《The Decision》 Introduction Introduction Two men stood side by side in a solid white room as they watched a third man bleed out on the street through a monitor. The monitor sat on a desk in an otherwise empty room. The shorter, more portly man turned to his superior and asked, ¡°Should I send a crew?¡± The tall man ran his fingers through his salt and pepper hair, keeping his attention on the monitor as he said, ¡°Yes, no need to draw unwanted attention.¡± The portly gentleman scratched his head as reached into his pocket and pulled out a flip phone. ¡°A flip phone, really? With all of the technology you create and the money you make, you still use that piece of shit?¡± ¡°I do not see a reason to upgrade. This phone works perfectly fine and within the constructs for which it was created. I do not care to upgrade phones because they are considered outdated 3 months after they are released. I prefer to save my money in the hopes I can retire early one day.¡± ¡°I seriously doubt the purchase of a smartphone will set your retirement target date back ten years.¡± The shorter man huffed slightly as he began to dial a number. The two continued to watch the motionless body lying on the dark street. ¡°Hey,¡± the short man began, ¡°I need a cleanup crew at tonight''s location. Make it fast,¡± he ordered, snapping his phone shut. ¡°See, works just fine.¡±If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. ¡°I never said it did not work. I just think a man of your intellectual capability should have a phone to match it.¡± ¡°People have become so dependent on technology that their intelligence has suffered from it. They do not bother to learn basic history facts because they can just search for them online. It enables ignorance and laziness.¡± ¡°I agree that some people allow technology to control their lives a little too much. However, I highly doubt a smartphone will turn you into a troglodyte, son.¡± The shorter man shook his head slightly, giving up on the conversation as he turned his attention back to the monitor. ¡°Tonight could have gone a lot worse than it did.¡± ¡°I agree. The subject lost complete control of his mental faculties. Honestly, though, I am surprised he lasted as long as he did without getting himself locked up in a mental institution.¡± ¡°Yes,¡± the shorter man started. ¡°The entire process completely tortured the man, causing an extreme form of PTSD. Its intensity grew exponentially within the last 24 hours until it exploded, as we just witnessed. Sir, might I make a suggestion?¡± ¡°Of course.¡± ¡°We isolate the next subject in a small room with another person instead of allowing them to run free. This will give us far more control over the situation and limit the possibility of our experiments being exposed.¡± The taller man rubbed at his beard with a contemplative look in his eye. ¡°Very well. I, however, get to pick the two guinea pigs.¡± ¡°Do you have them picked already?¡± ¡°As a matter of fact I do, and you¡¯re gonna love them.¡± Chapter 1 Chance lit a cigarette as he stood in front of his office window, buckling his pants while his eyes scanned the city below. He caught a slight reflection of himself in the glass and brushed his dark hair to the side. He flexed slightly thinking of all the times he planned to work out more as he got older, but his slender build had always been good enough for women, so why bother? He refocused his thoughts on the city in front of him. Hundreds of buildings all contributing to a mini-light show. Some tall, some short. Some wide and some skinny. He loved the view from up here. His office sat on the 20th floor of the prestigious McMinnis building, named after his father. The view had built a sense of pride and confidence in himself. One day, all this will be mine, he thought, chuckling at the notion. His father, Charles McMinnis, created the company when he was only 28 years old. Chance had always resented that fact. He wished he could say his father got lucky with his success, but that would be a lie. Despite Chance¡¯s feelings towards his father, he knew he was a brilliant man who had changed the technological landscape of the entire world. The company now led the way in many areas of technology, with military-grade technology for the government being its primary focus. Chance never was able to match his father¡¯s abilities nor passion for the business. He did, however, enjoy the money and power the company created for his family. He lusted for the opportunity to cash the checks his father did. Chance¡¯s intellectual shortcomings, however, caused constant tension between the two. Charles constantly berated Chance for his inability to grasp even the most ¡°elementary ideas¡± of his. He also accused his son consistently of being too immature and incompetent to run the business after he retired. His father liked to threaten him weekly that the company could pass to someone else if Chance did come to meet his standards. Chance, however, always balked at the idea. His pride will not let him pass it to anyone outside the family. ¡°I¡¯ll see you in the morning, sir,¡± a voice said quietly. Chance turned slightly, meeting the eyes of his secretary as she stood near the door, her purse in one hand while the other tried to straighten her hair. He noticed her blouse had a few buttons still undone and had been tucked messily back into her skirt. Her beautiful green eyes had a hint of shame to them. He waved his hand dismissively and said, ¡°Yeah, yeah.¡± She nodded and turned towards the door. He noticed her skirt was ripped in the back. That will be a fun story to tell her husband, he thought to himself. He finished his cigarette, dropping it to the floor, knowing someone else would clean it up. He stepped on the butt and checked his watch, sighing because he knew his wife would already be upset. Not that he really cared. Chance had made ¡°working late¡± a habit ever since they got married. Regardless, he thought it best not to make the situation worse than it had to be. He grabbed his coat from the rack and headed to the elevator. ---- It was a thirty-minute drive to his home from the office. As he pulled into the driveway, he noticed his daughter, Mary Beth, had left her bicycle in the yard again. He parked his car and made his way to the front door, passing the bike. As he entered the home, he shouted, ¡°Beth, she left her damn bike in the yard again.¡± ¡°Are your arms broken? Pick it up and put in the garage,¡± Beth screamed back. Bitch, I work all day, so why the fuck can¡¯t you do this shit, Chance thought. He grumbled but walked outside anyway to put away the bike and then headed back inside. Their two-story brick house was located in one of the more affluent subdivisions in the area. A white picket fence clich¨¦ly surrounded the front yard. The backyard was spacious and contained various fruit trees. The front door opened to a short yet wide hallway lined with family photos. The hallway opened up to the living room, which Beth had spent months decorating. Two couches sat in the center with a hand-crafted glass coffee table in front of them and a foreign rug underneath. The television rested upon the wall above the fireplace with two small bookshelves built into the wall on either side. The rest of the house consisted of a kitchen, a laundry room, 4 bedrooms and the 3 bathrooms. His father had given it to them as a wedding gift. Beth thought it was a loving gesture, but Chance knew it was another way for his father to have more control over him. As he walked inside, Chance noticed he did not smell food coming from the kitchen. He walked into the living room to see his wife sitting on one of the sofas with her feet propped up watching TV. ¡°Dinner?¡± he asked. Those pretty blue eyes shot a cold look toward Chance. She was as beautiful as the day he met her with her long brown hair flowing elegantly down over her shoulders. Still got curves in all the right places, too, Chance thought. In high school, she was the prize every guy wanted to win. She was the ideal girl next door: beautiful, smart, caring, and fun. Yet, as the years past, he found himself growing more irritated by her. He was not sure if she had changed or if he had. He questioned whether he still loved her or if he ever did at all. He was never sure. Processing emotions never came easy to Chance. He had often thought of seeking a divorce, but always decided against it, however, as he suspected it would be too costly and time-consuming. It was easier just to sleep with other women and hope she never found out about it. He never cheated out of malice towards her, but rather out of the enjoyment he got from ¡°conquering new territory.