by Jon Athan
The room was spacious, like a hangar – wide, long, and empty. The ceiling was higher than the ceilings in the corridors and rooms. The windows were boarded by withering planks of wood. The area was consequently swallowed by darkness. Only a hardwood desk towards the center was illuminated by a lamp. A man sat on a black leather rolling chair on the opposite side of the table.
As he glared at the mysterious man from afar, Russell whispered, “Mr. Wu...”
Russell inhaled deeply, mentally preparing himself for battle, then he slowly walked towards his target. Although caution was significant, Russell solely wanted to buy time. He was prepared to kill, but the man's ill-fitted appearance had caught him by surprise. He did not look like a barbaric killer – the simple fact bothered him.
The 50-meter stroll was also inexplicably daunting. The table and the man grew larger with each slow step. The threat grew with his doubtful strides. Yet, the sound of his boots clanking on the concrete floor was strangely soothing. A sense of serenity and normality swept through his body, keeping him mobile and dedicated.
As Russell approached, the man stood from his seat with his arm extended forward for a handshake. The man smiled and said, “Hello, sir. My name is Andy Wu. It's nice to finally meet you.”
Russell narrowed his eyes as he examined Andy Wu. From the name and his appearance, Russell could see the man was of Chinese descent – Wu was not a pseudonym. The man was slightly shorter and leaner than Russell. He had a sturdy, sinewy build. Russell could safely guess he was strong and fairly nimble.
His straight black hair was boyishly combed over to the right. His chiseled jawline reflected his lean body. His dark brown eyes were lively, filled with energy and passion. He wore a white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a silver silk tie, charcoal-colored slacks, and freshly-polished dress shoes.
The man's charisma was undeniable – the charm was practically oozing from his sweat glands. He was a debonair, suave man with a voguish sense of style and confidence. He hid his inner-demons in a cultured vessel. He wore a mask no one would ever suspect for mass abduction and murder – a regular person.
Scowling, Russell asked, “You're Mr. Wu? You're the man I've heard so much about?”
Andy smiled and said, “Indeed. But, please, call me 'Andy.' I'm proud of my roots, my heritage, but there is no need for the formalities. That's reserved for my employees and enemies. Anyway, after what we've done to each other, I expected something a bit more harsh. 'Mr. Wu' is rather respectful considering the circumstances.”
“'After what we've done to each other?' What the hell did I do to you, Andy? You slaughtered my daughter, so what did I do to you? Did I murder your wife? Did I rape your kid? Did I do something to you, you stupid motherfucker?”
“Now, that's the type of aggression I was expecting. To answer your question: you killed one of my beloved clients, you forced me to torch one of my shops filled with invaluable inventory, you murdered a trusted delivery-boy, and you just went through and killed more of my employees and clients. Some very good employees, too. Is that nothing to you?”
“It's everything to me. I'm not a monster like you.”
“Well, I heard you were much worse at one point in your life. A ruthless enforcer, an assassin, a widow-maker... You've killed before this, often more brutally than us. I wouldn't pretend to be a virtuous man now, Russell.”
Russell furrowed his brow and glared at Andy upon hearing his name. He was baffled by the knowledge Andy harbored. He was flustered by the man's nonchalant demeanor. I killed his men, he thought, so why isn't he frightened? As far as Russell knew, there were a million guns pointed at him from the darkness. Andy had the upper-hand.
Russell asked, “How do you know my name? How do you know my past? Carrie didn't know about it. I never told her, so who told you?”
Andy shrugged, then he asked, “What did you expect? Hmm? You think you walked in here because of your 'great' investigative work?” He huffed, then he explained, “I've known about you since the second we picked your daughter. We didn't find out about your real past until afterward, though. That was our mistake. We wouldn't have chose Carrie if we knew her father would pursue us to the end of the earth and the end of time.”
“Who told you?”
“I have my sources. Maybe it was a certain detective, maybe it was an aspiring gangster. Maybe it was someone completely out of sight. I have my sources. I don't think it matters, though. No, it's not very important.”
