"You! Why did you kill him? My husband never did anything to you!"
"Let her go, you coward!" Marc screamed, veins bulging on his neck and temples. He strained against the zip tie, but it didn't budge. He stared at the jagged scar on the upper lip of the man, at his green eyes. Then he shifted his gaze to the other two men in similar military-inspired clothing. This is bad. They're not wearing masks, he thought.
"Was it worth it?" said Ben, gazing into Marc's eyes and toying with the knife.
There was no answer.
"Was it worth it?" yelled Ben, hurling the knife toward Marc. A shallow horizontal cut appeared on Marc's right cheek.
"I swear to God, Ben, if you do something to my mom—"
"What are you going to do, huh?" Ben moved slowly toward Anna, Marc's mother. A rondel dagger appeared in his hands in an instant, as if from nowhere, and he struck her right shoulder. Anna screamed, tears streaming down her face. Blood slowly stained her light blue pajamas.
"I'm going to kill you, you fucking bastard," Marc shouted, wriggling in the chair in a desperate attempt to break free.
Ben laughed maniacally. "I see, you still don't understand what's going on. Do you?" He yanked out the dagger and plunged it into Anna's thigh. Her eyes fluttered shut, and her body slumped forward until the zip tie binding her hands behind the chair halted the motion.
Ben glanced at the man behind him, who then approached Anna. The man extended his open palms, producing a faint glow. Anna's wounds began to heal, the skin around the dagger in her thigh knitting together.
What to do? What to do? Marc thought, jerking his bound wrists apart. More blood trickled down as the zip tie dug deeper.
Anna stirred, straightened her back, and leaned against the chair. She glanced at the dagger protruding from her thigh, her face paling, eyes widening, and breaths coming in rapid, ragged bursts.
Ben noted her reaction and turned back to Marc. "See what you did? I let you go. I let your mother go. And what do I get for my kindness? A knife in my back."
Marc clenched his fists so hard, blood welled from his palms. Now two streams merged at his knuckles, dripping with double intensity. "What are you even saying, you hypocrite? You killed my father in an ambush with your goons. All I did was share your actions with the world."
Ben ground his teeth, his jaw tightened until the muscles twitched visibly. He patted his hedgehog-style short brown hair. "I see, this dialogue is useless." He turned toward Anna and began pulling the dagger out slowly.
Anna shuddered and screamed as the skin around the dagger tore, blood gushing from the wound now that the blade no longer plugged it.
Marc strained with all his might to snap the plastic tie, but it only bit deeper, grazing his bone. He winced, his features contorted in agony.
Ben raised the blade to his face and licked the blood off the dagger. Smiling, he turned toward Marc again. "There's no way out of this, Marc. You'll sit there silently and watch your mother die. The more you open your mouth, the more she'll scream."
Tears streamed from Marc's eyes without pause as the screams dragged on. Each cut, each cry stretched seconds into what seemed like hours. A metallic, almost tangible stench hung in the room. At some point, his mind shattered, went blank, and his vision blurred completely.
In his mind, something strange unfolded. An unknown entity communicated without words, only through images laden with context, like a dream. He saw himself as a strong and fast man, strong as a gorilla, fast as a lion. Then the image shifted. He was dead, viewing his body from above. That was the price for this power. The bargain was as clear as day. He agreed without hesitation.
A moment later, the presence vanished, and his vision returned to the real world. He heard the breathing of everyone in the room, distinguishing their individual scents behind the veil of blood. Sensation flooded back to his wrists and palms. Power surged through his veins, muscles coiling with newfound might. He strained against the zip ties once more, and this time they snapped. As he rose, a sharp burn erupted in his chest. He looked down. Blood poured from a hole in his T-shirt. His body grew heavy, vision fading, and he collapsed face-first onto the floor. One moment his sight vanished, then his hearing, and finally the pain.
"What was that?" said Ben, eyeing the healer.
"The gun, sir," he replied, lifting his pistol.
"No, moron, I mean how did he break free?" Ben scratched the back of his head with the dagger's handle. "Those are industrial zip ties. No way a weakling like him could snap them. Was he hiding his strength?"
"I do not know, sir."
"Why didn't he do it earlier? It's suspicious."
***
There was no light, no sound, no sense of direction, no smell, no touch. Two choices presented themselves, opposite each other, with Marc in the middle. As he shifted toward one, comfort and warmth enveloped him. Thoughts, worries, and memories began to fade. Only euphoria remained. Soon, he couldn't recall who he was. Yet something clung stubbornly, refusing to vanish. He focused on it, and images of his mother's torture resurfaced. He relived the rage, pain, helplessness, desperation, and his own death in an instant. It brought him back to the center. This time, he shifted toward the other choice. No memories erased, no euphoria or solace like before.
This choice looks better. I won't get that eternal high, but I get to keep who I am, he thought.
He pressed deeper until he glimpsed the so-called "end of the tunnel." He surged forward and fell.
***