¡± He also, although he would never admit it, had grown accustomed to her presence in his life. The thought of her not being there terrified him. ¡°Well, we eat dinner at 7:00, dear. It is currently fifteen minutes to 9:00. Figure it out,¡± she said, her tone dripping with malice. Chance noticed an extra annoyance in her customary eye roll when he got home too late for her liking. Chance felt a bit of anger begin to quell inside him. The way she said dear mixed with that tone always pissed him off, and she knew that very well. His first instinct was to retort with a stinging comment he knew would eat at her, but he did not have the energy for a fight tonight. He just wanted to eat and go to sleep. So instead of lashing out, he took a deep breath and asked, ¡°Okay, do we have any leftovers or something else I can stick in the microwave to eat?¡± He noticed she gave extra emphasis to her exhale before saying, ¡°No leftovers. Should be some pizza rolls or something for you in the freezer.¡± Her eyes remained focused on the television. Her and those stupid fucking shows, Chance thought. ¡°Mary Beth asleep?¡± he asked hoping for a response minus the eye roll. ¡°You know she goes to sleep at 8:00. If you were home earlier more often, maybe you would have a better relationship with your daughter. She loves you, Chance, but she is getting to the age where she is noticing your absence when your gone and your distance when you are here,¡± she said solemnly. ¡°A simple yes would have been sufficient,¡± Chance rebuked before leaving the room. Chance ate quickly in silence at the kitchen table before showering. When he got out of the shower and walked to the bed, he noticed Beth was already pretending to be asleep. Another night without sex. Not that I wanted to anyway. Still, she doesn¡¯t know that. Thank God for my secretary, I guess. Chance awoke the next morning to find Beth¡¯s side of the bed empty. Guess she took the kid to school already, he thought. He fumbled for his phone to check the time. Shit, late again. After getting dressed, he spent an extra 20 minutes attempting to find his keys before realizing he had left them in the car. He sped all the way to the office, hoping a cop did not ruin his day. ---- Chance stepped off the elevator and walked toward his office. After a few feet, he began to wonder why the office was so quiet. Usually, the mornings were filled with ringing phones, loud printers, and chatty workers. Today, however, it was eerily quiet, like the calm before a storm. As he neared his office, he figured out why. A few doors down, in the conference room, he could hear a familiar voice yelling furiously. He pried the door gently and peeked in noticing the room was filled with management, all seated around the table as various assistants stood behind them with the rest of the employees standing alongside the walls. He slithered into the room, spotting an empty chair close to the door and tiptoed gingerly toward the seat. ¡°Well, look who decided to grace us with his presence,¡± his father exclaimed. ¡°Sorry, Dad. Mary Beth had a nightmare, and we could not get her back to sleep for hours. On top of that, traffic was backed up for a mile or two,¡± Chance lied as he sat down. ¡°Right,¡± Charles said sounding unconvinced. ¡°As I was saying¡­¡± Chance¡¯s mind began to wander as he tuned out his father¡¯s big spiel of the week. Today was Friday, by far his favorite day of the week like most employees. For Chance, it meant a great night at his favorite bar, The Shitty Pint. He told his wife he was involved in a highly competitive dart league that competed there on Fridays and Saturdays. He did play darts there, once. It officially kicked off his weekend of boozing and partying while his wife and kid had their own type of fun. He used to drink during the weekdays, but Beth had a habit of nagging him every time he came home drunk. They seemed to have compromised by reserving his drinking nights to Friday and Saturday. The bustling sound of bodies heading towards the door snapped Chance out of his daydream. Workers passed by Chance, avoiding his eyes as if he were infected. He looked across the room to find his father staring at him through cold contemptuous eyes. Shit, he thought. ¡°What do you think we should do?¡± his father asked. ¡°About what?¡± Chance asked, immediately regretting it. His father¡¯s stern face grimaced. Despite nearing his twilight years, Charles McMinnis was still a formidable and handsome man. His tall body and broad shoulders caused him to tower over most men. His salt and pepper hair gave his sharp features a highly refined and distinguished element. He also had an innate ability to make Chance feel small and worthless. Chance was intimidated by his mere presence, although he did his best to hide it. ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t know? Maybe the fact that our highly sensitive code has the potential to increase artificial intelligence 100x got leaked to our biggest fucking competitor!¡± Charles exploded.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. Chance cowered back in his seat. He felt like a little boy being scolded at the dinner table for not eating his vegetables. He felt no anger rise in him, only fear. Anger would come later when he sulked in his office. He could easily lash out toward his wife, child, employees, or people ¡°beneath him¡± whom he did not fear physically, but bigger, stronger, and more powerful people, men in particular, caused him to shy away and be passive. His father was all of those things and more. Chance looked down in his lap as he twiddled his fingers nervously trying to find the right words. ¡°I¡­I¡­I.¡± Chance stuttered. ¡°I¡­I¡­I.¡± his father mocked. ¡°You have the nerve to come to work an hour late at a job that I GIFTED you the President-in-Waiting position only to sit in the meeting and not fucking listen! Have you forgotten the prior incident already? We cannot afford another PR nightmare, Chance. The stockholders might begin to jump ship if they lose faith in us!¡± Charles yelled. His face flushed red with anger. Chance gulped as his palms began to sweat. He had been doing his best to move on from that day. Chance excelled at stifling emotions and blocking out certain events, but that day still haunted him. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and said, ¡°No, sir. I haven¡¯t forgotten it. I¡­ I am sorry.¡± Charles looked at him with disgust, his eyes alight with fury. The tone of his son¡¯s voice must have irritated him. He always said when someone of note confronted Chance, he stuttered and talked too timidly. It was, according to his father, one of his many weaknesses. Charles had always told him if he ever wanted to be a true leader, he would have to stop being such a coward. He walked briskly toward Chance as if about to strike. Chance cowered in his chair. His father paused right before his son, giving him a contemptuous look before shaking his head and walking out of the room, slamming the door behind him and yelling, ¡°Get your shit together!¡± Chance rested his elbows on the table, holding his head in his hands trying to calm himself by breathing deeply. He had not cried in years and his father would not be the one to break him now. Charles saw crying as a weakness of people unable to properly control their emotions. Even as a child, Chance was not allowed to cry incessantly or unreasonably without being severely scolded by his father. After a minute, he slowly stood up from his chair, making sure his weak knees did not betray him. He walked towards the door, pausing as he put his hand on the handle. He banged his head lightly a few times against the door. I don''t wanna go out there. I don''t wanna see their smug smiles of satisfaction at my expense. Fucking cretins. He opened the door slowly and peered out. He took a deep breath, trying to appear carefree before walking to his office. He noticed his secretary sat at her desk a few feet away from his office. Where was she earlier? he thought. Chance felt the eyes of the office follow him. His heart began to beat faster as his mouth dried. Don¡¯t show them weakness. He gave a half-hearted smile to his secretary as he reached for his door. ¡°Good morning, sir,¡± she said. ¡°Good morning, Valerie,¡± he responded before darting into his office. He walked over to his desk, kicking one of the two chairs in front of desk before circling around to fall into his chair, causing it to roll back into the window. Floral paintings hung on the wall of his office while various pieces of furniture filled the room. One of his previous secretaries, her name escaped him, had insisted on a few plants in the office for a more ¡°homey¡± feel. He lay his head back, replaying the short conversation he had with his father. Anger began to build inside him. He closed his eyes and clenched his fists. He wanted to scream. He wanted to take that stupid plant and throw it through the window, or better yet, break it over his father¡¯s head. The image of that made him grin. One day. One fucking day I will confront him, he thought. He rubbed his eyes trying to relax himself when he heard a knock. ¡°What?