony rushed over him, spilling an increasing amount of blood from the torture instrument.
Loretta had caught his eyes, which led the two of them to feel a brief period of genuine sympathy for one another. Gostra, to his own incredulity, found that he could still move his arm even if he couldn't quite feel further sensation from the extremity.
“Just picture someone with exquisite beauty, Executive!” Absurdly enough, Amour was actually expecting him to focus his attention on his rant. “That person who normally only exists within an idea coming to live before your eyes to take your breath away! I'm sorry, buddy, but Loretta here,” he scoffed and gestured to her with a thumb, “would most likely pale in comparison; after all, she gets the very same treatment as your wife, doesn't she?”
Tomas tried to move the knob in the opposite direction, enduring the sickening noise of fractured bone meshed with ravaged flesh. He continued howling, his pain resurging anew, as the speaker elevated his pitch to an almost eloquent shout over his cries, “I'll admit, Tomas! I thought all government types were completely self-serving, but maybe someone like you can prove me wrong, and I honestly hope you do because…” Amour shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “It'll make things a little more interesting for me.”
“You refuse to answer anything I ask of you!” The Executive exclaimed after finally having freed himself from the device, clutching tenderly his bloodied arm. “Why are you doing all of this?!”
“Why not?” Amour threw his hands up in a careless gesture while staring blankly at his prey. “Human nature is so fascinating, Executive—especially in the higher echelons of a man-made power structure. Prostitutes, bangers, junkies… those are all what I like to think of as chump mentalities, but when you enter the mind of someone who's been granted a great responsibility… that's where you find what's in every man,” he said, “you'll see the truth, too.”
Gostra collapsed to the ground and succumbed to the full pain of the incurred injury.
“It's too bad you left behind the pipe I offered you. Tsk, maybe you could've smoked your way through this experience—most do, I mean, it makes sense and creates a very…” Amour breathed deeply, “surreal aesthetic—but you're too good for that, Executive Gostra. Or maybe the dope was just shit; regardless, the trial has just begun…”
The man stepped so that he was positioned immediately in front of the glass, posturing himself in an elitist manner before his victim. “No time to waste!” He shouted confidently. “I still have some work for you to accomplish. I knew a simple interrogation would prove too boring for someone like me…” Amour paused and smiled. “I guess you could say I enjoy the simpler things in this turbulent world. You should just kick back, Tomas, because I added in a little Marvin here and there for some finishing touches on this particular… piece.” He cocked an eyebrow. “But you wouldn't understand something like that would you? C'mon, don't be so upset when we're just getting to know each other!”
Tomas slammed his fist against the glass. “You'll pay for this, Amour; I'll make sure they give you the maximum fucking punishment.”
“Oh?” The man put a hand over what would've been his mouth if not for the mask. “That sounds exciting, Executive!
“If you would, look to your right.”
The Executive sighed dejectedly before he reluctantly turned his head to see the panel adorned with human knuckles he'd previously ignored to listen to the madman's rant.
“After capturing you, it was a rather trivial matter to gain access to all the accounts you'd frequented the most. Of course, Vitality Logger was your most used site—and that didn't really surprise me considering it's one of the more popular platforms available across hemispheres—But the second and third most visited?” Amour frowned at him and expressed scorn. “How shameful. Deals engineered as a result of the ongoing exploitation of weaker countries around the world.”
“You…” Gostra hadn't anticipated this. “There's no way—”
Amour snickered condescendingly. “You can't hide ALL of your history, Tomas; what would be the fun in that? Oh,” he shook his head, “and a profile on a site for husbands and wives to have extramarital affairs outside their marriages? Why… who would've thought Executive Tomas Gostra had such an appetite and with so many different women—and under the pseudonym 'Darry Felds!' What kind of pimp name is that, Tomas?—Nevermind, I activated that panel while your arm was being broken; as of now, it's displaying your profile page on Vitality Logger with a status already written for you and prepared to be submitted for everyone in the known world to see!” Amour was unusually cheeky; his plans were coming to fruition.
“Go ahead!” He exclaimed. “It's time for you to make another choice.”
With reserve, the Executive made his way over to the panel to view a screen depicting his complete cyber blueprint on the social media site. He peered closely to see a short paragraph written for him and read:
“This is your Executive, Tomas Gostra, and I've been having an affair with multiple women across the Citadel who I've paid not to disclose my infidelity. Below are two links: the first is a link to my profile on a site designed for extramarital affairs, and the second is an exclusive video of me cheating on my wife.”
“Y-you… videotaped me?!”
The man in the mask slowly uncovered his shotgun to point it in the direction of Loretta Vanity, who stared down at the ground in defeat.
