(Earlier)
"Well… this changes things." Alex muttered in astonishment as she stared out the front window of her brothers van. She continued to watch in utter amazement as Mark was lead down the front steps of his apartment building, his arms bound behind his back and hunched foreword with a dark hood over his head. Ash didnt reply, he was speechless by what they saw. His hands were still gripping the steering wheel and shifter, having had just pulled the car into the parking space and put the vehicle into park.
From the parking lot across the street, they had a clear view of the front of Mark's apartment building and of the abduction taking place in front of it. Alex had just managed to convince her brother it was in everyone's best interest, to try and bring Mark back into the fold and to do so peacefully. Ash wanted to pistol whip Mark for putting a gun to the back of their heads, but he was just being ornery. He often got overprotective when his beloved sister was put in harms way. When he settled down, they were of one mind again.
Mark was one of them, he shared something very few in this world could even understand. He too, carried the blood lust inside of him. Alex and Ash had lived with it alone, for all of their lives, the masked killings had only given them the idea on what form they would take when they would finally give in to their dark desires. From the looks of things though… they may be alone with their cravings, again once again.
Mark's feet were slow and clumsy as he walked, like a condemned man being lead to the gallows. The man who escorted him was massive, a giant of a man, wearing what looked like a chauffeur's outfit. Behind the Mark and the stoic giant walked two other men. Alex decided that the one on the left was clearly just another muscle, a tall, athletic man, wearing the usual Russian crime family white blazer and pants. Besides his typical mobster goon apparel, he had all the mannerisms of a simple bully: A proud walk, a fearless expression and a careless demeanor. He did not have the attitude of a criminal mastermind.
The man besides the bully though… that was a different story. He was much shorter then his henchmen, perhaps only a little taller then Ash (who was a little guy himself) but the way he carried himself told Alex he was the real giant among them. He wore a black vest and tie under his white blazer, instead of the usual button down or t shirt most mobsters wore, setting himself apart from the rest of the mob, but it was more then the way he was dressed that spoke to Alex. She stared at the man, whose face was little more then a scowling mask, his eyes focused and determined. There was a man worthy to go up against.
"I think that guy's Roman…" Alex whispered excitedly. Ash nodded. He reached his hand from the shifter and pointed a finger at Roman through the van window. He cocked back his thumb, before letting it drop against his hand, making a little gunshot noise escape his lips. Alex shook her head and smiled, but kept her eyes glued onto the black Mercedes Benz.
The tall man lead Mark to the back of the luxury car. "They're putting him in the trunk…" Alex muttered. She knew she was stating the obvious, but she couldnt help herself, her thoughts were far to excited to keep inside. Ash again nodded, watching with unblinking interest. Alex held her breath as the giant shoved Mark into the trunk, before slamming his massive fist against the side of Mark's hooded head. "Is he going to kill him?" Alex asked, her eyes glued to Mark with morbid curiosity. Ash shook his head. "Naw…"
The tall man reached down for Mark's throat with both hands, leaning over him in the trunk and eclipsing their view. "Oh, wait maybe!" Ash said, quickly recanting. Alex and her brother leaned foreword against the windshield in unison, barely able to contain their excited curiosity. Alex frowned in disappointment when the giant driver slammed the trunk closed, before she could get a glimpse at Mark's body.
"Oh well…" Alex thought. Alive or dead, Mark would play a crucial role in twin's fantasies, she would make sure of it. She turned to Ash with a gleefully twisted grin. "You thinking what I'm thinking?" Alex mused. Ash smirked back. "Always." He replied matter of fact. Alex ran her tongue across her teeth and over the corner of her lips excitedly before signaling to he brother. It was time to leave.
# # #
Roman looked down into the empty eye holes of the furious rubber bear face. He cradled the mask of the 50 Blessing agent on his lap, as the driver drove the four of them back to their temporary base of operation. Roman ran his fingers over the surface of the mask, trying to find any evidence of something more to the simple rubber bear head. He stroked his thumb around one of the empty eye sockets, before sticking his digit inside of it, lifting it up, and rotating it around to look at it from all angles.
Why was it always an animal? Why not a ninja, a clown, a monster? It was always an animal. A rabbit, a tiger, a walrus, a snake, a rooster… they were all creatures, predator or benign. Creatures of the earth, that came in every shape, except human.
The masks they found before offered no real clues then, so Roman doubted the one he held in his hands would give him any answers now. He had something more then a simple mask, however. A living surviving 50 Blessings agent, not taken from the field, and half beaten to death and tortured, but taken from his home, before his… kill signal, kill switch, password or whatever it was that activated the agents into merciless killing machines. The last agent he had to interrogate couldnt give him any information, because his mind was already to far gone, from the brainwashing, or the trauma of what he had done… or what was done to him. Whatever the case, he couldnt give Roman any answers because his shattered mind had none to give.
The fat man in his trunk, however, was a different story. Earlier he may have been a brutal programmed killer, but now he was a whimpering ball of fat. Roman would finally get the answers to the questions that had been burning in the back of his mind for all these years. He would get answers from the agent, or he would make him suffer like no man had suffered before.
The driver parked in front of "The Landing Strip" club before exiting the vehicle to walk around and let Roman out. He stepped from the vehicle, looking up with at the tasteless name of the club, one of the last remnants to the original club he hadnt changed, as he waited for his temporary enforcer Dimitri to make his way alongside him.
