Cairo, Egypt
"I've been to the markets countless times, but never have I seen rugs of this high quality!"
"You have a keen eye, my friend." Hasani leaned over the counter, smiling at his customer. "A biased eye, but I like to think you know what a good rug is, Abu."
His friend let out a hearty laugh. "I don't, I'm afraid. I think that's why most of my patients keep walking out of our sessions. I can never find the carpet that speaks to me."
"If having a good carpet is what won you that Nobel Prize to begin with, I'm honored it was my late father who wove it..."
Abu offered a solemn smile. "I'll take this one."
A brief transaction later, he was off. "Thank you for your purchase!" Hasani waved him away, and the store was quiet again. His smile faded.
Destiny often felt like a silly concept. It was ridiculous that a person's life could be laid out clear as day. Rather, as he compared himself to every character in a novel, it was a concept he refused to accept.
Today had gone exactly as he had predicted: open up shop, sell a carpet to his friend, wait, then close up.
It was not a bad life. Yet, it was missing something.
"Mr. Ini-herit?"
The thick accent knocked him out of thought. He leaned out of his chair, smiling. "You—all—have a good sense! Here, I only sell the perfect rugs, all of which are handcrafted and woven to perfection!"
One of the six patrons glanced around. "Not many people want perfect carpets, huh?"
"Only the ones with undiscerning eyes!" After seeing foreigners pass through the bazaar his whole life, he knew how to deal with them.
While he laughed, the customer closest to the counter leaned in. "You need to close for today." He retrieved a knife from his pocket. "We won't hurt you."
He wasn't as prepared as he thought.
Hasani closed the shop, trapping himself with the group of Russians. "If it's money you want, it's in the back. It's not much, though..."
"Let's clear something up." Another voice, suave and distinctly Czech, came from the stairs. Xenia descended from the floor above, much to Hasani's bewilderment. "What we want is you." As she came to their level, she motioned for him to sit back down. "Please. It's your shop."
Hasani hesitantly moved, limiting his fidgets to his hands. Otherwise, he appeared perfectly stoic.
Xenia took her place in front of the Russians, sidelining Odysseus. "Your products truly are exquisite, Mr. Ini-herit. You had a wonderful teacher."
The compliment hadn't found its mark.
Undeterred, Xenia continued. "What do you know of your father?"
"What do you want of me?" he spat.
"Nothing. It's what you want. That is why we're here."
"Did your father tell you anything about your family?" Sacha interjected. "Did he mention your mother? Anything about their nature?"
Hasani opened his mouth, but no words came out.
"Then you have no idea what has been stolen from you." Xenia placed a letter on the counter. "My boss preferred that he—rather than I—speak with you. Just know that you are the key to helping this world change, and there is more to life than selling carpets."
He hesitantly took the letter.
"My name is Everett Emery. For over a decade, I have devoted my life to finding ghosts and communicating with the dead. I have traveled around the world, been to places no man should ever step, and saw some of the most horrific things imaginable."
As the van drove behind the line of police cars, Everett pulled himself from the back to see out the windshield. In the pitch of night, the two-story estate came into view, only thanks to the garden lights revealing its walls.
"Unlike every other ghost-hunting show, I realize that every unsolved murder and haunted house out there has been done to death. Whatever energy those ghosts have left is so dried up that all anyone ever gets is flickering lights. The dead that I find are some of the most chilling pieces of evidence you will ever see."
The vehicle stopped, and Everett shut the laptop. He hopped into the back again, flicking on a row of LED lights. Beholding him were wall racks mounted on either side, filled to the brim with equipment. His cameraman followed behind, capturing the host's silhouette against the background.
"This is the World's Most Haunted. And what you're about to see is the raw, unedited footage captured tonight..."
Everett was the first of the crew out, blasted with frigid air and chirping crickets. A perfect ambiance, he thought. Everything lined up for the day.
While the rest of the TV crew pulled up, he noticed one person in particular: the producer. "Rhonda!" he called. Before she could catch a breather, he and his stupid grin ran over. "I think we need a new intro. Something to really spice things up!"
She forced a smile for what she knew to be yet another impulsive idea. "Did you already forget my whole spiel about keeping it low-key?"
He waved off her concern with a physical motion to boot. "We do that, and we flop. I get your line of thinking, I really do, but we need a spectacle because we're more popular than ever!"
Rhonda glared at him as if to say, "You can't be serious."
