The Karma Study

Chapter 2 - Shiro Ishii

Max 

I'm seeing red. Whether that's just a side effect of the rage I'm feeling, or the literal blood coating my face, I'll never know.

It only took me an hour to get him here after realizing the drop off leak was a set up, but I'm now sitting across the room staring as a barely bloodied Travis Ritter. I have yet to truly begin and he's already vomited all over the floor.

Typically, the site would make me volatile, however now is not the time for rash decisions. No, for this waste of space, I'll be taking my time.

I lean back in my chair just as my three brothers enter the basement door behind me, but I don't dare remove my gaze from Travis.

I swirl the whiskey in my glass once, twice, then I toss the amber liquid down the back of my throat, enjoying the warmth that takes over my chest when I swallow.

"Max, man, you gotta hear me out. It's not what it looks like." Travis pathetically stutters out the words, in a barely cohesive sentence, only pushing me over the edge even further.

Instead of responding verbally, I just give him a mock surprised smile as I light my cigar between my thumb and forefinger. I never get to lose control like this, and I'm beginning to find comfort in the madness.

There's a reason everyone is scared of me, but they never truly know what to be afraid of. Sure, I have an oppressive presence when I enter a room. But, nobody has ever seen me deranged and lived to tell the tale.

I bring the cigar to my lips, and I take a slow and steady inhale of the tobacco. Taking the tar into my lungs to let it swirl and tangle itself with my oxygen, before I breath it out in a big cloud of smoke.

"You're right," I finally say to Travis. "This isn't what it looks like. I'm not going to kill you." I explain with a wolf's grin stretching ear to ear.

The relief on his feeble face makes a giddiness rise in my chest, "Really? Thank you." He exhales a breath he'd been holding.

I stand, and I click the soles of my shoes as I close the distance between us, making each step intentional. I take the handkerchief from my coat pocket and wipe the sweat and blood from my face, before I toss it over my shoulder.

I walk around the chair that Travis is bound to, and when I get to his back I lean over his shoulder to whisper in his ear, "But you're going to wish I fucking did."

When his spine snaps straight I take my still burning cigar and force it into his left eye, pushing the scalding ashes and tobacco into the vulnerable flesh. When his screams become unintelligible I stop the pressure and stand straight to make my way back into his direct view.

"You see, Travis." I start, making sure I still have his attention. I scroll through my phone before selecting a song to play for my performance. "You played a big part in getting a very valuable asset stolen from me."

"Us." Brandon coughs into his fist when he makes his correction, however I don't pay him any mind.

"Please, please, let me explain how it all happened." Travis begs, but all I do is roll my eyes.

"You had a chance to explain, and I warned you this would happen." I slip off my suit jacket and fold it neatly on my chair, and I unbutton and roll up the sleeves of my dress shirt. One by one, I remove my rings, each gold loop making a clang on the metal table as I set them down.

It's moments like this that I get high on my control of a room. Nobody speaks as I take my time getting ready to mutilate a man, silently and patiently waiting in anticipation of my next move. Lastly, I unclasp my watch and set it on the table next to my rings.

"I will ask you one question though." I say, with my back turned to him as I find the perfect song. "Was it worth it?" I ask Travis.

"Was what worth it?" He asks weakly.

I press play on my phone, allowing Symphony No. 9 in D Minor, Op. 125 "Choral": 4. Presto by the Berlin Philharmonic and Herbert von Karajan fill the room. I turn to face him fully, "Betraying your God."

As if I've slipped on a newfound skin, his screams of horror slowly fade out into the music swallowing the room whole, penetrating and vibrating against my eardrums as I select each tool he'll get the pleasure of experiencing during his unavoidable suffering.

Letting my arms mimic those of a conductor I wield a dagger and a small hand torch, flaunting around to the music as I approach my pray.

I slice him deeply with lines that you'd see on sheet music across his chest, being sure to follow each stroke of the blade with a flame as to keep him from bleeding out too soon.

Then with Teddy's assistance, we unbind Travis from his chair and move him to a secondary table, strapping him facing belly down against the metal so he can feel the cold chill against his newly seared flesh.

I mimic the same motions and slowly carve out the same beautifully crafted sheet music across his back. Each slice is followed by another burn, and I can hear Travis gasping for air as he slowly loses consciousness from the shock of the pain.

When I'm happy with my work I crawl onto the table, straddling Travis' hips as I lean forward with my lips pressed closely to the shell of his ear, "You see, Travis? This is what it feels like when you stab us in the back."

Travis' response isn't intelligible in the slightest so I slide off of his back and walk to the side of the table where his eyes are facing to be sure I'm in his direct line of sight as I follow through with my final performance for the evening.

He looks absolutely pathetic, as a whimpering mess on this table, with one functioning eyes and tears and drool covering his face.

As I stare into his soul, all I can think about is my Harpy. He played a hand in her getting taken away from us tonight, and I can't let him go unpunished. But I also can't let him die yet. So, instead of cutting out his filthy lying tongue, I choose to follow through with maximum pain and minimum damage.

I reach for a smaller hand held blade, that is more akin to a box cutter than anything. To each strum of the music, I slice little divots in his freshly charred skin to break open the healing flesh, no bigger than a centimeter each. Travis groans in pain at each little flick of my wrist, but he hasn't felt horror yet.

I walk to the fridge on the far side of the room, and as expected I find exactly what I'm looking for.

Teddy begins to laugh hysterically, and for the first time in a long time, I realize just how similar we really are. I see his monster as my own reflection.

Approaching Travis, I flick the lid off of the gallon sized jug. I don't let him see me, so as to not ruin the surprise. And as my music begins to reach its crescendo I pour the entire gallon of lemon juice into his freshly opened wounds.

Once I finish, and Travis loses consciousness from the pain, I stand back straight and smooth out my shirt.

I clear my throat to gain all three of my brothers' attention, "Let's hang him out to dry. We've got a bird to catch."