¡± he yelled. The door opened and Valerie strolled in with a sticky note in her hand. Part of him wanted to yell at her for not being there to warn him of the meeting, not that it would have helped. Plus, the last thing he desired after another sexless night with his wife was to lose this outlet. She looked great today wearing a low-cut grey and white blouse that revealed more than it should. She walked over behind his desk placing one hand on the back of his chair allowing him to see her tight skirt hugging her backside firmly. She had her gorgeous blonde hair tied behind her head, allowing more of her beautiful face to be shown. She always knew how to wear just the right amount of makeup. He suddenly felt much less angry. He relaxed his hands and sat up a little straighter as he took the note from her with one hand while the other felt her backside, causing her to blush slightly. ¡°Drew again? I do not have time for him today. Tell him I am busy and will call him Monday,¡± he said, his hand now moving up and down her leg. She nodded and began to head for the door. ¡°Valerie,¡± he called. She turned to him giving him a seductive look. ¡°Yes?¡± she asked. He bit his lip slightly. ¡°No calls today. I want to be left alone. I don¡¯t give a shit who it is,¡± he ordered. ¡°Yes, sir.¡± He spent the rest of the day browsing random websites, hoping his father never dropped by unexpectedly. Every time he heard someone rustle past his office, his heart would skip a beat fearing his father would open the door to pick up where he left off earlier. He never did. Time seemed to drag on at an irritatingly slow pace. Finally, the clock struck 4:30, which everyone knew was Chance¡¯s quitting time on Fridays. Finally, he thought. ---- Chance swung the door open to The Shitty Pint hard, causing it to bang against the wall. The smell of urine and alcohol immediately hit his nose. He gazed around to see how busy the place was. He noticed one person sitting at the bar taking a sip of his drink as he stared at the TV watching a rerun of an old college football game. Two other men stood near a pool table arguing over who was going to break. The place was rundown. It consisted of a small bar with liquor bottles set atop two rows of shelves in front of a mirror. Ten bar stools with tattered covers lined the counter. A small side door led to a run-down kitchen that offered only 3 appetizers. There were only three tables, all of which were dirty. And at the back of the bar sat two pool tables, one of which had only 6 balls. It may be a shithole, but the drinks are cheap, rules flimsy, and the occasional semi-attractive woman is easy, Chance thought to himself. He walked up and sat at the stool farthest from the stranger sitting at the opposite end. ¡°Jack and Coke,¡± Chance ordered. The bartender gave a slight nod and began mixing his drink. His name was Vince, and he was also the owner. He was a tall, portly man with a receding hairline and a full beard. Chance liked him well enough. He poured the drinks and did not ban him when he got carried away sometimes. ¡°There,¡± Vince said quietly as he set the glass on a napkin in front of Chance. ¡°Where is Claudia?¡± Chance asked. ¡°Quit, like all the others,¡± Vince replied sourly. ¡°Why did this one quit?¡± Chance inquired curiously. ¡°I dunno,¡± he started as he began polishing some of the glasses with a dirty rag. ¡°Could¡¯ve been the late hours, shitty pay, or the faint smell of piss that lingers throughout the place. Course, it could have been last week when you got shitfaced and called her a toothless tease of a crack whore, because she wouldn¡¯t suck your dick for an extra five-dollar tip.¡± Chance stared at the man blankly for a few seconds before bursting out in laughter, nearly spilling his drink. ¡°Motherfucker, did I really say that? Ah man, I am really sorry about that. No, truly, I am,¡± Chance pleaded, noticing the owner¡¯s furious glare. ¡°I promise, Vince, from now on, I will be on my best behavior. You won¡¯t ever lose another crack whore waitress because of me. Can¡¯t promise the piss and shit smell won¡¯t do it, though,¡± Chance professed holding up two fingers and then crossing his heart. ¡°Whatever, man,¡± Vince responded as he turned to walk away, mumbling to himself. He stopped at the other end of the bar pretending to clean, signaling their conversation was done. Chance just shrugged. It was not the first time he had caused someone to quit their job, and he knew it would not be the last either. He finished the rest of his drink and immediately gestured for another one. While he waited for his drink, he looked to the end of the bar and noticed the man from earlier eyeing him, still nursing his drink. His gaze caused Chance to feel uncomfortable. ¡°Something I can help you with, friend?¡± Chance asked. ¡°No,¡± the main replied swirling his drink with his right hand. His left hand was hidden in his jacket. ¡°Then why the fuck are you staring at me?¡± Chance bellowed. The two men playing pool, hearing the yelling, paused their game and began watching intently. ¡°Come on, Chance. Don¡¯t be a fucking prick to new customers. This bar ain¡¯t gonna stay open with just the regular drunks like you in here,¡± Vince intervened. ¡°No problem,¡± the stranger said. ¡°I apologize, sir; it will not happen again. Please, let me pay for that drink.¡± ¡°Well, I¡¯ll be damned if that isn¡¯t the perfect way to apologize. All is forgiven, good sir. Let us return to our thoughts as we slowly kill our livers,¡± Chance stated sarcastically before giving the man an insincere bow. He then smiled mischievously at Vince who glared at him. Vince set the drink in front of Chance, no napkin this time. The stranger raised his glass. ¡°Cheers!¡± ¡°Cheers,¡± Chance responded, raising his glass before draining it then gesturing for another. For the next few hours, Chance drowned himself in whiskey and chatted with some of the regulars who came in for a few drinks. He made dirty jokes, educated his fellow drinkers on the finer points of running a successful company, made snide comments about the weatherman¡¯s predictions, and attempted to flirt with the only two women who mistakenly made their way to the bar only to leave shortly afterwards. He loved it all: the booze, the conversation with people ¡°beneath¡± him, the flirting (successful or not). It allowed him to feel free from all the shackles around his neck. Not his father, his job, his wife, nor his kid could bother him here. Every Friday and Saturday night, he was truly unburdened, and he could never get enough of it. The night flew by in glorious fashion until Vince shouted, ¡°Last call, assholes.¡± The stranger from earlier, who nursed his one drink the entire night, paid his tab and walked out, nodding at Chance as he left. The only others left were the two men playing pool from the beginning of the night. They approached the bar, dropped some money on the counter, gave a friendly gesture to the bartender, and walked out all the while arguing over who truly was the better player. ¡°One more,¡± Chance slurred. ¡°Come on, man, everyone else has left. Can¡¯t you just leave, too?¡± the bartender pleaded. ¡°One¡­more¡­¡± Chance slurred again accompanied with a loud belch. ¡°Kid, I see you come in here every Friday and Saturday night and drink till you can barely stand. I deal with you from when you get off work until closing time. I know you got a wife and kid. Shouldn¡¯t you try to get home a little earlier so you don¡¯t sleep the entire day away tomorrow before you end up back here again?¡± Chance sighed. ¡°Fine,¡± he said reluctantly. ¡°How much do I owe you?¡± ¡°$150,¡± said the bartender. ¡°Are you fucking kidding me, man?¡± Chance yelled with alcohol-induced courage. ¡°Do you remember how much you drank?¡± ¡°No,¡± Chance responded nearly falling off his barstool. ¡°Exactly, pay the fuck up and get out, man; it''s late,¡± the bartender shouted. ¡°Alright,¡± Chance said waving his hands downwards. ¡°Chill, man. Here is $152. Keep the change. I¡¯ll see you tomorrow, my man.