Roman leaned to his driver, who instinctively bent his massive frame to listen carefully to what he had to say. "Take him to the room, and prep him. but be careful. I need his mind intact." Roman said, his voice dripping with dangerous intent. Roman knew the driver would have carried out his orders without the added instructions. The driver had been with Roman for decades, long enough to understand the severity of the knowledge locked away inside the agents head, but Roman had to be sure. He could not afford anything to get in the way of discovering the truth behind the masked vigilante killings.
More important then even unraveling the mysteries of the secret organization that crippled their criminal enterprises, it would help him regain full control over his emotions. A sensation sickeningly similar to fear had began to fester and grow in Roman's chest, ever since he saw that symbol on the van that drove by. He knew even his own men had felt the ripple within him, the momentary loss of complete control. Roman needed to solve this mystery, to regain what he had lost. A man who can control himself, can control others, but if Roman lost the ability to control his own emotions, then he lose control of everything.
The driver nodded and moved his way towards the trunk. Roman watched as he pulled the panting obese man from the trunk, leading him towards the front of the club by the back of his collar. Dimitri stepped in front of the agent, and smacked his hand over the top of his hooded head, causing the agent to jerk and stumble. "You like your new mask fat man?" Dimitri taunted with a playful grin.
The tall man's lip shuddered before twisting into a ghastly scowl, his dull eyes staring through the amateur strongman. Dimitri's smile quickly faded, and he stepped out of the way of the driver, who immediately regained his pace, pushing Mark ahead of himself around towards the back of the club. Roman glowered at Dimitri. "Know your place Dimitri." Roman commanded.
Dimitri frowned, most likely feeling the rebuke was unwarranted, but Roman knew what aspiring strongman was capable of. If he needed money collected, or a hired gun to get in between him and a bullet, he would have no trouble relying on the gel haired minion. The matter at hand required tact, something he lacked. "Gather the men, we have work to do." Roman added. Dimitri obeyed, though Roman noted the look of resentment bubbling just under the surface. Roman had more pressing matters to attend to, but he would remember to break the simple thug later.
Roman watched as his temporary strongman begrudgingly shove open the front doors and push his way inside. Roman followed, watching with disgust as the meat headed minion clapped his hands loudly, yelling in English for his Russian comrades to gather around in front of the stage, where the dancing women continued to preform their sultry arts. Roman sighed as he eyed the civilian patrons. They watched the gathering of white coated mobsters with mild concern before continuing to drool over the cheap pussy like neanderthals in heat.
Roman turned from the hallway leading to his office and stormed towards his incompetent henchmen. Dimitri turned and winced as Roman approached. "Hey boss, I got most of them all right here. Some are in the back room getting their rocks off though." Dimitri said, eyeing the archway to the VIP lounge. Roman's lips snarled as he glared around at the rest of the non Russian patrons, before leaning in close to whisper over the loud obnoxious music. "Get these fucking parasites out of here." Roman said in a harsh whisper. Dimitri blinked, probably still working out who Roman meant when he said parasites, until he finally just pointed at the nearest patron. Dimitri nodded that he understood. "Even monkeys can be trained…"
Dimitri pulled his chrome .45 from his belt and fired a round up into the air. The entire establishment collectively winced and turned to the make shift strongman, who gestured with his gun towards the door. "Alright, official club owner and associates only, everyone else, get the FUCK out of here! Get the fuck out of here! Don't you eye ball me, I will fucking shoot you in the face!" Dimitri yelled. Everyone not wearing a white blazer quickly filed out from the bar, giving the flailing mobster a wide berth as they did so and the dancer's and waitress's quickly retreated to the dressing room behind the stage.
# # #
The rest of the mobsters looked amongst themselves, before staring up at Dimitri expectantly. "Whats this all about Dimitri?" One of the mobsters said, eyeing Roman as he walked down the hallway to the back offices. Dimitri cleared his throat and did his best to look authoritative. "Listen up men, we're going to war! Some masked psycho's hit Conrad, and probably killed Viktor too." Dimitri said. Mikhail, one of Dimitri's personal comrades, just shrugged, unimpressed by his "master and commander" routine. "To war? Against who…?" The mobster muttered.
Dimitri groaned, and gritted his teeth. "Against… them, you know… them." Dimitri said, not wanting to actually say the words "50 Blessings". The name had run synonymous with the "boogy men" amongst the Russian crime syndicate. It was more legend then reality to them at this point, even though so many had died. It was most likely because the masked crazies rarely left anyone alive that made the whole incident seem almost surreal to the surviving mobsters in Miami.
The rest of the mobsters, thankfully, seemed to get the severity of the situation, and didnt ask anymore questions on the matter. Nestor, the large, long haired mobster, leaned back on the couch before speaking. "What are we supposed to do about it?" He asked. Dimitri stood up straight, regaining his composure. "For now, we wait. Keep your eyes open, and your guns handy. I'm going to go check back with the boss." Dimitri said, turning around towards the hallway. Nestor chuckled and pulled his Scorpion submachine gun from under the table in front of him and chambered a round. "Got it." He mumbled before leaning back on the couch, setting the now loaded weapon in front of him.
