Chapter One: The Auction
"The will to win, the desire to succeed, the urge to reach your full potential...these are the keys that will unlock the door to personal excellence."
- Confucius
Konrad drummed his gloved fingers against the car door of the stretch limo, staring through the tinted window at other passing vehicles in thoughtful silence.
How long had it been since he went outside in the sun? How long had it been since he just decided to go for a drive, let alone take a walk, just for the pleasure of being able to go anywhere he wanted?
'Must have been close to twenty years,' he thought wistfully.
As an expensive Jaguar passed, a sudden feeling of nostalgia swept over him.
He remembered how in his youth he was a dashing and impetuous teenager, taking his father's cars out for a drive through Ravensburg, much to the chagrin of Jurgen's father.*
He vividly recalled how as a boy he used to love playing hide and seek in the forest with Jurgen.
Since the worsening of his condition, however, Konrad found himself a prisoner in his own home, unable to go outside for fear of being spotted and photographed. Even though the castle was isolated, with no neighbouring houses or villages for miles, surrounded by mountains and forests, he could never channel the courage to take a stroll through the woods. Hell, he couldn't even bring himself to step out into his back garden for fear of stumbling upon some nosy villager, reporter or some damn guard on patrol.
'How ironic,' Konrad thought bitterly.
His castle mansion was renowned for having the best security systems money could buy, perfect for keeping everyone out, but the very same security systems and personnel prevented Konrad from doing the very things he longed for, keeping him confined to both the damn wheelchair and to certain sections inside the mansion itself, further entrenching those feelings of being a prisoner.
He used to love playing hide and seek as a child. How like Fate to take the thing he loved and make it into something he hated; all he ever did nowadays was hide.
"Is everything alright, Herr Baron?" his chauffeur Heinrich, a blonde man in an old-fashioned uniform complete with breeches, a black double-breasted coat and matching chauffeur cap, asked in German.
Konrad grunted. "Just wondering."
"About what, sir?"
"Time, Heinrich," he sighed. "Time, and where it all went. I find everything so unrecognizable nowadays. I find it hard to believe this was the same city that I used to visit when I was a boy."
"You should feel proud, Baron," he heard Dieter speak up. "If it wasn't for you and your work with Ultratech, none of this would have been possible. You've done some incredible things."
Konrad sighed. "And yet, part of me can't help feeling regret."
"What's there to regret, Baron? You made a shit-ton of money. Your business is booming. We now have technologies that we never had before-"
"And yet," the Baron interrupted, "I can't help thinking about the cost of everything, Dieter. With these technological strides come new problems. New unforeseen consequences. Various companies are now coming up with new creative ways to fuck the other one over for the sake of a dollar and to claim the other's resources, and Ultratech is doing everything it can to just survive the tide, but one of these days, we might not be so lucky. And that's not even thinking about the potential consequences on the environment itself. The pollution. But even worse, even after all these technological innovations, even with all of the money that I was able to make, I am still no closer to finding a cure." Turning his hooded head, he glanced at his bodyguard. "Tell me, Dieter...do you think the world would have been different had I not been to Nepal? If I had not made that...discovery? Do you think the world could have been...better? Was I wrong in what I had done?"
Konrad watched as Dieter considered the question for a moment, his head tilted to the side. Finally, he shrugged. "I have no idea, Baron. Good or bad, that's just the nature of the beast, the cost of doing business. Everything comes with a price, Baron."
The Baron quietly digested what was said, the limo silent.
Beside Konrad sat his three bodyguards Lawrence, Michael, and Roger. Dressed in black with their eyes concealed by reflector sunglasses, the men looked like they were carved from stone.
Opposite Konrad sat his loyal right-hand man, friend, and bodyguard Dieter, a slim but tall American of indeterminate age with dark slicked-back hair, dressed in a grey suit with matching overcoat, black sunglasses, shirt, tie and shoes, silently brushing his equally grey broad brimmed fedora. A habitual gambler and womanizer, Dieter had first met Konrad at Las Vegas when he was in his twenties. The former had intervened on the latter's behalf by exposing the dodgy tactics of certain casino players, resulting in the Baron not only getting his money back but also said-players being permanently banned. Unfortunately, the people called out took issue with Dieter's interference and had decided to repay him by ambushing him in a parking lot late at night when no one was around. It was only through Konrad's intervention that he was able to survive the experience. Since then, the two became inseparable.
