The show wasn't over yet – it had just started. I signed at Mr. Petrov's son to get in front of the cam. He too was sobbing, also deeply shocked about what he had just seen. A screen is never the same as seeing it happen a mere ten feet in front of you. Nor is it the same after you know firsthand what it feels like.
His rich-kid manners had vanished. He wasn't willing to risk another painful demonstration of how he couldn't do shit about all this.
Out of view, I ordered him. “On your knees, boy.”
He knelt before the camera, terrified both of what would happen if he didn't, and of what would happen if he did.
“Anything you want to tell daddy, boy? He's watching.” I laughed.
The young man closed his eyes. I had given him a rough script, but I wanted him to use his own words, make it sound true.
“Father. Please. Help us. You... you've seen what he does. Please. He said he'll... he'll kill us if you don't agree to his deal. Father, I know you care about us. Please. Please, don't let him...” He broke in tears, not able to say another word.
My earpiece beeped once more. “You bastard, I already signed that... thing. I told you, I have nothing else to offer. What the hell do you want from me?” Mr. Petrov. Desperately trying to be brave. Idiot.
I stepped into view. Mr. Petrov kept ranting as I cut his son's hands free from the binds.
“I don't think he has really seen what I do yet, boy.”
The young man fell silent, probably thinking on what the hell what could that mean. Trying to figure out what could be worse than what I had already done.
“Take off your clothes.”
He tried. But his hand wasn't helping, especially with the tight buttons. His stumps were still aching, and I saw some fresh blood in one of them, probably from tearing a scab. After a while, he finally managed to get the shirt off. I realized it would take him forever to take off everything else, so I helped him – I quickly cut through it all, leaving him fully naked.
The poor idiot tried to cover himself, but I stopped him. “No, no. Hands up. Now, you know what's this?” I showed him a bottle of cheap vodka.
“I... I don't...”
“Don't worry, I'm not that sick to make you drink this crap.” Well, I may have tried if it was actual vodka, heh. “Still, I'd close your eyes and mouth, if I were you.”
He started babbling as I unscrewed the bottle and poured some of the liquid over him. He was too scared to realize that something was off, that it didn't really smell of alcohol. Though nobody really thinks cheap vodka smells of alcohol, I guess. He started sobbing as I grabbed the lighter and again flicked it alight. “Please...”
I smiled at him as I took the lighter to his chest. The flame took hold immediately, and the liquid exploded in a burst of fire.
A few seconds later, it was over. I did a quick scan of him. Some blisters were starting to form in his legs, and overall he was pretty red. But fine. You see, that's one of my favorite tricks. Swap the cheap vodka in the bottle with acetone. And as long as you don't pour too much, so it burns fast enough, it's perfectly safe. Cold flames. Heh.
He still had his eyes shut. I grabbed his chin and made him look up – into my eyes. “Open your eyes, boy.”
He looked at me as if he had just awoken from his worst nightmare, just to realize it had all been real. He was trying to say something, but words failed him.
“It's okay, boy. I don't want you dead, you know. Your dad would never agree to any kind of deal, don't you think?”
My earpiece beeped again. “What the hell do you want from me, you bastard.”
“Funny, Yegor. You haven't had the guts to say anything until it's been obvious he was safe.”
Mr. Petrov doubled his cursing efforts at my words, but I ignored him. I focused back on his son.
“Give me your hand, boy.”
He was sobbing yet again, terrified of what would happen next, but complied.
I firmly grabbed it by the wrist. Then drew a knife and sliced his forearm open, right above the wrist. Just skin deep – enough to draw a safe amount of blood. People tend to overestimate how much does a wound bleed. Couple that with the fact that you can lose about a quart of blood and still be perfectly fine, and it makes up for some pretty bloody and shocking play.
“How did that feel, boy? … Want to repeat?”
He started mumbling. “No, fuck, please, please, stop it...”
I took the knife to his chin and again made him look at me. “You really think I care about your opinion, boy?” I laughed. “But, it's okay, I'll give you a chance. Do as I say, and this will be over.”
“What... what do you want from me...”
I put the knife in his hand, closed his fingers –what was left of them, anyway– around the handle. I then released his wrist.
He almost dropped the knife, but ultimately managed to get a somewhat good grip on it, considering he was already missing three fingertips.
I circled him and crouched behind him to talk into his ear. “Now, first, I'll tell you what happens if you don't do what I say.” I whispered. My own earpiece was enough for Mr. Petrov to hear me despite the low voice. “I'll do it myself, and I'll make sure to do it slowly so it hurts like hell. Understand?”
The young man nodded.
“Okay. I want you to cut yourself. Slice the other wrist open.”
The knife dropped to the tile floor with a soft clank. He started sobbing and mumbling nonsense.
I took the knife, letting most of my weigh rest on him for a second. “Look, I'll tell you what's going to happen. You will do it. Maybe not this time. Maybe you want me to show you how bad it can hurt when done properly. But sooner or later, you'll decide you've had enough. Realize that there's no way around it. And by then, I'll make sure it's worse. I haven't made up my mind yet, but I can ask you to cut deeper. Or even slower. Or... maybe more than once. You want that?”
Silence, only broken by his barely audible sobbing.
“Or you can skip that part. All it takes is a quick slice.” I handed him the knife.
He ignored me and kept mumbling, so again I grabbed his hand – this time from further up the forearm – and let the knife rest right on top of his wrist. “Just don't forget, you could have avoided this.” I said as the knife started slicing into his flesh.
He started whimpering pathetically almost immediately.
I let him feel the knife slicing into his wrist for a bit longer. A cut like that won't draw that much blood, anyway. Then I leaned over him yet again. “So, have you changed your mind yet? … This is your last chance before it gets worse, boy.” I handed him the knife.
He hesitated a bit before taking it. Then it almost slipped from his bloody hand again.
“Careful, or you'll get hurt.” I teased him. “Now, cut your other wrist.”
Sobbing and whimpering, he took the knife to his forearm, probably too scared to move further down. I corrected him, gently took his hand and placed the knife right over the wrist. “Cut it open.”
It took him a split second. He had overestimated the force needed to get through skin and flesh, and so he cut almost to the bone. I grabbed his hand, and quickly grabbed the shirt he had taken off before. It was bleeding too much to go looking for something else. I took my time to make sure it stopped.
Both him and Mr. Petrov were dead silent as I finally let go of the bloody mess of his right hand. It still trickled a bit, but that wasn't a concern. It would stop on it's own soon enough. I quickly checked his pulse. Somewhat fast but well defined. Nothing to worry about. Yet.
Then I grabbed his left hand again. Got it right in front of the camera. “I want you to see this too, Yegor.” I took the knife again, and with a flick, I hacked off what was left of his pinkie.
The young man's screams flooded everything. I stood still, grinning. Poor boy. Too bad this was about the only way to get at his father. Mr. Petrov cursed to himself, finally convinced that I wouldn't stop, as I placed the knife against the last joint of his ring finger. And with another quick movement, I hacked off what was left of it.
Blood was gushing fast from what was left of his hand. And his pulse had been already somewhat fast last time I checked. I took the lighter once more. It was much faster than pressure. And it meant a better show too, so, win-win.
About a minute later, the two stumps – if you could call them that – were fully cauterized. The stench of charred flesh inundated everything. I held my breath. No matter how many times you've smelled it, it's never pleasant.
Again I checked his pulse. Definitely faster than before, and somewhat weaker. Okay, that was it for the day, I wasn't going to risk a shock. I looked at the cam. “Yegor. I'm sure you know where I am. You have an hour to get here. Or else.” I pointed with my thumb at the red letters behind me.
