"Which fingers do I want to take?"

Jørn's repressed and tightly wound anxiety snapped. He yelled out at that, standing up so brashly that his chair kicked out from behind him and toppled over. The upswing of energy in the room was evident in everyone. The way they stood, the way they looked on. Some of the Twin's men were completely unfazed by what they anticipated, enjoyed it even. Others endured it.

For Nor, the fear on Jørn's face made him feel a sympathy and affection for the man, but he felt no conflict. He didn't question that Jørn might not deserve this. He was getting exactly what he signed up for.

The Twin's fingers curled under, and Jørn felt his hand fastened in a viselike grip.

"No, don't! I'm going to pay you, I'm going to pay you!" Jørn yelled desperately. He fought, vigorously pulling back from the Twin, but the Twin didn't appear to have to exert any spare effort to keep Jørn from freeing himself.

"I expect you to pay me," the Twin warned. He squeezed Jørn's hand, turning it easily so that Jørn was forced to bend to the Twin's movement. The Twin heard Jørn's immediate response by means of a sharp inhalation, and then he seemed to choke on the air. Jørn tried to resist the pain that instantly pierced his joint in a way that felt very, very wrong, and to stop his wrist from being contorted, he urgently dropped to his knees.

This was where humanity slipped away, and animality overtook.

Nor had once heard the Twin say that violence was, on occasion, an unfortunate necessity. He once claimed to dislike violence. Nor deeply suspected that this was not true.

Looking down at Jørn, who gasped and winced, broke into a cold sweat, the Twin calmly held Jørn's hand so that Jørn's fingers were extended in an array. Their hands were warm. Jørn's, warmer.

Jørn couldn't tell if it was his position that made it impossible to move his fingers, if he was too out of his mind with mad panic, or if the pressure of the Twin's grip had cut off his circulation so that his fingers couldn't move.

The Twin looked analytically at the fingers, as though they might tell him something. Did he want to take his index finger, so that he would never again point with it? Or the middle finger, so that he could never insult someone with it? The ring finger, which was the weakest finger. His pinky, which might not be too difficult to recuperate from. Or his thumb, so his right hand would no longer have opposable function?

The Twin appeared focused, humming quietly, thoughtfully, as he brought the knife nearer to Jørn's fingers. In contrast, Jørn was creating a lot of noise. He was whimpering and squirming, still pulling back on his arm, like a mouse with its paw caught in a trap. He could no longer feel his hand. He pled mindlessly, but the Twin was beyond negotiation.

Amidst his frenetic scrambling, none of the onlookers caught sight of Jørn's spare hand reaching with intent to the waist of his pants. He was right handed, so the small revolver was positioned incorrectly for his free hand, but he grabbed it, and only when he fumbled with a last-ditch effort to grasp the gun effectively did the blond man see what he was doing.

The resulting progression happened in a matter of seconds.

The blond man bolted forward at Jørn as he shouted, his voice straining, "he has a gun!" The Twin took notice of the sudden movement and as the blond man shouted, he became aware that Jørn was struggling with something in addition to his captive hand. The Twin saw Jørn, who was leaning awkwardly, partially propped up by the table, and the gun appear from beneath it.

Inconceivably, the blond man's warning was intact.

The gun's barrel was unfixed as the panicking Jørn tried to point it. He had no time. The blond man was mere steps behind him, and the Twin had processed his momentary shock. The other two men had caught on and were following after the blond man. Nor stood where he was, stunned.

The Twin rose to his feet in a massive, robust motion, his height increasing fully. He was furious, and wrenched unreservedly at Jørn's arm, pulling him closer, to disorient the man's aim, and reached for the gun with his other hand. Jørn was jerked forward and he felt his feet lifted from the ground as he lurched into the table.

A bang was heard, and everyone shuddered at the mere volume of the revolver's death cry. Focus in each individual was momentarily inhibited.

The Twin had faltered at the shot, and it registered in his mind that his subordinates were incompetent, and that Jørn had the nerve to want to kill him. Jørn actually wanted to kill him!

The Twin had never been shot before. He didn't know (or seem to care) whether he had been hit or not, his rage would outdo any gunshot wound. So maybe Jørn had a gun, but the Twin no longer reached for it. He took the painter by the collar of his shirt, and strands of the fabric could be heard splitting. Jørn, involuntarily dragged up onto the table, looked very small next to the big man. The Twin pulled him close, Jørn's feet dangling uselessly over the edge of the table while his face was pulled near the Twin's. He was trying to reassemble himself, bring the gun for another shot, but things were happening too quickly.

The blond man had been trying to disarm Jørn himself, but the gun was pulled out of his reach as Jørn was hauled up.

"The gun! The gun, sir!" The blond man yelled.

"YOU THINK A BULLET CAN KILL ME!?" the Twin yelled in Jørn's face, throttling him. Jørn cringed terribly, and saw into the Twin's eyes before the Twin thrust him back. As though he was lightweight, as though he was small, Jørn flew back and collided jarringly with a table. The force propelled the table away and Jørn collapsed to the floor. Disoriented and in shock, he lacked resilience.

The blond man and one of the others raced to Jørn. The blond man grasped the gun and wrung it free from Jørn's hold and dropped the gun as they pulled Jørn up by the arms to retain him. Jørn was too jolted to protest.

"DIDN'T YOU CHECK HIM FOR A GUN!?" The Twin erupted, scanning the men and locating Nor. Nor hadn't moved, but looked horrified. His mouth hung open, speechless.

