by Chris Thomas
‘No, I’m—’ but before he could finish the sentence the Host twisted his body and connected a vicious lightning-quick roundhouse kick squarely to Mark’s ear.
‘Boom! Get in!’ shouted Joe. ‘He’s certainly got some skills this guy.’ But Billy remained silent, hand over his mouth, shaking his head.
The force of the impact blurred his vision and the ringing in his ears drowned out all noise around him. As the fuzzy figure of the Host circled around his chair, he felt as though he was drowning, staring up at the sun through the water as he sunk further downwards.
He was snapped back to a vague semblance of reality as a goon wafted smelling salts under his nose, but the pain of the kick was making his head throb.
‘Just answer the question please, Mister Rankin,’ said the Host, calmly.
‘He was a little shit,’ stuttered Mark, groggily. ‘Always crying, always following me around, always shitting himself. He needed to man up and—’
The Host lurched forward and gripped Mark by the throat, crushing his head against the chair.
‘He was two years old. He was two foot tall. It sounds like you’re the one that needs to man up. Are you enjoying this? The sense that your existence is now entirely in my hands? I can do whatever I want to you and you can’t defend yourself against it.’
‘I looked after him,’ Mark spat though gritted teeth. ‘He just got in the way.’
‘It’s true,’ piped up Karen. ‘We never got no time together because Charlie always wanted something.’
‘So you punished him?’ said the Host, softly, releasing his grip. ‘He was in the way, an inconvenience, and your cuddle time with Mark was more important. You are a sad excuse for a human being. And as for you, I think it’s clear that given the time again, you would probably be exactly the same cowardly bully.’
‘I’m not a coward, you arsehole.’
‘Mark, you’re six foot two. And you are trying to make out that the beatings, the injuries, the pain you inflicted on a two-year-old are in some way brave and tough? Not only that, but that they were his fault as well. I’ve had enough. Superstar, make it a good one.’
I really want this monster to suffer, he’s laughing at what he’s done. Make him smile forever and give him matching fingers.
Joe and Billy watched the screen as the Host stood in front of the chair, slowly pulling each finger backwards and then snapping it sideways.
‘I think he’s enjoying this. Look how close his face is to the bloke’s,’ said Joe, as he sipped from his bottle of beer.
‘I think it’s sick and I think you’re sick,’ replied Billy. ‘I fully get that these people are scum-of-the-earth, but I can’t watch this.’
As he got up to walk out of the garage, he was stopped dead in his tracks.
‘I’m going to bid on the next one,’ said Joe, already opening a CoinFX screen on his mobile whilst watching the Host finally finish off the last of Mark’s fingers.
‘Are you fucking mad? They’re bidding dozens of bitcoins on this, that’s thousands. It’s bad enough you’ve already paid over one and a half grand for the privilege of witnessing this torture,’ he replied, grabbing the back of Joe’s chair as if trying to shake some sense into him. ‘Don’t. Seriously. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into. Look, we took the red pill and jumped down the rabbit hole. Let’s just chalk this up to experience and walk away. If you start bidding, think of the ramifications. Could you live with yourself?’
‘Why should we care about these people? They’ve done horrific things and weren’t punished enough. I don’t think anyone is going to miss them. Anyway, who will ever know?’
Billy cast his eyes back to the screen.
A goon held Mark’s head back in the chair as the Host hovered over him, holding the clipboard against his lips. He dropped a knee into Mark’s groin, causing him to open his mouth wide in agony. As he did so, the Host removed a cover from the bottom edge of the clipboard, revealing a glistening sharp blade that he forced sideways into Mark’s mouth. Mark’s eyes opened wide with terror as the Host slammed the heel of his palm against the top of the clipboard, slicing it through the soft tissue of his tear-soaked cheeks. He screamed as the blood poured down his mouth, soaking his top.
‘I’m not watching any more of this,’ said Billy. ‘Joe. Joe! Turn this off!’
‘No way, I’ve paid for this, I’m watching to the end,’ replied Joe, unperturbed by his friend’s concerns.