Eyes brimming with tears, Russell stared at the desk and said, “You're a sick bastard...”
Andy responded, “Perhaps. I like to think of myself as a greedy businessman. Nothing more, nothing less. Well, in today's age, I suppose I'm still considered a sick bastard. 'You can't have money without being a lucky cheater.' That's the mindset of the poor and foolish. But, you see, I understand economics well and I understand this country well. My parents were peasant immigrants, but they taught me to reach for the sky. They brought me to a country that would allow me to do so. This is the land of the free and the land of the dollar. I am free to pursue happiness and riches, even at your expense.”
Russell sniffled, fighting the urge to cry. He said, “You're an innocent bastard, aren't you? That's what you believe, right? Don't you want to admit to your wrongdoing and repent before I slaughter you? I did when I left my past life behind. Believe me, it helps.”
“Repent? No, no, no, Russell. In order to repent, I must commit a sin and I must feel guilt. I do not feel guilty for my actions. Not at all. If it weren't for psychopaths like yourself, I wouldn't be here today. I wouldn't have a marketplace if savages like you didn't exist. You see, I'm not a killer, I simply offer a service. You, your daughter, and the next man's daughter... You're all collateral damage. And, as long as the market asks for more, men like myself will continue to rise and people like you will continue to fall.”
Russell stepped closer to the desk. With his framing hammer in his left hand, he retrieved his pistol with his right. His arms trembled as he inched towards the sinister man – the man he dreamed of killing for days. The irrepressible fury was difficult to contain.
Russell glared at Andy and said, “Men like me will always be around to bring you down from your pedestal and send you to hell.”
Andy smirked and responded, “Yes, of course, and I'll meet your slut daughter there.”
Russell shuddered upon hearing the offensive words. The response was unexpected. He glowered at Andy with wide, zany eyes. With his hands on his hips, Andy softly chuckled and glanced at the table. He was unperturbed by his own insolence. His true colors glowed through his charisma. The 'civil' mask fell off his face.
Russell pointed the handgun at Andy and said, “I'll kill you, motherfucker. I'll send you to hell, then I'll come visit you. You will never live in peace. Heaven, hell, or in the dirt. I'll piss on your grave every morning if I have to. I'll slaughter you. You understand?”
Andy said, “No. That's not happening. You're not going to kill me with that gun. That's for certain. You're out of bullets, Russell. You're out of bullets...”
Calling his bluff, Russell scowled and pulled the trigger – click. Like Andy had announced, the magazine was empty. Russell stared at his handgun in disbelief. He was further mystified by Andy's guile. Andy simply chuckled as he watched Russell. He was entertained by the failed attempt at an assassination.
Russell whispered, “How the hell did you know?”
Andy stared at Russell with a deadpan expression, then he sighed in relief. He glanced towards his feet as he smiled and shook his head. Euphoria flowed through his veins like a stimulant drug.
Andy said, “For a second, I wasn't completely sure I identified the gun correctly. I'm glad I was correct.” He nervously chuckled and wiped his brow – relief was sweet. Andy explained, “I knew you were coming, Russell. There are cameras throughout the entire facility. I watched all of it. I counted every bullet until you walked out of Mr. Homi
cide's room. If I wasn't at least 90% certain about your lack of ammunition, I wouldn't have been here. I'm not stupid.”
Russell took another step forward and wagged the hammer at Andy. He said, “I can still kill you.”
“I know you can. I've watched you kill quite a few people throughout this ordeal. I watched your entire investigation and I witnessed savagery you could only find in snuff films. I was ready to kill you a few times, like at AJ's store, but I couldn't pull the trigger. I became fascinated with you, Russell. I wanted to see how far you'd go. Attacking people with hammers, cementing a kid into the foundation of a future apartment... Hell, you even cut the eyelids off of a detective. You went farther than most. I applaud you for that. You gave me a performance I'll never be able to replicate...”
Russell narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. The wicked praise did not bother him. A single word, however, pierced his psyche and haunted him – detective. Andy nodded as the revelation soaked in. He savored Russell's dumbfounded expression.
