Termino.
Vindicta
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Every part of his body throbbed in pain. The only respite he had was ephemeral, swiftly followed by another wave of pain, somehow more intense than the previous. Every time he winced, he tried to move from his position, only to realize that he was confined to a chair. In all his desperate efforts to endure the pain, he kept pulling on the rope that tied him to the chair, only adding to the existing wounds.
What made things worse, though, were the voices. Whispers, a deep voice. Hiro tried to make sense of the only information that he was getting in this cell, a torture-house disguised as a police station. The sounds he heard were mere vocal silhouettes — close to being understandable, but not quite. Tears he did not even realize he had shed started drying on his face.
At the same time, he heard the whimpering of his co-captives. He was not alone in his suffering, it seemed. Their silhouettes seemed oddly recognizable even in the scarce lighting.
Pain, disorientation and frustration had left him defeated. Confined to the chair, hopeless, waiting for something to happen, praying that he would see the sun again and emerge from this dungeon…
And then there was light.
Hiro blinked, his eyes trying to adjust to the sudden glare from the light above him that had for so long been switched off.
“You there,” said the gruff voice that he had gotten so used to hearing every day. The voice belonged to a tall man, easily over six feet tall, who almost immediately gave off the sense of being the leader. His accomplices were all masked, and so was he. The masks were almost reptilian, covered in leathery scales that seemed to give off a dull glow amplified by the dimness of the room. Two round slits in the masks allowed Hiro to see their eyes, all of which were obsidian, expressionless and eerily calm — they showed no hint of emotion or intent. All of his captors were armed with guns. The model looked suspiciously familiar to Hiro. A .38 revolver with a maroon casing wasn’t exactly the most common firearm in circulation. His masked captors certainly didn’t look like they would hesitate to use them.
“Have they not tormented you enough?”
Hiro was taken aback for a second. Temporarily dazed from the sudden light, he had not looked around to see who the people captured with him were. The silhouettes around him seemed familiar. He recognized the pudgy, slumping figure of the policeman Mark and a few others who had treated him with such respect before.
“Speak up! Do you not want revenge? They took you in when you were simply turning in a lost child. They locked you up on some exaggerated charges and put you through literal hell for absolutely nothing. Is this justice?” the man continued. “Do you think they should be allowed to get away with this?”
Upon hearing no response from Hiro, the leader, although masked, was visibly agitated, his eyes betraying his emotions. “Gun,” he demanded, almost nonchalantly. One of his sidekicks lifted his side-arm and handed it over to him. The leader walked up to one of the other captives. He placed the gun on the man’s forehead, slowly moving his finger along the trigger mockingly.
“Do you accept your mistake? Do you accept what you have done is wrong?” the leader asked the trembling captive. “Speak. Up!” The shift of his tone from a forced whisper to an authoritative scream jarred everyone in the room. The captive started to sob, although he looked as if he was trying hard not to. Any sign of weakness would make this already dire situation worse.
“Fine.”
The leader was back to his menacingly soft whisper. “If you wish to remain silent…” He moved his finger along the trigger, getting frighteningly close to pulling it.
“Please. No.” The captive was crying at this point. He started to openly struggle, writhing his body, trying to get out of the chair.
“Shut him up. Shut up!”
There was a pregnant pause.
“Never mind. This is getting out of hand,” the leader tutted. He removed the gun from the captive’s forehead. “How about you shoot him? This is your chance at retribution. Your chance to set things right and to give him a taste of his own medicine. A second chance, if you will, a chance to reconsider your position. Even if it means he’ll get a quick death. Go ahead. Do it.”
As the leader said this, Hiro could see a glint of red in his eyes — an intense red, one richer than any of the reds in a sunset and deeper than any of the scarlets of blood. Hiro blinked, his head swimming. As he looked at his captor again, the glint in his eyes was gone. Am I going insane?
Hiro could feel time slow down as his heartbeat accelerated rapidly. One of the accomplices cut the rope, freeing him from his chair. He could feel everyone’s attention on him as the leader held out the gun for him to take.
Hiro accepts the gun and shoots the captive.
Hiro tries to defuse the situation and tries to negotiate with the captors.