Overhead, hovercars buzzed around noisily like giant flies.
"You do realize that if we had one of those, we could have gotten from Ravensburg to Austria in less than 5 hours, sir?" Heinrich said, gesturing to the vehicles flying above.
"Hover cars require a pilot's license, Heinrich, which you don't have," Konrad explained. "Even more, if we were to get into an accident, chances are more than likely that we wouldn't survive."
"Bah, I could ace that test, no problem!" He proclaimed.
"You're barely tolerable even on the ground," Konrad said humorously as he pulled a laptop from a bag next to his bodyguard Michael.
Heinrich smirked.
"Everyone be quiet, the meeting is about to begin," Konrad said in English and German as he set up the computer on his lap.
Once he had Internet connection, he thoroughly checked his security and encryption settings, then the firewall, making certain that everything was in working order and that nothing allowed for some little shithead hacker to get into his system, let alone his corporation's. The last thing he wanted was for some rival or whoever to broadcast this meeting to the rest of the world. Once he was satisfied, Konrad taped a small piece of cloth over the laptop's camera at the top of the monitor, then activated the vid-screen, watching the monitor as it flickered, revealing a group of men and women in a white room surrounding a massive oval table.
"Ah, Guten Tag, mein freunds!" Konrad greeted.
"Good morning, Mr. Chairman," everyone greeted from the screen.
"Is everyone here?" he asked in English. "I can see the windows for Cairo, Britain, Spain, Sweden, Russia, our American friends, but I don't see some of the other branches. Oh, there's Mexico and the South American branch. Africa's now arrived, but where's Tokyo and Hong-ah! There they are. Good to see you, gentlemen."
"Ah, Mr. Chairman!" A familiar low voice with a crisp Queen's English accent said through the speaker. Konrad glanced back to the main window as David Kellog, Chief Operating Officer of Ultratech, entered the room smiling at the screen, "I am so glad to hear from you!"
A partially bald, eagle-faced man dressed in a nice navy suit, even on a tiny screen monitor Konrad could tell how fake the little bastard was.
'I hope you get piles,' he thought venomously. 'Big, lumpy melons dangling from your ass!'
"David!" He greeted in a cheerful and enthusiastic tone. "My goodness, it's been such a long time! How's the family?"
David laughed. "Yes, everything is well, thank you!"
"I understand your son has managed to become a successful millionaire already! A YouTuber, if I'm not mistaken?"
David nodded, looking a little uncomfortable. "Uh, yes. It's not something that I'd have chosen for him personally, but with that being said, he has managed to make ten million dollars by playing that competitive horror shooter "Forever Nights" in less than a month."
'I REALLY hope you get piles,' Konrad thought nastily.
"He's on the leadership boards as we speak. Before that, he had made only two million."
'Oh fuck off!' Konrad thought. 'I hope you, your two-faced bitch of a wife Janet and that creepy cross-eyed brat of yours all get horribly sick and die.'
"The only thing stopping my boy from earning 50 million is A Dead Rat."
Konrad raised a brow, then looked to the other people in the stretch limo questioningly in puzzlement, wondering if they knew what the man was talking about. All gave him equally perplexed looks, with Dieter shrugging.
"I beg your pardon?" he asked, uncertain if he had heard correctly.
"That's the username of the top player - "A Dead Rat"," David explained. "He's always one step ahead."
"Ah. Well, such is the way of the world," Konrad replied.
"Unfortunately," David agreed as he started to put on his spectacles. "By the way, we seem to be having some issues with your video feed."
"What do you mean?"
"We can hear you, but you're not showing up on the monitor."
"Bah, the camera's busted," Konrad lied.
"Do you need help? I can get someone on the line from the IT department to come figure out-"
"Nein, nein. I should be fine," he interrupted, watching as Kellog stared hard at the monitor.
