EPISODE I: Another World
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to any place, persons, organizations, ect. is purely coincidental. I don't own Life is Strange or anything here!
Chapter 1: "Fresh off the boat"
You never know how strong you are until being strong is your only choice. That's my definition of machismo. My name is Gael DeCastro and I'm still fighting. My father, Angeal DeCastro, came here to Prescott Valley, Nevada from our sunny and serene neighborhood in Louisville, Kentucky with high hopes. However, those high hopes were well-placed lies from a devious group of conmen. We were destroyed. We wrote multiple letters to the Prescott family, the family who owns the valley, to lend us money. No response. Instead of waiting for salvation, me, my mom, and my dad had to work our asses off in order to have a sustainable living. Although young, I decided to join a gas station in the city part of the valley in order to help with the mortgage and debt. My parents decided to work extra hours each night. When we finally paid off all of the debt, all of the naysayers were agape in disbelief.
Life seemed to have regained its value until I met her. Life itself seemed meaningful again. I should have known it was too good to be true, though it seemed real enough. That bitch walked away with my heart while holding hands with another guy; who threw all the smiles, hugs, and kisses we had away and forgot about me. I thought we had something, but now? It's as if she doesn't even know me anymore. I doubt she even thinks about me!
Bitches ain't shit but hoes and tricks. Never before have those words rung truer than they do now.
My attention focused at the two Highrise towers above the valley. That's where the bitch lives. I pounded on the table with my fists. Damn it! I need a distraction... FAST. I glance through the windows of the gas station to check for any incoming customers, but no cars are parked in the lot or at the gas pumps. The gas station was just an empty row of shelves and refrigerators holding food, drinks, and other types of refreshments. The last time I saw someone come in was yesterday. They say you never forget your first time. That it's hard to move on from love. BUT THIS IS OUTRIGHT TORTUROUS.
I turn to the left and turn on the television. This metal box is the only escape that kept me sane besides my familia. As an image on the screen, a lavish grass landscape swayed left and right in the wind. The caption read "LOWER SERENGETI, AFRICA". A small voice half-mumbled something about the pH level of the soil in that ecosystem. Man... At this rate I'll... Grabbing the remote, I changed the channel from Animal Planet to CNN.
This time, the caption is: "NOBEL PRIZE AWARDED FOR BREAKTHROUGHS IN STEM CELL RESEARCH". Two grown-ass men held a golden medal and a diploma and then proceeded to jump up and down like little girls playing hopscotch. I sighed. That ain't Machismo.
I grab my wallet and open it to see the same thing that'd been there for years: A picture with my old friend in Kentucky, Jacob Frazier, with his and my family together. On the photo, written in white, were the words The Only Easy Day Was Yesterday. Arnold Frazier, his father, wrote to me before what would be his final mission. A real Navy Seal both in and out of the battlefield. He died an unlikely hero, to make short of it. His example of hard work and determination proves that it's how we hit twice as hard back at life that truly matters. There's quite a few good memories associated with the people in this photo, but I have, at least I think, better things to waste time on than memories.
One day... 'this too shall pass'... and I'll flick her off, flanked by hot bitches and a system in my Caddy. This ain't first love, it's first blood, you puta!
A burst of noise from the TV breaks me out of this stupor of remembrance:
"BREAKING NEWS! Blackwell Academy Student suicide attempt!"
S-suicide? What?
My eyes widened as I saw the television screen: a blonde trying to step off of a rooftop, shot from a camera on the ground and shaky with the movement of the cameraman trying to steady the zoom and focus. Like an Olympic diver, except on concrete, she prepares to take a plunge. Humpty Dumpty is about to have a big fall.
Just as she's about to do the deed, the blonde is interrupted by another girl, a brunette. The blonde girl instead turns back and says something to the brunette that I can't hear that ends in a hug. This thin girl's height and haircut are both short. The ticker that pops up on the bottom of the screen identifies her as "Max Caulfield" and calls her "the hero of Blackwell Academy".
Now that's what I call Marianismo! Going on a booty call in Oregon is now on my bucket list.
After a short interview from the principal of Blackwell, Ray Wells, the news immediately cuts to a story of a basketball player playing with "his own balls". I couldn't help but laugh at the double entendre.
The beep of the door chime, in practiced instinct, throws my gaze to this new stranger that just walked in. As the door swings shut, I begin to notice several odd things about this character.