As Dimitri began to make his way to the back rooms, several of the dancing girls, now fully clothed, were making their way from the changing rooms towards the front exit. Dimitri stopped them with a wave of his gun. "Hey! Where do you think you girls are going? Get your ass back up there!" Dimitri said, pointing to the stage with his pistol.
# # #
Roman walked briskly towards back room, that had once been a second office. Roman had long since re purposed it to fit his needs. As he swung open the door to the room, his ears were greeted by the gasping gurgling chokes of the captured operative trying to breath through the stream of water being poured over his mouth and nose.
Mark, the large rotund man, tried desperately to turn his head and twist his body but the driver held his head still with his long fingered grasp, tightened around his neck and chin. The driver poured a steady stream from the pitcher, down across the squirming man's mouth and nose. The dark hood was still tightly fitted over the obese man's head, doing nothing to prevent the flow of liquid into his lungs as the water seeped through the black fabric.
The driver had gotten himself help. A henchman had shed his blazer and shirt, wearing only a tank top as he held Mark's legs to the table they water boarded him on. He occasionally strunk the bulging belly of the fat man, knocking the wind from him so he could only accept the stream of water through his mouth and nose instead of the oxygen his body so desperately needed.
Roman was pleased with his drivers choice of torture. To say that water boarding simulated drowning was untrue. A far more accurate description of the act was to describe it as controlled drowning. The only thing that separated water boarding from drowning was the degree of which the interrogator go. Instead of dunking the victims head in a pool of some kind, the steady stream allowed the interrogator to control just how much of the liquid was sucked into the nostrils and throat of the victim who was kept in a constant state of desperation.
Water boarding, as unpleasant as it was, still fit the restrictions Roman had emphasized to the driver. The agent's made would be kept alert and unharmed, unless the driver was so careless as to push him to far as to make Mark pass out from lack of oxygen. Even still, they could simply force Mark awake with a jolt of pain, and begin the process anew.
Roman gestured towards the simple chair underneath a hanging lamp, in the middle of the room before walking to the table full of devices. He set the rubber bear mask down upon the table, before he ran his fingers over the blades, hooks and skewers with a certain level of affection, before tapping one of the more primitive devices, a simple electric drill. He gripped the baseball bat with nails driven into it by the handle and lifted it from the table, swinging it through the air to warm himself up. If he had too, he would use every object on the table to make the operative talk.
Mark gasped and whimpered, as his hands were unbound, just to be moved and rebound around the back of the chair. Roman set down the bat and walked in front of the captured agent, standing before the trembling man and staring into the black hood covering his face. Roman reached foreword and pulled the hood from his head with a quick jerk. Mark shook his head and flinched, as if expecting a blow to the head. His wet, stringy strands of shoulder length hair fell around his face in a jumbled mess. The fat man squinted his eyes into slits underneath the wet mass, as if trying to hide behind his dripping locks.
Roman stood over him, looking down the fat man like a cat would a mouse. Roman couldnt help but allow a little sparkle of amusement blossom in his chest as he watched the discomfort of the man before him. Even though the task at hand was a momentous one for Roman, it didnt mean he couldnt take pleasure from his work.
Roman waited for a full minute, while the fat man shuddered before him, before finally speaking. "Do you prefer Mark, or Marcus?" Roman asked in a cordial voice. Mark's bottom lip trembled as he attempted to speak several times, before gaining the courage to raise his voice. "Mark." He whispered. Without any warning, Roman quickly pulled his pistol from his white blazer, and thrust it against Mark's forehead. Mark reacted rather typically, no different then most people Roman had put in his situation. He turned his head and leaned back as far as he could, squeezing his eyes shut tightly before peaking from a tiny crack in his eyelid, unsure whether it was scarier to see the gun pressing against his head or to only feel it. Mark grit his teeth and began making short, high pitch grunts in the back of his throat as Roman kept the pressure of the barrel tight against his skull. "How ordinary." It was nothing Roman hadnt heard before.
Roman spoke firmly, every word carefully passing through his lips with cruel, purposeful intent behind them. "Do you see this Mark?" Roman said, pushing the gun even harder against the fat man's skull. Mark whimpered in response. "This here, is the only mercy you will ever receive from me." Roman promised, twisting his lips into an indignant scowl.
A loud cough burst from Mark's lips before the large blubbery man began to cry. The agent's lips trembled over his gritted teeth as bitter tears streamed from his eyes. Roman glared down at him, keeping the gun unwavering against his forehead. "This is not a threat, it is a promise. The bullet in this gun is the only salvation you have left. You will learn to love this bullet, because its the only way your getting out of this room." Roman continued over the sounds of Mark's blubbering.
He held his gun against Mark's head for a full minute, before finally raising it up, clicking on the safety to add an audible release to the fear he was trying to instill. Mark looked up, his eyes searching desperately for a rhyme or reason on Roman's scowling mask of a face.
"However… have been known to reward those who act sensibly." Roman said, adding a bit of gentleness to his words. Mark's brown eyes, now bloodshot from tears, lit up, hopeful at even the slightest possibility of survival. Roman continued. "It would be sensible, Mark, to tell me everything you know about 50 Blessings." Roman said, his voice as gentle as he could make it, while still retaining the deadly severity of the situation. Mark's eyes went wide, his mouth dropped. Roman knew immediately, before Mark even spoke a word, that he was going to disappoint him. "Oh… I dont know…" Mark began with a trembling whimper.