Everett tilted his head back with an 'Ah.' "You don't have faith in me!" he said, patting the woman's shoulder. Immediately, he reached for his phone, tapping away at his search browser where he had something prepared. "I found this article, you'll love it. But right now, look at this paragraph, right here!"
He tapped at the sentence excitedly, shoving the phone to her face. Rhonda promptly pushed some distance between it and her. With a huff, she read, "Despite recent accusations and controversies, World's Most Haunted With Everett Emery shows no sign of slowing down. On the contrary, the lawsuit has led to an increase in the show's viewership."
"This means they love us!" He bounced like a giddy child. "Thanks to all the legal B.S., everyone is watching! They wanna know what we're all about, and what happens here is gonna be what everyone remembers!"
"Everett..." Rhonda masked a sigh with his name. "These new numbers are people looking to rip us apart. If our first episode since the lawsuit is some sort of celebration, every internet vigilante will jump on your ass."
"Can't be as bad as what the Caldwells got, huh?"
Rhonda pinched the bridge of her nose. "We'll talk about this when we're done filming. Right now, you need to do your thing."
By now, the rest of the crew was armed with camera rigs and gear, grouped up for a quick headcount. Their numbers barely made double digits, especially after the court battle. Nonetheless, their confidence in the future was unmatched.
Satisfied, Everett led them to the police officer at the entrance. He glanced over each of them, unlocking the gate. "Go right through here, up to the front doors. Detective Matthews will lead you around."
A series of "thank you" from the crew, and he shut it behind them.
As they approached the entrance, Agent 47 shot a glance at the car where he left one of the crew locked in the trunk.
His earpiece rang. "Hello, 47. Welcome to the Paxton Manor. Your target is Everett Emery, the affable host of the popular television show known as World's Most Haunted With Everett Emery. Everett and his crew are currently filming an episode at the manor where a shooting that claimed three lives recently took place. The police are letting them roam freely, having been paid to look the other way.
"Everett is an extreme paranormal enthusiast, having dabbled in the occult and searched for the supernatural for nearly a decade. However, his beliefs on the subject go beyond harmless. His most controversial belief is that the more recent of death, the more energy the ghost will retain upon leaving its corpse.
"This culminated in the aftermath of Timothy Caldwell's murder. A nine-year-old child, he was shot and killed while playing in his front yard. Everett paid off the local authorities to gain access to the crime scene, and he filmed an episode there in the dead of night. In the footage, he captured a full shot of Timothy's body, and even the confrontation between him and Timothy's parents wanting him and the crew to leave.
"Although they left shortly after, Everett's crew edited and published the episode to the world. Fans of the show flocked to the Caldwell family home, eager to see the spectacle that was Timothy Caldwell's corpse. Some, angry with how they handled Everett, harassed the family. The killer was unable to be identified because the forensics on the scene were too obstructed for conclusive results.
"Unable to deal with the exposure and the outcome, Timothy's mother attempted suicide. The Caldwell family pressed charges against Everett. He expressed no remorse for his actions. After months of court battles, Everett was cleared of all charges, and on the contrary, emerged with massive success from the episode's viewership while the family suffered financially and emotionally.
"Our client, Timothy's extended family, pooled their capital together in order to submit this contract. You know what to do, 47."
Location: Toronto, Canada
Target: The Occultist
"Okay! Cameras will start rolling in three, two, one."
They stopped at the front doors, Everett donning his signature enthusiasm. "Welcome back to another episode of World's Most Haunted With Everett Emery. Today, despite my bragging in the intro, you'll find we're at the infamous Paxton Manor. A manor full of architectural curiosities, built over an Indian gravesite by the eccentric Warren Paxton. He disappeared in this very house... then wound up in Jamaica as was recently discovered."
Everett pulled open the doors, revealing the aforementioned Detective Matthews. He frowned the moment he saw the cameras trained on him.
Everett marched past him, and so too did the cameraman. "But I'll be frank, this place was never truly haunted. It only has weird rooms and architecture. The guys who bought the manor only advertised it as such for money. And Warren probably built this place to hide the drugs he trafficked."
The group entered what was meant to be a grand foyer. The vast size of the manor from outside betrayed the single staircase squished into a room more akin to a corridor.
Once they found a more spacious living room, the camera pointed toward the officer. "We're here for something more fresh. This is Detective Matthews of the Toronto Police Service."
He nodded, giving a polite greeting.