Confused, the wiry fellow casts his gaze, rapid and fleeting, about the room. The green jacket with Chinese symbols on it catches my eye first. The wording beneath it says they are pronounced "Sum Young Boy". The pun is evident, not to mention funny, but the bigger question is: just who the hell wears a jacket in a desert? Spiky black hair and double lidded eyes... People from Prescott Valley are usually black or white, he's someone like me. A minority. Judging by his stature and body language, he looks about my age. The teen then catches my attention and approaches me. He proceeds to bow at me with his hands placed tightly together. Not to be racist, but I think he's really fresh off the boat. Not really the kind of thing we do here, but...
"Forgive me, but do you have any coin cards around here? I'm in a hurry."
"I would, but we're out. I can print you a receipt with a code. How much do you want to put in?"
"Eight hundred, sir." He reaches into his pocket and tosses a rather large wad of money onto the counter.
I grab the money and count the stack, one bill at a time. Eight hundred legitimate dollars. This guy's planning something... "Man... That's some paper."
"You could s-say that..." He averted his gaze. Was he shaking a bit, or was that just me?
His mouth was clamped tight after his last statement. He's probably not gonna be too chatty about what he's using this for...not like it's my place to judge what people buy here. I groan, but open the cash register, put the money where it goes, and ring up the purchase:
-PURCHASE RECORD-
coin LOAD $800.00
TAX
0.00
TOTAL
800.00
~Thank you for your purchase.~
After I'd done that, the computer opened a progress bar as it generated the redemption code. In the time that'd it take to process, I ought to get to know this guy better.
"Say, you from here?"
"Just moved from Cali. I'm Hector Leong, son of Grace and John."
"Do you go to school here, by any chance?"
"I'm going to Prescott Valley High, starting as a sophomore."
Nice. This guy is going to the same school as me. Maybe he's not so much of a stranger after all. My interest was piqued at this peer as I leaned forward, "That's my high school, too. Nice place."
"How about you?"
"The name's Gael DeCastro, also a sophomore, and I'm on the boxing team. Consider me your first friend here." I said, and added "How do you like things so far, Hector?"
"They're better than I thought. My parents run a restaurant uptown called Leong's Garden. Mention you're friends with me, and I might be able to snag you a discount."
"Alright. If you teach me how to make a rice cake, I'll teach you how to make a quesadilla. Deal?"
"Deal. Sounds...errr...rad. " Hector seemed to mull the word in his mouth. "Out of curiosity... ever heard of the deep web?"
Hector's eyes then squinted at mines. This better not be two girls one cup or lemonparty. "Deep web? I know you'll be in deep shit if you get up in my business puto! I..." Hector cut me off.
He sighed and continued with, "Long story short, Google, because of how it works, can't see a portion of the web. You can still access these sites, though, if you know the address, or with a special program."
My eyebrows raised as I focused on Hector. "There's more to the internet than meets the eye, huh? What's even there, anyways?"
"Websites that chose to be removed from results and old, defunct websites that never got taken offline. However, there's these sites called Darknets. These Darknets are anonymized peer-to-peer networks on the deep web. They can do business on anything without fear of any government."
Escaping the government? I really don't like the sound of this deep web. "Sounds sick..."
"Because it is! Well, for the most part, but I'll explain later." It was as if Hector's eyes were glowing. He's really into this. "The currency on the Deep Web are mostly in the coin format. You can use coins on things such as guns, drugs, snuff films, live-streamed violence, human trafficking, and other illegal stuff."
It all makes sense now! I crossed my arms and tilted my head with a squint with my pair of eyes. "You spent quite the sum of green on that coin gift card. Are you planning to do any of those things? If so, I have the right to refuse service. No refunds, hence the sign." I motioned to the piece of laminated paper taped to the wall next to the exit. "Rules are rules."
"Look, I know what I'm doing..."
"What would you want to do with all dat, ese? Don't tell me ya' gonna be stealing money n' shit."
"I'm a self-taught white-hat hacker for business companies. I just need to buy some tech and equipment from the Deep Web for Yuén Industries." Hector grabbed his wallet from his pants pocket. He flipped one of the flaps and it revealed his card for Yuen Industries. Hector Leong. Cyber-Security Technician. Age 15. Seems legit. " I don't expect you to give me a pity party."
"Okay, but shouldn't you do something more legal?"