"Are you communicating on a secure channel?" he asked with concern.
"I'm not stupid, David," Konrad said with irritation. "I may have been ill, but I'm not invalid."
David bowed his head. "I apologize, Mr. Chairman. May I reiterate on the behalf of Ultratech how good it is to finally hear your voice again after all this time. Last we heard about your condition you had lost your voice, hadn't you?"
Konrad shifted in discomfort. "I had...for some months," he answered. "But...with a little help I managed to get it back quite recently."
"Splendid!" David exclaimed with a forced smile. "Hopefully this will be one of many steppingstones towards your full recovery."
'Go fuck yourself,' Konrad thought as the bald prick picked up a stack of papers on the desk in front of him.
"Before we start, I want to remind everyone to have all cellphones and pagers turned off immediately. I cannot stress enough the importance of confidentiality and the sensitive nature of our work; just last week some half-wit over at Charleton Industries accidentally broadcasted to the rest of the world delicate and compromising company information. Great news for us," he said with a smile as a few Board members laughed. "But not so great for the fool responsible."
The smile dropped instantly.
"We cannot afford such screw-ups. I'll give you all a moment for you to do what needs to be done."
Konrad looked to everyone in the limousine, then nodded, watching as they all took out their cellphones and shut them down.
"Now, ladies and gentlemen," David said as he adjusted his spectacles, handing several sheets to the rest of the table, "if no one has anything to say or announce, we'll start reviewing today's agenda - we have a lot of material to get through. We'll start off with the Applied Sciences/Research and Development, then follow that up with Finances, and then Entertainment. Our first item concerns the UA-CCIX "Kilgore" heavy assault android unit. As all of you may know, the project's leader Dr. Kilgore was killed while they were running diagnostic tests on its chaingun forearms. Due to the hazardous nature of the machine, the project has been put on hold until further notice."
"Can anyone explain why those are even a feature?" One of the women asked.
"Mjolnir Initiative guidelines," David explained.
"'Mjolnir Initiative'?"
Konrad rolled his eyes while David frowned in her direction.
"You'll have to forgive Carol, Mr. Kellog," a man said beside her. "She's new here. She's from Finances."
He nodded in understanding.
"In that case, Carol, I'll give you a very quick and brief history lesson. In order to understand this curious design, you have to appreciate the decisions that led up to that point. Combat androids have been around since the early 2000s. Nimble and efficient in both armed and unarmed combat, they proved to be of tremendous value to militaries around the globe."
"Quick and brief, David," Konrad reminded impatiently.
"Unfortunately, it had been found that various militias, terrorist organizations and guerilla groups would intentionally target them in order to gain access to the firearms that they were supplied with, which in turn caused quite a stir among the public."
"Oh dear."
"Yes," David nodded, "and since nobody at the company wants to be accused of supplying these groups, an executive decision was made. Thus, the Mjolnir Initiative was decreed, the purpose being to create combat androids with built-in weaponry that would inconvenience the enemy and prevent the potential armament of such organizations, which is why current android models have such unique features such as firearms mounted on the forelimbs, self-destruct mechanisms, laser weaponry from the eyes with modular settings that ranged from stun to causing severe burns..."
"Ahh, now I see."
"Can we get back to the issue at hand, please?" Konrad demanded. "We're wasting very valuable time."
"Yes, Mr. Chairman."
"Now, this Kilgore android, what's wrong with it exactly?" one of the Board members asked.
"It suffers from a severe overheating issue that causes it to catch fire due to its archaic combustion engine," a woman from the R and D Department explained.
"Are we liable for a potential lawsuit?" Konrad asked.
"Fortunately no, Mr. Chairman," David responded. "We've had our legal department review all of the data concerning Dr. Kilgore and the incident itself. From all indications, he was the one at fault, not us. The man had recklessly disregarded protocol - he had already been warned several times regarding the dangers of running diagnostics with live ammunition. Hell, we had to revoke his security clearance because of the man's erratic behavior."
"If his clearance had been revoked," Konrad said slowly, "then why is he dead? How did he get in?"
"Apparently he had stolen an intern's ID card."
