Lying in bed, staring at the white ceiling of his cell, Gorgo was at peace. Calm, with no desire to escape, no urgency, no fear. Just patient, smiling… and serene.
Time is relative when you know your stay will end with death.
His reputation as the "dojo killer" was enough to ensure that no one dared to bother him. And those who could truly defeat him... had more important things to do than pick a fight.
Four years have passed since his confrontation with Max, Oliver, and Gouten. Of all of them, his memory always returned to one: Oliver .
That boy was the only one who managed to make him doubt. If he hadn't fought them, he would never have found peace in his own punishment.
Four years of confinement. Four years without raising his fists. Four years without violence… and finally, Gorgo achieved what he could never achieve in freedom: not causing harm .
That self-control saved his life. Any fight would have condemned him to the death penalty.
His cellmate was rarely with him. And when he was, he huddled in a corner, trembling, avoiding closeness as if his mere presence burned.
A metallic clang shook the calm.
Gorgo looked up, his stillness interrupted by the sharp sound of a truncheon hitting the bars. Outside his cell, a guard waited impatiently.
"Garilla... grab your things and follow me," he ordered in a firm voice.
Gorgo frowned, more confused than annoyed.
"My things? What for?" he asked in a neutral tone.
The guard looked at him, with no intention of explaining himself.
—Just obey.
Gorgo gathered her few belongings, shuffling behind the guard. Doubt settled on her head like cold sweat.
—Are they going to change my cell?
—No… just shut up.
—So why do I have to carry my things?
—Garilla, I order you to remain silent.
He snorted in annoyance, getting no answers. They led him into the courtyard, straight to an old wall stained with what looked like impact marks and dried spatter, like old paint… or blood. The holes were the size of fists. It didn't look like a wall… but an execution altar.
Gorgo was stopped right in front of him. Looking back, he found a line of armed officers, rifles at the ready.
—What's up…?
One of those present stepped forward.
— Adam Nodert… in the name of the law of the United States, your immediate execution has been ordered.
Gorgo's eyes widened in horror.
"Adam Nodert?! No! My name is Gorgo Garilla!" he shouted, backing away until his back hit the wall.
— Reload!
—NO, NO, NO! IT'S A MISTAKE!
— Aim!
—NOOOOO! IT'S A MISTAKE! I DON'T—!
— SHOOT!
Gorgo covered himself with his arms.
The echo of the gunfire reverberated against the wall. He felt the vibrations, the crack of the bullets shattering the stone behind him… but no pain. He opened his eyes.
—On Tuesday, June 17, 2010… Nodert Adam was executed.
The guards slowly lowered their rifles. Gorgo, panting, desperately checked his body. Nothing. Not a drop of blood.
—What the fuck is going on?!
One of the officers, without even looking at him, replied coldly:
—It was your fake execution.
"Huh?... Fake...?" Gorgo stammered, still processing.
There were no further explanations.
A blink of an eye, and he was out of the prison. Dressed in the same old clothes, with his few belongings in a plastic bag. The open sky hit him with a light he hadn't seen in years.
In front of him, a luxurious black car was waiting. Leaning on the hood, relaxed and with a deadly gaze, Do'cientos watched him as if no time had passed.
"It's been a while, big guy," he said in a dry voice. "Get in the car."
Gorgo's eyes trembled. He turned to look at the prison and began walking toward the entrance. But a guard blocked his way with an outstretched arm.
—You're free... come here to the car —he said calmly.
"Free?!" Gorgo asked, excited. "From a life sentence? Yeah, right...
" "When's the joke over?"
"It's no joke, Gorgo," replied Do'cientos without raising his voice. "Get in the car."
Gorgo gritted his teeth.
"Damn it..." he growled, climbing into the back seat.
The car started. From the back seat, Gorgo watched silently as Two Hundred drove him to the most obvious destination of all: the headquarters of the Money Corporation.
"How did you manage to free me from a life sentence?" he asked in a tense voice.