"Like I said, self-taught. As in, I don't know how to do much else. I'm actually from Skidrow, and my parents owned a restaurant there also called Leong's Garden. Poverty, disease and homeless were rampant, like a wildfire. We were better off than most: people were made homeless by their exorbitant hospital bills. But that all changed when a PTSD gunmen thought we were Viet Cong and stole all of our money." Hector said, and added "I became the unlikely breadwinner, as I was learning C++ scripting in ROBLOX. It was different from being a true script kiddie for a number of reasons, but I got the hang of it. I read books, but eventually stumbled on the deep web, which helped me more than anything money could buy.
"I started out as a password breaker for lost accounts on websites, but I moved on to bigger jobs, such as testing the security of a website or giving advice about possible vulnerabilities of a server, as I learned more. There were jobs that paid higher, and that I could do, but those might incur bad karma I don't deserve or associate me with people I don't want to promote. Besides, one of my customers was the businessman who hired me in Yuén Industries as a cyber security technician paying me double any of those jobs gave me." Hector said, and added "You know what they say, it is better to travel well than to arrive."
"Alright, you proved to me that you're a decent person, but how can I put faith in you not to do something stupid?"
"You can see my purchase history." He pulled out his smartphone and showed me his purchases. He'd recently purchased a computer monitor, a mouse, a few video game keys on Steam, some CDs, and a refrigerator magnet. Not things a terrorist would buy, at least none I know of.
"And these are what I am going to purchase. I had to wipe my hard drives so I can sell my old equipment for some loose change here in the valley." Hector then grabbed his phone and started typing. He then put his phone on the counter. What I saw were a set of books and programs in his shopping cart. I didn't know the conversion to coins, but I'm guessing he bought enough for the sheer number of items in his cart.
He seems like a nice guy. I pointed at Hector to make my point. "I believe in your story, ese. But...if I find out you trippin', which I can, because I can track your purchase, I'll report you to the police. Make my day, pendejo." I then motioned a slit throat with my hand across my neck.
The receipt printer finished. I tore it off and gave it to Hector. "Have a good one."
"Thank you so much for being so patient with me. I can tell that we would be friends in different circumstances." said Hector reached out to shake my hand. I acknowledged and shook his hand briefly. "Anyway... you should search the deep web. Ignorance is bliss... and it seems you're not the type to be blissful."
"You're welcome and thanks for the compliment, amigo. See you tomorrow." Hector bowed down to me again as I waved him goodbye. Once he'd gotten outside, he pumped his fists in the air and started jumping around. He's weird, but the good kind. I hope I'll see him again.
Finishing my three hour shift that Tuesday afternoon, I headed towards the Prescott Valley High school gym for boxing conditioning. My interest piqued. I guess I have something to distract me from that bitch. Thoughts about what Hector might also be like were in the back of my mind while I began my workout.
Chapter 2: "Return To Sender"
As I exited the boxing gym, a feeling rises in my heart. A group of girls were coming my way, but most importantly... she was coming my way. This girl, Zoella Prescott, the school's poster child was heading towards has blonde hair that flowed down to her shoulder, revealing her piercing, brown eyes and perfectly rounded face and lips. Her grey tank top exposed her well toned hourglass shape, white jogging pants, and black Converse shoes. I can't help it. My stomach was in knots. & The day when we first met looking for the same book at the school library for the summer assignment. The look on your face when we found out that we shared many classes that freshman year. The feeling those Tuesdays where I would sneak up on you during your study sessions. You were always making plans and following routines, while I enjoyed the present moment. You taught me that time is what we use most, but what we use worst, while I taught you that life is what happens when you're busy making plans. &
There's another feeling now, one that weakens me to my core. The day you stopped texting me back on your trip to Europe. The pulled heartstrings catching you at the lobby of the Prescott Palace with another guy. The look in your eyes holding hands as you averted your gaze at me in the gushing rain. The hole in my chest as you told me that you've been talking to him for over eight months. The truth that I was a distraction. Your ear-splitting voice still cuts me down to this day.
I then make eye contact with Zoella. I should forgive her for this. She darted her face away from me and continued to walk forward past me with her friends. Fuck this bitch.
Bitches ain't shit but hoes and tricks. Don't do it, man! You're better than this!
I continued to walk towards the parking lot. I checked my watch. 8:35 pm in the valley. I cover my eyes to shield them from the headlights of a car in my peripherals. The lights were blinding, but were suddenly dimmed. The car was a light blue color, most likely a Honda Odyssey. Looking at the driver's seat on my right, I see a burly Mexican with shoulder length hair. This man could easily have been mistaken as a bouncer for a big night club.I squint again and the face of my father comes into focus. Hoping for him to see me, I looked him in the eye and waved my hand in his direction. He sees me and parks. I walked to him. After opening the front passenger seat across from the driver, I looked out the window at the road that lead to home.