Everett continued. "I heard that a tragic, tragic shooting took place during a tour. What can you tell us about it?"
Matthews took a breath. "Well, we know it's the revenge act of a jealous ex. The victims are two college students, Pamela Clay, and Ben Willis, who made plans to visit the Paxton Manor on a date. The perp, Ben's ex, followed the two here and shot and killed them. We found her farther ahead at a dead end, where she killed herself."
"Thank you." The camera turned to Everett. "Our goal is to establish communication. We're going to try different tests between each of the deceased using various equipment. First and foremost, let's go search the bodies!"
"And, cut!" one of the crew shouted, having all the cameras lower and shut off.
Everett clapped. "Alright, everyone, so far so good! I'm feeling the energy tonight; we're in for something special!"
He and the producer met up for a chat. Off to the side, the cameraman, Thomas, spoke to one of the newbies. Although the drama caused many forced and willing resignations, plenty of fans were eager to fill in the spots. This one in particular seemed more interested in the work itself. "The main thing you gotta keep in mind is to humor him. Do what Everett says, follow his steps, act how he acts, don't go against him, you get the gist. "
"So he works best alone."
"Pretty much. Funny you bring that up. The last time he worked with someone else, it was a collab with this Youtuber, Tsardine: James Wyatt. He tried making this show his platform for his 'pro-masculine' messages, which overshadowed all the ghost stuff. He and Everett got into so many spats, we had to cancel the episode because we were left with so little footage without the arguments."
"Sounds frustrating."
"Thomas?" He perked up at Everett's call, seeing the host point at the detective. "Follow Matthews to the crime scene and set things up for when we get there."
Providing a simple agreement, he was off. Everett looked back to his clipboard, only to switch his focus back to the newbie. "Who're you?"
Rhonda hopped between them. "Bobby's replacement. We're lucky the new tech guy showed up today. I mean, I was told he had to fly in from southern America."
Everett gave the slightest nod, though mustering a firm smile. He held a hand out to the newbie. "Nice to meet you, Mr...?"
"Rieper. Tobias Rieper." He shook.
"Good god, your hands are freezing."
"It's a cold night."
"Just a suggestion: invest in some mittens."
"Everett?" Rhonda called. "We should get a move on."
He nodded, although she was nowhere near to see it. Before long, the crew continued through the house.
47's earpiece scratched alive. "That is Everett Emery, an overtly passionate ghost hunter who prioritizes the occult over human lives. For once, we have a TV personality who's the same in reality as on screen."
After traversing a winding corridor and picking the right entrance from a hallway crammed with doors, the crew knew they were on the right track thanks to the smell of blood. Sure enough, a tarp covering two crumpled bodies lay on the ground. On the nearby table, Thomas stood beside several pieces of equipment.
"Good job, Thomas," Everett said. "I wanna get shooting ASAP. Get that camera on me, I'll—"
"May I have a word?" Detective Matthews stepped between Everett and the dead, his grey mustache mimicking his frown. "I'm not comfortable with this. I want you all to leave the premises."
"Detective, we—"
Everett rose a hand at Rhonda, stopping her. "Tell you what, you have a good heart, and I like that. You'll get double what I paid you when the night is over, alright? Besides, the perp's already dead; case closed."
"None of those are the problem! You never said you'd be bringing a whole damn camera crew here to gawk at these kids' dead bodies!"
The room fell silent. The first to move was Everett, still wearing his grin. He patted Matthews' shoulder. "Yet another cop abusing their authority."
"Excuse me?"
"This may not be America, but if I bring in their major news networks and tell them about that same old, familiar story about a cop harassing some good Samaritans, what do you think will happen? You'll lose your livelihood. Anywhere you show your face, you become the bad guy."
Matthews kept his mouth shut, sparing an instant glance at the camera on his uniform; an act that did not go unnoticed. He gritted his teeth.
Everett tapped it. "And look at that. You turned your body cam off like I told you to. You're playing in my hands, Matthews! You got a good deal, my advice is to take it!" The detective dipped his head, stepping out of his way. "It's okay, you're only human, I used to feel bad about this until I got my paychecks!"
"Cameras rolling in three, two, one."
"Here we are." Everett walked around the tarp, donning a grim expression. "If you're a new viewer, you oughta know we get up close and personal with these guys. So, viewer discretion and all that." Without another second to waste, he tore it off to reveal the two cadavers.