‘Then you’re on your own. I’m going.’
But Joe didn’t answer.
‘Time for one more question, maybe for the both of them,’ said the Host, as he wiped the blood from his clipboard using the sleeve of his boiler suit. ‘Start placing your bids.’
The camera panned around the stage, first showing Karen frozen, staring wide-eyed at the sorry figure of Mark, who had by now slumped forward as much as he could, a frothy pink line of bloody saliva dripping from his mouth. As it zoomed in for a close up of Mark, the Host came off-camera and went around to talk to Jarvis. The two men discussed the bidding and amount of time left, as more and more bids poured into the leaderboard. The Host lifted his mask up and wiped the sweat from his brow with his sleeve before running back to stand next to Karen. He grabbed her face and forced it up towards the screen, pointing with the clipboard.
‘Right, Karen,’ he whispered into the microphone, as she shook her head weakly, tears and snot running down her face, ‘let’s see what’s next, shall we?’ The names and values carried on changing until they finally settled on a last late bid.
Charlie20508 – 198 bitcoins
There was silence in the room; Jarvis and the computer operators looked at each other. The Host stared at the screen, for once lost for words, then turned to Jarvis, who shrugged his shoulders in bewilderment. No-one had ever bid an amount this large before. As Karen looked up at the screen, she read the words and started crying.
‘Is that my Charlie?’ she cried. ‘He’s trying to speak to me.’
‘Don’t be a moron, Karen. Of course it isn’t. He’s dead, remember, you killed him. Anyway, folks, we have just had the single largest bid ever received here in the Red Room. We’ll just need a couple of minutes to confirm the transaction. While we do that, we should probably switch transmission nodes just to be on the safe side. So, click on the link that’s about to appear on your screen and we’ll be right back with you.’
With that, the screen reverted to the picture of the Red Room logo and a new link appeared.
‘Billy, did you see that? I think something big is about to go down. Billy?’ Joe turned around, but Billy had already left without him noticing. ‘Your loss then,’ he said, to no-one in particular.
Clicking on the new link, he got up to go to the fridge for another beer while it loaded. It would have been nice to have Billy here to share the experience, but if he didn’t have the guts, then that was his problem. Joe’s mind was racing, a wild mixture of excitement and apprehension. The more he thought about precisely what he was watching, the more he needed to justify it to himself. For some reason, that was fairly simple. He’d found somewhere that he understood. So much of the deep web content he had seen up until the last twenty minutes seemed contrived, gruesome for the sake of being gruesome, evil for the sake of being evil. But this, this had a purpose and he felt honoured to be witnessing it. For most people, including the friend who had introduced this ‘tool’ to him in the first place, it would be too much. They just wouldn’t ‘get it’. Joe got it though, the morality entirely justified it, and it made him part of something special.
Joe returned to the desk with his beer and some peanuts. He was going to need sustenance for this next part, and his heart pounded in eager anticipation as he waited for the show to resume.
18
‘Welcome back to the Red Room,’ said the Host, as the transmission resumed. ‘After that fantastic bid from Charlie, we just had to double check a couple of issues with the transfer, but now
we are back and good to go.’
Behind him, the goons were mopping the volunteers’ faces and pouring water into their mouths. Karen still stared up at the monitor, convinced that her boy was talking to her from beyond the grave. Mark sat with his head slumped into his chest, the crusty blood around the corners of his mouth making it hard to drink. He stared at his crumpled fingers, shoulders going up and down as he fought against the pain. Every now and again he looked up at Karen and shook his head. His energy was fading fast and he just wanted whatever they were going to do to him to be over.
‘OK, so let’s see what Charlie wants to ask you two, shall we?’ said the Host, crouching down between them and placing a hand on each knee. ‘Given how much he’s paid, he can pretty much do whatever he wants. Good eh? Charlie, let’s have your question.’
Hello, Mummy …
Karen burst into tears as the Host read the words appearing on the monitor.