Once I got in, the heat took its toll on me. Thick drops of sweat rolled from my brow and into my eye. The heat was killing me. Nevada's weather is scorching this time of year. I started to perspire again. This time, even worse than me in my boxing practice. A strong urge then tells me to communicate my dismay. "Mind if you can turn on the air conditioning for me please? It's kind of hot."
"Sure," He pressed the A/C on steering wheel controls and I felt the telltale slow, icy rush of air as the compressor and fan kicked on.
My dad and I are currently passing through the combined campuses of Prescott Valley High School and Prescott Valley College. The future may be bleak, but at least I have one. The suburbs where I live are just on the other side; my house just one of many identical thousands. The Prescott Palace, two 18-story residential towers at the top of the valley, overlook it, where a penthouse at the top of each allowed you a sweeping view of the entire area. I once met Sean Prescott, Harry Allen Prescott's son, there, back when I was dating. Back when I was dating. God, I sound like an old fart.
My internal monologue was interrupted when my father spoke to me. "How's school today, mi hijo?" I turned around and saw that we were at a red stoplight.
"I met Zoella again... I got ignored."I said, and added, "She's acts like she doesn't even know me. I guess she's so happy with the new guy she's been hiding from me for over eight months."
My father looked at me and gave me a lopsided smile. "It pains me to see you like this. What happened?" My father replied still smiling as he takes a turn around the road.
I looked up at the Prescott Palace on the mountain in the distance. All of those times was just a distraction? I shook my head again and again. "Bitches ain't shit but hoes and tricks..," I said and added, "...And I got tricked, real bad."
"You're being too hard on yourself. No hay mal que por bien no venga. It will work out, just trust it," my father said, and added "She's probably guilty. Sure's hell looks like it."
"You sure about that?"
"I'm sure. I'm sure. It's called the ostrich effect. I learned about it in psychology class." My father said, and added "She's ignoring you so she forgets about you. Like the myth that an ostrich shoves its head in a hole to protect itself from predators."
"Ojos que no ven, corazón que no siente, right? Makes sense,", then added, "Pinche puta! No wonder we never lasted, she has no respeto."
"Mi hijo, it looks more like guilt to me."
"Guilt over what? For what? How would you know?"
"I did have my ins and outs in relationships. I know how you feel. When I first cast my rod, I pulled in a few white tuna myself!"
"Times are different, dad. People change."
"Jealousy doesn't. Did I tell you about Mr. Frazier's friend Mr. Madsen?"
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"Everything. Mr. Madsen used to be one of Mr. Frazier's biggest critics in their days at Parris Island. He told me they only started becoming friends after saving his sorry culo from an RPG."
"I see," I scoffed. "Were the words bitter?"
"No... the respeto of a peer was sweet."
"Alright, let's get to your story."
"Three years ago, Mr. Madsen invited Mr. Frazier and his family over for thanksgiving. The Thanksgiving we spent with Jacob because his dad needed to do some 'life coaching'.
"Mr. Madsen recently married a widow called Joyce Price who has a daughter called Chloe. Mr. Madsen's wife calls her 'a real hellraiser'. She dyed her hair blue, got tattoos, and wears punk clothing. Mr. Madsen told Mr. Frazier that he gets into more fights with Chloe than he did in the war. She wasn't always like that. It's just that her real father passed away and she can't accept Mr. Madsen taking that role yet. Because of that, she started a scene at the Thanksgiving prayer. Puta pressed Mr. Madsen's buttons too hard, so he disowned her in front of everybody. That's what PTSD does to you. The sheer stress just turns your body and mind into a ticking time bomb. It's been said he can still feel bullets whizzing by him."
"Sounds like Mr. Madsen's got a whole new war on his hands."
"After that, Chloe and her friend Rachel went back upstairs. Mr. Frazier already knew from the way the two acted around each other that they weren't just good friends. Chloe's friend then came down and told us that she's leaving because her 'doctor' gave her the wrong medicine. Mr. Frazier goes to have a drink with Mr. Madsen, and when they come back, they see Chloe crying on the swing set in the backyard. He tried to help, but she threw a big rock that could've broken the glass sliding door to the house. She blubbered that he was 'pretending to care'. Mr. Frazier entertained the thought that this 'doctor' could have been an excuse to get away from Chloe and she figured it out. Or, her abandonment issues might see malice in something not. She could even just be denying reality. Who knows? Thanksgiving is a Federal holiday; who would have an appointment then? That's why he told David Madsen to keep an eye on her. For his and Chloe's sake."
