by Andy Remic
“How would you feel if I told you that Saul Xi is a member of the Impurity Movement?”
Jenny stared at Vasta for a long time, their gazes locked.
“I’d say you were a liar,” she said, eventually.
“Nevertheless, it is true. A Squad Leader. Just like you.”
“Impossible.”
“Why?”
“He doesn’t have it in him, the shitty, spineless little gimp. He let Chelle walk all over him. She was sucking dick like it was going out of fashion, and he stood there and looked on and took it up the arse as if he was enjoying it. When the private investigator he hired finally got video proof of Chelle down in the woods, fucking Smark E. Smarks in the back of his Land Rover Psycho, Saul decided to do the right thing and forgive her; you know, take her back, gloss over all her indiscretions - both financial and otherwise - and you know who he turned his anger and frustration and drug-paranoia on then? Me. It became my fucking fault, because he had Chelle’s poison tongue whispering and plotting in his spineless ear, just like she’d always done before, and now, to her, I was the enemy because I knew everything. Her halo had slipped. She was no longer the angel but the comedy humping bike of Kookash-ka. I knew everything, and would forget nothing, and she knew it. She said so herself. She said she could never, ever face me again. Because of her shame, and her horror, and her gutless, poisonous back-stabbing nature. So she had my pathetic, useless, weak, spineless, gutless, jellyfish of a brother cut me off. His own sister. After all we’d been through with my father. After all we’d been through together - in life. Well, it was a fucking disgrace, he was a fucking snake, and he hasn’t got the bottle to lift a rifle, never mind command a terrorist cell!”
Vasta perched on the edge of the bed. She was smiling, and her hands were empty. “We have him here. We captured him after he tried to detonate a Greenstar Shuttle bringing nuclear waste from Praxa 6. His three comrades were fried by an Ankle Wire, and Saul Xi was brought down with a StubGun bullet to the back of the head from a Greenstar ProtectSniper.”
Jenny shook her head. “Impossible.”
“But true,” said Vasta.
“I don’t believe you.”
“You’ll believe this.”
There came the sound of a trolley, and Randy Zaglax appeared with his destroyed face and weeping scars, the pain in his eyes an ever-present testament to the horror he was enduring. Randy was pushing an alloy trolley like Jenny had seen in a million anonymous hospitals. One wheel squeaked. On the trolley lay a figure, strapped down like her. Randy spun the trolley around, with its squeak-squeak-squeak, and then Jenny was able to make eye contact with...
“I don’t believe it,” she said.
“Hello, Jen,” said Saul Xi.
“How’s Chelle?” Jenny’s smile was narrow, bloodless, frosty.
“Dead,” said Saul, softly.
“Good. The dead bitch. Did you kill her like you said you would, in one of your drug-fuelled rants? I believe you told me you’d slit her throat, but then you welcomed her back into your groping arms with her pussy full of another’s man’s juice.”
“Let it go,” said Saul, voice grim, eyes haunted. “Yeah, I blamed you. Yeah, she was bad for me. But now she’s dead. Let her rest in peace.”
“Fuck her,” snarled Jenny. “Everyone else did.”
“There’s more important things at stake here,” said Saul, eyes angry, and she saw that petty anger and hatred rise rise rise so fast within him; he’d always had a bad temper. Jenny remembered his fists.
“They say you’re part of Impurity. How come I didn’t know?”
“You’re a baby terrorist,” said Saul, smiling then. “Let’s say you’re not far enough up the cell chain to have that kind of information. We call them cells for a reason, you know.”
“So you’ve been watching me?”
Saul nodded.
“And now you’re going to watch him,” said Randy, stepping forward suddenly with a click and stamp of boots. “Isn’t that right, Saul, my friend? We’re going to torture you in front of your sister. And if you don’t talk, we’re going to torture her in front of you. And if she doesn’t talk... well, it’s going to be a long fucking night for both of you. It’s too fucking convenient that you both work for Impurity and yet Jenny claims ignorance of you. There’s so much shit here it’s blurring the lens. What I need from both of you is focus. I need clarity. I need truth. But most of all, I need information.”
