There were times when Ted wished he could split himself into two or more people. What little he knew about the lives of the deserters was badly tempting him, and he wanted to go out and learn more about what it felt like to be the subject of stalking and psychological torture.
Then again, if he wanted to be tortured, he could go to see a new production of the Hobbyist Theater, which was definitely not a embarrassment to the entire concept of theaters.
The safe arrived from the east, and Mad had to engage in some serious detective work to find out how it was supposed to be opened.
That was the first step.
The second was finding the correct combination of five numbers. Ted knew this to mean ten to the power of five.
Regrettably enough, that withheld a hundred thousand different combinations.
Ted was the one to pinch the bridge of his nose now.
"It will take me approximately five hundred and fifty hours to test all the combinations, BUT!" Madorn raised a finger. "But it's in the case of the wanted combination being the absolute last in the row. I'll be systematical, and you'll just have to be patient. I can do with two hours of sleep. This means that I will have everything done in a month. Or probably less."
Ted continued pinching the bridge of his nose.
"No, no way, this is so far from what imagined," he sighed. "All right. And you are sure that eastern agents will not kill you in your sleep?"
"Relatively…I have never been absolutely positive that such a thing will not happen."
"Then, go ahead and punch in the numbers while I go punch someone in the face. I trust your instincts, Mad. Do not let me down."
Ted received a punchable face right away.
One of the lost ones had come back.
He was not in a good shape.
His paranoia and anxiety was so apparent from his widened eyes that Ted would have felt sorry for the bloke, but the absence of human emotions made it difficult to summon even the most condescending morsel of pity.
The man had been called Golden Swallow when he had still been a member of the Society.
Ted spent forty minutes questioning the man, and while he talked with the deserter, it became apparent that while he had no hard feelings towards the Society or its leadership, he was not fit to be a sacrifice. He had been coerced to join with a financial incentive.
Ted shook his head. That was not the way he recruited people. The point was to make people spend money so that they felt connected to the cause, not give them money so they could expect more.
This was not an opportunity to re-recruit, but Ted was a resourceful man. He intended to use this moment as an opportunity to teach what happened when someone abandoned the cult.
He summoned everyone to the crammed sleeping quarters.
"It has come to my knowledge that there are those who only joined for a promise of bribery, or income, or whatever you want to call it," Ted said, letting his cold eyes sweep over the crowd, softening his gaze whenever he looked at those he believed to be fully brainwashed. "I am known to be generous, but there are much better recipients for our hard-earned wealth, or what do you think? Guys?"
The last word was a little bit of sugar to help the cultists feel connected to him.
The cultists nodded along. They were actually looking upset, and some were even whispering nasty things about Golden Swallow, loudly enough that the man himself could probably hear.
"I thought so." Ted sighed.
These men and women had been staying awake for long periods, until delusional thinking had set in. They had abstained from food and water in an act that they had believed to be voluntary fasting. They had spent their paychecks, their energy, their resources on the cult. They were unwilling to back off by now – the fallacy took them and spun them around until they were too dizzy to say what they actually needed.
Ted dragged the man to the center of the ring of people.
"Golden Swallow here has lived up to his name, since he likes gold so much. You might know that I am a man with a sense of humor. Does anyone here like puns?"
Mostly, the cultists groaned, but they had to admit that they had laughed at puns within the passing week. Puns were cheap, yet witty, commonplace, yet they were so for a reason.
Ted would open up a whole new level of puns.
He kicked Golden Swallow in the back and commanded a few strong men to tie him up.
"You're going to get what you always wanted," Ted said with a smile. "Gold? You like gold, right?"
Ted took a handful of coins from his pocket. "Bring me a chest of these!"
The chest – one of many they had – was carried over to what was about to become a scene of torture.
Ted forced Golden Swallow to open his mouth.
He slipped a gold coin into the mouth of the deserter, a really small one, as gold coins tended to be.
Without even brandishing a gun, Ted managed to get Golden Swallow to swallow the gold.
The next coin required some lubrication, but syrup and juice did the trick.
"These coins have been handled by many, some have been collected from dirt, or worse. The thing is…"
Ten coins down. This could become a long day.
"When you eat enough of hard stuff like this, something inside you ruptures. It might be the stomach, but I would gather that it could as well be a bowel. The rupture, it leads to sepsis, internal bleeding and, generally speaking, a painful death. My, I wouldn't want to be Golden Swallow right now."
Fifty coins down. The man was now cramping in pain, doubling over himself, and a little trail of drool was traveling down his chin.
Ted could have stopped there. He didn't.