Mark's eyes were nearly bugging from his head as Roman straightened, breaking his gaze from the fat man before loosening his tie. Mark shook his head wildly, as Roman removed his white jacket top, and turned to hang it up against the coat hanger protruding from the door. "No no, I'm serious! I dont know much about the group! No more then you do! Please no! Please just listen, listen please… please…" Mark said, his voice becoming less and less comprehensible, and more high pitched the longer he spoke. Roman rolled up the sleeves of his black dress shirt, making sure to neatly cuff them over his elbows, before pointing at Mark's chair with a snap of his fingers, and then once more at the drain pipe next to the table along the back wall of the room.
Mark squealed as the driver lunged towards him with grim enthusiasm. The driver dragged the large man in his chair, towards the back wall, before flipping it on its back. Mark winced in pain as his head bounced against the ground, before his terrified eyes searched around for whatever it was Roman had in store for him. Roman calmly walked over to Mark to stand by his head, keeping his feet aligned with the fat man's shoulders. He extended his hand towards the henchman in the tank top who held the full pitcher of water in his hands. The henchman quickly handed it Roman, watching with eager anticipation at what would happen next.
Roman turned to his most faithful underling, the driver, as he held the pitcher in his hands. "Gather the rest of the men, and wait for me at my home. When I'm finished, I will meet you there." Roman said. The driver moved immediately towards the door, but Roman's hand flew to the drivers arm, gripping it tightly. The driver blinked his dull eyes and turned to Roman once more. "Break out all the weapons from the armory, rifles and shotguns in the back, bats and knives up front… protect my treasure."
Roman couldnt say why, but he had a feeling, an instinctual premonition, that they would target him in his home soon. It started out with that black buffoon, Darius. Over a month ago, Darius and his women, were spotted sniffing around Roman's apartment complex. Roman had the man followed back to his den of iniquity, only to find some kind of fan club worshiping the acts of Jacket and the rest of the masked killers.
His feelers reported back that they consisted mainly of punks and degenerates, many with drug related charges and no meaningful connections. They were wannabes, pretenders trying to latch onto the masked killings. It was no different then how the rest of America glorified them on the big screen. In the end, Roman decided it wasnt worth the effort to even make an example out of Darius. It wouldn't put a dent in the sickness infecting the country, and he didnt want to risk turning the ineffectual leader into some kind of martyr.
His driver left through the door and Dimitri entered in his place, walking in quietly like someone returning from a bathroom break during a sermon. Roman turned his attention back to the whimpering man on the floor. He poured half of the pitcher out into the drain near Mark's head, causing the fat man to flinch. Mark's eyes widened with surprise before twisting with discomfort as Roman unzipped his fly and pulled his member free from his pants. Roman watched the fat man out of the corner of his eyes as he urinated into the pitcher.
When he was finished, he tapped himself dry before making himself decent once more. He handed the refilled pitcher back to the burly henchman, who took it from the criminal kingpin with some reluctance. Roman looked down at Mark, whose eyes widened with realization of what was to come. "Lets try this once more."
…
Roman pulled up a stool in front of the coughing, gagging obese man. Mark was once again in the secure and upright position. He was trying to force himself to vomit, spitting out mouthfuls of mucus filled saliva ran down his large pot belly. "Answer the question Mark, so we can move on." Roman said in a calm but firm voice. "Yes… I killed them…" Mark muttered in between his spitting and hacking.
Roman leaned closer to the fat agent. "I know you did, Mark. How did you do it?" Roman asked. Mark cleared his throat to spit another wad of mucus from his throat. "I set an ambush… in my store… s-shot um." Mark said, his voice carrying the weight of a condemned man. Roman stood and walked back towards the table of blades and tools. Roman didnt see, but he could almost feel, Mark's entire body wince, as Roman's fingers ran themselves over the various maiming devices. Roman finally made his selection, before making his way back to his stool.
Dimitri, and the other henchman stood by the doorway, watching the tool the kingpin held in his hand with increased excitement. Roman dusted off his stool, before sitting down on it. Mark closed his eyes tightly, twisting his lips into a grimace, revealing his gritted teeth that occasionally clacked together from fear. Roman rested the tool on his lap, watching Mark's reactions with amusement. He reached out with the device, savoring savoring Mark's attempts to mentally escape from his reality, before he pulled the trigger.
The power drill spun through the air with a mechanical shriek. Mark's body jerked as if the sounds of the power tool had physically struck him. The fan man struggled and thrashed against his binds, all the while keeping his head as far away from the spinning drill bit as humanly possible. Roman smirked and relaxed his finger from the trigger. "What's the matter Mark?" Roman said. Mark only blubbered in response. "Did I get some of your hair with the bit? I think I did…" He said with a soft chuckle.
Torture had always been an intimate experience for Roman. When he was little more then a power hungry thug, he received an unusual level of satisfaction from breaking another human being. It was a pleasure that he could not find anywhere else. Only in times like this, with a victim at his mercy and his attention captured fully, did Roman truly feel comfortable being himself.