Jenny and Saul allowed their eyes to meet. Both were hard and narrowed; filled with steel. But Randy was grinning, and Vasta, the Head of Security, looked sad.
“Last chance for you both to talk,” said Vasta. Then, almost as a whisper, “Last chance.”
Randy appeared again, and he was carrying a set of steel pliers. “Let’s loosen their tongues,” he said.
~ * ~
JENNY FELT SICK. Another crack echoed through the chamber and Saul screamed, and gurgled. In the periphery of her vision she saw him arch his back and then slump again. Blood dripped from the trolley with a steady pit-pat-pit-pat sound. There came a rattle as Randy dropped a tooth into a steel bowl.
“It’s as easy as pulling teeth,” he cackled, and Jenny caught a glimpse of steel soaked with blood.
“You’re a despicable human being,” said Jenny through clenched teeth.
“You just keep showing me those lovely perfect ivories, my darling,” said Randy, and loomed close, face a horrorshow mask, making her jump. “You’re just prick-teasing me to pull them out, aren’t you? You want me to take them, one by one, just like with Saul.”
Saul groaned on his own trolley. There had been seven cracks so far, each accompanied by a straining against steel bands. In the movies, Saul would have broken free, knocked Randy to the ground, released Jenny and they would have fled their imprisonment killing the guards en route. But this wasn’t the movies. The steel bands held. Saul strained. He screamed. He bled.
Randy whirled on him. “Will you talk?” he beamed through his lipless hole. At least Jenny took it to be a smile; it was difficult to tell with so many tatters of flapping skin.
“Fuck you,” mumbled Saul, and spat blood at Randy.
Randy turned back to Jenny, and he was obviously enjoying himself. He gestured to her with blood-stained steel pliers. “Are you ready to talk, my little sweet? First I want to know the names of your team. I want their names, ages, serial numbers, waist sizes, favourite soup and how many times they wank in the morning.”
Jenny said nothing.
Randy shifted close, and Jenny shivered. He moved the steel pliers to her face, held them just under her nose. She could smell the coppery stench of her brother’s blood. Randy moved his mouth hole closer to Jenny’s ear. When he whispered, the air tickled her. “Go on. You can talk, girlfriend. You can tell old Randy everything. And I know what you’re thinking, because, believe it or not, I’ve been there, been where you’ve been. I was tortured, many years ago. They were saving my face until last because they knew what it meant to me; so they cut off my testicles with blunt shears. Ironic, yes? I spoke then, Jenny Xi; I sang like a fucking songbird. Don’t fool yourself that I’ll get myself a conscience and stop the hurt. Once I start, Jenny, I never stop. So do yourself a favour and start singing for me now.” He kissed her then, on the cheek, then on the lips, the ragged hole of his smashed mouth caressing her lips, and she squirmed in absolute horror. His tongue slipped into her mouth, his bomb-blasted tongue, and she could feel its lumpy, tattered meat. She gagged, and Randy pulled back. “Sing for me,” he crooned, and in his eyes Jenny saw the light of madness.
“I always knew you had no bollocks,” she said.
He smiled; well, she thought it was a smile through the twisted flesh of his face. He came in at her, fast, and her muscles strained as she tried to deflect the blow. Something cold and hard and steel forced into her mouth, clamping it open, and she swallowed back the urge to scream, for she was stronger than that, tougher than that, she’d b
een through enough bad stuff and pain in her life to get past this. The cold metal felt alien in her mouth. It was slick and smooth, chromed. It glittered with reflected lights and was frustratingly out of focus. She felt as though she was in a dentist’s chair as a child, and wild giggles rose through her belly but were savagely quelled. This was no dentist chair. This was no childhood escapade. This was real and this was bad.