"We bribed the judge who convicted you," Two Hundred replied, without taking his eyes off the road. "Then we worked to cover up your disappearance from the system. We duplicated your identity, swapped names... and that's it."
—That doesn't answer anything! Why did they almost shoot me?!
"We caused a snafu of records," he said, with robotic calm. "Today, a man named Adam Nodert was supposed to be released. We used his name, duplicated his profile… and put your face on it."
Gorgo blinked in disbelief.
—So… the one who died was…?
"Adam Nodert died, with your face," Do'cientos interrupted. "Legally, he was executed. You, on the other hand... you were freed with all your papers in order. You are Gorgo Garilla, a free man."
—And the real Adam?
"Dead too," he said, emotionless. "We killed your fake identity… and the guy it belonged to."
Silence fell like a tombstone inside the car.
"And why free me?" Gorgo asked, his voice thick with disbelief. "After four years? After failing at my job?"
"The plan was bound to fail anyway," Two Hundred replied calmly. "I understand why Baldur defeated you. The old man bested Noeredor… You did a lot; you managed to defeat Max, though you couldn't kill him. But don't worry, we have better tools now, and we'll continue with my plan."
—I… I want to resign…
"Don't talk," Do'cientos interrupted. "Let's leave the arrangements for the office. I don't like talking about work on the road."
Gorgo fell silent, his mind racing through memories. " I never got to face Baldur," he thought, feeling small and powerless. " It was that brat Oliver who beat me, who made me question everything. How do I tell him I was defeated by a six-year-old on steroids?"
They both arrived at the corporation in silence. They took the elevator to the fifth floor. Gorgo internally debated whether to remain silent or reject everything at once.
They walked down the hallway until they finally entered Two Hundred's office. They sat facing each other, separated only by an elegant wooden desk and a monitor.
"So… what were we talking about?" Two Hundred asked with false calm.
"That I resign," Gorgo replied, dry and direct. "Ha… what a good joke," Two Hundred laughed sarcastically. "What was the matter you were going to talk about?" "My resignation!" Gorgo shouted, raising his voice. "I don't want to work here anymore! I was comfortable rotting in prison, and they throw me out like this, without warning!" "Do you realize how pathetic you sound?" Two Hundred asked contemptuously. "Of course I know!" Gorgo replied furiously. "But for me it was the right thing to do! After six years of shit ! Serving a life sentence without feeding the cycle of violence! It was the right thing to do!"
" Two Hundred muttered, his voice low and thick with venom.
"I never got to stand up to Baldur!" Gorgo shouted, his eyes on the verge of tears. "Some six-year-old brats intercepted me at the dojo and gave me a beating I can't erase from my mind!"
He slammed his fist on the table. "One of those brats made me rethink my life! He broke me! I gave up! And I was the one who turned myself in to the police, on my own! No one else! By myself!"
That was the final straw. Do'cientos slowly took off his sunglasses, placed them on the table, and stared at Gorgo with empty, soulless eyes.
"I knew you were a soft idiot... but deep down, I thought you were loyal and intelligent. I'm grateful you didn't mention the corporation during your interrogation... you covered for us," he said, and gave an honest, almost mocking laugh. "I'm sure you're... regretting it right now, aren't you?"
Before Gorgo could answer, he continued,
"Six-year-olds? How pathetic." He took a deep breath, wiping away his smile. "You're in debt, Gorgo. What I invested that day wasn't cheap. You're going to have to pay... we're talking about 22 million dollars, plus the 750,000 it cost to free you."
Gorgo didn't even flinch.
"Shove your debts up your ass," he growled. "You're the one who really pains me... bothering an old man and a couple of kids over a fucking meteorite that's not even registered."
He leaned toward the desk.
"Kill me already... I'm not working for your pile of shit."
Two Hundred just snorted, filled with rage. He opened a drawer, took out a heavy revolver, and held it in one hand while glancing sideways at Gorgo. The ex-soldier gulped, more out of surprise than fear.
The chief opened the barrel of the gun. The six bullets were there. Without haste, he dropped five to the ground. He turned the barrel with a click and closed it.