"She's a coward. They're just not seeing eye-to-eye," Pausing for emphasis, I added, "Chloe does not deserve Rachel as a friend... Maybe if she was grounded and more like that girl in the news, things wouldn't have to be that way."
"She's just inexperienced dealing with those types of situations, like Zoella to you. Can't you have some sympathy for the rejecter?" My father said, and added "Rejecting someone isn't as easy as you think. If it was easy... she would've been upfront with you instead of doing something hurtful, like Rachel should have been to Chloe."
"So the pain is shared?"
"¡Blanco! She feels as guilty as you feel rejected." My father said, and added "Have you tried talking to her?"
"Yeah, she keeps saying I'm a distraction..."
"Case-in-point, mi hijo. Sometimes people act like assholes to push the other person away. It eases the guilt, but doesn't put it away." My father said, and added "Rejection is a double-edged sword. I'm guilty of doing that to a girl who liked me in middle school."
"I guess you're right... It'd sure be nice to find someone who lives what marianismo is. Like that Max Caulfield in the news today, the one who prevented a suicide."
"There's the lionheart I know!" My father said, and added "Before I forget, if what Mr. Frazier told me is true, I've never been prouder of you."
"I guess. I'm far from perfect, but I try." I said, and added "But what she did makes her sound like a real puta. I was expecting a chick, not a KISS reject who's so far in the closet she's convinced there's no door."
"You're missing something, though. Both you and Chloe could stand to learn something about life."
"How would I do that?"
"Let's use Chloe as an example. It wouldn't kill her to appreciate just how many people choose to help her out. Time is precious." My father said, and added "With how much of a smart-aleck she is, I'm surprised she wasn't shot or beat up for acting the way she does, always trying to start drama. Lord knows she deserves it."
"I agree with you. While I don't agree with everything she stands for, I at least kind of understand her perspective on things."
"The secret to happiness is that the best things in life are free." My father said, and added "There are people almost everywhere in the world wringing their hands, or worse, dead, because of bad decisions they wish they never made. You're lucky enough that, despite those, everything mostly worked out in your favor. Why, then, do you think you weren't lucky to have been in love at all, and why aren't you happy with what happened between you and Zoella?"
The realization hit me like a ton of bricks. All of this time, I'd been complaining about what happened with Zoella without seeing the bigger picture. I didn't care when my father would tell me he loves me every night. I didn't care when my mother woke up early just to wake me up for school. I never seemed to care when my friends waste their time just to talk to me when I was flaking on them. All I focused on was her and the shit life we had to work ourselves out of in the valley. These things were not necessary for life. I was never entitled to any of comforts I have. A functional family, a roof to sleep under, and a way to go to school: Chloe doesn't have any of these. It's not so much filling the hole we're all said to have in our soul, but instead, appreciating what we do have. Sometimes, we glorify the people who dislike us while we put the people who adore us out of their free-will into the limelight. So why can't people let their wealth in blessings outweigh their misfortunes? I guess life's just weird like that. "I guess you're right, dad... Thanks for the wisdom."
"Anytime, my son." My dad smiled at me in response. "Anytime at all..."
Chapter 3: "Life is Strange"
Once I got home from conditioning, the deep web still occupied my thoughts. Even when I was eating dinner. After I finished my chores, I hopped on the laptop and searched the term "Deep Web" on google. Many websites and tutorials told me that I had to download a special program called TOR and to paste in a link to a website called "The Hidden Wiki" on the address bar. I did that. The hidden wiki's front page reminded me quite a lot of Wikipedia, with a Featured article, Recently added pages, and a In the news section. However, there was a Topics section below on the page with multiple categories ranging from "Hard Candy," whatever that was, Hidden Services, Adult Entertainment, and other illegal paraphernalia. I avoided those topics and eventually made my way to a forums site that discussed the Blackwell Hero of today. Many of the people of the Deep Web seemed normal, discussing her courage and lack of ass. However a post then stood out to me. The wording was embedded and was clickable. It read:
Arbus: Talk about an Everyday Hero!
I was then redirected into a site called "Life Is Strange: A website of strange fetishes." The welcome page was a black background that included three words centered on the screen: "The Dark Room," "The Red Room," and "The Green Room" The last link, "The Green Room," was just a line of text. However, the other two above weren't.