Russell whispered, “Mr. Homicide was a... a detective?”
Andy said, “A homicide detective with a lust for extreme violence, to be exact. He was one of my most consistent clients and one of my best employees. It's a damn shame...”
“You're lying.”
“No. You tortured the detective that killed your daughter. He's probably dead by now, so I suppose you've accomplished your mission.”
Russell sighed, then he said, “I came here for vengeance. I came here for you.”
Andy puckered his lips, then he said, “I thought you would have been satisfied with the man's death. You don't want to kill me, Russell. The fact is: you can't kill me. You won't be able to reload in time, you won't be able to kill me with that hammer. You have an opportunity now to turn around and walk away. I suggest you take it.”
“No. I'm going to slaughter you.”
As Russell hurtled towards the desk with the hammer over his head, the lamp turned off and the illumination dissipated. Russell planted his palm on the desk and glanced around the dark area. He could not see Andy through the darkness. Upon hearing a barrage of footsteps, Russell swung the hammer. To his utter dismay, he struck out.
Russell shouted, “Where the hell are you?! Come out and face me, you fucking coward!”
***
The warehouse was eerily silent. The scurrying footsteps swiftly stopped. Occasionally, the sound of a plopping liquid echoed through the dark room – the only noise in the nightmarish abyss. Russell breathed heavily as he slowly spun in place, but to no avail. Disoriented, he had lost track of Andy and himself.
Russell muttered, “Where did you go, Wu? Where are you hiding?”
The shrill tone from a loudspeaker reverberated through the facility. Russell held his hands to his ears as he stared up at the towering ceiling. Up-or-down, left-or-right, he could not see through the darkness, but he knew the sound wailed from the ceiling. Russell was blind and vulnerable, staggering about as he searched for a strategy.
Through the loudspeaker, Andy said, “This is where it ends, Russell. It has been quite the journey. A trek through the depraved and deviant underworld. An adventure, I suppose, through a kingdom I built with my bare hands. I have seen it all before, but I was fascinated by your descent...”
As he glared at the ceiling, Russell barked, “Come out here, bastard! Come and see the depraved man you birthed! Come and see what I'll do to you with my bare hands!”
Through the speaker, Andy said, “I don't believe you'll be able to kill me. In fact, I believe I will survive this confrontation unscathed. Of course, I may be wrong, but I like my odds. This was over when I learned your name. This was over before you knew about your daughter's death. Speaking of your daughter, do you know what happened to her? Did you ever unravel her ultimate fate?”
“Tell me, Wu. Where did you bury her body? Huh? Or did one of your demented clients devour her? Huh? Did you eat her for breakfast, you slimy bastard? Tell me! Tell me, goddammit!”
Andy deviously chuckled, then he said, “She was not devoured. In fact, parts of her are still functioning. The organs we were able to salvage from her body have likely already been transplanted to some rich or desperate man. Perhaps both. Maybe in the United States, maybe in China. I would have to check my ledger...”
Russell's legs wobbled from the sudden shock – the truth hit him like a tsunami hitting an oblivious surfer. His lips moved, but words did not form. His mind raced, but he never reached the finish line. He was livid and depressed.
Eyes filled with tears, Russell murmured, “I'll... I'll kill you...”
A barrage of footsteps echoed through the room from every corner. The sound of bare feet slapping frigid concrete was inexplicably unnerving – a garble of unusual ruckus, like if a stampede of people were running towards him. Wide-eyed, Russell spun in place, glancing every which way. He held the hammer up to his shoulder, ready to strike.
He asked, “What the hell are you doing?”
The footsteps stopped. The sound of husky breathing followed. Russell held his hands to his eyes as the fluorescent lights on the ceiling and walls were powered on. The illumination revealed a peculiar situation. Russell could only furrow his brow and tilt his head as he examined the situation and pondered his options.