"I want to be a fair man, Gorgo," he said, his tone so false it reeked of lies. "Let's play a game... Do you know Russian roulette?"
"Fucking sadistic piece of shit," Gorgo muttered through gritted teeth. "Just kill me."
But his words were stifled as he watched Do'cientos point the gun at his head. And without hesitation, he pulled the trigger.
Click !
He did it again.
Click !
A third time.
Click !
Quarter.
Click !
Fifth…
Click !
Gorgo couldn't help but open his eyes wide.
—How the fuck…!?
Two hundred lowered his gun with a disturbing smile.
—I'm a lucky man, Gorgo…
"You're a sick man! That's what you are!" Gorgo shouted, in a burst of fury and disbelief.
"It's funny how luck saves you from even your stupidest actions..." replied Do'cientos, in his sermonizing tone, as if he were explaining a lesson in a twisted philosophy class.
Gorgo froze, out of place.
"Look..." the boss continued slowly.
He aimed at his temple again. He pulled the trigger a sixth time.
Click .
Silence.
The bullet didn't come out.
"This revolver is almost new," he commented with surprise, without losing his composure. "It shouldn't jam."
He twisted his wrist in disdain, pointed it at a side wall, and pulled the trigger for the seventh time.
BANG!
The shot echoed loudly, piercing the wall like a long-overdue sentence.
"Where are you trying to get at by showing me this twisted game?" Gorgo asks angrily.
―It's proof that this is real, Gorgo...― he tells her ―A game?... This means that Your life is practically a game orchestrated by me, Gorgo...
"Uh?" he stammers, taking a step back.
―Gorgo memorizes… How many times since I met you have I mentioned the word "luck"?...
"No..." he shook his head, stepping back...
―I won the fight against Richarzon… it wasn't luck…
―Why the fuck would a boxer turn to look at the crowd just as he's evading a punch?...
" Your performance today was incredible. You had no chance of winning. Your victory was purely luck... Richarzon's mistake led you to victory..." Do'cientos explains .
―son of a... me... was I going to lose that fight?...
"It's curious, isn't it? Why didn't anyone bet on you in that fight? Why would the eternal underdog beat the young hopeful? What's the point? Can you explain?"
"It was never a chance you gave me…" Gorgo murmured in shock, his hands shaking with helplessness. "You gave me a leash… and manipulated me…
How?! How did this game of chance benefit you… and completely ruin me!?"
"It's my gift," Do'cientos replied calmly. "I call him ' Clover'… it's like a miracle."
He stood up slowly, with the calmness of someone holding someone else's destiny in the palm of his hand. He took a single bullet from his pocket, inserted it into the revolver's cylinder, and closed it.
"I was born with 100% luck. Random acts always favor me," he pointed out to Gorgo as he spoke, as if making small talk. "I can also distribute my percentage to other people... and change good luck into bad luck. Sounds pointless, doesn't it? But if you use it wisely, you can go far."
He extended his arms, as if showing his invisible empire.
—Look at my place… and look at yours.
There was an icy silence.
"When they injected me with the serum..." Gorgo stammered, putting two and two together.
—You survived because I gave you 100% of my luck. Then… I took it away from you again.
"I'm going to kill you... you fucking son of a bitch..." Gorgo growled, his eyes bloodshot. "I swear I'm going to kill you!"
But the revolver shot made no sound. Only a dry "thwack" struck his neck.
Gorgo staggered back, and as he touched it, he extracted a small plastic bullet with a needle. The liquid inside was viscous… like that of a syringe.
"Sweet dreams, big guy," Two Hundred whispered, smiling. "We'll put your body to good use. The serum is an expensive experiment... I'm not throwing it away."
"They're going to kill you in the most horrible way... son of a bitch..." Gorgo stammered, his face already paralyzed, his tongue heavy. "It's a promise..."
And he fell face down to the ground, like a fallen titan.
"My luck will prevent it..." Do'cientos replied calmly, letting the revolver fall on the back of his neck like someone closing a book.