"Ah. I suppose that compensation has been issued to Kilgore's family?" Konrad asked concernedly.
"Well, yes," David answered, "although I'd say it's too generous."
'Always were a class-act, weren't you, David?' Konrad thought with contempt. "What's the status of the machine?"
"As of this moment it's been secured in storage," said the woman from R and D.
"Why don't we replace the engine?"
"We could try to, but in all honesty it would only incur further expenses, especially if we were to find the appropriate engines that can guarantee better performance."
"Is the project salvageable at all?"
The woman sighed. "In my honest opinion, no."
"There's no way we can still use the Kilgore android?"
"Not unless you want the machines to explode and have a mountain of lawsuits filed against you by grieving soldiers' families, Mr. Chairman."
Konrad blinked. "What do you mean by "machines"? How many units were built?"
"A few hundred."
Konrad tightened his gloved hands into fists, resisting the urge to punch through the monitor. As the leather tightened around his knuckles, he growled.
He watched as the people on the screen glanced to one another questioningly.
"Where's that coming from?"
"Whose dog is that?!"
"Is that from your end?"
"My end? I don't have a dog!"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Chairman, but someone's pet seems to have snuck into where they are and is now growling into the microphone," David explained.
"I have ears, David!" Konrad snapped. Inhaling through his nostrils, he got his temper down as best he could.
"Whoever that is," he said with clenched teeth, "take your pet out of the room. If it's not someone's pet, then please shut down whatever TV set, YouTube video, phone or sound effects board you are watching. This is a business meeting, not the Discovery Channel."
Once everyone settled down, David looked into the screen.
"I am so sorry about that Mr. Chairman."
"Let's just continue."
David bent his head down in embarrassment.
"Can someone tell me how it's possible that a hundred units were even made when we're still trying to build one working prototype?" Konrad muttered.
"The others were outsourced and mass manufactured by a company in India at reduced costs."
"One of our shell companies?"
"Naturally."
Konrad sighed. Perhaps the damage wouldn't be as bad as he thought.
"How much is this going to cost us?"
Mitchel Sacket, the Chief Financial Officer, spoke from the corner, "We're still running the numbers, but our best estimates are in the low ten million range, if not less."
Damn. Even though the worst case scenario was only a few million, Konrad was still annoyed at such a loss. Every bit of currency mattered, especially for him. What especially annoyed him, though, was that this fuckup was allowed to even happen in the first place. Someone should have caught on, and he didn't know whether to pin it entirely on Kilgore or not. He mentally reminded himself to review the data concerning personnel later. Someone was going to be fired.
"How would you like to proceed, Mr. Chairman?" David asked.
He thought for a moment.
"We scrap the project," Konrad decided. "Decommission the units and send all but one to the scrapheap."
"Why do you want to save one?"
Konrad shrugged. "I like to think there's something of potential value that we might learn from for reference in future combat models."
"And if it doesn't?"
"Then we'll have another piece to add to Ultratech's museum collection, something to honor Kilgore's memory," Konrad said thoughtfully. "Personally, I think it would look nice somewhere next to the decommissioned Hercules combat mech."
"We'll put it to a vote. All those in favor of the Chairman's proposition?"
Everyone raised their hands.
"All against?"
No one opposed.
"Very well," David nodded, "although we'll still need to find something to fill that void left behind by the Kilgore project."
"All in good time, David. We'll discuss the possibilities during our next meeting," Konrad replied.
David looked back to the list.
"As you wish. Moving on, item two. It's been brought to my attention, Mr. Chairman, that you've seconded one of our geneticists, one Dr. Erin Gupte, along with vast amounts of lab equipment and personnel to your home, among other things."
"Indeed. I have been making alterations to my castle to best accommodate them."
"May I ask why?"
"Due to the sensitive nature of their work along with there being evidence of a possible mole, I felt it best to have them kept under close observation by my men and by myself personally."
"Oh for goodness sake, Konrad, you're not on that again!"
"Someone had been close to transmitting information about those clinical trials in hair products to an encrypted outside source."
"And we caught the one responsible!" David protested. "We had him arrested and tried."
