Torture, an act synonymous with terrorism and bad-assery. Hell, every Mel Gibson film Uncle Giancarlo forced me to watch always had a torture scene in them, with Mel almost always the victim of. Most media platforms show torture as a catch-all method to extract information, a fool-proof one at that. If one cannot gain information through it? Then you're incompetent, the tortured is one tough son of a bitch, or you just need a few more days of water boarding.
Uncle Giancarlo, the insensitive himbo that he is, duly informed my thirteen-year-old self that enhanced interrogation techniques such as those were not effective. In fact, it might even provide bad intelligence or just straight up lies. Of course, it was futile to warn of my such childish notions because who hasn't been tortured for their tenth birthday? Who hasn't been coerced to pick up a rusty kitchen knife, heat it on a bonfire, and cauterize the shallow, infected wounds of your childhood friends?
"No one!" Apparently, at least according to Uncle Giancarlo, suffered the same fate.
But I digress. The pale-skinned, 5'8" tall, light brown-haired lackey before me shuddered as I digested the teachings of my childhood. He had just seen his friend or, maybe, colleague hefted towards the lake a few miles away. A feat no ordinary man could accomplish. My bright brown eyes crinkling to get a better look at the two tired, frustrated, and frightened hikers. Even from afar, the waft of their primal fears pervades my enhanced senses; the muffled whimpers of the lackey and the leader's hitched breaths, carefully controlling his quivering bladder. One of the banes of enhanced perceptions was sensing the human part's undesirable, but I could live with it as the boon would surely outweigh the bad.
"What was that guy's name?" I kept my voice light and friendly. We wouldn't want our prey to get startled and make a big mistake. Seeing their meekness, I raised an eyebrow and cleared my throat before asking again. "Who was that guy? His name? The one I threw."
"T-Tim." The pale lackey covered in neck tattoos answered my question, stammering in the process.
Grunting in acknowledgement, I turned towards Elisha to see her response to my actions.
Still tightly grasping the steering wheel, she nodded at me before turning a glare towards the tall blonde. Tears watered her eyes, yet she willed it back up, daring not to show fear in front of her would-be rapist. Many a woman would find themselves unable to look their attackers in the eye, yet she did, albeit with great reluctance and fear. She's strong, rich, influential, and we have a great rapport; a relationship with her, platonic or otherwise, would be rather helpful with regard to my plans for my special abilities, but I digress. I turned my attention back to my prey, seeing her implied consent.
"What's your name?" I ask of the lackey curiously. If I'm to dole out punishment, I figured learning their name would be good bedside manners.
"R-Ryan"
"Alright, Ryan," Emphasizing his name, I swaggered closer to him, ignoring the faux confident look the other guy sent me. "Elisha- over there- told me you tried to rape her. Is that true?"
My feet halted as I squared up to him, towering over his figure. Although he was only a few inches short of six feet, I was, by my account, had grown over 6'2", courtesy of my power-up. He looked up at me as we stood face to face, mere inches away from each other.
"F-Fuck. I-I did. Yes, we did. We tried to, ok. We-we were trying to, but we stopped, alright?" He defended himself, clearly knowing the futility of denying the accusation, as he had seen his friend get rag dolled to oblivion. "That guy!" Pointing his finger towards the blonde man. "He told us to-to tell her that we found her hiker friends. Then we tried to fuck her, and she refused, but that motherfucker forced her. He forced us to. Told us he'll kill us if we didn't help him. Please, I have a sister. She needs me."
Ryan rambled on quite a bit before taking a gulp and stopping, as he saw no reaction from my expression. If he thought a sob story, including his parentless sister, would make me pity him, then he doesn't know who I am. A smile came before my mouth as my hands reached up to his shoulders and, with a gentle yet forceful tug, brought him to his knees.
Crack!
A wail erupted out of him as his knee caps crunched under the weight of my tug, slamming against the ground. Though the force I sued did not get his knee caps to pierce the dirt, the ground still webbed up from the blunt force. Blood filling the webbed crack, forking a miniature river of blood.
"Augghh!" He continued his wail, but my right hand cupped his mouth, muffling his annoying yell.
My other hand then went to his chest; my middle finger and thumbs interlocked in a circle, preparing a finger flick. Although I have yet to master restraining my strength properly, a simple hand flick would not surely kill the lackey. "You're not gonna die. She doesn't want that, but I don't really like guys like you. Treat it as a childhood pet peeve of mine. So, what I'm gonna do is flick you with this finger here," I wiggled my left hand that was on his chest to which he glanced at and nodded. "Good. If you survive this, then we're through. I and Elisha don't come for you or your sister, swear to that, and, I'm pretty sure, you'll want to forget about me, wont'cha?"
He nodded furiously as he acknowledged my meaning. After all, who would want to be in contact with a walking tank that has a grudge with you.
With his unneeded consent, my taut thumbs slacked, releasing my middle finger, which struck Ryan's chest.
Crack!
Much like the ground, a dull crack ringed out as my finger bounced against his chest. The impact caused his skin to ripple out. The flick pushed him off a few feet to the ground like a rag-doll careening from a bomb explosion. His ankles bending unnaturally, his torso and appendages scraping the ground, splashing blood below a canvass of dirt.