Randy was close to her, she could feel his proximity, his warmth, hear his panting, smell his sweat. She flexed her fingers, trying to grab him in some way, but she could not. And then he was looming over her, his face in hers, his blasted features leering at her, and she was sweating now, panic bubbling inside her, and Randy grabbed the steel pliers, forced them into her mouth and she wanted to shout “No!” but only a garbled mess of words tumbled free. She felt the serrated pincers of the tool fasten over one of her back teeth, sliding and grating against bone. She could taste saliva, and oil, and steel, and fear. She tried to swallow, she tried to wriggle her head, she tried to wrench the pliers from Randy’s grasp. And then he was squeezing, leaning his weight on the lever, and pain ripped through her. But instead of abating, the pain grew as the pressure rose, building like a rising torrent behind a pressure valve until she believed she could take no more - and there was a crack, and blood flooded her mouth, so much blood she thought she would drown, and she choked. There was a moment of relief, and then the pain came back tenfold.
But the worst part was Randy, swinging on the pliers, wrenching at her head, at her jaw, at her tooth, tugging at it, twisting at it, until it finally broke free of the root and came away in a sudden rush. Jenny gave a guttural moan, mouth full of blood, fists clenched, urine pushing through her pants. But even through the pain and the disbelief (are they really doing this to me, who can do this to another person, what kind of sick fuck? It must be a dream, it has to be a dream, and I’ll wake up and be back at the blasted factory site, detonator in one hand, Randy’s severed head in the other...) Randy came back at her, bludgeoning into her view, and the pliers dived into her mouth again, cutting her lips and tongue, and she chomped her teeth, trying to fend off the long cold steel pliers, her head twitching within the confines of the restrictive steel band, and the pliers fastened on another tooth, and again she felt the pressure, only this time it was accompanied by a pressure in her skull that built and built as the pain built and built, and when the crack and the rush of exploding damn blood came it vomited from her mouth, into Randy’s face, and flowed down her throat and the blackness was there, punctuated by glittering lights, and she fell into the galaxy, spun away into infinity, and was lost forever down an eternity well.
~ * ~
“YOU KNOW I love you,” he was saying, softly, whispering the words into her ear. “You know I love you, I’ve watched you, every subtle movement, every tender footstep, every twist and tilt of your hips, every hand gesture with those long, beautiful fingers, every toss of that head, that luscious brown hair. I’ve watched you, and I’ve coveted you, and one day I was sure we would be together. But then you blew the factory and you took my face. When you look at me, do you see a monster? Do you see a deviant strain? Do you see somebody who you could love?” Soft laughter. “I doubt it. You never loved me. You could sense my decadent nature, but more, I fear; you could sense my loyalty to The Company, and that was something you would never forgive.” She felt his hands then, on her belly, touching her skin. The pressure was gentle, searching, and his fingers slid across her belly to the tops of her thighs. They paused, and she sensed him watching her, then looking down, and his fingers stroked down her thighs and pushed between her legs...
She coughed, and the pain battered her like a hammer, and her mouth tasted bad. Like a rat had died in there. Like dried blood had formed a solid dental cast, a toad in her mouth. How many teeth had he taken? Which teeth? Her tongue probed around her mouth and a chilling cool settled on her brow. He had removed four. So, even after she had passed out, he had continued working on her throughout unconsciousness. That was not even torture. What was that? It was a simple satisfaction of his needs. The cunt.
She opened her eyes. For some reason, the pain seemed to get worse. It was like a fist pounding at her lower jaw, beating against her temple. There was a soft white light. She was no longer under the sea. She was...
She moved her head, was amazed that she could. She turned to the side, and saw large stone block walls. Randy continued to explore her but she shut off her mind to his intrusion, filing it away for revenge. He was turning her into a different creature, she knew, and her eyes narrowed because surely this alteration of her mind was worse than any physical brutality he could inflict.
It was then, with certainty, she knew she would kill Randy Zaglax. One way or another.