"Ja, but until we know for certain that he had no accomplice, I'm not going to risk it," Konrad said firmly.
'That, plus it would allow me to use my company's resources in treating my condition,' he thought.
He watched as David's lips tensed.
"Fine," he answered. Konrad's ears twitched as he heard the man mutter about him being paranoid.
"Moving on, item three concerns cybernetic implants. I'll let Director Cho fill you all in on the details. Take it way, Sean."
Thirty minutes later...
"And finally, Mr. Chairman, our last item concerns your...program," David said in distaste.
Konrad sighed.
As a young man, Konrad vigorously exercised both his body and mind in the hopes of staving off his condition. At the recommendation of Jurgen, he took up martial arts, studying boxing, karate and capoeira. However, as he got better in martial arts, the more competitive Konrad became. The more he practiced, the more he craved the opportunity to fight a worthy opponent, for there was something empowering in using his own body as a weapon and moving it in ways one would have never anticipated. He remembered the raw satisfaction he had felt when he did his first cartwheel, the elation he had experienced when he did his first backspin, and the joy of his first somersault. Even greater was the sensation he had experienced when he used this knowledge to win a fight, in being able to outmatch, outsmart and overpower an opponent.
He felt free in a way he never had experienced before.
Free from his worries, free from the laws of gravity.
He felt superhuman.
Even more, he felt happy.
However, happiness came at a price. Even though he had participated in numerous martial arts competitions, winning a number of gold trophies, much to his satisfaction, he couldn't get enough of it. Whether it was due to the competitive streak, an addictive personality, some atavistic part of him brought out by his affliction, his ego or something else altogether, Konrad sought competition wherever he could find it, often in seedy underground fight clubs and street fights. When images of him cropped up on the internet, problems started to emerge for Konrad.
1994
"Do you realize what this could mean for the company?" David said to Konrad in his office at the time.
"Oh come on, David."
"Don't "come on David" me, Konrad, there are photos of you in that fight club online! Even more, there are videos of you!"
"And if you look carefully they also have photos and videos of Michael Jackson doing the foxtrot with George Bush and a skunk, along with videos of Jean Claude Van Damme in bed with a goat on Mars. So what?"
""So what"?! Konrad, criminal charges could be filed!"
"For what? I haven't done anything wrong. Really, David, you shouldn't believe everything you hear on the internet. There is such a thing as "Photoshop", "photo manipulation", "3d animation" and "video editing software"."
"Konrad, I know all about your little dalliances with those types of places, so let's cut the bullshit, alright?" David said sternly. "The only reason why I don't report you to the authorities is because we have been friends for a long time. If you continue with this, I won't be able to protect you from the potential scandal this will spell for you and the company. The Board of Directors will not take kindly to the notion that the CEO is a pugilist thug and will vote you off. I advise you to think long and hard."
Konrad was silent for a moment, then lifted his eyes to his.
"Is that all?" he asked quietly.
"Yes."
"Good," Konrad whispered, then slowly started to raise his voice. "Because I want to let you know, David, that I don't take kindly to threats. How dare you insult me, ME, Baron Konrad Von Sabrewulf, of something so common and unbecoming of my character and rank?! If it wasn't for the fact that we're friends I'd not only fire you from MY company and sue you for every miserable cent that you have for these grotesque and slanderous allegations, but I'd also ensure that nobody would ever hire you again due to the muck on your reputation! Two can play this game, David, and between us I think you know who the clear winner is going to be. Don't. Fuck. With. Me."
"You're not the only one with friends," David growled.
"Not in the high places as I do. One thing you fail to understand is that when you get into a fight with a member of the Sabrewulf family, you better be prepared for a fight, because a Sabrewulf will go after you with everything they got to the bitter end no matter the odds, tooth and claw. That has been the family motto and way since the Middle Ages, David, and will continue to be with my dying breath - "Tooth and claw", mein freund. Tooth and fucking claw," he spat.
The two men stared each other down, their jaws tightened and eyes narrowed.
"You want an answer? You'll get one," Konrad said. "Tomorrow I'll issue a press conference to address these foul rumors, now get out of my home, I'm going to call my attorney to fill him in on the details of what is actually going on."