“Click on the link, Tomas. I'd say that's sufficient proof, wouldn't you? Personally, I'd taken you for the choker type, but I finished by concluding that you were just a child wearing the title of Executive. Normally, I kill people like you…” He slouched his shoulders. “I can't really seem to help it at times, but I'll need you to work with me on this one, my companion. You have a role in this world…”
Gostra ignored his kidnapper as he tapped his index finger against the screen and was transferred to another viewable website on the system that began playing a video of him with Loretta Vanity in the missionary position.
“You…” Gostra said under his breath. “How dare you.” He let his forehead rest against the wall.
“I'm giving you a choice, Executive—not necessarily because I care about your pitiful existence, but because I'm interested in what you'll ultimately end up doing when pushed to your maximum potential.”
“What is it, you bastard? What do you want me to do?”
“As of now, you've little time to decide whether to submit or delete what has been written.
“The button on the left side of the panel will provide an instant submission, and the button on the right side will delete it. In front of me, there is a screen that only I can see which displays the same in view of yourself—so I'll know if you lie to me. The choice is as follows: delete the submission, save your reputation… and Loretta Vanity dies.”
“You can't be serious!”
“Approve it to be delivered to the world as public information, and she lives… but your wife will probably leave you, Executive; you'll most likely no longer have a career in government, but who knows—s
tranger things have happened, right?”
“But you can't do this! You can't just decide the fate of someone like this.”
Amour paused for a moment before slowly treading closer to the Executive as he removed his mask to reveal a reddened face drenched in a sheen of sweat. The man's dark hair was thick and curly, extending past his shoulders and the same shade as his facial hair. Other than that, he'd kept after his own hygiene conscientiously and neatened his edges in a look almost contrived to make him appear as a modern, wealthy prince. Someone handsome but with features sharp enough to intimidate most. Amour's eyes… they were a bright hue of red; a sight disturbing to Gostra.
As Amour stared him down coldly, the kidnapper spoke with both rage and authority. “I've decided the fate of a lot of people, Tomas…” he appeared slightly nauseated, “Their lives won't keep me from doing the same things. I plan to keep going until my appetite runs out… entirely.”
“…”
“I want you to look real close, Tomas—you hear me, you stupid bitch!”
“Just… don’t hurt her.”
“Oh.” His face relaxed into a more brooding state. “Tomas, Tomas, buddy, listen to me: at the end of this sentence, Loretta will be dead. I wanna know how that makes you feel. Any words—if not, allow me to begin—”
“What? I…”
Amour maintained quite an intense focus.
“The.” He said.
“Wait!” Tomas cried. “Stop! I can't just incriminate myself!”
Amour smirked and cocked the barrel. “… ultimate result of shielding men from the effects of folly…”
I can't tell Her like this. She'd never forgive me.
The Executive stared down at the written statement, and his mind fell into a frenzied state; his thoughts became clouded, and all rational thought disappeared at once.
“… is to fill…”
Tomas gazed up at Loretta, who was desperately pleading for him to help her. As a taunt, the kidnapper strolled up to her and removed the cloth preventing her from speaking.
“Please, Tomas!” She cried loudly. “Please, you can move past this small setback! Don't let him do this to me! Please!”
“… the world with…”
“Tomas! Post it, Tomas—post it now! Don't let him do this to me!!”
The Executive stared at her, tears forming and building into a continuous stream. “I-I can't… she's my wife.” He admitted in defeat.
“Tomas!”
“I love her…” he said, feeling utterly despondent, “… and my career is everything.”
“Fools.”
The man in the mask seemed to have become even more excited, and he fired a devastating round into Loretta Vanity's chest, forcing blood and fragments of bone to protrude from the newly created cavity before scattering across the ground in a mound composed of crimson gore.
Loretta weakly battled to grasp onto whatever sliver of life she had remaining before the woman's head sank as well as her spirit, signaling her final departure from the world of the living.
“A quote by Herbert Spencer.” The murderer turned to face him, exposing a bloodstained, wicked grin.
Executive Tomas Gostra pressed on the right button while collapsing to his knees in response to her death while weeping bitterly.
“You fucking bastard!” Gostra exclaimed while glaring at his kidnapper in a moment of rage; a moment in which he felt defenseless.
“Ah…” Amour appeared genuinely shocked. “You can express sympathy, Tom?! I’d thought people like you were incapable… Cheer up,” said the killer nonchalantly, “you said you loved your wife. You made your choice, and, besides, Loretta didn't have the needed Beauty to survive in my new world—it’s the same defect you have—so don't make this into a big deal; this was merely a test of what you'd sacrifice for the truth.
“Government types are oh-so predictable, but tell me something, Tom…”
The Executive remained silent.
“Was it your love of your wife or your love of power? Both? Are they equal, or is one greater than the other?”
No response.
“Really that stricken by grief, huh?—Well,” Amour spoke impatiently, “while I've got your full attention, allow me to show the more polite side of myself. I’ve suffered, too, Tom… much more than you know.” This madman possessed an aura about himself, something powerful slumbering deep within his tone; he exerted power and confidence despite his obvious instability. “For instance, my friend, I was born among chaos. I suffered at the hands of someone claiming to be my guardian.