¡± The bartender picked up the money and counted it before looking away. ¡°Always the big tipper, aren¡¯t ya, prick,¡± the bartender muttered as he walked away. Chance stumbled towards the door, too intoxicated to care about the owner¡¯s rudeness. Outside, he searched his pockets for his keys, walking in a zigzag pattern towards his car and nearly falling three or four times along the way. The area was quiet this time at night. All the restaurants and bars were closed, the streets were empty, and most of the lampposts in this part of the city were broken or flickered eerily. A dog barked in the distance, interrupting an otherwise silent street on a chilly night. As Chance finally made it to his car, he dropped his keys on the ground, stumbling as he bent over to pick them up. After three swipes, he finally got a hand on them and got into his car. He began searching the radio for a song he liked. Need some music, he thought. As he reached for the gear shift, he noticed something move in his rearview mirror. Before he could react, he felt a hand grab the top of his head pulling him against the seat. The attacker¡¯s other hand appeared in front of him shoving a rag into his face before Chance could scream for help. He struggled to fight back, trying to break the stranger¡¯s hold on him. He clawed at his attacker, but felt nothing except leather. He began kicking his legs and attempting to rock backwards, but the kicks had no power behind them. His vision began to blur as his arms and legs grew heavier. His eyes lowered and his limbs stopped moving. He could still faintly hear the dog barking in the distance. A sweet smell was the last thing he remembered as he lost consciousness. Chapter 2 Chance awoke the next morning unable to rouse himself from bed. His arms and legs seemed to way a thousand pounds each. He tried to say something, but the words caught in his throat, which felt as dry as a desert. He could not keep his eyes open long enough to see anything except the haze of a long night. After what seemed like an hour, he began to stir slightly, trying to get the power to roll over. Water. Need water, he thought. ¡°Beth,¡± he managed to moan lightly. ¡°Water. Get me some water.¡± There was only silence, not even a ¡°get it yourself¡± or a pillow thrown at him for getting too drunk the night before. ¡°Beth!¡± he yelled causing him to cough, sending a sharp pain through his chest and sides. Still no answer. Where the fuck is she? It¡¯s not as if she works. The one time I need her, she can¡¯t be bothered to be near. He opened his eyes, his vision still blurry. He looked at the ceiling trying to focus more while building the energy to sit up. Fear shot through his entire body like a wave, starting in his chest and crashing over his entire body. That¡¯s not my ceiling. He sat up straight, panic and adrenaline causing his aches and pains to disappear. Sweat began to trickle down his neck. The memory of hands grabbing him, arms constricting him, and that rag suffocating him flashed through his mind. His heart pounded in his chest as he struggled to catch his breath. He scanned the room, trying to calm himself, hoping it was a bad dream and praying that a taxi driver, an Uber driver, the bartender, or anyone had put him into a fleabag motel or their house. What he saw instead was a small room that contained two beds, a sink, and a toilet. The walls were grey and bits of old wallpaper hung sparingly throughout the room. The room was slightly larger than a prison cell. A lone light bulb flickered overhead, barely illuminating the room that contained a single door and no windows. Chance¡¯s heart pounded harder in his chest. His head began to throb again, whether this time it was from the night before or the sudden realization of his situation he was unsure. He tried to stand, but his legs gave way, causing him to crash into the floor, hitting his face hard. He pushed himself to his knees, noticing specks of blood on the floor trickling down from his face. He felt his nose, wincing as he pulled his hand away quickly from the tender area. Blood pooled in his palm. Looking up, he took a closer look at the lone door in the room. It was white and had a small slot in it. It sat along the wall between the foot of the two beds. He began to crawl towards to the door, his legs too weak to carry him. He reached for the doorknob and felt nothing. There wasn¡¯t a handle. Chance opened the slot to look out. He stared into a dark hallway that seemingly contained no doors, shapes, or an end to it. It was as if he stared into a great black abyss, with no signs of any light or hope. Shutting the slot, he leaned against the door, his breath growing heavier. Where the fuck am I? he thought. What is the place? Who put me here? Why am I here? I¡­I¡­. His mind began to race, thoughts so incoherent they began to overwhelm his brain. The room blurred as his heart pounded louder and louder. Why is this happening to me? ¡°I¡¯m glad you asked,¡± a voice said. Chance froze, his breath caught in his throat. That voice. That slithery, unnerving voice. It did not come from outside or inside the room. It spoke in his head. No¡­no... I must be delusional. That¡¯s impossible, Chance thought. ¡°You are not delusional nor is it impossible,¡± the Voice said calmly. ¡°How¡­how¡­¡± Chance stuttered. ¡°How am I reading your thoughts and speaking directly into your mind?¡± the Voice asked. ¡°Not possible¡­not possible. Not fucking possible! How¡­how¡­¡± Chance yelled falling to his side, his hands covering his ears. ¡°It is really annoying when you repeat yourself, Chance,¡± the Voice stated. ¡°Allow me to enlighten you so we can move forward with our agenda. I realize this is quite unnerving to you, as it should be. You have been chosen for a task. I will elaborate on that shortly. For now, I shall answer the question that has invaded your mind,¡± the Voice said cackling to himself. ¡°You get it, right? Invaded. Anyway, the concept of it is quite simple. Some very intelligent scientists have invented a little chip that allows one to speak directly into someone¡¯s mind. Through a bit of scientific magic that you are too dumb to understand, it also allows one to hear another person¡¯s thoughts as well as communicate directly to their brain. I had some friends implant the chip into you while you were unconscious. You should feel a scar directly behind your left ear from the process.¡± Chance felt behind his ear. He winced as his fingers instinctively pulled away. ¡°Very good,¡± the Voice continued. ¡°I do realize and empathize with the emotional trauma you must be feeling right now. However, fair warning, this is going to be the least of your worries. We did not spend millions of dollars and countless hours of research and experimenting just for you to hear my sweet, soothing voice. No, Chance, you are the lucky man chosen to be our guinea pig for the real fun. Before I tell you what is required, please go to your bed and place your hand on the tile next to the front left bed leg. You should be able to lift it up, carefully. Inside, you will find the item required to complete your task.¡± Chance hesitated. He began to stumble towards the bed. He knelt down and began to feel around the leg. One of the tiles jiggled slightly as his hand touched it. He pried up the tile with his fingers and slid it to the side. As he reached inside, he felt something cool and metallic. His hand searched around until grasping a handle. He picked up the knife. It was about six inches long, serrated on one side. The handle was black with a number two etched into the side of it. Panic washed over him as his brain began to realize the gravity of the situation. What could they possibly want him to do to himself? No fucking way I¡¯m killing myself, asshole! Chance thought. ¡°Name-calling is very juvenile, don¡¯t you think?¡± the Voice asked sardonically. ¡°And no, your task is not to kill yourself. Although, I would be doing the world a service, especially your father.¡± ¡°What the hell is that supposed to mean?¡± Chance shouted. ¡°Face the facts, Chance. You are nowhere near your father¡¯s equal. Charles is one of the most brilliant innovators of our time. He built a fortune on his ideas that have revolutionized weapons systems around the world. You, however, have the IQ of a brick, you are a drunken fool who hurts all around him, especially your beautiful caring wife, not to mention you quell in fear every time your daddy scolds you like the six-year-old child you really are. Yes, with you out of the way, your father¡¯s business would pass to someone far more intelligent who could truly take your father¡¯s vision to the next level. With you at the helm, we both know it will fail.¡±Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. ¡°How do you know so much about me?¡± ¡°It is my job to know.