I want to play a game. It’s called ‘Name that injury’. You two have to name the injuries that you caused me, whoever loses gets it.
‘Yes, yes, yes!’ said the Host, excitedly standing up and punching the air. ‘That is a brilliant idea. A bit like Rock Paper Scissors. I’ll count to three and then one of you has to shout out an injury that your boy had on his body when it was found.’
‘No, I can’t do this,’ sobbed Karen, sniffing.
‘Yes you can, Karen,’ said the Host, pinning her head back against the chair. ‘Let’s face it, you’ve got plenty to choose from.’
A gurgled ‘Fuck you, you’re sick,’ came from the other chair, as Mark somehow mustered some energy to at least try and act defiant. A goon stepped forward from the back and handed the host a shiny, golden baseball bat.
‘Don’t worry, Mark, all you have to do is cast your mind back to when that happy little boy, who looked up to you for protection and to her for comfort, found himself on the receiving end of some of the worst punishment which could be dished out to a human being. Let alone a two-year-old. Come on, it’s easy. Just imagine how you used to kick him, punch him, pick him up by the throat and slam him against the wall. I’m sure all the injuries will come flooding back. Let me start you two off. Ready? One … two … three … Fractured wrist!’
The two looked up as the Host swung the baseball bat, bringing it down with a crack on Karen’s right wrist, causing her to scream in agony.
‘Sorry, you were both too slow.’ He switched attention to Mark, who took a deep breath and closed his eyes in helpless anticipation, before the host dished out the same.
Amongst the pained cries, now in stereo, the Host continued.
‘Right, now that you’ve got the hang of this, let’s play for real. OK, one … two … three …’ A pause, silence. ‘Come on, one of you!’ said the Host, twirling the baseball bat around.
Eventually, Karen quietly mumbled into her chest, ‘Broken eye.’
‘Yes, quite right, a point to Karen. When he was found he had a fractured eye socket. Well two, actually, but who’s counting?’
Like a batter facing a vicious curve ball, the Host swung around behind him and smashed the baseball bat into the side of Mark’s head. A red mark appeared instantly around his temple. He groaned in pain and, were it not for the goon with his vial of salts on standby, would probably have passed out.
‘Next round. One … two … three …’
Despite the pain that was already crippling his body, Mark knew he didn’t want any more.
‘Broken leg,’ he spluttered, as best he could.
‘No, please,’ begged Karen.
‘Sorry, Karen, but he’s right. Don’t you remember, your boy had a broken tibia? Not only that, you also manage to fracture his femur. Now that takes some doing. He must have done something really serious for you to punish him that much.’
‘Don’t, please, I …’ But before she could finish the sentence a wave of pain cut through her body as the baseball bat connected with her shin. It sent shockwaves up her body, the pain so intense that she started to lose feeling in her right side.
And so it continued; cracked skull, dislocated jaw, broken ribs. The pain they were already in acted as some sort of operant conditioning, making them answer instinctively until eventually neither could find the energy to speak. As the Host looked at the two crumpled, soaking, black, red, and blue figures in the chairs in front of him, a goon took the bat from his hand.
‘Well, ladies and gentleman, I think we can safely say that these two are starting to understand the suffering that they caused. It’s just a blessing for them that it’s all happening so quickly, not prolonged …’ the Host said, propping Mark’s head back by the chin ‘… over a matter of months. Unfortunately, we need to be gone soon, otherwise we would dearly love to make these two suffer a little more. But I think we have time for one more, for which I am going to turn to the main man himself, Charlie. Charlie, pick an injury and who you want to be the lucky recipient.’
The words appeared on the monitor. They forgot this one. Shattered pelvis. Mark.
With that, the Host placed the microphone and clipboard down on Karen’s lap, before spinning around, leaping into the air and stamping his foot down as hard as he could on Mark’s hip bone. There was an audible crack as he landed. Even the bystanders who had witnessed the last ten minutes had to wince. Finally, Mark gave up the ghost and passed out.
