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Pieces - Printable Version +- The First Age (https://thefirstage.org/forums) +-- Forum: Rest of the world (https://thefirstage.org/forums/forum-23.html) +--- Forum: Rest of the world (https://thefirstage.org/forums/forum-24.html) +---- Forum: United States (https://thefirstage.org/forums/forum-25.html) +---- Thread: Pieces (/thread-1114.html) Pages:
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Pieces - Jay Carpenter - 03-12-2019 Continued from: Sanctuary His head pounded from inside. Like a cracked bowling ball, heavy and unsteady, he lifted his eyes and found the world blurry. Didn’t matter. He stretched outward. ..But everything fell numb. There was no wall to punch through, no barrier to breech. But something remained, a glimmer of light unattainable as grasping stars in his hands, but with all his might he tried, harder and farther than ever under Nox’s tutelage to seize it to his control. Tightness gripped his chest. Fear rising and falling like a vengeful tide. His head throbbed blood in his ears. Minutes lost to failed attempts, he had to stop. Take a breath. Two breaths. Steady, slow. Even. Focus on the internal. Slow the heart rate. Breathe steady. Mind calm and logical. Breathe and assess. Cold stretched under his forearms; fingers tingled with diminished blood flow. The pinch of zip ties clamped wrists to a metal chair. The same bound his ankles. More squeezed his chest. He remembered them tying him down. Remembered flexing every muscle in his body; enlarging the circumference with which they’d tighten the restraints. Little things, like the shape of hands fists or flat, opened that constriction. Even a small amount of movement would be enough to break free. Eyesight returned with the calm permeating his body. The room was dark; ceiling low. Concrete and cinderblock. Machinery filled an entire corner of the room; but he couldn’t tell what kind. Pipes and vents. A giant tank rotted with rust. That didn’t bode well. There was one door around which glowed a dim light, enough to realize there were few items he could use as weapon when he escaped. His eyes roamed the corners and ceilings. Smelled the flavors of the air. Survival was the first priority. All else could be determined later. They wouldn’t kill him so long as Cayli was free. That was his only hope. She was with Natalie and Jensen. If all went according to plan, they’d disappear in the Custody. He carried a razor blade in his boots, but given that they were already removed, he anticipated the enforcers that worked him over were trained enough to anticipate the tool. Many of the best cartels recruited from special forces of lower tier nations. Given that most of those were trained by the US in the first place, Jay wasn’t foolish enough to underestimate what he was against. He had to get free before they decided he was too comfortable sitting around waiting. As quietly and swiftly as possible, he scooted the chair toward the rusted tank, seeking a sharp edge to shave through the ties at the wrist. RE: Pieces - Jay Carpenter - 03-19-2019 Hood Wrote:The door to the old school's equally old boiler room was swung open, rusting hinges letting out a brief screech of protest. it opened smoothly; it was used regularly, it just hadn't seen a drop of oil in too long not to complain. The door briefly revealed an open room beyond, evenly spaced concrete pillars holding up the weight of the old building. Scattered furniture; old plastic lawn chairs, old student seats and desks, set up with some semblance of intent. A spot for the enforcers and goons that regularly used the place, whether guarding goods or people. RE: Pieces - Jay Carpenter - 03-20-2019 They dragged him unceremoniously away from the tank. A sad defeat given how much effort was expended to scoot the distance in the first place. His wrist rubbed raw at the attempt for freedom. Missing the plastic tie as much as it was snagged, red lines scrawled the skin nearby, but if that kind of pain was enough to slow him down, the pounding head and puffed skin on his face would have done it first. The three that filed into the room barely looked at him, but Jay studied each in return. None were faces he recognized from the rail yard nor any other outdated lists of McBads bubbling to memory. A few grunts and the migration was over, chair secured. Actually, the plates were clever anchors or so he discovered with first few tests of the contraption. Himself and the chair were definitely going no where anytime soon. He was watching the nearest one, waiting for whatever to come to come, when a fourth entered the