Bang!
The small river of blood that snaked towards me widened as it followed its former owner. I could hear the muffled scream that was soon followed by bile of blood and vomit that came barreling out of his mouth as if hurriedly vying for their chance to seek the sunlight. A lesser man would find it soul-crushing to which, unfortunately for the Ryan and his boss, I am not.
"Mmmmmhhuaggggg!"
"-Fuck, fuck, fuck. What the fuck are you?"
Their screams energized my exhausted body, rejuvenating both of my overworked healing ants and sore muscles, like a well of elixirs powered by their primal fear. I could get used to this.
Leaving the whimpering Ryan to his lonesome, letting him contemplate the chances of his survival, I turned my attention towards the main event. The primary prey of this paltry hunt to placate the media princess, a person whose name I still do not know. "Uh, hey, dude. I'm sorry, but what's your name?"
The blonde removed his horrified gaze away from his leaking friend. "M-me? You don't know me?" He guffawed, discreetly wiping the tears and snot upon his face. A smile brightened upon him, as if he had seen his saving grace. "I-I am the son of Robert Wilkins II. Republican Senator for the State of--"
"Yeah, yeah. Don't need your backstory." Shaking my head at his stupefying attempt at intimidation. Who but a spoiled brat would use their father's name to save his life?
"Fuck you, man! I know people and my dad knows people. If we get my hands on your fucking name, then I'm gonna deport your fucking ass back to Mexico, motherfucker!" Ignoring my words, he continued his onslaught of threats. The tears in his eyes were barely restrained by his virile temper. When he eyed my nonchalance to his words, he looked back towards the truck and continued. "And you! You, you slut... As if you didn't entice us with-with your smiling and being friendly. Like you were waiting for us to fuck you! Mu daddy was right, you Westwinds are nothing but--"
Whoosh!
Not seeing the worth in letting him speak further, I dashed towards him while he's pigging on and pressed my palms above the small of his back, though gentle was the press, the sheer acceleration to which I ran conflated the power that was forced upon him. With a shriek, he went barreling, head first, onwards the truck.
Bang!
"Ahhhhh"
"Aurgghhhh"
"Oops... didn't mean to do that. Sorry, Elisha."
A wince formed upon my face as the blonde crashed into the truck, his head smashing through the window, startling Elisha, who had been trembling from anger. I let out an apology to no reply as Elisha seemed keen on slapping the skin off of the blonde.
Slap! Slap! Slap!
"A slut? You, crazy,"
Slap!
"dick-limped,"
Slap!
"incest-bred,"
Slap!
"huck!"
"Auggh--" Smack!
Elisha's palms swept the blonde's face in a flurry of blows, eliciting a painful cry every time the woman's hand smashed against his cheeks, nose, and ears.
Bloodied and bent yet, surprisingly, unbowed by the rollercoaster of pain that travelled from his back to his face, the blonde man, whom I still have not yet to learn the name of, tried to pry himself off the windshield. The glass shards pricking the edges of his head scraped deeper into his skin as he gingerly removed himself. The blood dripped like sweat on a high noon, pooling towards the windshield wipers.
"Pleash, god. Pleash, god. Pleash, god..." Chanting a mantra involving pleasuring a deity, the blonde's head popped out of the windshield, scattering the shards of glass all over the hood of the truck. Gingerly crawling back to the ground, trembling hands cautiously being placed around the blood stained shards, the blonde man had no sooner extricated himself from the window than a firm hand, mine hand, grasped his left shoulder, evoking an involuntary shudder.
"Sorry about that, dude," I whispered, my face inches away from his ears, feeling his fear-induced bristle hair against my lips. "But I don't like the way you talk and, with my powers, I figured I could, ah, what's the word? Ah, yes. Modify it for you. For free, of course. I'm not a monster." A smile bloomed upon my face, tightening my grip on his shoulder.
Crack!
"Aurrrghhh!"
"Jesus fuck. Jericho!"
I ignored Elisha's screams, my attention fully on the whimpering man atop the hood of the truck. As I saw the distraught face of a man trapped in a morass of pain and suffering, a shudder ran through my body. My eye widened in shock before turning back into disgust. Fuck me, I thought, that was very, very weird.
Thinking back to a few moments ago, the onslaught I had unleashed upon the three started as nothing but fulfilling a revenge fantasy for someone incapable of dealing it. Yet, to no one's surprise, it had devolved into a spectacle of pain for my own amusement. These powers gifted upon me, at least if it was gifted, had unleashed something inside me. Even back then, I had little to no remorse when inflicting violence, but enjoyment? This is a new thing. Even I don't know if it's good or bad. Hell, I think I don't even want to know.
Tugging back on the blonde man's sweater sent him tumbling down the beaten, battered, and bloodied hiking path, much like him.
I then looked towards Elisha, a grin spread across my face. "You should probably close your eyes. This'll be rough."
Crack!
My knees bent up to my waist before crashing down to his ankles, pulverizing his bones and any other solid organs on its way.
Squelch!