He was back to whispering in her ear, and kissing her hair, and touching her breasts. She was still tied down; she tested her bonds gently, trying not to give away the fact that she was awake. It was incredible what one could learn when others thought you weren’t listening. But the pain, that was the problem, the pain in her skull and her jaw and her mouth. Randy had invaded her face, and for a while forgotten about the act of torture, of asking her questions, of seeking answers. It had been a simple act of sadism, that was all. A personal achievement. A satisfaction.
Oh, I’m going to fuck you up, she whispered to herself in the dark halls of her mind as her tongue probed the huge gaps where her teeth had been. Huge gaping wounds in her skull that felt bigger than was humanly possible.
Silently, tears rolled down her cheeks.
“You are awake,” said Randy, suddenly, jumping a little. He stood, fingers withdrawing from her. He stood, erect, and stared down. Jenny sighed. “Are you ready to talk?”
“I will talk.” Her voice sounded funny to her own ears. By removing her teeth, Randy had removed her voice. Changed her. Changed her mind. Changed the person she was.
“Tell me about your team.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Their names.”
Slowly, she spoke. With each word, with each syllable, with each sound, with each breath, she felt as if she was dying. With pain beating at her skull, she told him the names of her team because, hell, he already knew them. He’d been part of the team. He’d known the men and women involved. Of course he did. They must have told him a thousand tiny secrets over the year he’d infiltrated Impurity. They must have let slip a million miscellaneous facts that they’d thought boring and harmless and useless, and yet together could be woven into a tapestry of the person. And so, yes, she knew he knew, and she knew he knew that by getting her speaking he might set her going, loosen her tongue, begin her at the top of a slippery slide and then push and whoosh, down she goes in an attempt to stave off more pain.
And he was right. Sort of. She was buying herself time, buying herself courage. She did not think she would survive this place. This torture hole of Greenstar. Oh, you motherfucking scum, you parade around the Four Galaxies, you claim to be cleaning up the place, ethical recycling of all toxic matter, making the Quad-Gal and Manna a Cleaner Place to Live and creating lirridium for the benefit of all. When all the time, you’re taking back-handers, big cash advances to bury the shit and cover the shit and hide the toxicity. It went right to the top, and the top were corrupt, from Director Renazzi Lode, Assistant Director Sowerby Trent, Chief Recycling Manager haul Thon Lupy, Helle Mic, Sanne Krimez, gods, even down to Randy Zaglax... the bastard puppets who appeared on TV, nodding and bobbing and grinning and pontificating and spilling their vile dishonest vomit down their designer suits. Most of their faces and voices went out to trillions of souls in Manna, talking about the future of recycling, of saving the planet, of respecting the planet and its denizens and cultures... what fucking respect? She wanted to scream it. WHAT FUCKING RESPECT? But instead, she told Randy what he wanted to hear, what she knew he knew, because that way... A tear ran down her cheek. That way, she might survive.
And then Randy was
close. Close as a lover.
“Tell me about McGowan,” he whispered, and kissed her ear.
Jenny chewed her lip, but was silent.
“I said, tell me about McGowan.”
“I know nothing of McGowan.”
“Liar!”
“I swear it. It is true.”
“You were his lover.”
Jenny froze then, a needle of ice driving straight through her heart. How could he know that? How could he POSSIBLY know that? Nobody knew that. None of the squad. None of her friends. It was truly personal, truly private. Randy could not be party to that information...
She gave a cold laugh. “What a load of shit. I’ve never even met McGowan.”
“You were his lover.”
“Why on earth would you think that?” She kept her voice perfectly neutral, but inside she was flapping. Flapping like a gaggle of flapping geese. Because... because if he knew about McGowan, he had to know a hell of a lot more... which meant somebody else had talked. Somebody else who knew about her; and knew intimately. Shit, shit, shit. Which back-stabbing motherfucker had broken down and blabbed like a nine-year-old girl?