room. Worry crept down his spine. Unlike the others, this one looked him in the eye. Strong, lean, methodical. Jay recognized some of the shapes among the tattoos. Jay knew exactly why this one was here, knew exactly what awaited his immediate future. It was definitely bad, he thought, glancing at the makeshift display of instruments arranged nearby. Cayli and Natalie were safe. Cayli and Natalie were safe. Or so he told himself, forcing focus on that single mantra. When the three stepped carefully around the fourth, avoiding his gaze and going out of their way to arrange things to his liking, finally closing the door gently on their departure, Jay licked his lips as he reached frantically for the power once again. Meanwhile, those dried out lips parted into an uneasy grin. “So… where you from? What do you do?” RE: Pieces - Jay Carpenter - 03-26-2019 Hood Wrote:The man dug around in the basket on one of the two beaten up old trays, before pulling out a pair of braces, which he attached to the back legs of the chair Jay was strapped into; it was also a chance to double check the bindings himself. Once done, he somewhat awkwardly lifted and tilted back the chair, leaving Jay seated at an angle, balanced on the rear legs of the chair, anchored in place by the heavy weights on the floor and the braces mounted to the back legs. RE: Pieces - Jay Carpenter - 03-29-2019 A time comes in every man’s life when he truly regrets choices made, and Jay lamented a lot of bad decisions. When he danced with another girl at prom knowing full well that Anna Marie hated her, he later regretted that choice. When he lied to his parents and enlisted without telling them, yet another lapse of judgement. Killing that evil motherfucker Zacarías Amengual should count high on the list. Strangely, he didn’t regret dropping that bastard. Probably shouldn’t laid into him with a machete afterward, but to this day, Jay couldn’t rationalize the blind rage that animated his entire body toward violence in that moment. As the chair tipped backward, he looked the shitface motherfucker narco defiantly in the eye just as the cloth draped over his face, blinding him from knowing what came next, and the fist of regret gripped tight on his gut. Bad fucking idea. This whole fucking thing. Texas. Axel. Amengual. Fuck them all. When he cut down all these fuckers with one of the eight-hundred ways he knew how to kill a man, they’d be grateful for the swift deaths. The kind of anger that sent machetes into Amengual’s chest gripped his hands on the chair. “Is that the best you have, you motherfucking dicksucker?” He sucked in as much air as he could before it was stolen away. The towel was cold. Water cold. Stink of ass-shits spread like poisoned gas over his face. The first gasp of air sprayed shitty water on his tongue. The taste made him want to gag, but a calm mind clenched the stomach tight. Choking on his own vomit was definitely not the way he wanted to die. Sight gone. Sounds amplified. The slosh of water buckets. Footsteps. Methodical and steady. Nobody spoke to him. Nobody asked questions. Just cold water splashed his lap, his stomach: pasting his shirt to the skin. He knew it was coming. Knew it was coming. Gone through it once before in training, but still wasn’t prepared. He gasped frantically. Stabs knifed the lungs. Don’t panic, survive, he told himself, but the body revolted. Hands gripped the chair tight, he lifted his ass up and flicked his head to throw off the towel. Don’t panic. Resist. Hands grabbed his skull, yanked it back. Muscles in the neck corded tight. The towel pulled tighter. No sounds except his own gurgles flooded the ears. His throat spasmed. Ribs flared, sucking in air. Water poured around his eyelids. Burning. More sprayed his tongue disgusting. Plugs stuffed the nostrils. He had to open his mouth for air, but the cloth stuffed cotton down his throat. When they gave him the chance to breathe, it was a choking, gagging, panicked act. Worst thing was, he knew this was only the beginning. He was as alone as someone could be. RE: Pieces - Jay Carpenter - 04-04-2019 Hood Wrote:"...eep them guessing." The towel was pulled from Jay's face after...well, Jay would have no real way of knowing that. But the towel was pulled free, and the chair was lowered to sit upright again, which would give the man a chance to try and cough the water clear of his lungs. The fetid, soiled water was tossed to a slight depression in the floor where a drain let most of it run out of the room, and then two of the thugs grabbed the chair, hoisted it free of the plates, and dragged it over to a dry patch. RE: Pieces - Jay Carpenter - 04-04-2019 Zacariás Amengual,