He looked at Mark, who was doing his best to look away from Roman, shielding his face by hiding behind his stringy brown hair. "Look at me Mark…" Roman commanded softly. Mark shivered and flinched, before reluctantly turning his head to face Roman. Roman noted the fat man was unwilling to make eye contact, and kept his eyes down on his loosened tie.
"If my associates had it their way, they'd be going to with one of… these…" Roman said begrudgingly, spinning the drill bit again with a pull of his finger. He jabbed the whirling bit between Mark's knees. Mark spread his knees apart to avoid the drill, and once again began thrashing against his binds as the spinning drill grew closer and closer to his groin.
Roman calmed the man with a back handed slap across his mouth. "Do I have your attention Mark? Good." Roman said, as Mark's face was scrunched as he braced himself for further blows to the head. Roman continued. "I dont like to use such primitive methods, not right away at least. If I started drilling holes through your knees, you'd start losing blood. You need that Mark. More importantly, your brain needs blood to function, and I need whats inside your brain." Roman said.
Mark shivered in response, not that Roman expected him to weigh in on the matter. "This next question is very important. I want you to think very, very hard for me before answering. Who are your associates?" Roman asked, leaning foreword in the stool. Mark hesitated, a sparkle of recognition behind his eyes betrayed him, as he quickly shut it away behind a face of ignorance. "I dont… know anyone from 50 Blessings… I swear, I swear." Mark whispered desperately.
Roman simply reached his drill out to his associates. It was Dimitri who stepped foreword, taking the drill and placing it back on its spot on the table. Roman kept his hand extended, palm upright, as he spoke one simple word. "Knife." Dimitri grinned, and eagerly grabbed the largest, scariest knife on the table (a big hunting knife) and placed it in Roman's awaiting hand.
Mark had begun muttering rapidly, unable to fully stammer out a complete thought. Roman picked up he was trying to enforce, that he knew nothing, and he only knew what he read in the newspapers about the phony patriotic hotline known as 50 Blessings. Unfortunately for Mark, Roman was no longer listening. All Roman needed to know was that Mark was resisting by blending truth with lies. He needed to break him, only then could the truth flow unrestricted.
Roman pulled at the neck of Mark's t shirt before sawing the razor sharp blade through it. The collar was the only part of the thin garment of cotton that offered any form of resistance and the knife passed through the rest of the thin fabric with ease, splitting open the front of the man's shirt and revealing the disgusting body underneath.
Roman held the knife out, waiting for Dimitri to take it before snapping his finger at the small machine near the table. Mark's eyes blossomed with fearful curiosity, reluctant to look, but unable to stop himself from staring as Dimitri pivoted the gas generator operated device on its wheels and carted it alongside of his chair. Mark's breaths had become rapid and shallow, his eyes darted across the mysterious machine parked alongside of him. Roman smiled at Mark, as he held his hand out once again, and once again, Dimitri placed something in his grasp. Mark's eyes widened at the simple jumper cables Roman held in his hands.
Dimitri pulled the cord of the generator, letting it whir to life, roaring into Mark's ear, before finally calming down into a slow and steady chug. Roman reached to the knob on the machine, just to his left, and turned the numbered knob to the fifth power level. The knob was numbered, zero to ten, with one being enough to cause an irritating tingle, and ten enough to set fire to whatever flesh or clothing it remained in direct contact with. He only used the tenth level as a scare tactic, or to leave an intimidating corpse.
Roman touched the connectors together, creating an electric discharge between them like a tiny lightning strike, sending flickering sparks twinkling down to the ground. Mark winced and continued to whimper, still as pathetic as before, with no signs of his mental programming presenting itself. Roman set the knob back to zero, before opening the black connector's metallic jaws, squeezing his hand against the tight spring tension as he reached it towards the fat slob's sagging nipple. Roman released the jaws of the connector with a loud snap, causing Mark to scream in surprise, as the metal teeth dug into his sensitive flesh. The tension of the metal clamp was tight enough to break the flesh, letting dark colored blood to run down his bulbous stomach.
Mark's screams slowly became a pathetic whimper, and he kept his eyes tightly closed, still trying to escape to somewhere deep inside of his mind. Roman would not allow that, the slovenly sleeper agent must be here with the pain and worse, with Roman. There Mark would remain until his fragile mind was cracked open and Roman could pick through his shattered memories to extract the truth.
Roman slapped the back of his hand against Mark's cheek, causing the fat man's eyes to snap open in surprise. He pushed his face up close against Mark's, his nose pressing against Mark's nose, as he twisted the connector in his hand, digging the serrated jaws deeper into the fat man's flesh. "Focus on the pain Mark… from here on out, this is the best it will ever get." Roman hissed the words through his teeth, before clamping the second connector to the remaining breast.
Mark screamed and thrashed before begging for mercy. A futile endeavor. "Stop! Stop please! I dont know anything! I dont know anything!" Mark screamed, burning through the last of his pathetic endurance by screaming and struggling against his binds. After a few moments of pointless fighting with his binds, he began to pant and wheeze from exertion. Roman leaned back, waiting for the fat man to regain his breath.