¡± ¡°So, because you think you know me, you believe I should just walk away from the company that is rightfully mine? Fuck off, prick. I am entitled to that company, and I will be damned if anyone but me takes it over once the old bastard is gone,¡± Chance said as he began to pace back and forth. ¡°The quintessential rationalization of the spoiled rich kid who always got by because of his father¡¯s money. So clich¨¦,¡± the Voice chastised. ¡°Alas, you are not here to be convinced to give up anything, so let us move on. Tomorrow, you will be getting a roommate. Your task is quite simple. Kill him. Don¡¯t fret, I don¡¯t expect you to have the fortitude to do it on the first day. I will give you more time than that. Do not, however, test my patience. Now, before I depart, do you have any additional questions?¡± Chance¡¯s mind raced. His thoughts were a jumbled mess. He tried to calm himself long enough to ask a thoughtful and coherent question. The only thought he could muster, however, was Why? ¡°Because I ordered you to do so. It is as simple as that. If you ever want to see the light of day again, you will do as I command. His life buys your freedom, Chance. I suggest you take it. The sooner you do it, the better you will come out of this whole ordeal. Trust me. By the way, should you get any crazy notion of trying to escape, squash it. You won¡¯t. The door only opens from the outside, and I know you are not strong enough to open it alone. Should you somehow convince your roommate to help you escape, both of you will be shot before you can make it ten feet from the door. Also, before I forget, you have one additional rule in regards to our little game. Never, under any circumstances, tell the man about me, the knife, or your objective.¡± ¡°Why do you care if he knows?¡± Chance asked. ¡°Once again, because those are my orders. Do as commanded or suffer the consequences,¡± the Voice said and was followed by a small click.. ¡°Why!¡± Chance yelled. ¡°Why the fuck are you doing this to me?¡± The only sounds he heard came from his own mouth and chest. He walked over and fell onto the bed, his body too tired to stand any longer. He covered his eyes with his hands and began to weep. How am I supposed to take another life? he thought. I may cheat, I may lie, I may steal, but I don¡¯t kill. There has got to be another way out of here. He hinted that I have a few days. Maybe he will offer me another way out. Escape is clearly off the table. Even if I could somehow escape, I would still have this fucking chip in my head. Why does everything always have to happen to me?¡± Chance groaned staring up at the ceiling. Why me? ---- It took an hour for his heart to beat normally again. His hangover, thankfully, was gone after the adrenaline-filled morning. Chance started pacing back and forth in the room again, trying to make sense of the situation. Why me? Chance thought. That question more than any other puzzled him. Sure, his family had a lot of money and a very powerful business, but what could they possibly gain from forcing him to murder a complete stranger? Maybe it was just random, and I happened to draw the short straw. No. This has to have something to do with me personally. If I were a random school teacher or a construction worker, it could be chalked up to bad luck. I, however, am no ordinary Joe. Could they possibly be using me as a pawn in order to manipulate my father? But, if that is their goal, why not just go straight to the source? Having me kill someone in a confined room in the middle of God knows where with no witnesses doesn¡¯t make sense. Chance stopped abruptly. Video. They are going to record me killing this poor sap and use it to blackmail my father. Still, it just does not seem as practical as using the chip on the old man himself. Regardless of their reasoning, I am going to find a way out of this without having to hurt someone. I have to. The slot on the door suddenly opened and someone placed a tray of food through. Chance ran over grabbing the food, setting it down before trying to peak out to get a glance of the person. Nothing. Chance grabbed his tray and walked back to his bed despondently. His meal consisted of what appeared to be canned meat, string beans, a roll, and an apple juice box. Fucking five-course meal in here, eh? Chance thought. The meat tasted like it had been left on a windowsill too long. The string beans were soggy and the roll harder than a brick. The juice, however, delighted his taste buds, reminding him of meals with his mother for some reason. After he finished, he set the tray back on the slot, and walked back towards his bed. Before he sat down, an idea occurred to him. He grabbed the tray, shoving the contents out into the hallway, and he began pounding the tray up and down repeatedly in between the slot as fast as could. ¡°Help! Help!¡± Chance screamed, ¡°Can anybody hear me? These assholes have me trapped in here! Please, somebody, anybody!¡± Suddenly, he felt strong hands snatching the tray from his grasp, momentum nearly causing him to hit the door. He immediately checked the slot. Nothing, again. He kicked the door in frustration and instantly regretted his decision as pain spread throughout his foot. ¡°Fuck!¡± Chance yelled. ---- An eternity seemed to pass by before the slot opened and another plate of food was left for him. Same as earlier. ¡°Not too creative in the food selection, I see,¡± Chance groaned. Despite his complaints, he ate the food and returned the tray. A moment later, it was gone. He did not run to check this time. Chance lay down on his bed and started to count the dots on the ceiling. Counting the dots helped him as a child, and tonight, it was going to take a lot for him to get some sleep. ¡°Am I interrupting?¡± the Voice asked. Chance jumped at the sound of the Voice penetrating his thoughts again. ¡°Yes, actually. Big plans tonight, obviously,¡± Chance quipped. The Voice laughed. ¡°I do appreciate good sarcasm. So, how was your day? I hope you are finding your accommodations quite comfortable.¡± Fuck you, Chance thought. ¡°I heard that, and I don¡¯t appreciate it, Chance. Remember who you are thinking to.¡± ¡°Just get to the point,¡± Chance groaned. ¡°It is already going to take me hours just to fall asleep still hungry on your shitty excuse of a bed. ¡°Be grateful, you little worm,¡± the Voice barked. ¡°Some people fall asleep in their own piss and shit, yet you whine about sleeping on a bed with a pillow and blanket. ¡°Fine, I¡¯m sorry,¡± Chance said hesitantly. ¡°Moving on,¡± the Voice said coldly. ¡°I came to make sure my instructions earlier were abundantly clear. Should you have any questions, now would be the time to ask them.¡± ¡°Why me?¡± Chance asked. ¡°Are you attempting to blackmail my father with a video of me murdering some poor soul? If money is your end goal, I am sure we can reach an agreement without the need for this task. Just tell me what you want.¡± The Voice laughed so loud the microphone screeched. Chance grabbed his head, the noise ringing harshly in his ears. ¡°Typical, typical, Chance. You think Daddy¡¯s money will bail you out of trouble every time. You are very mistaken, my boy. My interests are with you and you alone. No amount of money, power, flattery, or persuasion will allow you to escape your task. You will complete your objective. You will murder him. Now, unless you have a slightly more intelligent question for me, our conversation is concluded.¡±. ¡°Wait!¡± Chance begged. A long pause followed before the Voice finally responded, ¡°I¡¯m listening.¡± ¡°Is there any possible scenario where I can leave here without murdering this poor man?¡± Chance asked. ¡°No,¡± the Voice said followed by another click. ---- Chance tossed, turned, kicked, cursed, and counted throughout the night. None of it worked. Every scenario played throughout his head countless times, all of which invariably ended up disastrously. Every time he began to enter the hazy beginnings of sleep, a knife flashed before his eyes causing his heart to jump in his throat as he yelled out in panic. This night would not bring forth dreams, only nightmares. Chapter 3 Chance wasn¡¯t sure if he woke up or simply had a moment of clarity bringing him to consciousness. He shot up to look over at the other bed. Is he here? No. Not yet, of course. Let the tension eat at me a little longer, right? This fucker and his mind games, Chance thought. You guys serve breakfast in this joint? Ah, let me guess¡ªthat costs extra, right? He didn¡¯t expect a response. ¡°Good morning,¡± the Voice called to him. ¡°Mo¡­morning,¡± Chance stammered. It would have been one thing to have the Voice call to him over an intercom or phone, but the sound it made in his mind was just unnerving and unnatural. His blood felt cold after every word, and his hair stood up on the back of his neck, legs, and arms. He didn¡¯t think he would ever get used to it. ¡°What, no self-inflating comments from the witless-wonder? You were so talkative a minute ago. What happened, Chance?