He whistled as if viewing an expensive car. Everett grabbed Pamela's head, pulling it up to show her expression to a zoomed-in camera. "Now that's a face frozen in fear if I've ever seen one!" he remarked.
"Our first order of business is getting these kids' pockets empty. When people die, portions of their energy transfer to whatever's on their body: clothing, wallets, keychains, you name it. It's through those things they can communicate and give us a sign that they are still here."
Everett rolled her on her backside, finding her hand. "Now, these kids were fearing for their lives. After the first gunshot, they got scared and went running, running," Everett said, providing a hand motion to mimic their fleeing. "This girl was clutching her phone real tight—still is, actually," he said, prying each finger off her device.
Everett wiggled her phone out, chuckling to himself. "Wow! It's insanely lucky that the object she last connected with was her phone!" Finding that it was locked via fingerprint, he promptly took her hand. "Excuse me, miss, mind if I use this?"
Upon getting into her device, he found the contacts. Before going further, he spun slowly around the room. "Pamela Clay. If your spirit is still in this room, channel your powers into your phone. Talk with us. Give us a sign that you are here." He raised her phone. "I'm gonna make a call. Now is your chance to speak..."
With that, he dialed her last contact.
After a few tense bouts of waiting, someone picked up. Everyone held their breaths.
"Pam...?"
Everett grinned at the camera. "Pamela Clay, is that you?"
"Who are you?"
"My name is Everett Emery. I am contacting you from the Paxton manor; the place you died in."
"Why do you have my daughter's phone?!"
Everett thrust the phone away from his ear, wincing. "Jesus, pipe down, will ya?" At this point, only unintelligible yelling was audible. He groaned. "We're trying to communicate with her spirit, and you're really not helping, ma'am."
The call ended. Still, he managed a laugh, and the crew joined in. "Well, that was a total bust."
Matthews shook his head.
Everett approached Ben's corpse, who also held his phone tight. They went through the same process, only something in his contacts caught the host's eye. He showed it to the camera. "It's an unnamed contact. No profile, nothing."
He dialed. Just as it was about to end, someone picked up.
Static. "Hello?" Everett spoke. "Ben Willis, are you there?"
In a low, gravelly voice marred with static, one word came out: "Rebecca."
The call ended. Everett, eyes wide and mouth ajar stared directly at the camera. "Did you hear that?!" His crew shifted uncomfortably. "Who's Rebecca?"
Instinctively, they all looked to a blanching Detective Matthews. "Rebecca Young's the name of the killer..."
The camera switched back to Everett, holding his face. "Oh. My. God."
"And, cut..."
Everett reverted to his ditzy grin. He walked over to Rhonda, who talked with their strangely unnerved crew. "Nice thinking, Thomas, adding a strange number to his phone. It's been a while since I felt genuinely spooked!"
Rhonda bit her lip. "That... wasn't Thomas' or any of our doing."
"Yeah, right." Everett noticed their blank stares. When nobody fessed up, his smile fell. "You're kidding."
"It's true." Matthews intruded, standing beside Thomas. "When he was waiting for you all, he was at least kind enough to not fondle the dead."
"Everett? There's more bad news," the tech, Tobias, said.
"What now?"
"All the footage got corrupted."
"So?"
"All the footage. Every camera here."
Everett's face notably lit up a bright red. "What do you mean?"
"I-I don't know how it happened!" one cameraman interjected. "One moment, my camera was working fine, then... Poof."
Everett deflated. Another idea entered his mind; one that explained everything. The more he thought about it, the bigger his grin became. "It's a ghost!"
The crew let out a collective groan. Rhonda came to his side. "Hey, I know you're really passionate about this, but the reality is, the only reason our show stayed afloat for so long is thanks to our video editors and practical effects. Ghosts just... aren't real."
"Then how do you explain any of this?"
"Well... there has to be a person the weird phone number goes to. When we're done, we can have someone trace it. And the corrupting is probably faulty equipment."
Despite her reasonings, his excitement did not dissipate even a little. "Corrupted footage or not, this show will go on! If we capture a real ghost on camera, that will keep this show alive for decades!" He looked to Matthews. "Take us to Rebecca! Ben's spirit pointed us in that direction, so there must be something he wants to show us!"
During the walk there, the crew's nerves had no chance to calm.