I then clicked on the first link, "The Dark Room." I was redirected to another site. Whale sounds then played in the background while I was browsing the website. What the fuck am I listening to? I turned off the volume of my computer. Problem solved. The welcome page had a black background with a white font with a banner called "The Dark Room" on it. The weird part about the website was that images of a child crying and people looking stoned were all over the website. What the fuck!
I strolled down the web page and saw an "Updated 10/7/13" section in a large white font. A subheading called "Kate" had various pictures of a young Caucasian teenager being posed and tied up with her eyes wide open. After further inspection, it sent a chill down my spine. That's Humpty Dumpty! Dios mio! I then strolled down until I reached the very bottom of the page. While continuing downwards, I encountered multiple headings. Each heading had a name and each girl was tied up and posed in a similar manner. It looked too professional to be taken by an amateur. In the wild, whales make those kinds of sounds when selecting a mate, so I guess she was deemed "fit." The website sickened me and I couldn't take any more of it. I clicked back to the launch site.
I really hope this "Max Caulfield" does not meet any of these people. Hell, I don't want to.
I went back to the first page with the three links. Curiosity ordered me to click on the second and last working link, "The Red Room." As opposed to the black background and white font of "The Dark Room," the font was red and surrounded by black. The welcome page had a banner named "Welcome to Hell." Satanic imagery and clowns flooded my screen. What the 'Hell' is this?
Rather than a website that continuously scrolls down, "The Red Room" had a sidebar with the following options: Livestream, Video Clips, Products, and About Us/Commissions. A dialog box then popped up saying:
LIVE SCREENING!: BOARD AND GORED! IN 5 MINUTES
{ENTER} {CANCEL}
I clicked "Enter." My page was refreshed. Now there was a video player at the center of the screen with a chat box on the side. Multiple users were chatting about riding the 'hype-train' of the video. While other users claimed to be murderers themselves, most of them claimed to be construction workers, teachers, and doctors. These sickfucks can be anyone. I wasn't going to start chatting with any of those creepers. A user highlighted in black then chatted in the chat box:
Blood Countess (Leader): Perfect. We have reached our 50 viewer limit thanks to Arbus. Each person who clicked on the link had an invite through a dialog box and it seems like we have our last one. We hope you enjoy our presentation.
Blood Countess (Leader): 3
Blood Countess (Leader): 2
Blood Countess (Leader): 1
The video player loads, a rotating circle icon in the center of the embed window. After a while, the stream then started. The camera has a blonde girl sitting on a table and her hands tied behind to a pillar in a red room. The girl's knee caps were tied to the table as well. This girl had platinum blond hair and a nice round face. I wouldn't mind banging her, but she seems to be a college chick. She had her eyes shut and a wiry frame, even more wiry than Hector, as if she was depraved of food for at least a week.
A woman then enters the scene with a baseball bat wrapped with barbed wire and a bag of bricks on her other hand. She had an athletic frame at medium height wearing a black corset and a black balaclava. She looks like she came from one of those bad bondage movies at Evil Angel. Nonchalantly, the leather woman drops the bag of bricks on the table. The table almost collapses as the bag falls on it.
The woman in leather then slapped her tortured victim in the face. She shook as she became awake. There were words exchanged with the torture subject and the torturer. After a verbal exchange, the victim then retaliated by spitting on her captor's face. To the leather lady's dismay, the saliva went inside of the eye holes of her mask. She went off screen. Too bad I shut off the volume, I'd love to hear this cat fight, but I don't want my parents walking in on me while I am watching something like this. They would probably think I am no better than these creepers.
A user chatted:
D4shi3: OOOOO! Dat lil bitch is tough as a mafukka. Let da hataz hate baby. Ya gotsa be showin' punks wut up wen it comez to torture, nah mean!
Coming back on the screen wearing a new mask with a transparent visor, the torturer then gave a glare to her victim. The girl gasped as the torturer grabbed her hair. The leather woman punched her victim in the face several times. Each punch got faster and faster and the girl got bloodier and bloodier. The girl soon had a black eye and her nose was broken as the leather woman grabbed a brick from her bag. Laughing, the mistress slid one brick under her slave's ankles. The girl started to tear up. Judging from the mechanics of the table she was on, they planned to snap her kneecaps by using the collective amount of pressure due to the elevation of her legs by using the bricks to prop it higher. A natural equivalent of getting a two simultaneous leg bars by well trained UFC fighters. In essence, they are going to snap her legs like a twig. The typical Tiger Bench torture technique.