¡± the Voice retorted sarcastically. ¡°You¡­you¡­¡± Chance stuttered as his mind went blank. ¡°I figured as much,¡± the Voice said matter-of-factly. ¡°I knew you were beneath my intellectual capacity, but I had hoped you would not be a complete dunce. However, this conversation, to your benefit, will be short this morning. Your new friend shall be arriving within the hour. Now, I never imposed on you a time limit to complete your objective, but I must insist it be done expediently. It is for your own good. Should the two of you become too familiar, it will only make the inevitable that much more difficult and painful. I shall be watching you, Chance.¡± Another click and the Voice was gone. Chance exhaled, grabbing his hair so ferociously he accidently pulled some out. I can¡¯t go through with this. Murder just isn¡¯t in me, Chance thought. What the fuck am I gonna do? His blood began to slowly warm, the hair on his extremities slowly receding. His heart still raced, but not with such intensity. He tried to control his breathing. Maybe this guy will be a complete prick and I¡¯ll somehow find the courage to do it. The thought made his stomach turn. What is happening to me? Am I seriously trying to rationalize an acceptable reason for murder? No¡­no! Never gonna fucking happen. Ever! ---- Time crawled slowly, or at least Chance assumed it did. No clocks hung on the walls to confirm it. He assumed it was still morning because his lunch had not yet arrived. Are they going to throw this guy in here before or after lunch? Chance wondered. Some company would be nice. He sat on the side of his bed, chin in his hands, trying to think of something to break the monotony. He started doing push-ups. He only got to six before he realized how out of shape he was. He rubbed his arms and sat on the floor with his back rest against the bed. The door shot open so quickly it appeared to instantly have switched positions instead of swinging. A body flew into the room slamming against the bed railing. Before Chance could react, the door slammed shut followed by the sound of the lock twisting. He heard a groan coming from underneath the sack covering the man¡¯s head. Chance stared nervously over at the stranger. He contemplated whether he should walk over and check on the man or not. He could be dangerous, Chance thought. Maybe he is here to kill me? No, if they wanted me dead, I would be dead already. Chance sighed and began to tiptoe gingerly toward the body. The man began to stir causing Chance to freeze in his tracks. Chance began to sweat as fear and anxiety washed over him. ¡°H...hello,¡± Chance whispered. The man tensed at the sound of Chance¡¯s voice, backing up until he hit the wall. ¡°Who are you? Where am I? What do you want? Why the fuck am I here?¡± the man yelled at Chance. ¡°I don¡¯t know why we are here,¡± Chance responded calmly, wondering why the man left the bag over his head. ¡°My name is Chance. They stuck me in here yesterday. They...¡± He paused, remembering the Voice¡¯s rules, ¡°they have not communicated with me since. Don¡¯t you want to take that thing off your head?¡± The man stiffened, as if realizing for the first time a sack covered his face. He snatched it off his head. He glared at Chance, seemingly trying to decide whether he was a threat or not. He must have decided not as his body posture began to relax, and he let out a deep sigh. The stranger was built similar to Chance in height and weight. He had dark eyes with black hair that reached down to his shoulders and a shortly-trimmed goatee. His eyes searched the room taking in his surroundings. ¡°Shit,¡± the man muttered.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. ¡°Yeah,¡± Chance agreed. ¡°What¡¯s your name? ¡°Lance,¡± he responded. ¡°Nice to meet you, Lance. I think.¡± ¡°Yeah, no.¡± They both chuckled at his response before expressions returned to the grim realization of their imprisonment. They remained silent after that, only exchanging glances intermittently for the next hour. The slot opening and the subsequent tray that now held two plates of food finally broke the tension. Chance grabbed the tray and handed Lance his plate before sitting down to eat his own. Same fucking food again, Chance thought. They both sat against their respective beds as they ate their meal. Once they had both finished, Chance put their trash on the plates before forcibly shoving it through the slot, the sound echoing throughout the hall. Lance gave a faint smile as Chance sat back down on his bed. ¡°When did they grab you?¡± Lance asked. ¡°Day before yesterday. You?¡± ¡°Last night. Somebody grabbed me as I left the bar. He shoved some rag in my mouth, and I passed out.¡± ¡°Same, guess they¡¯re not too creative in their kidnappings either.¡± ¡°Either?¡± ¡°Food is the same every time. Seems we get two a day. No breakfast.¡± ¡°Perfect,¡± Lance said sarcastically as he began hitting his head slightly against the rail. He climbed onto his bed covering his eyes with his arm. Chance took that as a cue he no longer wanted to talk and decided to do the same as he fell onto his bed face first in his pillow. He closed his eyes hoping some sleep would come. --- The slot opened, and a hand deposited their evening dinner tray. Chance stirred slowly. Sleep had evaded him once again, and he was starting to feel delirious. They had lain silently in their beds for hours with only their own thoughts for comfort. Chance gathered their food and distributed it like before. Both men sat on their beds eating their meals, mindlessly staring off into the distance. Chance collected their plates again and set them in the slot. He didn¡¯t throw it this time. He was too tired for another frustrated display. They each sat on their respective beds lost in their own thoughts. They avoided each other¡¯s eyes for the better part of the evening. After what felt like hours, Chance decided to break the silence. ¡°Where you from?¡± Chance asked. ¡°Why do you care?¡± Lance groaned. ¡°Just making conversation, man,¡± Chance said, agitated with the man¡¯s behavior. ¡°We may be here awhile. You got something better to do?¡± Lance gave him a cold look. He clearly did not trust Chance. Maybe he thinks I¡¯m in on it? Chance thought. Is he worried I am here to get some kind of confession out of him? Chance did not blame him for his reluctance. Wait, what if he is here to get some confession out me? They throw me in a hole telling me the sole reason for my abduction is to kill this man. What if, in fact, the objective is for me to grow to trust this man and spill my guts? Why do that if they can read my thoughts, though? Unless they are only capable of reading the thoughts actively running through my head. Do they think they will find something hidden in my brain? Maybe security codes to some computer systems in our office? It just doesn¡¯t make sense. ¡°Yo, asshole, you there?¡± Lance bellowed. Chance shook out of his daze. He had gotten so lost in his head he had not noticed the man talking. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, man. Did you say something?¡± Chance asked. Lance¡¯s annoyed look slowly faded. He probably knew the thoughts running through Chance¡¯s head considering they probably consumed his own as well. ¡°I said I¡¯m from Boston. You?¡± he asked. ¡°Born and raised here,¡± Chance responded. ¡°Married?¡± He hesitated before saying, ¡°No, you?¡± Chance thought it may be wise to withhold the fact he was married. The Voice already knows about my family, so if this guy is in on it, then he knows too. ¡°Yeah, I have a daughter too,¡± Chance admitted. ¡°How old?¡± Lance inquired. ¡°Six. Really funny and energetic.¡± Chance paused, giving some serious thought to his family for the first time. Wonder what Beth is thinking right now? Probably that I ran off with some girl or on a bender. Hell, they are probably happy as can be right now. Lance looked at him quizzically. ¡°Where do you work?¡± he asked. ¡°VP for my dad¡¯s business. Sounds better than it is,¡± Chance responded, shoving thoughts of his family out of his head. ¡°You?¡± ¡°Construction. Sounds worse than it is,¡± Lance chuckled as he lay back. ¡°Night.