A grating sound froze everyone in their tracks. It was akin to a pained groan, booming across the manor as though echoed from the maw of a beast. They felt the floor vibrate in sync. "You guys still think this is nothing?!" Everett yelled.
"This house makes strange noises all the time!" Matthews shouted back. "It's the weird architecture. The place always feels like it could collapse at any moment..."
"Who's there?" a crew member switched on their flashlight, peering down a hall. As others gathered around him, his breath fluctuated. "I swore I saw someone there! Something red moved down that hall!"
The grating noise played again, much to the crew's discomfort.
Everett pushed past everyone, darting after the supposed figure. He barreled down twist and turn, cameras right behind him until he stopped.
It was a staircase leading up to a ceiling. A dead end. Only an unlit lantern hanging on the wall decorated the destination.
The crew whispered among themselves, growing more and more uneasy. Rhonda walked over to Matthews. "Could it be one of the other officers patrolling?"
"No." His voice was low and quiet. "I told them it was handled, so they're standing watch outside. We're are the only ones here." He approached the man who initially saw the figure, forcing on a stern expression; something his tone betrayed. "Your mind was playing a trick on you with the darkness. That's all it is... It has to be."
The room with Rebecca's corpse was no bigger than a restroom and blankly dull. A singular hanging lantern protruded from one wall, illuminating the splintery planks making up the room. On the opposite side, a slender window pane cut down the middle. In the center of everything, Rebecca Young hung from a noose.
Matthews stood aside as the cameramen and crew got a good look. "Cameras rolling in three, two, one..."
Everett stood at the door. "After realizing she had nowhere to run, Rebecca hung herself rather than face arrest. The owners put the noose in and added some story about Warren's staff offing themselves here. But, really, she's the first person to die by it."
He and a cameraman entered the room, circling Rebecca's corpse. "Too afraid to face the consequences of her actions, and so chose the easy way out," Everett remarked. "But because of her, two people have unresolved business in this world. Earlier, one of the victim's phones had a mysterious contact in—"
"Everett!" a crew member shouted. "The audio isn't being picked up!"
He smiled a smug grin at the cameraman. "This keeps happening today. Something in this house doesn't want to be seen, I know it!"
The two left the room. "Where's the tech guy? I need this—"
The lights flickered off. Darkness engulfed everybody. Some of the crew yelped at the suddenness, but more common was a mounting frustration at the errors.
The noise echoed again, this time in the very room itself. Clear as day, Everett could make out what it was: the straining groan of a vengeful spirit.
And, through everybody's clamoring, behind Rebecca's corpse, he saw it: a pale skull reflecting the moonlight.
Another pained groan. The skull vanished, and the light flickered on.
"I saw it! I saw it!" Everett shoved past everybody, planting himself on the back wall where the apparition stood. He couldn't help the laughter escaping him. "It was a real ghost! It had a pitch-black body and the head of a skull!" Against the crew's disbelief, he continued, "I saw the Grim Reaper!"
"Everett, you don't need to try so hard! We can't even get the equipment right!" Rhonda cried, more so out of desperation than annoyance.
"It was probably some weird reflection. Remember the gas station ghost?" a crew suggested.
"Or another case of pareidolia, like at the farm and the loose pig?"
"I'm telling you, this is different!" He was getting to them; he could tell by the looks of their faces. "Only so many coincidences can happen at once. I say we skip the initial investigation and plant our cameras around and laser grid the place!"
A mumbled agreement was the consensus. The group left Rebecca alone for now.
Their next destination was the manor's playroom on the second floor. Labeled as "the most active room," Warren Paxton's child died there after suffocating on a wooden block. At least, according to the people who bought the place.
The crew set up there, and they spread out in the winding halls and various rooms, setting up laser grids and surveillance cameras.
None of them noticed the presence behind their backs.
"Cameras rolling in three..."
"Okay, so here's the deal: we've run into so, so many technical issues since we arrived. Corrupted footage, bad audio, all that stuff. Every time, it was conveniently before we experienced some of the most damning paranormal evidence I have ever seen. Even though you won't see us do the usual investigation with the bodies, we have holed up in the most active area in the Paxton manor in total darkness."
"Everett?" Rhonda called. "I don't like this. What if it's not a ghost, but... a person?"
"Matthews said all the cops are guarding outside! You gotta stop thinking everything in this world has to make sense because nothing here is making any sense!"
Rhonda screamed. "There! There!"
Despite the darkness, everybody saw it: the pale skull and a stream of blood raining from it. The Grim Reaper returned.