Roman suddenly smirked. He let out a genuine chuckle through clenched lips, as if failing to repress it. Mark watched Roman through despair ridden eyes, as his torturer began to chuckle. "Dimitri… do you remember when we took the city comp's mistress here? You were there, right?" Roman said in an uncharacteristically personable voice. Dimitri's sadistic smirk faded, as he shook his head. Roman shrugged. "Ah, you werent there, were you…? Well, the thing about torturing women Mark… they are all bluster and no endurance. Most will break, almost immediately." Roman said, beginning to chuckle again, interrupting his own train of thought. Mark's face was twisted in revulsion as he watched the man laugh in his face as he sat there, powerless to do anything about it.
"This woman, she swore up and down, she would never betray her man, said she loved him, believe it or not. One of the harder women I've met… but when I put her in that chair, the one your in now… she told me everything and I mean everything. We had more then enough for blackmail, she was telling me about his peanut allergies, before she even felt the sting of the electricity." Roman said with a smirk, glancing over at his henchman.
Mark lowered his gaze down to his lap, trying to block out both the pain from the connectors in his flesh, and the unnerving story Roman so candidly shared. Dimitri smirked as he leaned back against the wall behind. "Maybe its a tit thing? The woman probably took pride in um." Dimitri said with a shrug. Roman nodded as if his henchman had said something thought provoking. "This woman, you should have seen her Mark, she had a really, really great rack… Almost as large as yours, you fat fucking slob." Roman said with a laugh.
Mark grit his teeth gently, but otherwise said nothing, as the two henchman joined in with the laughter. "Do you have even a shred of self control? Or do you just eat whatever your fat fingers find themselves around?" Roman said, his tone almost playful. Mark's lips curled into a small snarl, as he sat there, hunched foreword but otherwise unresponsive.
Roman chuckled and waved his hands in the air. "Wait wait, I know this has nothing to do with the interrogation… but I have to know, I have to know, what does it feel like… to have to lift up a mound of fatty flesh to see your own dick?" Roman said with a sadistic, tooth filled smile. His henchmen continued their laughter, with Dimitri even adding to it. "That guy has not seen his dick in years, no way…" Dimitri piped in.
Roman turned to his men, as if their opinion mattered. "Who wants to put a bet, that this fat fucks a virgin?" Roman said in a cheery voice. Dimitri shook his head. "Oh no, I bet he's had some pussy sometime in his life…" Dimitri said with a grin. Roman gave his men an incredulous look. "This tub of lard? Nothing he hasnt paid for. I bet you a thousand dollars, he has to pay to have women root around in his rolls, to try and find his little prick." Roman said, laughing at the thought. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Mark beginning grind his teeth in frustration.
Roman turned back to Mark. Mark had raised his head, his lips were trembling, not with fear, but anger. His pained, reluctant eyes, managing to spit forth a spark of fire as he hissed his words at Roman. "Fuck… you." Mark whispered.
The laughter of the henchmen faded, as did the look of amusement on Roman's face. The kingpin's face slowly turned into an expressionless mask, his eyes becoming unreadable and empty. Mark braced himself, his minor hostilities already beginning to shrink back inside himself as he regretted his petty display of anger. Roman's dark eyes searched Mark's face before finally speaking. "Is that it…?" Roman said.
Mark narrowed the brow over his already pain squinted eyes. "Is this all the aggression you can muster?" Roman said in disbelief. From the man who murdered his enforcer, he expected so much more. He had been pushing his buttons, so obvious Mark might as well of flashed with red lights "I'm an insecure tub of lard" and this was all that came out? There was something resisting Roman, secrets he still hid away, behind his pathetic cowardice, and Roman would not stop until the fat man's mind was flayed before him.
Roman's expressionless face reverted back into its usual, hateful scowl. He spoke quickly his words running into one another unnerving haste. "Now what was it we were talking about ah yes I remember now, who contacted you about 50 Blessings?" Roman said, his lips trembling into a snarl as his hate filled eyes bore into Mark's defeated gaze. "I never made contact…" Mark pleaded, his eyes dripping with despair filled tears.
Roman cranked the knob, sending a fifth level jolt of electrified pain through the fat man's body. Mark's muscles clenched and spasmed at once, his teeth ground together, filling the air with the sounds of gurgling as he tried to scream through a tightly clenched jaw. Roman turned the power down before barking a new question. "Where is your cell located?!" He yelled. Mark just shook his head. Roman cranked the power again, allowing it to run longer this time.
Mark writhed as if trying to squirm from his own body to escape the agonizing sensations. "Where are the rest of the operatives!?" Roman yelled, an intense anger, welling up from inside of him. Mark shook his head before muttering. "They dont… exist…" He said. Roman cranked the power level two nine, watching as every muscle in Mark's body tensed and spasmed, until he could do nothing but thrash back and forth, in a rhythmic electrified dance.
…
Mark panted, his head bowed, his long, damp, stringy hair veiling his face. Roman maintained the questioning, repeating the questions again and again, for hours now, but Mark had no answers for him. Roman was beginning to believe the big man, that perhaps he simply had no idea that he was brainwashed to begin with. He had gotten more information from the first agent he had the pleasure of interrogating, he at least acknowledged he was brainwashed, if not indirectly, by admitting he had no idea why he was there to begin with. If only Roman had knowledge of 50 Blessings then, perhaps he would already have the answers he had been digging in Mark's mind for.
