Inside the Torture Hostel, Fingerling walked as his leather trenchcoat dusted the floor like a duster like he was in the old west or the Matrix. The paint was peeling and the carpet was stained with booze and love. He walked up to the torture receptionist, a cruel looking fat woman who was very dutch she had pigtails and was wearing those clothes that europeans wear.
"Torture hostels." Fingerling remarked "How I hate them, the Dutch who run these torture hostels. They are filled with beer and butter, I should like to roast them and eat them, their skin would become batter because they are so filled with beer and butter and perhaps their bloody guts and insides would become their jelly that I squeeze out so that it can cool because I don't want to burn my mouth."
The fat Dutch woman, filled with butter, schlopped her lips together. "Dabu, how may I helpen you shore?"
"Help me?" Fingerling said as he crunched his leather gloves together inside his fists, "How can you help me?" and then he leaned over and got all up in her grille. "You can help me by speaking American for one thing, you degenerate scum." Then he pulled out his penknife and stabbed her fat pudgy sausage fingered hand into the wood of the countertop and she squealed like a pig. Fingerling slapped her with his gloves and she spat out a tooth and blood as well.
"Meeshta, deesh is torture hostel, da? Dabu, you mushen make regishtry for to helpen maken me haven you gettin da big boomer. Mesa makin' you bombad general! Eesa you thinkin' you can walken in here, eesa you thinkin' yousa betta than the Dutch?"
"As a matter of fact, Fingerling growled while taking a long, slow drag off his cigarette, he looked really cool while doing it, "Yeah, I do." And then he headbutted the head of the woman and she fell unconscious on the ground and started a pool of blood on the ground. Fingerling bent over and dipped his fingers in the blood and tasted it. "Just what I thought," he said.
"Raspberry jam."
"TORTUREMEISTER!!!" he screamed and rang the bell on the counter. A man wearing a green hat with a feather in it walked in he also had on birkenstocks and was carrying beer steins in his hands. "I want some people to torture. This is a torture hostel, isn't it?"
"Dabu, disen be a torshure hoshtel, we be helpen you torshure all de promiscuous teenagers undt college kids you vant, da?" said the disgusting European as he stuffed his face full of chocolate cake.
"Heh." scoffed Fingerling, "If I want to kill teenagers and college kids, I can just go to the rave or the cabin in the woods. Don't you know who I am? I'm the horrible punishing superhero, driven by a dark personal past to find the truth, the truth about the number 23. I am Fingerling! Your hostel opened on the 23rd. You have 23 rooms in your hostel. 23 employees. 23 ways to kill a man, most of which cost upwards of 5,000 dollars per kill. 5000 divided by the date of your birth and added to the rising Aquarius is 46. 46 is 23 twice. 23 has two numbers in it, 2, 3. so far i've met two people in this torture hostel. Add me, and you get 3 people. 23."
"Daaaaa!" said the obnoxious fatso, "Oi did not rulise I had a sholebrity in mein housen, da? Cowme, meeshter Fingerling, ve shee you vish to have a speshul pippels for to torshure. You ken peek any froum my catalock, come." He pushed a catalogue of photographs of nubile young women and virile young men at Fingerling, pictures of the people you could buy and sell and torture at the torture hostel. There was the awkward virgin oh he'd love to bleed her to death and dance about in her spraying blood. There was the slut oh boy to carve her up like a thanksgiving turkey would be a delight. The jock, to slice off his monkey and gobble his pee-wees, how grand The nerd, he should like to cut out his eyes and solder the lenses of his nerdy glasses into his skull. But all that would have to wait until he was on vacation. He was here for business and not pleasure. "Sho, meeshter Fingerling. Whom vould you like to torshure, da?"
Fingerling smiled a smile you could see cause it was glowing from underneath his fedora which made his face totally black. He raised his arm and pointed at the fatty. "You."
Dutchy Mcfatterson, his eyes grew wide with terror and surprise.
---
Four hours of torture later the Torturemeister was hanging from his nipples, or what was left of them, a great big pile of guts and blood hanging from underneath him still attached to his gigantic tauntaun stomach. His horrid stench filled the air as he screamed and screamed a toothless scream cause Fingerling ripped out all his teeth.
"I dell you, eesh been yearsh shinse I sarve an Illiminatus!" he screamed, begging and pleading for mercy. "I do naw remember any such pippels in my torture hostel!"
"Oh-ho REEEEEE-HEEEE-HEEEEEEEEEAAAA-LLY?" Fingerling grinned dementedly. After four hours of this the Torturemeister knew what was coming next, any time he became Jim Carrey his tortures became even more horrid
Jim Carrey slapped the Torturemeister in the face so hard he swung around like a spinny jenny from the meat hook stabbing his whale underbelly of a body. "You look a mite peckish!" said Fingerling, donning a metal mask that looked like a bird. As the Torturemeister spun around, Fingerling pecked out his eyes with the bird beak on his face, using his rubbernecked talents to a great and bloody effect.
The Torturemeister was screaming but nobody could hear him. He was trapped in his own torture hostel being tortured by the instruments of torture that he himself had approved, with the soundproof torture cells unable to reach anyone's ears outside.
To complete his pun, Fingerling started stuffing great gobs of chocolate cake down the bloodied throat of the Torturemeister while laughing maniacally. The cake passed down his esophagus and then spilled on the ground cause his stomach had been severed and was lying on the floor.
"I don't remember! I don't remember!" he screamed.
"Oh I'm sure you remember." Fingerling scowled. "I'm sure it's at the back of your mind somewhere."
"No! No! No!" the Torturemeister yelled, horrified cuz he knew what was gonna happen now.
Fingerling took a chisel and a claw hammer and he broke apart the back of the Torturemeister's skull, leaving his pulsing ugly brain exposed to the air. The Torturemeister quivered and sputtered.
"What's that?" Fingerling said "I couldn't understand you."
"Doo... brazers..." "ENGLISH!!!" "Bra--Brathers... Illum...inati... Gobern...Gobernersh... Veelage, veelage ouf Vox." "ENGLISH, MOTHERFUCKER, DO YOU SPEAK IT?" "VEELAGE OUF V--V--OOUAAAAXX!!!"
Fingerling rewarded the Torturemeiester for his cooperation by punching his brain into vapor. The corpse swang on the meathooks and said no more.
The Village of Wax. He had heard of it before, rumor had it that it was a fantasy kingdom ruled by two insane but genius brothers who lived in a House of Wax and kidnapped teenagers and college kids to populate their town, turning them into wax statues filled with meat and bones. They must have put an order in to the torture hostel to get a few new kids. A quick check of the Torture Registry back in the fat woman's reception office would tell him the location of the village. So, they were followers of the Illuminati? That explained how they got enough money to run an entire village of Autons, but why were they making wax college kids? He had seen enough of the followers of Baron Latos to know that they were steeped in spooky voodoo stuff, who knows what nefarious they have planned for their army of dead guys?
"Thanks for the help, brother." Fingerling scoffed and without looking at the suspended body gave it a playful pat on the back. He lit a cigarette, took a drag, and then tossed it behind him. The room burst into flames. He walked through the smoky corridors of the hostel as the fire destroyed everything around him. He could hear the screams of the kids stuck in the torture cells, and of their torturerers who were stuck cause you have to kill someone before the hostel lets you out, it's the rules. Fingerling had killed someone. The hostel opened its doors to him and he walked in slow motion into the cool air of day. Behind him, the torture hostel exploded.