¡± Chance smiled faintly, but it fleeted swiftly. His surroundings did not allow any happiness to permeate him for more than a few brief seconds. This room. His prison. His mission. Talking had helped only slightly. It has not even been two days and yet it¡¯s getting to me, Chance thought solemnly. I don¡¯t think I am capable of doing what they ask. He wanted to scream. He wanted to punch something or throw something. But he didn¡¯t. I have to be strong. Throwing a temper tantrum is not going to work here. I¡¯ve got to use reason. Chance lay on his bed. His eyes began to search the ceiling as if there was an answer written in the stucco. He felt his eyes getting heavier as his breathing deepened. Hopefully sleep would come to him tonight. His mind slowly began to relax as his thoughts slowed. He felt a spring in the bed poking his back, but he didn¡¯t care. He needed sleep. ¡°Good evening, Chance,¡± the Voice greeted. Chapter 4 Chance felt his body tense. That cold voice cut through his head. His blood ran cold and his entire body slouched deeper into the bed. No¡­no¡­no! Chance thought, Come on, please just let me get some sleep for fuck¡¯s sake? ¡°That hurts, Chance. I have feelings too, you know?¡± the Voice said. ¡°In any case, regardless of how you treat me, I still want you to get through this process as painlessly as possible. So it may be in your best interest that all communication between us stay in that little head of yours. I¡¯d assume that would be a given, but you have proved your idiocy since the beginning, so I figured I would come right out and say it. Fuck you, Chance thought. ¡°Thank you for proving my point, simpleton. God, are you ever going to grow up?¡± the Voice asked. Every time the Voice chastised him, it felt eerily similar to one of his father¡¯s many speeches designed to belittle and humiliate him. Get to your point so I can get some sleep, Chance thought, angry at the Voice for his snideness and himself for his cowardice. ¡°Do I have to spell out why we are talking, Chance?¡± the Voice said, giving a loud sigh. ¡°I¡¯m here to make sure you take that knife out of the floor, walk over to the other bed, look down at your target, slit his throat, and watch him bleed out like a pig. The more you guys talk and get to know each other, the harder it will be. So be a man, grab the knife and get it over with, damn it.¡± He imagined himself standing over Lance¡¯s body with a knife in hand, blood gushing from his throat as his body convulsed uncontrollably and the look in his eyes as the life slowly faded from them. He shook his head trying to erase the horror. He could feel the hairs on his neck standing as he lay in bed terror-struck. You said it didn¡¯t have to be done tonight, Chance thought. ¡°That does not mean tonight is off-limits, now does it? I am trying to help you, Chance. Kill the stranger!¡± No, Chance thought. Please. Give me another out. I¡¯m not a murderer. ¡°Dahmer wasn¡¯t a cannibal until he ate his first victim. Do it!¡± the Voice ordered. That¡¯s completely different. He chose to do those horrific things. I am being forced. ¡°I do not want to be here talking to a troglodyte, yet here I am,¡± the Voice responded. There has to be another way. ¡°There isn¡¯t.¡± This isn¡¯t fair. I don¡¯t deserve this. ¡°Fair? Deserve?¡± the Voice said laughing, ¡°Whoever said this experiment would be fair? And, let¡¯s be honest, Chance, it may not be fair, but you do deserve this.¡± Bullshit. ¡°You¡¯re lazy, incompetent, selfish, cowardly, and arrogant. You ignore your child; verbally abuse, ignore, and cheat on your wife; and you look down on others, all while self-inflating your importance on the back of your daddy¡¯s coattails. You lie, cheat, and abuse to no end except to fill the emptiness that is your pathetic life. Do not now aspire to be something you are not, Chance. You may lie to the rest of the world. You may hide your insecurities and spit your half-truths to everyone else, but not to me. No, Chance. I get to see the real you. And that terrifies you.¡± Okay, seriously, how the fuck do you know so much about me? You seem to know everything thing that goes on in my personal life as well as my work life. Do you work for me? Are you talking to people who are close to me? How the fuck do you know so much? ¡°I told you, it is my job to know.¡± I will not do a fucking thing you ask until I get some damn answers, asshole! ¡°Fine, Chance. Have it your way. I do not work for you. I would not work for someone who is stupid enough to spend week after week drinking in a bar and spilling their guts to complete strangers. I chose the biggest shithole of a bar I could find in order to find the person dumb enough to be qualified for this position. Congratulations, you won!¡± Oh. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I couldn¡¯t hear you. Could you use your big boy thoughts, please?¡± the Voice mocked. Please. Leave me alone. I do not have it in me to do this. ¡°Chance, Chance, Chance,¡± the Voice said. ¡°You are a coward. That is exactly why you will be able to do it. In the end, you are going to want to save your own skin. That is what cowards do. You will be smart, and wait for him to be in a deep slumber. Similar to how he is now. Then you will rid him of this world and yourself of this room and my voice. Save your own ass, Chance. It is what you¡¯re best at, after all. Stop acting like this is a simple science experiment. It isn¡¯t. You''re fucking with people''s¡¯ lives here, and for what? Chance thought. What valid reason could you possibly have? Government research? Private sector research? Save it. It really doesn¡¯t matter. What matters is this man. Not some object. He could have a family waiting for him. Regardless of how shitty a person I am, robbing a family of their husband or father does not sit well with me. ¡°He told you he does not have a wife or child, didn''t he?¡± the Voice asked. So? He could be lying to protect them. He probably does not trust me, and I don¡¯t blame him, Chance thought, pressing down hard on his eyes. I don¡¯t trust him either. Who is to say he doesn¡¯t have you or some other crazy fucker in his ear telling him to kill me. The thought terrified him. Sweat began to bead on his forehead. He hadn¡¯t considered the possibility that this could be a race. You sick fucks, is this some kind of¡ª ¡°Relax,¡± the Voice said followed by an attempt to make soothing sounds. ¡°The poor bastard sharing your room is truly unaware as to why he is there. No race, no competition. Just a test of your ability to follow instructions. Do so and be rewarded. Fail to do so¡­. You don¡¯t want to fail to do so. I only have so much patience, Chance; do not test it. Thanks, I feel so much better, Chance thought. Are you ever going to tell me the actual purpose of this experiment? ¡°It is not within my powers to release that information,¡± the Voice responded. ¡°So, you¡¯re not the boss? Should have guessed it. Government or private? That is the least you could tell me.¡± ¡°True, that is the least I could tell you. And yet, I won¡¯t.¡± Why? ¡°Why?¡± the Voice mocked in a high-pitched whine. ¡°Do you realize how often you sound like a child?¡± It is a legitimate question. I don¡¯t think wanting to know why some strange creepy guy with a cold voice kidnaps me, belittles me, and orders me to kill someone I do not know just to satisfy his twisted fetish is juvenile.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. ¡°Just because you desire something does not mean you shall receive it. I would like to know the true origins of existence, and yet I am left only to my thoughts and ideas of how it happened. Also, I am not creepy nor is my voice unpleasant, just ask my mother, and I get no sexual gratification out of this assignment. Stop trying to understand because it is beyond your intellectual capabilities.¡± Fuck you! ¡°Thank you for proving my point yet again. Just complete your mission like a good little soldier, and then you can return to your pathetic life.¡± No. ¡°This circular conversational style of yours is really starting to annoy me.¡± Then fuck off! ¡°Why would I do that when I am clearly getting to you? I¡¯m sure you think so. ¡°You can¡¯t hide your emotions from me, Chance. Your heartbeat is elevated, and you are perspiring excessively. I am definitely getting to you.¡± Chance placed his hand upon his heart. He felt the rapid beating in his chest so intensely he thought it might explode. He ran his fingers through his hair, which was soaked as was the back of his pillow. He attempted to slow his thoughts down. He breathed slowly and deeply in order to calm himself. This isn¡¯t fair. My mind¡­it is supposed to be the one place that is mine and mine alone. ¡°I see we have circled back to fairness,¡± the Voice groaned. ¡°You are becoming predictable. Stop complaining about what is fair and what isn¡¯t. You cannot control that. What you can control, however, is how long you spend in here. Pick up the knife, Chance. Summon all of your intestinal fortitude and end this. He is locked in limbo here as well. The only way either of you gets any kind of respite is if you complete your objective. You can make it nearly painless. One quick slit. Just make sure to penetrate deep enough and slice far enough. Best not tempt fate into keeping him alive because of a weak strike. Do it, Chance. Earn your freedom. It is right in front of you. Seize it, Chance. Seize it! NO! Chance screamed internally, his hands clawing at his temples. You may invade my mind, but you do not fucking own it. ¡°Not yet.