David stormed off as Konrad picked up the phone on his desk.
Through his various connections, Konrad was able to quash the allegations made against him. Realizing the potential danger of being discovered again, the potential for blackmail and the very real possibility of his not being so lucky a second time round with the law, he had racked his brain for an answer when he had an epiphany. Thus, the Killer Instinct tournament was born, a no-holds-barred martial arts pay-per-view program that was both televised and streamed live on the internet, personally established, hosted and indulged by Konrad himself. That was, until his condition started to manifest itself more prominently in his mid-thirties/early forties, at which point he had to pass off his responsibilities as host to another.
"What do you wish to discuss about the program, David?" Konrad asked.
"As you are aware, ratings haven't exactly been stellar these last few months, and with the copyright expiration date coming up, the Board members and I are wondering what to expect," he explained. "Should we file for a renewal at the Copyright Office, or is this a dead duck?"
"I suggest we wait until the results come in," Konrad answered. He then smirked. "We have planned a very special final episode for this season tonight that will knock the ratings board out of the park."
"Oh good. Care to fill us in?"
"I'd prefer to not spoil the surprise," he teased. "I'm keeping it close to the chest, as you say."
"Mr. Chairman," David said impatiently. "Now isn't the time for games."
"Calm yourself, mein freund. I'm well aware of the consequences should it not pan out. All I ask is for the Board's continued patience and for you all to see the program at nine o'clock tonight."
He heard murmurs throughout the room on his laptop.
"Very well," David said as he took of his glasses and gathered his things, "and that concludes our meeting, ladies and gentlemen. We'll send you all an email confirming the next appointment date, and if it doesn't fit with any of your schedules please let us know so that we can best accommodate you. Have a good day, everyone."
Konrad deactivated everything, then shut down his monitor. Closing it on his lap, he looked to the others.
"So, gentlemen, what did you think?" he asked.
"Meh, I wasn't paying attention for the most part," Dieter admitted, "although that bit about how his kid was making millions off of video games kind of makes me sick to think about."
The other men grunted in agreement.
"Does it make you want a career change? Just think, Dieter, all you'd have to do is sit on your ass all day and twiddle your thumbs on a thumbstick. The only downside is that you'll have to compete with 'A Dead Rat,'" Konrad said amusedly.
Dieter tilted his head in mock contemplation.
"Hn, that is quite the dilemma. You've really put me in a tight spot, Baron. Decisions, decisions," he said, then shrugged. "Fuck it, I think I'll stick with the dog I know."
Konrad glared as he and the other men laughed, but let the remark slide.
"It's not "dog"," he corrected bitterly. "It's "devil"."
The stretch limousine stopped in front of the auction house. People watched nonchalantly as the driver stepped out from the vehicle along with four other men from the back, walked over to the rear and opened the trunk, removing a collapsible wheelchair from within. Once the chair was set up, they rolled it to the right toward the passenger section at the back facing the auction house itself, then opened the car door. The men reached in and carefully carried out the sixth figure from the limo, a strange person with a short though wide frame. Clad in a long black overcoat, the person's features were concealed beneath a hood, a pair of sunglasses and a scarf, while a blanket was draped around his legs and feet. Grunting with exertion, the men plopped him into the wheelchair, then straightened themselves up.
"I'll pick you up when you finished, Herr Konrad," the driver called as the four men wheeled him up the ramp and into the auction house.
Inside people conversed and laughed amongst themselves while being served drinks by service androids as the strange group entered the large hallway, briefly stopping to cast odd glances at the cloaked wheelchair-bound figure. Rounding to the left, the men entered the auditorium, the sounds of conversation cacophonous, echoing off the walls. A small dog that was sitting contentedly and quietly in a well-dressed woman's arms several aisles away startled everyone as it suddenly lifted itself up, barking loudly and ferociously with teeth bared at the wheelchair-bound figure as he passed by and rolled toward the stage at the front.
"Quiet, Gustav!" The woman scowled in German, shocked by the animal's behavior.
"What the devil is the matter with him?" her husband asked.