Mark was sticking to his story that he did not know what 50 Blessings was, which was a lie, and that he did not join them or have any contacts with them, which was also a lie. Mark tried to hold out, to redirect again and again, but Roman had spent enough time sifting through the fat man's mind with electricity and pain, to see there were several secrets that the fat man was holding onto. That was fine with Roman, they had time, they had all the time in the world to burrow them out.
…
Roman held the rubber bear mask in his hands, as he sat across from Mark. He stared at the bear face thoughtfully for a long while, before glancing up at Mark. The obese man had lost consciousness again. Roman waved over the burly henchman, who brought the pitcher of water with him, dashing the cold liquid over Mark's face and chest. Mark awoke with a start. From the way he wriggled against his binds, Roman figured the fat man probably hoped he had just woken from a bad dream.
Mark cautiously eyed the mask in Roman's hands, as if afraid to make eye contact with it. Roman held the mask out in front of Mark, who quickly recoiling from it. "Is this the trigger Mark?" Roman asked calmly. Mark shook his head. "There's no trigger…" Mark's worn out voice was barely a whisper. Roman moved the mask back down to his lap, staring down at its empty eyes.
"Is the mask an escape Mark?" Roman mused, stroking the rubber fur indents that covered the mask's exterior. Mark began to cry, his face twisting into a pained grimace, as tears began to flow. "Y-yesss…" Mark sobbed, his voice broken, truthful… pure. This was what Roman had been looking for. Roman nodded. "You put on the mask… to become something else." Roman said thoughtfully. Mark just sniveled through his gritted teeth, his eyes tightly clenched. "Why do you do it?" Roman asked, keeping his eyes on the mask. "I dont know…" Mark muttered miserably.
Roman believed him. He was just as confused and tormented as the first agent he had interrogated. There were a few moments where Roman had began to doubt himself. That the man blubbering before him really was just some lone gunman who decided to stand up and play vigilante… but that was before Roman discovered the deeply buried secrets and lies. Now that the truth had started to bubble forth, it was only a matter of time before he knew everything there was to know about the masked killers.
Roman looked down at the opening of the mask on his lap. For reasons he did not truly understand, Roman slipped the mask over his face. It was unpleasant an unpleasant feeling, even after the eye holes and airways were lined up. Roman's breath vibrated against the leather, and the eye holes obstructed his vision. How the agent could find any form of escape from a leather prison as this, Roman could not even imagine.
Through the eye holes, he saw Mark's lips trembling as he averted his gaze from the mask. Roman leaned his masked face forward. "Look at me Mark…" Roman said in a quiet, but harsh tone. "Look at me." He repeated. Mark slowly, reluctantly, rose his broken gaze onto his own mask. Roman stared at him, but it was not the man behind the mask that he was afraid of.
Roman let the mask do his talking for a long while, before finally cutting the silence with his now muffled voice. "This mask holds no power Mark…" Roman said, before peeling it from his face. He welcomed being free of the sticky, suffocating thing. He walked away from the stool, and hung the mask up on the door coat hanger, making sure to angle the angry, bellowing bear face to look towards Mark. He wasnt sure what it would do to Mark, having his escape staring back down at him, but Roman was curious none the less. The fat man looked up at the mask, before looking down at his knees, his eyes broken and detached. He was right where Roman wanted him.
"Who are your associates…?" Roman said calmly. Mark had become the mental equivalent of silly putty. Roman was sure there would be no more resistance from here on out. Mark mumbled through his lips, unwilling to fully open his mouth. "Alex and Ash… friends from the war…" Roman smiled, relishing the victory as Mark kept his head down, veiling his face behind stringy damp locks of hair.
What he said made sense to Roman. Mark was a veteran of the Hawaiian conflict, if these twins were also ex soldiers, they shared something in common with Jacket. Finally, Roman had a piece of the puzzle, and with Mark's mind in the state it was now, more pieces would soon fall into place.
Roman let his hand drop from the generator, he was sure he would not need it from here on out. "When did you first join 50 Blessings?" Roman asked casually. Mark hesitated for a long time before answering. "After Jacket… made the news." Mark said slowly. The corner of Roman's lips twitched. This shouldnt have happened. Mark had lied to Roman.
He reached out and turned the knob to the generator, punishing Mark with a seventh level jolt, before asking another question. "How did you make contact with 50 Blessing?" Roman asked, his eyes boring through Mark's veil of tangled hair. Again Mark hesitated, and again he lied. "I… went to their offices, and they hired me." Mark mumbled. Roman blinked in surprise. He could almost see the gears turning in the broken man's mind as he clumsily threw together the story. Mark was only telling him what he wanted to hear.
"Why are you lying to me Mark?" Roman asked. Mark didnt respond, his eyes were looking up towards his mask, seemingly lost inside its empty eye sockets. Roman gave him nearly thirty seconds of an eighth level jolt, pushing his luck, flirting with the possibility the electricity would stop the fat man's heart, assuming obesity didnt beat him to it. "Why are you lying to me… Mark?" Roman repeated. Something was changing in Mark, his lips trembled, and pulled into a pained snarl.
