"Today's pain is just a small lesson. If you dare to entertain thoughts you shouldn't, we have many methods that will make you regret ever being born," Gus continued in her chilly feminine voice, seeing that he had quieted.
Richard's mind was still muddled, the pain preventing him from thinking clearly; all he could do was nod frantically, afraid that any delay in response would bring another inhuman, excruciating blow, a pain so intense it seemed to freeze time, which was unbearable.
"To ensure you remember and avoid future errors, I don't mind taking a little time to introduce you to some of the special methods prepared just for you." Gus seemed patient, intent on fulfilling the boss's orders to the letter, making sure no detail was overlooked.
"For example, flaying might seem common to you, but don't rush to judgment; our method is quite straightforward. We'll start by burying you in the ground, leaving just your head exposed. Then, we'll make a precise, large cross-shaped cut on the top of your head, gently pull back your scalp, and pour in a sufficient amount of mercury. After that, you just have to watch — guess what will happen?
"Because mercury is very dense, it will slowly, bit by bit, pull your muscles and skin apart. You'll be in agony, an unimaginable, inescapable pain. But with your body buried, you won't be able to free yourself. What to do? You can only twist in pain, struggle little by little, until after about an hour or two, your body will smoothly pop out from the wound on your head, leaving just a piece of skin behind in the earth..."
Gus's feminine voice was actually rather pleasant to hear, but her cold, steady, emotionless tone was truly terrifying. Even when describing such horrifying torture, her voice did not waver in the slightest, as if discussing something as mundane as eating and drinking, leaving Richard Robb cold to the core, crying out before he could even hear the entirety of the first torture.
"No, no, no! Stop talking! You're devils! Demons! You'll go to hell for this..." Tears and snot uncontrollably streamed down his face. Richard Robb was clearly on the verge of breaking down, babbling incoherently and not even considering the beatings that might follow his unsolicited words. He couldn't know that his panic-induced nonsense was actually the truth.
"Are you sure you don't want to hear more? Because this is just the easiest one, nowhere near a true devil's methods," said Gus, the perceived demon, surprisingly magnanimous, not punishing him for speaking out of turn, probably quite pleased with Richard's reaction.
"No more, please... Ma'am, I promise, no, I swear! I won't make the mistakes you mentioned, please just let me go..." Richard Robb felt that her every word was like a terrible nightmare, lacking even the courage to listen further, pleading repeatedly.
"Richard Robb, casting director at Seagull-Wynne Film Company, social security number 351-69-34148. You own two properties, one at 202w 1st St. in Los Angeles, the other a vacation cabin by Lake Merritt in Oakland. Three bank accounts with JPMorgan Chase, Wells Fargo, and East West. Your wife is Josephine Christian, 37 years old, working at the Santa Monica Medical Center. Two kids..."
Gus showed no sign of mercy towards Richard, continuing in that chilling voice to recite devilishly detailed personal information.
"Stop... please stop... I beg you, let us go, I swear I won't make the same mistake again! Oh God, please forgive me!" The more Richard Robb heard, the more terrified he became. The secret accounts mentioned, even his wife Josephine didn't know about them, nor did he know where these devils got their information. His pitiful secrets were thoroughly exposed, making him feel as if he were stripped bare, exposed under harsh light, completely breaking his will.
"We have everything about you in our hands, Richard Robb. So don't be foolish, and let's hope we never have to meet again." Gus paused momentarily, his words naked with threat, draining Richard of any will to resist, leaving him nothing but to nod desperately, begging for mercy...
Half an hour later, a license plate-less black SUV sped away, and a hooded Richard was rolled out of the opened door, tumbling seven or eight meters before struggling to his feet, his head hitting the front door with a thud.
"Good Lord! Oh, God! Richard, what happened?" His wife Josephine opened the door, her mouth wide enough to fit a fist, hurriedly helping him remove the hood and untie the ropes, her frantic motions occasionally hitting Richard's wounds, causing him to hiss in pain.
"It's nothing... I'm fine..." Richard, feeling like his whole body had been battered, collapsed onto the sofa, barely managing to respond.
"No! What actually happened? Were you attacked by thugs? We need to call the police..." Josephine, a slender woman, muttered non-stop, spinning in distress, completely out of her wits.
"No! Don't call the police! Really, I'm fine, it was just some people I offended at work, it won't happen again. Look, they even gave me money, calling the cops would just bring trouble!" Ignoring the physical pain and mental exhaustion, Richard sat up to stop his wife and pulled out a stack of bills from his pocket—nearly ten thousand dollars—as medical expenses thrown to him by Gus.
He had a vague feeling that this disaster might be related to the young actress Rachel, but the people he encountered tonight were too frightening, quelling any thought of resistance or inquiry, and he certainly didn't dare let his wife call the police. He could only hope that by obediently following orders, they would leave him alone...
Thus, the clandestine quid pro quo transactions aside, the young actresses who might have been coerced by Richard undoubtedly dodged a bullet. They should all thank Bruce, for making a hungry wolf turn vegetarian, even if it might be temporary.
After all, people often harbor the hope of escaping unscathed and tend to forget the pain once the wound heals.