"I don't know," she said as she tried shushing the dog.
"Can you shut that damn thing up, please?" another man asked in annoyance. "I'm on the phone with someone!"
"I'm sorry, but something's really upset him."
"You shouldn't have taken your bloody dog along," a woman behind them hissed.
"I assure you, my dog has never acted like this in his entire life! He's usually quiet, well-behaved and very friendly!" The woman insisted.
"Madam, please take that dog out of the building or else I will call security," the bid caller said into a microphone.
Both man and woman got up from their seats, their faces cast down in embarrassment as they left the auditorium with their still furiously barking pet. Meanwhile, the wheelchair-bound figure and his colleagues settled by the foot of the stage as it began.
Konrad watched the auction with mild disinterest as the auctioneer showcased the first batch of items.
Although there was a wonderful collection with a wide range, from exotic jewelry, paintings, Grecian amphoras, kouros statues and Roman imitations to African tribal art and Ming vases, nothing had really captured the Baron's interest. Flurries of hands reached into the air as they made higher and higher bids, but he tuned them out.
Sighing, he turned to look over at Dieter to indicate to him and the others that they were leaving when he was overcome by a very strange sensation, a pull toward the stage. Glancing up, he stared at the object now on display.
It was an exceptionally ugly piece, a crudely made clay mask with two gaping eyeholes, a squat, barely existent nose that had gaping nostrils and an open mouth devoid of a lower jaw. Along the sides of the mask were what seemed to be stylized hair pieces or representations of hair made from gilded gold and copper that were overlaid on top of each other, the latter patinated from age. Positioned at the top of the mask were two opposite-facing crescent structures that rested against a patinated triangle, their backs spaced about two to three inches apart.
Konrad gave the structures a onceover.
They appeared to represent either crescent moons or horns, although he was uncertain which. Connecting the two crescent moons together at the top was a ring or a handle, possibly representing the moon, but a noticeable part of said-ring was chipped.
At a glance, it was just an ugly and unremarkable-looking ritual mask.
However, as Konrad listened to the bid caller, the more curious he became; not only were the crescents and ring made from bone, but according to the description pamphlet and the caller, the entire section of clay that composed the artifact's "face" had been overlaid with human skin.
Dubbed the "Mask of the Ancients", the artifact's pedigree was less than certain. The bid caller said that it was possibly Mesopotamian due to the gold and copper, with the representations of the three moons having connection to the goddess Innana and the moon god Suen, while the patinated triangle represented Enki, the god of magic. The main face, however, either represented Ereshkigal, the goddess of the underworld, or her fearsome husband Nergal, though it was uncertain as to which. Due to the uncertainty surrounding the mask, Konrad noted how the other buyers were less than enthused about the item as they whispered their disdain to each other.
'Good,' he thought. Less chance of there being a hassle.
Konrad's hand twitched in anticipation as the auctioneer began to ask for bids.
"Of all the things to buy, Konrad, why did you have to get that?" Dieter asked with disgust in the limo.
"I take it you're not a fan, Dieter?" Konrad asked in English.
"Hell no, it gives me the creeps," the bodyguard replied
"I didn't realize that you were so easily spooked by mere trinkets," Konrad said in amusement.
"Look at it. Who the hell would want that as their mantelpiece?"
Konrad sighed as he glanced down to his latest purchase in his hands.
"It really is ugly, isn't it?" he laughed.
"So why did you buy it?" Dieter pressed.
Konrad frowned.
"It is hard to explain," he said slowly. "When the bid caller showcased this I-I felt something. I can't explain it."
"Maybe it was magic." Came the sarcastic response.
"It's true, Dieter. It was like I was drawn to it. I just felt this urge to buy it."
The bodyguard gave him a concerned and doubtful look, then glanced to the other men.
"Was it worth eight thousand euros?"
Konrad growled.
"If it wasn't for that little bastard who kept driving up the price every time I made a bid I would have gotten it at a cheaper price," he said bitterly.
"So what are you going to do with it, Herr Baron?" Michael asked.
He shrugged.