There was something else inside of Mark's mind, something so close to the surface, Roman could smell it over the scent of body odor and charred flesh. Whatever it was, Mark was hiding from him, it terrified the fat man. Mark's body trembled from fear, but not of Roman, not of the electricity induced torment, but of the mask staring down at him. "Is this the signs of programming I've been looking for?" He expected something more organized, triggered by some phrase, conditioned into the mind through repetition… but this was anything but organized. It was something repressed and malformed.
"Why did you kill my men Mark?" Roman asked, changing the question. There was some eternal conflict going on inside of the fat man, that transcended the torture, that could somehow rise above it. Roman had to know what it was.
From under his damp hair, Mark's defeated and passive face began to transform. He looked up through the stringy, tangled locks of damp hair, his eyes welling with anger, as his lips quivered with hateful emotions. "Because I wanted to." Mark said in a quite but dangerous voice. Roman reached for the dial, but stopped. The electricity was for lying… Mark was telling the truth.
A sudden concussion shook the entire building with a boom. Roman sprang to his feet and looked at the door, as a second explosion rippled through the walls. Roman's eyes widened, as the sounds of screaming and gunfire filled the air. Roman couldnt resist the shiver that ran through his body, as the blood curdling screams were cut short by the sounds of a terrible, revving engine.
His two henchman scrambled to their feet, and pulled their pistols from their holsters, looking at the closed door fearfully, before looking back at him. Roman didnt know what to say or do, as his men waited for instructions. Roman was paralyzed by a sickening feeling he hadnt felt in a long, long time. Roman was afraid.
A low, guttural sound awoke Roman and his henchmen from their daze. They turned their heads in unison, to where the passive, mentally fragile Mark had been sitting. In his place, something violent and furious glared back at them, its brown eyes alight with rage, as it clacked its teeth together in unbridled fury. "Mark…?" Roman whispered, as the fat man continued to make his guttural noises. Mark's hate filled eyes burned through the slippery locks of hair, as his lips sneered into a frenzied snarl. "You better pray to god they kill you…" Mark said, his voice loud and furious, quaking against Roman's ears with the thunder of a lightning storm. "Because if they dont… I'm going to tear you apart! I'm going to fucking kill you! I'm going to fucking kill you!" Mark screamed at them from the top of his lungs, rage somehow fueling his depleted body.
Roman pulled his pistol from its shoulder holster, and shoved it against Mark's forehead. Mark ignored the gun completely, even as it pressed against his skull painfully. His furious eyes stared past it, burning against Roman's as if he was trying to consume the kingpin with rage alone. Mark continued to scream, thrashing in a frenzy against his binds, trying to break the ropes for the sole purpose of killing Roman. "Ill kill you! Ill kill you! Ill fucking kill you!" Mark continued to scream, kicking his feet and bucking with his upper body.
Dimitri's eyes were wide with horror as he spoke. "Shoot him! Fucking shoot him!" Dimitri yelled in a panic. Roman ignored Dimitri. He was frozen in awe of the man. Mark no longer feared death. He no longer feared torment. Within an instant, he had changed from a meek, pathetic loser, to a wild and savage animal, thirsting for his blood.
Roman finally awoke from his trance, after breaking eye contact with the murderous, consuming fire behind Mark's eyes. "No… they're coming for him, we can use this." Roman said, forcing his voice to sound confident, even though it was little more then an educated guess. Dimitri grit his teeth in reluctance, as he stared at the berserk fat man who glaring and made growling cries from the back of his throat. "Fuck…" Dimitri whispered.
Roman sneered and struck the berserk fat man across the temple, with the barrel of his PPK pistol, silencing the screaming brute. Roman walked over to the table of torture, and lifted a simple pump action shotgun from it and tossed it to Dimitri. A shotgun is a very effective tool, for blowing off small limbs and extremities at close range, but equally as effective at guarding a doorway from crazed murderers.
Dimitri caught the shotgun, nearly dropping it, before securing it with both hands, putting his pistol in his belt. "Use this, cover the hallway, dont let any of them through, do you understand me?" Roman said fiercely. Dimitri winced, and nodded hesitantly, before Roman swung open the door, and shoved him through it. Dimitri jerked the shotgun down the hall, his eyes wild as they darted back and forth, waiting to blast the first shadow that moved.
Roman waited a moment, to see if Dimitri would be cut down in a hail of bullets, before poking his head through the doorway, checking to see if it was clear himself. When he saw the hallway was empty, he sprinted towards his office at the end of the hall, trying to remain as dignified and controlled as he could, while fleeing for his life.
Roman didnt think it was possible, but every fear and concern he had placed deep down in his subconscious, had culminated together into the perfect storm. He was shaking, shaking with fear. Roman shut the door of his office, and placed his back against it, as he tried to slow his rapid breathing and racing pulse, even as the sounds of tortured cries, gunshots and that gas powered device roared through the air.
50 Blessings were coming for him. In his attempt to reverse the situation, and learn what he could about the shadow organization, he had lead them to his front gates. In his attempt to gain control, he had lost it. So Roman waited, for the bloodthirsty psychos to come. He waited to see who would prevail in the end. He had spent his entire life trying to gain control, over himself, over others… while these masked maniacs reveled in chaos and death. They abandoned control for savagery and lost themselves in their blood lust. This was more then a battle to regain control over his empire, or even his very life. This was the very battle between order and chaos.
Roman had never been more afraid.