‘Thank you, Karen,’ said the Host, collecting his belongings from her lap before facing the camera close up. He looked at Jarvis, who held up his hands, fingers spread wide. ‘OK, we’ve only got ten minutes before we need to finish this. You’ve got one minute to start placing your bids.’
The names flickered and changed, before stopping with a winner. ‘Well, no-one was likely to better Charlie’s bid from the previous round, but twelve bitcoins is still pretty good. Let’s hear how you want this to end … JoltinJoe!’
Joe sat back in his seat, took a long sip of beer, and wiped his brow. There was no turning back now.
19
His fingers trembled as he slowly typed the letters in one by one, the keyboard one big fuzzy mess of black and white. He felt like a sniper in a war zone, hidden away, anonymous, looking at someone whose life he held in his hands. He stared at the murderers on the screen, oblivious to his presence and the fate that was about to befall them. The sense of power Joe felt overwhelmed him, despite the internal conflict that welled inside him. But it was just a show, it might not even be real. Worse things happen in movies or in video games.
And anyway, he wasn’t actually committing the act, he was merely making a suggestion. Even if the authorities wanted to track him, it was all anonymous and they would probably be more interested in finding this Brotherhood, the ones orchestrating the whole website. They were the ones doing the killing and making money out of it. They were under no obligation to do what he said. He convinced himself that it would be fine and, really, he was actually doing the world a favour by ridding it of these two monsters.
He rubbed his eyes, took another sip of ale, and continued typing. He could have done with a bit longer to think about this, to make it really special.
‘I’m going to have to hurry you, JoltinJoe,’ said the Host, into the camera.
This is my first time in the Red Room. It’s been a real pleasure to see these two monsters get what they deserve.
‘That’s great, Joe, but I really need you to hurry up or I’m going to have to choose myself.’
Suffocate him. Slit her with the clipboard.
He hit enter and sat back to watch. A goon held Mark’s forehead back as the Host positioned himself side-on, just in front of the chair. He raised his right knee and then thrust his leg out perfectly level, landing the edge of his foot in Mark’s throat. The years of martial arts training allowed him perfect balance, and he held his leg in position as Mark fought for breath. Raising the microphone and clipboard above his head he gave one final thrust of his leg, crushing Mark’s windpipe. As the Host lowered h
is leg, Mark let out a final breath, before his head slumped forward, motionless.
Behind him, another goon held Karen the same way. The Host threw the clipboard up in the air; it spun two or three times, then as he caught it by the top, he spun around and slashed the edge across her throat. Blood sprayed from the wound and she gargled a pink-white froth before finally falling forward, caught only by the restraints on the chair.
As the Host wiped the blood from the bottom of the clipboard, a pair of goons unbuckled the lifeless bodies from each chair and lay them on the floor. The Host turned to face the camera.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, that is all from the Brotherhood of the Righteous. I hope that you have enjoyed this episode of the Red Room and we—’
But he was cut off by Jarvis, waving his arms wildly and making a ‘cut’ gesture across his throat.
‘Just a minute …’ the Host told the viewers.
JOE SWIVELLED from side to side in his chair, trying all he could to calm his heart rate down after what he just witnessed. He had taken one massive leap into the murky unknown and had become part of the legacy of the dark web. And it was something he liked the feel of. No longer was he just the director of a medium-sized family business, with a girlfriend and a mortgage, he was part of something out of reach to the average man in the street. A member of the so-called Brotherhood.
And then he noticed it. A Chrome session flashed orange in the toolbar at the bottom of his screen. He clicked on it and as the status box popped up in the middle of the screen, his heart sunk lower than it had ever before.
Transaction failed
‘Oh my fucking god, no. Please, don’t do this to me. Not now,’ he said out loud. Frantically, he began clicking at random links in the hope that it would somehow fix this situation. But it was no use, his transfer had failed. He didn’t know precisely what this meant, but given what he had just seen, he knew it wouldn’t be good.
‘WHAT’S THE MATTER?’ the Host asked Jarvis. ‘I can’t be doing with any problems.’