"Probably have it as a paperweight on my office desk," he said. "I wonder if I can still get a tax deduction from this. Remind me later to consult someone who specializes in this sort of thing."
Konrad's ears perked up as the ringtone for a cell phone went off, then watched as Dieter pulled it out from his pant pocket and raised it to his ear.
"Yes?" he answered. "Uh huh? Alright. Yeah, I'll let him know."
Placing a hand to the speaker, Dieter looked over to Konrad.
"I have good news - my contact was able to get the items you were looking for," he said.
"Excellent. Tell Mr. Ferris that he'll get the rest of his money," Konrad replied.
Taking his hand away, Dieter resumed.
"Same place as last time?" he asked. "Okay, got it. I'll meet you at six. Don't be late."
As Dieter hung up, Konrad placed the ugly mask back into its brown cardboard box and handed it to Michael.
"Take me to work, Heinrich. I have some documents to sign."
The call has come at last. For eons it had waited at the bottom of the ocean floor. Unable to sleep, unable to dream or die, it merely lied there, waiting. It had searched endlessly throughout the centuries, but on every occasion, its efforts were foiled, forcing it back into stasis until the call would come again. Schools of fish darted away in panic as it stirred, causing mud and debris to form a thick dark cloud.
"Can you turn on the radio, Heinrich?" Konrad called from the back.
"Jawohl," the driver said as music came on. "Anything specific you want to hear, Herr Baron?"
"The news channel, if you please."
Chopin melted into disco, then faded into rap, then shifted into Justin Bieber, causing Konrad to curl his lip in disgust before shifting again to a news anchorwoman talking about weather forecasts, then a political scandal involving a New York Mayor, prostitutes and millions of dollars in cocaine. One news item talked about stocks and trades, while another talked about the discovery of a very large and unusually shaped turnip, which caused some of the men in the limo to raise eyebrows and laugh in amusement.
Konrad shifted his attention back outside, to the cityscape and the various billboards and holographic displays in neon. One particular billboard caught his eyes as the limo passed it.
"Ultratech - Looking to the Past to Preserve the Future."
Konrad smirked beneath his scarf. He couldn't have thought of a better slogan for his company. Hell, it was a perfect slogan for himself.
The news items blurred into each other, causing him to tune out, until one particular item made him lift his head with a start.
"In other news, tensions are on the rise in Tibet following the attack on a Tibetan monastery. According to officials, several monks were brutally beaten by a man in a ski mask after he had purportedly stolen some holy relics and sacred texts. The men are now hospitalized and under intensive care. Witnesses were unable to give a clear description."
Konrad's frame stiffened, his stomach churning as the woman rambled on the radio.
"Are you okay, Herr Baron?" Heinrich called.
"Nein," he said. "Turn it off."
Obeying, the limousine became dead silent.
"I thought you said the man was a professional."
"He is," Dieter replied.
"Then what the hell was that?!" Konrad roared. "He attacked Tibetan monks!"
"I'll find out everything I can as soon as I meet with him. For all we know we're jumping to conclusions and it wasn't him," the bodyguard assured.
"I want to be there."
Dieter gave him a hard look.
"I strongly advise against it," he said. "It is a dangerous neighborhood, Baron, full of homeless people and gang activity. There are no CCTVs. The police there are known to turn a blind eye and are bloody corrupt. Once you go in, you are at their mercy. These are the kind of folk who would not think twice about hurting a man in a wheelchair."
"Then I'll go without it."
The bodyguard growled in exasperation.
"Baron, please!" he appealed. "People could still take photos of you on their cellphones, and if they do people will start asking very uncomfortable questions! This will find its way to the Board!"
"They'll not know that it's me, not in this attire," Konrad said. "As far as everyone is concerned, Baron Von Sabrewulf is a cripple unable to move from his seat. They're not going to expect him walking about now, are they? That's why for the purpose of anonymity you'll call me Newton."
Dieter sighed. "Fine," he said, "but you'll follow my instructions down to the letter."
Konrad gave a nod, then turned looked in Heinrich's direction. "Take us to the Pit."
*Author's Note: Shoutout to 10868letsgo for her suggestion and idea. Thank you so much! :)