Another brick was placed down, the straps tightening on the girl's knees as they start to bend backwards. She was as red as a tomato. Her eyes were so scrunched due to the pain that she puts Hector to shame. The torturer started laughing again, this time with her head up to the ceiling, a demonic smile spreading her cheeks wide. She was genuinely happy committing a murder. Words can't do this cruel woman justice.
The leather woman then raised her hand and looked at the camera. A few men came in and grabbed the girl off the table and put the girl on her knees. This was probably a hand signal towards the camera crew to get the girl off the tiger bench. She was struggling to move her legs but to no avail. Her legs took too much punishment from the Tiger Bench. She was helpless.
The leather woman then pulled up her mask up to her nose, revealing her mouth, blonde hair, white teeth, and Caucasian skin . She made a Vulcan sign in front of her mouth and began to stick her tongue through the V of her middle and ring fingers in and out.
A user chatted:
Rest In Pepperonis: split her cranium! (oVo)!
The performer looked at the screen and back at the girl. The dominatrix then grabbed her bat on the table and winded it upwards for a downward strike on her victim's cranium. She suddenly swung downwards. BAM! The girl then fell on all fours. Blood began to ooze from the center of her cranium as her head was deformed from the impact. Tears were coming out her eyes.
Her cranium was split.
A user chatted:
DO_IT_FAGGOT: So much foreplay... *drools*
The black leather woman then cups her hand to her victim's face and yelled something in her ear. She then pushed her back and winded up for another shot. This time a horizontal swipe with her entire body in momentum as she stepped in. BAM! The girl then fell on her back as her jaw was broken and hanging from the impact.
God, it was just so disturbing...yet I couldn't look away. It was like a car accident, but worse!
The torturer then walked on top the girl's chest. The girl was obscured by the leather woman in the camera, but her legs started to move frantically. After a big laugh, the dominatrix winded up for several strikes to her cranium. BAM. BAM. BAM. BAM. BAM. The victim's legs stopped moving. The girl had become an unrecognizable mess of brain matter and a pair of eyeballs, her brain matter scattered like Play-Doh. The girl was no more but a pool of blood.
A group of men and women surround the deceased body armed with knives, machetes, hacksaws, and other bladed weapons. One of the men decided to hack off one of the girl's breasts with a knife and starts eating it. But, the camera zooms in on the victim's head as one of the men start to grab the girl's corpse by the chin and proceeds to hack the neck off with an axe like a lumberjack and a tree. More blood spurted out of the neck stump.
After winding upwards, a strike finally severed the girl's spine attached to the head. The man grabbed the girl's head and showed it to the camera. This is something from Mortal Kombat. The girl's head had body parts hanging like a loose chain as I could see muscles, bones, and other features that were smashed from the violent beating. He then yanked apart the dangling parts and smashed the unattached eyeballs and brain matter on the ground with his foot shoe repeatedly like one would with a stubborn cockroach. They all popped like grapes and water balloons filled with blood. The once black shoe now became a red mess.
A user chatted:
DRINKBLEACH: My cack grew 16 inches without viagra. i havent fapped for days. worth the 'bate.
A user replied:
zZJizzZz: I always say a nuts a nut...dont matter how u get it as long as u get it
The camera then pans over to a row of pikes, each with a head on it. The man placed this new "trophy" on his wall. The camera then pans back to the pillar and the crew are seen hacking away bits of the body and placing it in plastic bags. The live stream then faded to black and I was sent back into the homepage. My mouth became dry and I became dizzy. I am starting to feel nauseous after watching that video. Hell is the right word to name the feelings I've conjured watching this site. How the fuck can someone not be disturbed and jack off to this? No, wait. How can anyone even be aroused by this!? I cringed internally.
I sure as HELL hope that Max Caulfield DOES NOT end up here.
The other link included "Video Clips," which is an archive of the live streams with a date below each clip. Each included a download button and a still of each video. I see images of someone getting his body being crushed by a truck with his innards flying out of their face, an image of a person who just lost their head, an image of a child with their head completely off, and an image of a girl with her head hacked off with a machete. I didn't dare to scroll down to see more. I ain't downloading or viewing any more of this shit. Nope, nope.