¡± Never. ¡°Fine, for the sake of argument, let''s assume you are right. Do you plan on living here forever? How long do you think I will keep feeding you? You must have an exit strategy, correct?¡± There has to be another way, and I am going to wait until it presents itself. You clearly want something from me, and I do not think it is murder. So, what is it? ¡°You are correct in that it is not about murder. It is about you listening and following my instructions. So far, you are doing very poorly. Then maybe you should find a better student. ¡°Why would I do that when I have you here with me already? You do realize that eventually my father, and all of his money, will figure out I am not on a bender. That he will inevitably come to the conclusion that my disappearance is the result of foul play. You are on borrowed time and you know it. I suggest you give me an alternative. Let me leave, and maybe I will forget all of this. ¡°Silen¡ª¡± No! Fuck you and your commands. The tables have turned, asshole. You thought I was incapable of playing chess. Merely a checker player pretending. Instead, you found a quality opponent. Let that eat at you, prick. ¡°That¡¯s cute,¡± the Voice mocked. ¡°You think you¡¯ve won. Only a fool thinks the game is won before the conclusion. Your arrogance will be your downfall. You will kill him. You will obey me. You may resist at first, but eventually, you will bend to my will. Your mind will crumble under the weight of the torture I will put you through should you continue to resist me. You are not my equal. You will learn to obey your master. You are a hypocrite. You insult me for inflating my self-importance yet anoint yourself my master. I may not be perfect, but I accept that. You, on the other hand, fancy yourself far superior in intelligence than myself and I¡¯m assuming everyone else as well. How does the saying go? ¡°Don¡¯t throw stones if you live in a glass house.¡± Be careful walking home. I wouldn¡¯t want you to cut yourself. Chance waited for a witty retort or snide comment about his mental faculties, but he only heard a click followed by silence. Had he won this battle? He lay upon his bed with his hands behind his head smiling. One to one, asshole. Your move. --- The adrenaline from his mental spar with the Voice coupled with an uncomfortable bed kept Chance up once again. He tossed and turned for an hour, replaying the argument over and over in his head. How many springs does this fucking bed have? He got up to relieve himself. As he washed his hands, Lance sat up. ¡°Can¡¯t sleep either, eh?¡± he asked. ¡°Nope, par for the course here, though,¡± Chance responded. He thought he heard rain outside. ¡°Said you¡¯re a VP of some company, right?¡± ¡°Yeah. My dad started it when he was younger, and over time it exploded.¡± ¡°Guessing that will be yours one day. Must be nice,¡± Lance stated, a hint of contempt in his voice. ¡°Yeah. Sooner the better,¡± Chance said as he walked back over to his bed, cracking his knuckles and stretching his arms. ¡°Why is that?¡± Lance asked as he too began to stretch slightly. ¡°Would you wanna work for your old man?¡± ¡°Fair point. Seems like a lot of responsibility to take on at a relatively young age, though.¡± ¡°He started it when he was younger than I am now. I can handle it.¡± ¡°Stakes are different now.¡± ¡°The fuck is that supposed to mean?¡± ¡°I¡¯m just saying. Your dad started a company from the ground up. He grew as the company did. You are being handed what sounds like a huge operation.¡± ¡°You talk to me as if you know me. You do not know shit about me. I will do great things when that company is mine, regardless of what you or anyone else thinks,¡± Chance retorted. ¡°You¡¯re right, I am sorry. Not my place.¡± Chance glared at the man. Sensing his sincerity, he relaxed. ¡°Enough about me. What about you? You self-employed?¡± Chance asked. ¡°Me?¡± the man laughed. ¡°No, I work for a company who does a bunch of houses in subdivisions. Just a worker. Pay is decent though.¡± ¡°You enjoy it?¡± ¡°Do you enjoy your job?¡± ¡°No, not much of a choice, though.¡± ¡°Not for me either. It is the best-paying job I can get. Nothing else is hanging on a pole waiting for me to grab it.¡± ¡°That a shot at me?¡± ¡°A little. I¡¯m sorry man, it just bugs me. Some people have it all laid out for them before they are even born. They are fortunate enough to hit the DNA lottery. The majority, however, have to scratch and claw just to gather the scraps the elites are kind enough to throw in their trash.¡± ¡°Fuck you!¡± Chance shouted. ¡°Yes, I have a nice set up, there is no denying that. Do you think I should apologize for that? I will not be sorry for being born into a wealthy family. My dad is more of a prick than you could ever know. I have had to put up with his bullshit my whole life, so yes when he kicks the fucking bucket, I will take over his company. People can bitch all they want about it, because either way, I will be laughing my ass off to the bank.¡± ¡°Sorry, man. Damn, calm down. I didn¡¯t mean to hit such a nerve. You¡¯re right, of course. I have no clue what is going on in your situation. I mean that, sincerely.¡± Chance studied the man. One again, he looked sincere enough. Still, Lance¡¯s repeated insults annoyed him. ¡°Maybe it is best we change the subject,¡± Lance said. ¡°Like what?¡± Chance asked. ¡°How¡¯s married life?¡± ¡°Shitty. If she isn¡¯t bitching, she¡¯s moaning.¡± ¡°Damn, man. Why stay with her then?¡± ¡°Cheaper than a divorce. Plus, we dated in high school, and I know she married me for me. Back then, we both truly loved each other.¡± Chance paused. He thought of all the times he told Beth he loved her when they were younger, but the words always felt hollow. He found it impossible to truly know how it felt, even towards his daughter. ¡°I¡¯m not really sure when I grew tired of her,¡± he continued, once again ignoring thoughts of his family, ¡°Gradually, I guess. I think we both stick it out because it is convenient. The kid complicates things as well. What about you? You said you weren¡¯t married. Got a girlfriend or something?¡± Chance asked eagerly, trying to move away from his family. ¡°Nah,¡± Lance said hesitantly as he shifted anxiously. Something in his eyes told Chance he was hiding something. He decided, however, not to push any further. ¡°Do you have any idea why they picked the two of us, out of millions, to share this room for God knows why?¡± Chance asked. ¡°I¡¯ve been racking my brain on that too. Some kind of social experiment or something? I just don¡¯t get how they expect any results without giving us any kind of instruction, you know?¡± ¡°Yeah, it makes no sense,¡± Chance lied. Lance sighed and put his head in his hands. Chance looked at the man somberly. He wanted to tell him the truth about the Voice, the knife, the experiment. Yet, he could not bring himself to do it. Not only did the Voice forbid it, what if this man decided to kill Chance hoping the act would earn him his freedom instead? No, for now, he had to pretend to be just as oblivious as Lance. Lost in the darkness, hoping someone else would shine a light, illuminating a path to salvation. That¡¯s too easy. This won¡¯t end easily, Chance thought. The conversation, thankfully, took on a brighter tone over the next hour. Chance learned a good deal about the manual labor involved in building houses, and in return, he educated the man on the ins and outs of how boring office work could be. Lance spoke of his parents fondly. His father was a postman and his mother a hair stylist. They were now retired, living less than an hour away from the city. Chance deflected talking about his parents. They continued on for what felt like hours. Eventually, the men decided they should try to get some sleep. Chance lay back, hands under his head. He closed his eyes, aches flaring throughout his weary body, and prayed for sleep. He needed it. He knew the next few days would be rough. He was mentally exhausted already, and he would have to prepare for more ¡°mental¡± battles. It was going to be taxing. He was going to win though. He had too. As he slowly drifted, he began to think of his mother for some reason. A brief smile flickered across his face as he finally fell asleep.