Blakeney cried out as the tape was ripped from over his mouth and eyes, leaving behind raw, red patches of skin. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the glare of the fluorescent light that hummed in the ceiling above. He struggled to move, to give some relief to his joints, but the plastic zip ties binding him to the seat refused to give way.
"Hello, Mister Blakeney." The speaker was tall, dressed in a pair of blue denim overalls and a matching zentai mask. The outfit hid the speaker's frame and softened their features, making them unrecognisable.
Blakeney swallowed, the saliva wetting his throat so he could speak. "Wh-what do you want?" he stuttered. The words sounded trite, clichéed.
The blue-clad figure leaned forward. "Justice, Mister Blakeney. I want justice."
"Justice?" Blakeney repeated in disbelief. "Do you know what justice is?" He pulled at his bonds again in a gesture of defiance. "I'll tell you -."
The figure pulled a pistol from a pocket in the overalls and pointed it towards Blakeney. "Go on. Tell me about justice. Please."
A cold numbness crept through Blakeney. "Justice. It's." He took a deep breath and gathered his courage. "It's the application of the law, without fear or favour."
"A dry definition," his captor replied. "I prefer to think of justice as being the application of the appropriate punishment for a crime."
"I haven't committed any crimes!"
"No." The blue figure lowered its weapon momentarily, then raised it again. "But you do deserve to be punished for what you have done."
"What have I done?" Blakeney was indignant.
"You have to ask?" There was obvious anger in the speaker's voice. "Search your heart, Mister Blakeney. Think of all the lives you have ruined. The families you have made homeless. All those you have harmed in the pursuit of profit. Then tell me what you have done!"
"Everything I have ever done has been legal - above board,!" Blakeney shrieked.
"Legal? Definitely. Moral? No." The figure stepped forward and placed the cold barrel of the gun against Blakeney's forehead. Blakeney quivered in terror and closed his eyes. "Justice must be done - and also seen to be done!"
"Please! No!"
Blakeney felt the pressure of the gun against his skull, heard the hammer being pulled back, and then -
Click!
The gun was pulled away. Blakeney opened his eyes to see the blue-clad figure standing before him, its weapon pointed up towards the ceiling. "You might want to clean yourself up before the reporters get here," the figure said. "They are going to have some searching questions for you."
Blakeney felt a sensation of warmth spreading through his underclothes. He called after his retreating captor. "You could at least leave me a towel!"
