Humming a cheerful tune, Richard Robb adjusted the sparse hair on his head, feeling quite pleased with himself. Especially since tonight's poker game with old friends had gone extremely well, netting him a few thousand dollars. His good mood had him already considering how to enjoy the upcoming weekend.
As a casting director, Richard's income was decent, and the occasional extra earnings were enough to support a fairly comfortable lifestyle. Poker was one of his favorite hobbies outside of work.
Poker is a very popular pastime in America, much more casual than mahjong and with far fewer requirements for the setting. Not only are there a variety of poker tournaments held each year with prizes often exceeding millions of dollars, but many also enjoy this form of entertainment in private settings.
Richard's poker circle was relatively stable, always meeting in a suite at the Mondrian Hotel. Located at 8440 Sunset Boulevard in Hollywood, the hotel was quite nice and quiet, ideal for gatherings.
Still humming an off-key tune, Richard jingled his car keys as he sauntered toward the corner of the hotel parking lot. Suddenly, he thought he saw a shadow flicker at the edge of his vision. Before he could react, a sharp pain at the back of his head sent him into unconsciousness...
It was unclear how much time had passed when Richard slowly came to. Groggy, he could only see darkness, as if his head was covered by something, with just slivers of light piercing through the coarse fabric. He tried to move, only to find his hands and feet were bound, probably to a chair, and even his mouth was gagged.
"Mmmph! Mmmmmmph!!"
Chaos reigned in Richard's mind. Had he been kidnapped, or what had happened? He tried desperately to make a sound, but the rag stuffed in his mouth emitted only muffled groans, reeking so foully he almost passed out again.
"He's awake."
Finally, someone spoke, a soft female voice, which brought Richard a slight sense of relief—women, he thought subconsciously, might be softer-hearted, easier to deal with.
If he could see his surroundings, however, he might not have been so hopeful. The voice belonged to Gus, who, unable to make Richard disappear from the world entirely, needed to resort to simple measures to avoid trouble. The devil's special constitution allowed him to imitate any voice by making minor adjustments to his vocal structure.
Richard strained to voice his distress, hoping to draw the woman's attention to remove the gag. Disappointment struck as a heavy punch landed unanticipated on his ribs, pain flashing before his eyes, nearly knocking him out with its intensity.
"Thud!" "Thud!" "Thud!"
The surrounding silence was terrifying, punctuated only by the thudding of fists on Richard's body. There was more than one assailant, and they were brutally relentless, each strike bringing an agony that seared to the bone.
For Richard, the less-than-a-minute ordeal felt like a century. It seemed as if they intended to beat him to death, and his struggles and attempts to make sound went unanswered, met only with continued silence and brutal blows.
Fear filled Richard, pushing him to the brink of despair. His attackers hadn't said a word, just this merciless beating that left him feeling powerless and in intolerable pain, on the verge of breaking down.
Was he really going to die here, without knowing why...
"Enough..." The female voice finally spoke again, sounding like a choir's chant to Richard's ears. After just over a minute of beating, he was nearly slipping into unconsciousness again, his body drenched in sweat from the pain, his clothes soaked, and he was left without the strength to even hold himself up. Had he not been bound, he would have collapsed.
The beating stopped, the stinking rag was removed from his mouth, and then Richard lay there, unable to recover, gasping with difficulty, every part of his body in pain, his lungs burning as if on fire, each breath a labored wheeze.
"Richard Robb, listen now, you speak only with my permission. No speaking otherwise."
The previous statements were quite brief, and Richard hadn't noticed anything unusual. Now, hearing them, he felt the woman's voice was less human, more mechanical and icy, devoid of any emotion.
Such a voice sent a shiver down his spine. He gasped for air and instinctively tried to plead for mercy.
But those dreadful executioners seemed to be watching his every move. Before Richard could make a sound, a fist landed on him again, forcing him to swallow his words and turn them into pained cries.
Without a gag in his mouth, his screams were as loud as slaughtering a pig — partly from unbearable pain and partly in hopes of attracting someone's attention nearby.
Unfortunately, it wasn't long before he was in too much pain to make any sound at all.
It was terrifying! These people truly didn't care if they beat him to death! Richard Robb's groggy mind was filled with fear for his unknown fate.
"There's not a living soul for ten kilometers around here, don't bother," Gus said indifferently, knowing full well what Richard was trying to do. "If you don't stop making noise, the pain will never stop either."
He certainly didn't care about Richard Robb's well-being; if it weren't for Bruce's orders, this man he considered scum would have died a thousand times over.
The assailants were seasoned veterans, burly men well-acquainted with human anatomy, capable of hitting in hundreds of ways, mastering the angles and points of impact to inflict excruciating pain without leaving obvious marks. Of course, their brutality was such that an examination would reveal the truth, but clearly, no one cared about that.
Ultimately, Richard Robb could no longer withstand the agony and fell silent, perhaps because he was too pained to scream any longer.