El Tiburón, The Shark
DFW
There was little fanfare at the border; Amengual crossed it often. He operated a number of legitimate businesses, after all and his tourism industry was growing like leeches on decayed wood. It was one of many reasons he flew into Dallas-Fort Worth International rather than that of his home country. There were partners to meet and operations to oversee. The Governor asked to meet with him again as they finalized arrangements between them: Ascendancy’s tasks loomed in the back of his mind. First and foremost, he had an errand to complete: one he eager to pursue. Ryker joined him at curbside, sunglasses pushed high on his face. He seemed to be bothered by the aroma of exhaust and the general filth of the sidewalk judging by the sweep of his gaze and scowl on his face. The sunglasses, however, were ridiculous. “Those do not hide your scars. Do not pretend otherwise,” he said, plucking dark rims from the pocket of his own sport coat. Ryker glared but kept his tongue wisely to himself. Passengers glanced at them while the car pulled forward. A bastard whose face was buried in his wallet wheeled a suitcase close, brushing the white of his jacket. Skilled hands clamped down on the offender, pulling him from arm’s reach. Zacariás stepped around the scene to climb into the car. Ryker watched blandly, content to let others carry out the man-handling. He joined Zacariás in the car a moment later. There was a smile on his face when he emerged 45 minutes later. Nobody impeded his path to the front door. Wide gates walled off the outside world. Within, he was king. Ryker and others followed at a respectful distance. The smile held steady as he wound through the large home, dropping his sport coat on a bar stool and undoing the top few buttons of his shirt as he spied the targets in the back yard. Splashes of a pool party filled the air. It took a moment before they realized he was there. “Papá!” A girl yelled. Immediately afterward, his soaking wet daughter slammed into him, hugging him tightly. He cupped her chin, tilting her tanned face into the sun. “You are bigger. My daughter is growing into a beautiful woman.” He looked up, “Speaking of beautiful women,” he said as his arm slithered around the bare waist of his wife. He peered down into her doleful eyes, cupping her hip with the palm of his hand, “lovely bikini,” he whispered just as he drew her body close. Their embrace was long overdue. RE: Pieces - Jay Carpenter - 04-05-2019 Fingers dug drills into his skull. But he fought them. Muscles corded tight in his neck, whipping his head side to side. Rage fueled the resistance. Anger at Amengual; at Axel, even himself pulsed the will to fight through every limb until he thought he might rip the chair apart piece by piece. But the fingers dug deeper, crushing his skull to stillness. The first gasp of air pooled the towel heavy into his mouth, sinking like a gag sliding farther and farther into his throat. Were they going to let him swallow it? Choke? Plug up his lungs like a rag stuffed in a gunshot wound? He’d die before vomiting in front of these motherfuckers. He twisted. Legs pushing against the floor. Core writhing, trying to shake it off. Then relief. The weight lifted. Precious seconds were filled coughing the fire from his throat. In training, he held his breath 2.5 minutes, but before the spasm ended, more water fought its way through, crawling inward like parasites. Training didn't seem to help now. It went on. And on. He had no idea how long. The chair heaved again, sitting him upright, but he hung his head to his chest. Eyes squeezed tight. Fire wracked his ribs. He snorted sprays from his nostrils, landing on bare chest. He’d no idea when they’d cut away the shirt. His head throbbed from the lack of oxygen. Dizziness sinking his chin low. Water rolled rivers from his hair, landing on his lap. At least his jeans were soaked enough that when the time came to piss himself, nobody would notice. Maybe he already had. Drool dangled from the corner of his lip. When he looked up, it was only to find clamps filling the view in front of his face. He was suddenly very grateful that his pants were still on. It wasn’t the clamp that sparked a line of fear down his spine, though. It was the smile. The way the blue-eyed man roamed his skin like he was searching a piece of meat for the best cuts. If he’d been able to speak, he’d tell the son of a bitch to get to it. All these fucking tools were a shitshow of anticipation. Get it the fuck over with, asshole. When his eyesight cleared – they burned like lighters pressed