"Ugh…"
The world was so hazy.
Somewhere out there in the low-lofted room there was a single light bulb glaring with its beam at Roman, like he owned it money.
Roman moaned again. His throat was dry as sandpaper, his lips sore and he was feeling nauseous. His left eye corner itched, but he realized he couldn't reach it because his hand was tied to a wooden armrest with duct tape.
His mouth was also sealed with duct tape and he realized he was sitting, tied with leather harness in a tall, black chair where his bare feet had been strapped. Angst caused through Roman's blood as he tried to kick his feet loose. It was hopeless.
But that was not the worst.
He caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror being placed far away in the room, and he realized being tied was the least of his problems.
A large, rusty metal collar was fastened low down on his gaunt shoulders and now he could feel an immense pain set off in them. From the sides of his neck and over across his head there was a broad, iron bow, with several electric cords connected to a battery pack he could feel the weight off. The horror wasn't over. Now he could also see that the needle sharp points of seven big syringes was pointing down, fastened underneath the bow with a thinner bow welded into the corners of the other one, where the needle points were agressively pointing down to on his head and neck. These were no ordinary needles; they were probably for large farm animals and was most likely intended to prod through his skull.
Roman's dark brown eyes was shot wide open in the purest panic. The needles were filled with a translucent, lime-ish liquid and Roman didn't for one second believe it was ice tea. He tried to move his arms to take the bow off, but instead, sickening pain kicked in. The blood making the armrests sticky was proof enough. Someone had drilled the device to his shoulders! Roman panted and tried to scream, but the sound was muffled from the duct tape.
Suddenly, an old-fashion TV-screen burst into light and the rest of the abandoned room turned pitch black. Roman, blinded with tears, tried to understand the image. It was someone pale… No. It was a mask, or a doll of some kind.
He looked tauntingly at Roman with the large black eyes.
The man restrained his breath for a few moments. Then the doll started talking.
"Hello, Roman. I want to play a game. For as long as you have lived, you have voluntarily let other people, including your own family, step on you and poison you with their lies. I see you now, as a handsome young, sympathetic man with artistic potential and articulate power unworthy one who would patronize his gifts through seeing no other choice than being a victim. Your way of handling the pain and suffering of your childhood and presence is demolishing the potential of what could be your incredible life, and you choose to be a door mat rather than to gnaw away the obstacle."
The doll paused. Then –
"The device you are wearing is called The Emperor's Crown. It is drilled into your right and left upper arms. There is a timer on the side of it, and if you run out of time, the crown will force itself down, stabbing the needles into your head and neck. The fluid inside of them is toxic from the Australian Elapid. One of the syringes are only enough to make the self-inflicted wounds on your arms and legs to start bleeding again. But seven of them will be enough to make you bleed to death both on the inside and outside. You will slowly but surely become paralyzed in every limb, and eventually, your heart will fail."
Roman started whimpering, tears running down his pasty face. A few, pathetic, abject sobs echoed in the old abandoned storeroom.
"One key will unlock and remove the crown you forbid yourself. However, you should keep in mind that the key will only unlock the crown. To remove the padlock collar there's no other way than to show you are willing to fight for the worth of your life, and win sovereignty over your life again.
If you do not remove the padlock collar before the timer on it runs out, it will explode. So listen now, Roman: The key is inside your right lower arm. To retrieve it, you must self inflict a wound similar to the ones you let other people make in your worth. Live or die. Make your choice."
Roman fought for minutes to get his arms free of the duct tape. He tried to scream as the panic grew and grew but the he managed to rip off the tape and unclasp the harness.
He moved so thoughtless that suddenly, he slipped off the tall chair and fell painfully on his left arm. The crown was intact, so he guessed this was the only way to get rid of the harness and down from the chair.
Beside the chair, some old pottery and boxes the room was empty. Roman found no knife.
He rolled up the right sleeve on his moss acrylic sweater where the spot where the key was were marked with a black X.
Roman was sweating ice cold water. Tension started causing again.
"No knife," he muttered, now that the duct tape was off and searched the floor.
Show you are willing to fight, the doll voice repeated in his mind.
Roman weakened, the heaviness of the crown weighing his head down as he was overwhelmed with misery.
Gnaw away the obstacle.
Roman heard the ticking of the timer. Oh no! It must have started when he slipped down. His handsome brown eyes were filled with tears and the skinny man started crying.
He didn't want to die. He was just so tired of fighting the endless battles where he never won. Roman was a victim of male anorexia and depressions due to his childhood. Awful, but how could this guy know? Terrified and pain-stricken, Roman took a deep breath and set his teeth in the flesh of his arm. There was stitches where someone had inserted the key, but they were impossible to chew through.
He screamed with pain and agony, the blood starting to seep through his skin.
He gave up once or twice, but the ticking sound was not going to win.
The distressed man bit again and this time he heard the sinews popping and cracking as well as the flesh sounding like breaking spaghetti. Now that the tranquilizers were out of his system, he could feel the pain from his shoulders and arms and he threw up, human flesh and blood, coffee and nutri drink. He released several tormented, moaning shrieks as his teeth dug into the severely injured arm. Blood was running and Roman threw up again, his collar-bone long, black hair sticking to his emaciated face, drenched in sweat. Blood, tears and reversed food dirtied his arm and the floor around.
All of a sudden, Roman stopped the biting. The timer was clicking faster and faster and he realized he had little time. He wiped away blood and vomit from his left fingers and dug into the bleeding tissue. He was weeping and aggressively grunting with despair, the pain indescribable, like he had been hit by a train. He dug and dug, and the increasing numbness of his hand started to make him feel like he was eaten alive with terror.
His blood-soaked fingers found a hard object in there. The key!
He hurried to drag out a little, silvery key. The holes to it were on the collar's sides. He was trembling so violently he feared he wouldn't reach it in time. Two holes, only one key. The key unlocked both sides of the Imperial death crown and it's battery pack, and a half second after Roman tossed it on the floor, the syringes was powerfully shot down. The toxic fluid ran in small creeks down the moldy, concrete floor.
But it wasn't over. Another timer had started, and it was clicking faster. Roman looked around, eyes widened in eyes who had seen death.
Two large, solid iron meat hooks were dangling in the ceiling, a few meters from where the chair was. Roman shakily moved it there, and climbed up with legs who felt like gelatin. Standing on the chair Roman hinged the hooks and prayed to the mother of the Son it would work.
He jumped from the chair. The screws in his shoulders broke bones, ripped off flesh, causing immense pain. He wanted to crawl up into a little ball and cry on the floor but he could see the timer counting down. He gathered all his strength and leapt out of the room, shut the door, and ran down. Unfortunately, his legs didn't bear him longer than he could stay out of range from the cell phone – bomb in the padlock collar.
The bomb went off, and the sound would get attention.
Roman curled up and cried pitifully, groaning and so incredibly relieved. He wasn't dead.
All of a sudden, he heard creaking of old, tarnished metal. Out from the shadows, the doll from the television came out, wearing funeral agency – like clothes and Mary Jane's.
The puppet stared at him, and started talking.
"Congratulations, Roman. You are still alive. Tonight you have showed yourself that you are worthy of life, and that you have made yourself clear about it. There are so many out there who does not know that they are worthy of life, but you know now, and you deserve life."
Fifteen minutes later, a bomb squad, firemen and an ambulance was at the place. The staff found Roman, who had wiped the blood of his face, shivering, holding the doll in his arms.