My foot turned side to side, flattening out the thinned skin of his ankle, blood squirting out of the tears around his foot.
Then my hands grabbed both his wrists and twisted them.
Crunch!
Then to his shoulders, where I found a groove in her shoulder blades which popped off.
Tick!
And, finally, to his mouth, where I plucked off a tooth, its sinewy nerve endings stringing along until...
Twick!
The stringy nerve snapped as the blonde man began screaming yet hurriedly closed his mouth, muffling his cries. It seemed an open mouth hurts more, probably something to do with the exposed nerve ending being assaulted by the air. But I'm not an orthodontist.
I drop him to the ground and kicked him in the stomach, sending him rolling towards his companion. There they both were, vomit and blood combined as it ran down their bodies to the dirt path, forming a river of blood that snaked its way towards me.
A chuckle escaped my mouth before I bit it down. This was supposed to be a solemn moment of vengeance of suffering, yet I could not help but laugh at their faces. Once a mask of confidence and mirth, now? Their expressions are filled with nothing but agony, with a few whimpers and cries for help here and there.
Thud!
"Jericho..."
The gentle voice had me turning around hurriedly for it was morose and terrified. My eyes landing on Elisha's pale face and forcibly closed mouth, trying her best not to heave out the chili beans she had for breakfast.
"I got carried away..." I explained with a helpless smile. "But I'm done now."
She nodded as she locked eyes with me yet can't help but take a peek at the valley of body that rained down a river of blood that soon snake its way down the high mountains of Washington.
She turned back towards her truck and hop on, motioning for me to join her. "Let's go home, then."
•••••••••••
Vroom! Thud!
The hybrid truck propelled itself on a busy highway, swerving left and right as it passed by cars and trucks heading north. It shuddered as its tires crushed a skunk's little head who ran right into traffic.
"Uh, I think we need to talk." I suggested, holding the grab handles by the door. Although I had super strength and would not die even if two trucks sandwiched the truck, just the mere thought of the pain I would have to endure gave me chills. "Because by the time we get off the I-90, we'll probably be minced meat. You, not me, though. I have... uh... super durability."
I winced as my joke landed flat. Not that I was famous for my witticism, but it did not feel well received. In fact, based on her tightening her grip on the steering wheel, it might have made things worse, proving the fact that I am not funny.
"Fuck you!" Elisha cursed, her right hand leaving the wheel, and began slapping my chest repeatedly. "You sick sadistic fucker!"
I suppressed my chuckles as I let her hit me for an entire minute before giving a warning. "Watch your hands, Elisha. You might break it if you hit me too hard."
"Oh, thanks!" Elisha smiled before smacking my ear, which, to be honest, stung a bit. She stopped after the ear jab, but with the way she squirmed over her sit, I could still feel her seething anger.
"Why did you do that, Jericho?" She asked.
"Because you told me to? Why is that a question?" I snorted, knowing the intent of her query.
"I didn't want you to-to-to disassemble them into pieces!" She yelled as she passed by another sedan which honked at her. "Ryan was fucking puking blood! Blood!"
"Again, you told me to. 'Hurt them badly' was a paraphrasing of your words." I reasoned out. "Besides, they deserved it. I bet that blonde guy, the senator's kid, raped a few townies and college girls, then had his father cover it up or something."
"Yeah, no. Jesus, fuck. I- Yes, he did. Look, all I'm saying is that I feel guilty when you did that because I set you towards them. Like an owner unleashing their dog and sicced it to a person." Elisha heaved a breath.
"Did you just compare to a dog? That's racist."
"I-no I'm not. I'm just saying that--"
"You shouldn't. I got carried away, Elisha. I'm sorry for that." I apologized. If anything, for letting her see the gore I had doled out to the trio. "Any other Rossini would do what I did, but I just got first shot."
"Rossini?" "My surname." "You don't look Italian." "That's racist." "No, it's not!" "Then why are you shouting?" "Because you're accusing me of racism." "Am not." "You-you. Fuck you."
We share a laugh as I accuse her of racism, throwing our fight about my obvious affinity for violence to the back of our minds.
Silence then reigned for a while as Elisha continued her driving, having been dissuaded from swerving on a highway.
"Can-can I just ask. Have you ever killed someone before? Like you look like you knew what you were doing." She asks after a while.
The smile on my face vanished, replaced with a serious expression and dead eyes. "I can neither deny nor confirm any and all allegations without the consent of my handler."
Fuck. The phrase just sprang into my mind as soon as she asked a personal question. Years of experience and training rushing forth and bridging the gap between her question and my panic.
"Wow, what a... response, Mr. Glomar." Elisha's eyes widened. I could feel her spread a distinct scent, which was a creepy sentence to think of. She's a journalist and has lived with and around journalist and media for all her life, so she must have an inkling as to why I responded such. Not that it's a bad thing entirely, but seeing as she's going to meet my family. I may have both lost and gained the only person who knew of my abilities.
"Fuck." I sighed, palming my face in frustration. "Look, can you just..."
"Sure. However, I would like to ask where exactly do you live? Or should I say, where did your handler let live you live?"
"Almonda."