"I should cut one of your fingers off, but if I took a finger every time you made a mistake, you'd be completely useless!"

Nor had never made a slip like this, but once was enough to mean that it could be in his nature to be inept.

"I'm so sorry, sir, I- I didn't think he had a gun!" Nor shrieked, expecting the worst. And the Twin thought of throwing the table aside, or throwing it at Nor, but he stopped.

Levi had learned when he was younger, that sometimes he regretted it when he went too far. He didn't like compromising himself. He hated it. But if he killed or crippled a subordinate whenever he wanted, then it would be bad for the business. People would be too frightened to work for him.

The Twin straightened his jacket, recollecting himself. He cleared his throat, thinking, and looked around the room as though it were empty. Then he looked at Jørn, who was catching his breath, held up by the two men.

After a contemplative moment, his impassive gaze on Jørn became fixated and decisive. Jørn saw this transition, and shook his head pleadingly. Nor stood stupidly, unable to think if he should be doing anything at all.

The room revolved around the Twin, and time seemed to have stopped as he stood where he was. But then the Twin stepped towards Jørn, and time started up again. Jørn felt helplessness, his desperation hitching with every step the Twin made in his direction. He was sure that whatever point the Twin had in all of this, it was already made.

Indeed, Levi Thou liked to be dramatic. Unfortunately for his subordinates, he theatrics were not without intent. Levi was dedicated to his performance, and in this instance, Jørn was going to help him illustrate his objective. That inefficiency and failure to conform would never go unpunished.

"Please, please," Jørn begged, and as the Twin saw it, this was all Jørn could do now, and it was appropriately mannered.

Jørn felt his body quivering. The Twin was huge, and heated, and each step was slow and savored.

"I'll do anything!" Jørn pleaded. How many times had the Twin heard people say this as though it was tactical persuasion? And as he descended upon Jørn, Jørn, for some reason, yelled out,

"Nor, please help me!"

Maybe it was because Nor had offended the Twin as well.

The Twin halted and turned to look at Nor. Nor's eyes were wide, and he shook his head. The Twin looked predatorily back at Jørn, standing right before him, within hand's reach. Jørn, trembling, looked up at the Twin with complete animalistic fear, devoid of his humanity.

Nor, for reasons he couldn't understand, felt guilty. He felt no desire to help Jørn, but he had not checked Jørn for firearms before bringing him to the Twin and he somehow felt as though the suffering taking place now was worse, or partially his fault. That maybe it would've been over with were it not for him.

"Let's see his hand," the Twin ordered, never pulling his gaze away from Jørn. "Table," he motioned with his hand, and Nor hustled over and repositioned the table that Jørn had inadvertently moved moments before. The blond man pulled Jørn's hand forward for the Twin.

"Do you know what's going on, now?" The Twin snarled, his deep voice reverberating, and he insouciantly took Jørn's hand once again. His hand was exchanged from the blond man to the Twin as though an object. "You look appropriately scared, now." Holding Jørn by the wrist, he planted the hand on the tabletop. The man still holding Jørn's other arm placed his hand on Jørn's shoulder, bracing him. Jørn was whimpering and starting to breath deeply, and unevenly. "But in case you don't understand—knife," the Twin held out his other hand. The blond man fetched the serrated knife and placed it in the Twin's hand. "This is amends for your inconveniencing me. This is payment for you not keeping your word. You still owe me 100,000 kronor."

Jørn was cringing and wining, shaking his head and pleading. He might've been crying, but maybe not, it was hard to tell. Nor felt shame. The Twin brought the knife lightly to the base of two fingers, the ring finger and the pinky. Jørn had slim, expressive fingers. His nails were shaped and clean. The serrated edge of the knife dimpled the skin.

"Noo, I'm sorry, p-please—"

"I don't know if this will cut through the bone," the Twin said as an afterthought, playacting uncertainty. He set the knife down on the table. "Let's make this a little easier, yes?" He took hold of the two fingers, and Jørn looked on in wide-eyed horror. The Twin took the fingers, and pulled. Pulled until they popped from their sockets, and the skin at the joints stretched. Jørn cried out, then cried out louder. Nor nearly vomited. Resuming the knife, the Twin cut through the boneless skin at the joint of the fingers. The cut was not a neat one.

Jørn shrieked and flailed. The Twin let him go, and thought of an animal as Jørn writhed and embraced his arm, crying out and yelling unintelligible words. The Twin had one last message for Jørn, but didn't think he'd hear it. So he advanced on Jørn, taking his small neck in his large hand, and forcing him to look at him. Jørn was sniffling like a child. All of his behavior made the Twin think of a child in a tantrum. Funny, what men could be brought to.

"I'm gonna be generous, and give you an entire month to get the money, then, if you fail me yet again, I'll take something much more inconvenient to you." Without meaning to, the Twin was squeezing Jørn's neck, and Jørn gaped breathlessly. "Maybe something I can sell for 100,000 kronor. Get him out of here," he finished, casting Jørn aside and turning to Nor. He approached Nor, now.

Nor couldn't run, but he wanted to. He couldn't turn on the Twin if he had any hope of ever rectifying himself. The Twin held out his hand, palm open. Nor certainly didn't want to lose fingers, but he had dedicated himself to the Twin, and he had to prove this dedication. Looking down in remorse, he lifted his hand.

The Twin, sneering unpleasantly, took Nor's ring finger and pinky and snapped them.