The third link on the sidebar, "Products," had multiple manuals and guides on how to perform these acts. They appeared to ranged from how to kidnap children undetected and how to make your own poisons, every sickfuck will have his, or her, day here. I felt like I needed to wash with bleach just after seeing these things.
The last link on the sidebar, "Commissions," was a forum where people could post their requests of people who should appear on the next live stream. These people would be kidnapped and tortured in front of a live audience in exchange for coins. The forum was arranged by post title, username, time posted, and replies. Most of the posts escaped my notice, but there was one that caught my eye. It was entitled: "Job in Prescott Valley, Nevada." The post was made eight hours ago by someone known as "Ajax", and there were five replies. I clicked on the page, which loaded in another tab. It read:
Job in Prescott Valley, Nevada
AJAX (10/9/2013 11:00 AM) : Hi, can you get rid of someone in Prescott Valley? He's a threat to me and my business. His family owns a restaurant there. Need him out of the picture, ASAP. Will transfer 200 Btc. on confirm.
ADMIN (10/9/2013 3:43 PM) : We would be happy to service your request. You should send us a photo and last known address and any other information that should expedite this transaction. We will ensure you that we can find the target or ask other information as necessary.
AJAX (10/9/2013 4:10 PM) : This is what the kid looks like [1 Attachment]. I never got the bastard's address, but I know he lives nearby the restaurant. How will this go down?
ADMIN (10/9/2013 4:43 PM) : We have ways of finding him: don't worry. Unless you have a special request, we will engineer a fake death and take him to our closest facility.
AJAX (10/9/2013 5:23 PM) : That's exactly how I want it. Can you get it done by this Friday?
ADMIN (10/9/2013 5:45 PM) : Killing is an art and we are masters. He will be gone by Friday, guaranteed. We'll do it on the live stream if you can foot the extra cost.
Please don't let it be... I then clicked on the attachment. Oh no! On the screen was an image of Hector staring directly at the camera while he was talking to me at the gas station. The camera was at an elevated position and Hector was looking at it while he was talking to me. A weight then was released from my chest. This is the gut feeling I had about him earlier. I don't know how these bastards got this photo, but if someone's out for his blood, I need to warn him!
Dios mio, what are the odds? What. Are. The. Odds.
I saved a copy of the photo and the post with the snipping tool on my desktop and G-mailed myself so I could have a copy of the photos on my phone. If he's still alive tomorrow, he needs to see these pictures.
I shut down the desktop as I got the mail received notification on my phone. My eyes were shut as I sighed. "I knew he was going to do something stupid."
Now I'm really going to lose my job!
End of Episode 1
Author's notes + Concept Art: /pX3fBLGa
Beta Reader: Nathan Jamie
Secrets of the Valley, Episode 2: "In Too Deep": Preview
I struggled to move. My body wouldn't allow me. Something, I didn't know what, was being torn apart in my body, like so much paper. I tried to take another step, but I realized these newly ripped muscles and tendons of mine left me feeling paralyzed.
A cough frees something from my throat. It splats, wet, onto the ground. Seeing it sends chills down my spine. The ground was red with blood, its telltale coppery smell filling my nose. I was dying.
My momentum is halted. I stumble, falling onto all fours. My eyesight, once colorful, begins to fade and dim. No! I can't let this...h-happen! I felt reverberations, for lack of a better word, in my bones and in my muscles. The pain of a thousand needles, a pain that overwhelmed every facet of myself. I cringed, and gritted my teeth harder still. Soon, I could taste blood.
I closed my eyes. Visions of the people who are close to me appear there: my Dad, my Mother, and my new friend. The good times that made us laugh. The sad times that made us cry: the memories I thought I'd get to one day look back upon were now fading away.
I hear my father's voice echo in my head. "Mi' hijo! How hard can you get hit and keep moving forward? How much can you take, and yet advance? Take those hits if you must, but get back up!"
Fuck yeah, you got that right.
An electric feeling jolts within my veins and muscles. It feels like I've been hit with a defibrillator, jolting me to life. My eyes widen as I stand: my body is ready. Burning tears cut tracks into my cheeks. I can see color again. The reverberations become the heartbeat of a lion. I must absorb this pain, and burn it as fuel for my journey. A journey through hell itself. Punch Satan in the 'nads! Feel hell? No, give 'em hell! I pounded the ground and stand up to continue. The words of Scripture echo in my mind now: "Yea, even though I walk through the valley of death, I fear no evil, for your rod and staff are by my side: they comfort me". I'm going to kill them all! VETE AL DIABLO!