“He was a bitter old man and resented me for tragic events; events I was unable to prevent when I was younger… I was weak.” Amour’s demeanor turned to one of shame.
The Executive merely stared at the ground in disbelief. She's dead because of me.
Ignoring Tomas Gostra's distress, the killer clapped his hands before clasping them earnestly in an effort to restore his previously jolly demeanor and exclaimed, as if he’d read Gostra’s mind: “But all of that's in the past, isn't it?
“Come, Executive…” He smirked coldly and retrieved a remote from his pocket before pressed it against his palm to trigger the opening of a section of the wall on Tom’s side of the glass.
“There are more people for you to meet.”
Tomas looked at him with despair.
“Perhaps you'll actually save someone this time.”
And like that, the stranger disappeared from where he'd originally emerged, leaving Tomas behind to deal with the wreckage.
Gathering what resolve he had remaining, the Executive sluggishly got to his feet, wiped his eyes, and moved toward the new opening to follow a hallway that rounded and curved the taken path to the right. He couldn’t feel anymore.
The Executive discovered a staircase and made his way up its steps to enter a long, rectangular room containing a painting from painter Salvador Dali: The Metamorphosis of Narcissus. A voice resonated from somewhere unknown in that world, the madman's voice: “Fitting, isn't it? Narcissism is a common trait held by people who've resided in positions of power for far too long. I once knew a man so narcissistic his illness resulted in the ruin of his whole family; it's a very nasty condition.”
The Executive tried to maintain his composure and thought to himself: This lunatic is so gone from reality; what could've happened to him…
He continued on to find a dead end marked by a bare wall. To his right, he noticed a small, rusted cylinder of plastic buried in the wall next to him. Another button.
“Go ahead. Push it. Do you want to live or not, Executive? Do you still believe there is hope for yourself?”
Gostra pushed on the activating trigger and was suddenly surrounded with the beginnings of “What's Happening Brother.” It could be heard playing in another room ahead as the wall in front of him began to slide away to the right. Tomas Gostra entered a large chamber containing an metallic sphere the size of an average adult human. Before the sphere, there was a golden panel on the floor shimmering against a group of fluorescent lights that hung overhead.
“I've gotta say, 'What's Happening Brother' is probably my favourite song out of Marvin Gaye's vast collection.
“Obviously, I'm not a very spiritual person but I find it a very soulful observation on the condition of the world we live in today. Though you may very well hate me at this point, Executive, you cannot argue that we've lived in the same Citadel, unchanging for all this time—and I know you've endured similar struggles: inflation of common consumer goods, the degradation of general moral values across the board, lack of citizens participating in a dying democracy, and universally existent famine in lands beset by savage monsters. Executive Tomas Gostra, I would like for you to step on the patch of yellow you see in front of you.”
“But why?!” He exclaimed while throwing his hands up in the air in frustration. “Why can't you just kill me? I can't keep going like this!”
“Oh, don't be silly, Gostra.” The kidn
apper laughed to himself. “There is work that can't be done without you—work that requires your full cooperation; besides, you're still an Executive, aren't you?”
Tomas sighed in defeat and complied by moving to stand on the golden patch. Almost instantly, something abominable and partially masked in iron dropped with impressive speed before stopping an inch away from the Executive's head. To his left and right, there were what appeared to be circular machinations resembling handcuffs extending from extrapolations in the unidentifiable entity's form.
“At this time, you will put your hands through the restraints you see before you—well c'mon, don't be shy now!”
The Executive did as instructed and suddenly had to move his head forward and out of the way as the full weight of the strange object was applied to his back and shoulders. Simultaneously, a circular section of the floor below the large sphere gave way to reveal a wide pit; a pit which immediately ignited and produced an enormous flame surrounding and flicking fiery embers at the metallic ball.
Tomas peered up to see that the sphere had been suspended with an iron chain and struggled in pain as the weight pressed itself down upon his shoulders. He fell into a deep squat and wobbled involuntarily under the immense pressure. The object seemed to be a living organism and avoided placing its full weight upon his injured arm, slightly throwing the Executive off balance but ultimately benefiting his well-being.
“The former manager for your previous election campaign to be Executive is currently trapped within that quaint, little ball. Do you like the design? I based it off an old creation known as the 'Brazen Bull.' It was… artfully used to enclose its victims while they burned to death under the heat of a flame.
“That Thing attached to you is the only method that will reduce the overall strength of the fire pit. It could possibly even put out the flames for a short amount of time if you’re in shape! In order to produce this result, you must continually 'squat' the weight you're currently struggling against,” Amour snickered as if he’d just told a good joke to himself, “… it's a good workout but not intended for the fainthearted—if you know what I mean, Tomas.”
Angelos Odyssey Page 23