Two dozen men surrounded Russell and the neighboring desk, forming four evenly separated circles – six people in each. The men only wore white briefs and black bags over their heads. The men had similar bodies – skin tone, height, and weight. The bags wrapped around their heads continuously rustled as the men simultaneously murmured – the combined noise was indistinct. One of the men could be Andy, but certainty was nonexistent. The group was purposely trying to confuse Russell.
Over the speaker, Andy whispered, “These men are loyal, Russell. These men know my capabilities, they know my character. They'll die for me knowing I will take care of their families. I'm an honest man.”
As he continued to scan through each man, Russell shouted, “What do you want from me?! What kind of sick game is this?!”
Andy explained, “This is the 'game' I've fixed for our grand finale. It's up to you to finish it. With such minimal differences in height and weight, how will you find me? If you try to remove a bag, you'll be mauled, which would render your vengeance worthless. On the other hand, no one will react if you beat them to death. So, you can try to kill each person in the room, sure, but what if I left the room? Hmm? Okay, so you go into the next room and look for me. But, what if I'm still in the room? What if I'm standing right next to you? What if I'm watching this from a security camera? What if... What if... What if...”
Russell glowered at the man standing next to him. His height and build were similar to Andy's figure, but he could not be certain without removing the bag. He could not remove the bag without being attacked by 24 people. He glanced past the desk, peering towards the other end of the warehouse. There was a double-door exit – the perfect escape route. Andy's provocative questions taunted him. The mind-boggling game successfully sent Russell into a tailspin.
As Russell contemplated, Andy said, “You have decisions to make, Mr. Wheeler.”
Russell shuddered as he slowly spun in place. He scanned through each and every person surrounding him. The differences became more minuscule with each thorough examination. In terms of figure, Andy had found a set of perfect doppelgangers. The men were practically clones of the sinister businessman.
Russell stopped and stared at the man directly ahead – the man standing next to him. He contemplated his actions and the inevitable snowball effect. His arms trembled as he held the framing hammer over his shoulder. His body and psyche were shattered by the relentless violence. Yet, he found he could not stop.
Russell stepped towards the man and asked, “Are you Andy Wu?” The man continued to mumble indistinctly. Russell grimaced and said, “If you're not Andy Wu, you can still walk away. You don't have to die for him. You can do the right thing and walk awa
y. Whatever he's paying you, it's not worth it. He won't take care of your family, either. He's lying to you. You can still do the right thing and walk away.”
The man in stood in solidarity, absently staring forward and constantly mumbling. Russell shook his head in utter disappointment. Each option was dreadful, but he felt compelled to finish the job at the warehouse. Carrie's brutal murder called for blood – the blood of Wu, the blood of Goodman, the blood of every man involved in the snuff business.
Russell nodded and said, “Fine. You can all die.”
Russell glowered and swung the hammer at the man's head. The man plummeted to the ground. His leg trembled uncontrollably from the devastating attack. Russell knelt down atop the man's sturdy chest, then he savagely drubbed the man's dome with the hammer. With each hit, blood spattered across Russell's face and clothing.
Chapter Sixteen
When The Games End
The sturdy door quickly swung open, wobbling as it clashed with the adjacent wall. Detective Franklin Taylor walked into the room, a black handgun in his hands. His glossy black hair was tousled, his blue eyes were devoid of hope – he was strained by the situation. He wore black work shoes, black slacks, and a white button-up shirt beneath a navy blue windbreaker. In bold yellow text, the back and chest of the jacket read: FBI.
As he witnessed the massacre, Taylor murmured, “Christ...”
A group of men stood towards the center of the room in their underwear – the eleven surviving men. A dozen dead bodies laid in pools of blood. Blunt thuds echoed through the warehouse. There was a broken hammer on the ground. The head was snapped off the handle. Even through the black bags, Taylor could see the men's heads were savagely crushed – their skulls were obliterated.
As he shambled forward, Taylor weaved and bobbed his head around the standing men. His eyes widened upon spotting the source of the ruckus. Beyond the desk, Russell knelt down on top of another man – the 24th look-alike in the equation. Russell mercilessly struck the man's head with his pistol, using the bloodied handgun as a makeshift hammer.