fire, hopefully that wasn’t next – and the box-cutter slid free. In and out. Taunting him. Jay followed the cockroach's gaze defiantly toward his own arm, settling on the tattoo presented there. Force recon: a relatively rare design for an elite group. A winged skull before crossed knives decorated the inner curve of muscle. Three bullet holes pierced the forehead, one for three brothers fallen in the field. His stomach, sloshing sick with bleached water, tightened to knots. The water dripped down his cheeks inconsequential then. The myriad display of the blue-eyed man’s designs sparked obvious significance. They covered his arms and chest, disappearing beneath his tank. Gang and prison signs, sure, but also police. Military. More than Jay even recognized. Dozens? Hundreds? When the blade bit flesh, his scream was louder than he thought it could be. RE: Pieces - Jay Carpenter - 04-11-2019 Hood Wrote:The cutting was slower then it really needed to be. Slow drags of knife against flesh. Two men held him down, while the blue-eyed man diligently sliced and separated and eventually removed the patch of skin that held the tattoo. The piece of skin was slipped into simple Tupperware filled with ice. Bandages were applied; clean, surprisingly. They didn't want him to die of an infection after all. RE: Pieces - Jay Carpenter - 04-15-2019 DFW
He watched his family frolic and play from a poolside lounger. Occassionally, he was distracted by a message that required immediate response, but primarily, Zacariás was content to enjoy the moment of respite. This was why he worked hard all these years. Other than the regular snacking of plantain chips and sipping of a coconut slushie, he was motionless but for the smile to tip his lips when his daughter performed some great feat of acquatics. Which was why he was none too pleased when his moment of peace was interrupted. Mauricio was tough as a river fighting its way through rocky paths and just as dangerous, but when he crossed into Zacariás' line of sight, it was with an eager pace that tipped brewing anger toward curiosity. The handler nodded reverently for the family and knelt alongside the lounger to whisper. "There's been a development, jefe," he said, casting a wary look at the family that told Zacarias the conversation needed to out of earshot. Expressing his apologies, he left his refreshing drink behind and proceeded indoor. The glass door slid shut behind him. Mauricio offered him the flexible screen of a scroll, which upon unrolling, Zacariás smiled quite happily. The man in the image was nearly unrecognizable. A huge relief swelled his chest. "Great work, Mauricio. Keep him alive and cognizant, but tell Placaso to enjoy himself," he said. The angle wasn't the best, but he zoomed in on the chest, roaming the options that his primary enforcer, a man nicknamed Placaso, may or may not select for future body-art. He returned the scroll to Mauricio, "Show me a new picture every hour," he said. +++++
Dinner was served on the patio. Fire globes blazed around the pool with beautiful, glowing lights. He sipped cold wine grown from Argentinian grapes, and had just announced the need to take his daughter out into town tomorrow. She wasn't pleased with the idea. "Papa! I wanted to see a movie with my friends tomorrow," she said. Zacariás scooped another delicious bite with full confidence nothing was poisoned. His staff-chemist and taste-testers already conducted thorough analysis of the meal. Alana was completely ignorant of such behind-the-scenes efforts her father exerted to keep them safe. "You can see your friends later. This has to do with your tio Andre. I have apprehended his murderer," he said, laying the fork aside. She sat straighter, "Really? That's great news," but she licked her lip, eyes downcast. "Why does this make you somber, daughter?" He asked. Her lips pushed to a thin line. That night was quite traumatic for her. "Tio Andre was a good man, and sometimes I still have nightmares." Zacariás pushed from his chair immediately, joining her side. He gripped her by the hand and forced her to look him in the eye. "This is weakness, daughter. You must purge the fear from your mind or you'll never control it. I'm taking you to visit the man who murdered Tio Andre before your eyes. I will show you that evil does not go unpunished. You will help me. Then you will sleep better at night," he said. The words were harsh, but he pulled her forward and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. She smelled faintly of cholrine and tanning lotion. His wife watched nodding along, silently mouthing thank you, as he embraced their daughter. |