The room came alive with screams. Equipment clattered as people crashed into each other. People burst through doors and into the darkness, fear taking over their bodies in a bid to escape the specter.
"Everyone stop moving!" Everett yelled. He stepped on someone's back, stumbling closer to the spirit. Someone passed between them—it reappeared at the door.
Just as he aimed his camera, Matthews burst through, waving his flashlight. "What the hell happened?" The spirit had vanished.
"No!" Everett pushed the detective aside, stomping through the corridor with only his GoPro in hand. He faintly saw the trace of red make a turn. Though fear tightened his throat, he gave chase. Somebody called his name, but it fell on deaf ears.
Everett lost every sense of direction. Wherever he saw the laser grids catch movement, his steps took him there. He turned the GoPro up at him. "I confess, everything we ever captured is bullshit! But this? This is real!"
He chased the shadow figure down the stairs. As it entered Rebecca's room, the horrific groan boomed across the manor again.
Donning a new look of determination, Everett followed inside.
Rebecca's corpse was on the ground. The noose hung empty.
"The body moved! Maybe this wasn't the Grim Reaper, but Ben's spirit! It must be taking revenge by desecrating Rebecca's corpse!" He sputtered half-excited, half-terrified murmuring.
Everett fell quiet, realizing his next move. "The last object a deceased had connected to, holds the most of their power..." He knew where to look.
Everett righted the stool, facing the noose. "When we look through, we're effectively staring into the realm of the dead. I don't know what we will see, but it won't be pleasant..." Stepping up, he squished the camera against his head.
He took a breath. "Ben Willis! Show yourself! You led me to this room for a reason, and I am here! Give me a sign!" Everett leaned closer to the noose, searching for any sign of life. The air, still and silent, worried him. "Do you wish to communicate with me? Do you wish to send a message to your family?"
A numb feeling took root. 10 years of nothing but lies and disappointment led to this moment. There had to be something. "Ben Willis!" he cried, straining his throat. "Show me that you are here! Show the world what you can do! Even if it's me you wish to harm!"
A hand shoved him forward. The stool slid out from under him, hitting the wall.
His neck tightened as though clamped in a vice. Water forced itself to his eyes, and gravity forced his jaw shut. Everett tried to scream, writhing and contorting his face, but only spoke silence. Saliva clogged at his throat, dripping along the chin. He clawed the noose, chipping his nails.
He kicked and twirled. The world blurred. Everett's foot scratched the wall—the only noise he made. His vision fazed in and out as each of his limbs grew numb. The noose spun to its original orientation, having him face a wall.
Everett locked eyes with the specter of Death. His dance was over.
"Target down." The hitman straightened his red tie, taking the GoPro. "Nicely done, 47. A fitting conclusion for a man chasing after the dead. And you solved the mystery of how Warren Paxton disappeared from his manor."
Agent 47 pulled on the lantern. Rusty gears groaned and pulled. The wall behind him slid into the ceiling, revealing a dilapidated concrete tunnel. He stepped inside, pressing a button to close the entrance behind him.
Just as it shut, the real entrance bust open. "Everett!" one crew member cried.
It didn't take long for everyone to see what happened. Motioned by Rhonda, the cameramen raised their equipment at the corpse.
Thanks to her quick thinking, World's Most Haunted With Everett Emery earned an unforgettable finale.
CONTROVERSIAL TV HOST EVERETT EMERY DEAD AT PAXTON MANOR
Everett Emery was found dead from an apparent suicide.
The host of the infamous ghost-hunting TV show, World's Most Haunted With Everett Emery, was filming another episode at the Paxton Manor tourist attraction. In what was meant to be his grand return to television following the Caldwells' lawsuit, his next episode would have focused on a homicide that took place in the manor.
However, in a shocking turn of events, Everett himself died from what police believe to be a suicide, despite friends and family claiming he has shown no signs of depression or suicidal intent. The working theory is that the lawsuit put lots of stress on Everett, and he intended to make this episode his last. This is further supported by the controversial decision to air the episode as the show's finale.
Some argue that this choice disrespects Everett Emery and his family's wishes, while others believe it's fair after his many controversies around publicizing tragic deaths.
The producer, Rhonda Miles, had no comment about the decision. On another note, she provided a quote on what she believes to be the true reason for Everett's death. "There is no doubt in my mind that something possessed Everett to take his life. We saw things in the mansion with no good explanation. I remember that night, Everett claimed he saw the Grim Reaper, and we all groaned. Then we saw what he saw. And now, I can't get his words out of my mind..."
As a result of her statement, an emerging fringe theory concludes that Everett Emery was possessed by a demon, and was forced to commit suicide under its influence...
VIOLENCE IN BRAZIL ESCALATES; DECAPITATIONS, DISEMBOWELMENT IN BRUTAL GANG WAR
At least 68 people have been killed in a gruesome gang battle in the Caipora Federal Penitentiary in Manaus, Brazil.
For the past two days, the prison has fallen under total control of the ruthless drug gang, the Comando Venenoso. The local gang had invaded the wing controlled by its rivals. Led by one of its top leaders, Abílio Vieira, attempts to negotiate for the hostages' release have all failed. They made their intentions clear in crude footage released from the prison: To get rid of all members of the Comando Bruto.
Brazil's two most powerful gangs had a non-aggression pact for years, but the truce was ruptured last month for unclear reasons. This has led to riots in several prisons, killing over 100 inmates nationwide, further enabled by a failed prison system.
Comando Venenoso gangsters decapitated 14 prisoners and lit portions of the prison on fire with mattresses. Footage from inmates on their mobile phones shows gang members beheading and dismembering other prisoners. In another, an inmate waves to the camera with the hand of a dead person, "He is saying bye."
The Caipora Federal Penitentiary housed up to 500 prisoners, more than twice its capacity. Many Comando Bruto were unable to escape or fight back thanks to the overcrowded cells. One such video shows inmates banging on a prison cell with machetes. Upon failing to break through the lock, they ignite the mattress of the cell—designed to hold eight inmates—jammed with 30. "Vai morrer!" they shouted. "You're going to die."
As a sign of goodwill, three hostages were released, but the standoff is far from over. Negotiations are still ongoing...
AMERICAN HUMAN TRAFFICKING SURVIVOR DISAPPEARS AFTER RESCUE FROM ITALIAN MAFIA
"They treated me like cattle."
The famous quote from 20-year-old Isabelle Pearce shined a new spotlight on Italy's mob families, specifically the Antonellis and the Agostis. Her story, which spanned from an unknown mansion in Venezuela to being bought as a sex slave for the Agostis' youngest, Angelo, brought global attention. Pressure mounted for a worldwide crackdown on human trafficking, resulting in hundreds of more lives saved.
Isabelle Pearce, however, has disappeared. Concerned friends and family first realized something was amiss when she never picked up their calls. People who first arrived at her home in California called authorities upon realizing the police stationed to guard her residence were murdered. Isabelle's apartment was ransacked, and she was nowhere to be found.
Authorities speculate she was abducted in retaliation for speaking out against the traffickers.
If you have any information that could help authorities, please call this number...
"Corvus, I'm curious. Do you ever have fun?"
"If that is an invitation, please fuck off. I have no interest in a human sex toy used by billionaire criminals."
"Not even a simple question gets through this guy—I'm making small talk!" Madelyn recomposed herself a moment later; what good was an impression if it could be thrown off by one immature boy?
"Then I answered your question. It's difficult to enjoy myself when I see corruption and greedy scumbag one percenters in every corner." Drystan sneered at the other end of the table. "The wanna-be dictator and the chaebol being here is already making me lose faith in this project."
Fedyenka glanced up, releasing a breath as he readied against the usual complaints. "Don't talk to me about politics, boy."
"Don't talk to me as if your agendas have been of any help to anyone except the greedy wealth that is your country's oligarchy! A stout pig born into such power would have no idea how to help someone who knows the struggle. All you do is take and consume."
"You sure love your moral high ground, don't you, Corvus?" Fedyenka reclined in his seat. "All your talk and technological business, but when it boils down to it, all you want is what people like me have. Not that I blame you! You look like you could use a sandwich or two." He laughed heartily.
"The letter made everything sound under control..." Clera muttered, shrinking beside Myung.
"Gentlemen, you're frightening my beneficiary." Myung didn't bother to stop reading her book. "Do please pipe down."
At that, Drystan's glare locked onto Clera. "And you! You held some of the most power out of anyone here, and yet all you cared about was the status quo! Money that no average citizen would ever see, all stuffed in your pockets. If I had an expert killer who did my bidding, I would have saved this world from the billionaires polluting us." He leaned over the table, trying to look into her eye. "You're just as big a disgrace as these one percenters."
"Would you be so kind as to shut up?" Madelyn said. "Surtr gathered us here for a reason. If we're going to be working together, the least you could do is put up with it for both of our sakes."
"If I do that, then I admit that I give up fighting."
"Oh, my..." Madelyn buried herself in her hands as the banter escalated.
Fortunately, calm was not far ahead. All the participants received a notification of a user joining. At an empty seat, an avatar formed. It was an old, wiry man sagged with wrinkles. He came across as someone who had just returned from a hangout at a golf course; an elder you'd pass by on the street.
"Thank you for waiting." His voice came akin to a whisper and held the cadence of a polite elderly man one would expect. Yet, it cut through the air, leaving silence in its wake. Even Drystan sat back down. "I understand we have some differences. But as Madelyn said, we are all on the same side. We want the same thing."
"Even her, Surtr?" Drystan pointed at Myung.
"Myung is sympathetic to our cause. I trust her." The two shared a glance—and a polite smile. "Besides, her position will prove to be a valuable asset."
Drystan let out a 'hmph,' but had no further protest.
"Ironically, we need as much money as the 'one percenters' if we want to light the world aflame," Madelyn said.
Myung scoffed at the eyes turning to her. "That's not my job. I can't sink my money into undisclosed investments without raising questions."
"If you truly were sympathetic, your first-class problems should be the last thing on your mind."
"It's not about reputation," Surtr interjected. "If people start asking questions, we'll have more trouble than it's worth." He looked to Madelyn. "I'm aware of the money issues. This is why I had Fedyenka's team find this man."
Everyone received another ping, as another user joined. "This is Hasani Abdel Ini-herit, and he is the final piece to our puzzle."
Strapping the virtual reality headset on, Hasani froze at the sudden group before him. He wore his customer service smile, though became unsure when none of them smiled back.
"Welcome to the rebellion," Surtr began. "Please, feel at ease. I would like to talk to you about your family, the people who wronged you, and what has been stolen from you."
Hasani nodded. It wasn't like he was here for any other reason.
"You're low-class. You grew up experiencing the worst the Middle East had to offer. Your father had to raise you and manage your lives, all while battling a terrible sickness. It's a miracle he lived as long as he did—my condolences, by the way."
Though it was just reiterating what was in the letter, Hasani still smiled sincerely. "I'm glad I was lucky enough to have him raise me. Yes, life was tough, but we made it through thick and thin." His gaze drifted up, lost in reminiscence. "Although we had little, we made do with our lives..."
"But have you ever wondered why this was the life you had to live?"
Hasani shook his head. "I never asked, and my father never said a word about his past."
A picture appeared in Surtr's hand. Hasani recognized the people as the Vaziri family: one of Egypt's richest families. Before he could ask about it, Surtr pointed to their oldest daughter. "She's your mother."
A rattling wave shot through his bones like electricity. Hasani leaned closer to the photo; towards his mother.
"When her family found out about the man she loved, they punished her. When you were born, they ripped you away from your mother." With a flick of the hand, the picture tore apart, dissipating into pixels. "Your father was forced to go into hiding with you. He sacrificed everything for your survival."
Hasani tried to speak, but Surtr cut him off. "While he threw everything away for the sake of your happiness, dying of a disease only the rich could cure, the Vaziris bathed in gold! Is this fair? Is this the world of equality and justice that society demands, yet punishes people for working towards?" Surtr took a breath, reclining in his seat. "I'm sorry... I got excited."
Hasani, on the other hand, was still processing the information. "Why are you telling me this? What am I supposed to do? I-I sell carpets for a living..."
"There is a bright side to this." Surtr pointed at him. "You are an heir."
He stared blankly at the finger. As seconds passed, his breath quickened. Hasani leaned on his hand, masking himself as he understood why they approached him. "I'm sorry... I don't feel comfortable with this."
"I won't have you do anything against your wish. But think about this. With our help, we can return what is rightfully yours. You will reunite with your mother whom they punished because of her love. And with the funds you inherit, you can give back to the people who need it."
Hasani finally met Surtr's eyes.
"Even you can make the world a better place."
After Hasani and the others—minus Myung—left the server, Surtr couldn't help but smile. His dream was coming together. And now, all he needed to do was protect himself.
"Myung? I need a favor. It concerns Ms. Burnwood and her assassin."