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Quote shown above is from Rei Kashino from manga MARS. (TOKYOPOP)
Magneto
The room was silent with only the single light bulb hanging from the ceiling, swaying back and forth on a rusty chain making a horrific grating sound which sounded like a person being stretched on a rack. The light from the bulb shone bright, filling the centre of the room with a yellow spotlight, where a young man was sat inside a wheelchair, his hands tied behind the chair’s handles and his face covered in an old potato sack.
‘Hello!? Is anybody there!?’ he cried his voice hoarse from all the screaming he had done before, after he was tortured by his captives, who he had not been able to see due to his eyes being covered with the sack. The young man realised he was alone due to the fact he could hear absolutely no-one, not even a guard inside the room. Twisting and turning he tried to untie the ropes clasping his wrists together, but all attempts failed. Suddenly the heavy steel door opened, and the light switch was pressed. “Click” went the switch, and the room turned black. The man’s breathing started to become heavy, fear arising through his entire body. His ears picked up the sound of chains and footsteps coming closer to him with every agonising second that passed.
‘So Mr Eriza, how does it feel? Being in the same situation you put my daughter through all those years ago?’ the captive said coldy, leaning in closer to his prisoner’s ear. He licked his lips attempting to make his victim uncomfortable. He spoke softly. ‘She had plans you know… she wanted to go to Hollywood, be a movie star… she had big dreams. And you…’ the man turned slowly on one foot, facing the man in the chair. ‘You took that all away in one single second, you… you bastard!’
‘Who… who are you?!’ Eriza cried. ‘Please… please don’t hurt me! I didn’t mean to kill anyone! I’M SORRY’.
The captive glared at Eriza through his dark, opaque glasses and spat at the man’s face. ‘Don’t lie to me you bastard’ he snarled. ‘You had no mercy that night!’ His voice sounded more mature than the hostage's, telling Eriza that this man was at least ten years his senior. Eriza whimpered.
‘Oh… are you scared?’ Eriza did not reply. ‘ANSWER ME!’ the man snarled.
‘Yes… yes I’m scared… I’m scared! I’m a baby!’
The father laughed, his laugh a cackle that would make even the Joker blush. Turning he walked to the table, and took of his sunglasses putting them on the table.
‘I don’t want to hurt you Mr Eriza… but as they say treat others as you wish to be treated…’ he picked up a katana, its steel blade gleaming in the moonlight from the window. ‘And now… you will give me one good reason, why I should not kill you right here… right now!’
Eriza choked back tears of fear, was he about to die?
‘Who… who are you?’
The father lowered the blade to rest at his side, and he lifted his left hand taking off the black fedora he wore on his head.
‘Who am I?’ he spoke coldy. ‘My name is Mark, Mark Poole and my daughter was Nadine Poole. Maybe you have heard of me? I’m the famour crime writer, and this is the perfect inspiration for my new book…’ he turned facing the man in the chair. ‘And you… are the prime character of the story’.
Chuckling Mark placed his hat on the desk, and walked over to the young man and ripped the sack of his face. The face he came to see shocked him to the very core. Eriza had short spiked up auburn hair, deep jade eyes, stubbled facial hair and a scar on his lower lip.
‘I know you…’ Mark’s lips curled into an angry, twisted snarl and he pressed the blade to Eriza’s cheek.
‘Yes… I’m Phil Eriza… Nadine’s ex-fiancé’. Phil’s heart was beating faster than motor engine, sweat ran down his brow. Phil licked his lips tasting sweat, his eyes looking at the blade in his attacker’s hand. Suddenly he winced, the blade slicing the skin of his cheek, as Mark pressed the blade down into his face anger building up inside him.
‘There’s no reason for you to live you bastard, you’ve taken something I can never get back! Now you will pay!’
He spoke with anger so strong, saliva flung on Phil's face as Mark hissed his words.
'You accused your bloody brother Colin for Nadine's death, claiming HE had raped her and then slit her throat when she would not stop screaming. You monster!'
Swishing the blade through the air Mark aimed to end Phil’s life once and for all, but Phil was clever. He threw himself to the side with all this strength and fell to the floor, the chair landing on Mark’s foot. He screamed grasping his foot, and Phil broke free of his cuffs by stretching out his arms hard enough. He jumped up of the floor and ran to the table grabbing a gun, of which he pointed at Mark. Mark screamed a battle cry as he ran towards his daugther’s killer with the blade ready to kill. Phil pulled the trigger, and shot Mark straight into the chest. Time stood still as Mark’s face changed from one of a lust to kill, to one of a child who had just had his favourite toy taken. Stumbling back he dropped the Katana, Phil breathing hard his hands shaking still holding the gun in a position to fire. Blood slowly began to drip out of Mark’s lips, and his choked on his words.
‘Please… have… have mercy?!’
‘A man once told me… treat others as you wish to be treated…’ he glared at Mark, whose facial expression changed from an expression of shock and pain to a face a child would show when scared.
‘And you deserve a taste of your own medicine…’ he pulled the trigger five more times shooting Mark up towards his forehead, the final bullet hitting him right between the eyes. Mark fell down to the floor, his body stone dead when it slammed against the tiles. Phil calmly lowered the gun, which was now empty of bullets. He dropped it letting it hit the floor, dust rising as it landed with a ‘slam’ like noise. Walking towards the now dead man he looked down at his victim’s face, it showed sadness and anxiety. Phil spat on Mark’s face like he had done to him when he was alive, and he ran towards the metal door. He flung it open and ran out sprinting down the corridor to freedom.
The room was silent with only the single light bulb hanging from the ceiling, swaying back and forth on a rusty chain making a horrific grating sound which sounded like a person being stretched on a rack. The light from the bulb shone bright, filling the centre of the room with a yellow spotlight, where a young man was sat inside a wheelchair, his hands tied behind the chair’s handles and his face covered in an old potato sack.
‘Hello!? Is anybody there!?’ he cried his voice hoarse from all the screaming he had done before, after he was tortured by his captives, who he had not been able to see due to his eyes being covered with the sack. The young man realised he was alone due to the fact he could hear absolutely no-one, not even a guard inside the room. Twisting and turning he tried to untie the ropes clasping his wrists together, but all attempts failed. Suddenly the heavy steel door opened, and the light switch was pressed. “Click” went the switch, and the room turned black. The man’s breathing started to become heavy, fear arising through his entire body. His ears picked up the sound of chains and footsteps coming closer to him with every agonising second that passed.
‘So Mr Eriza, how does it feel? Being in the same situation you put my daughter through all those years ago?’ the captive said coldy, leaning in closer to his prisoner’s ear. He licked his lips attempting to make his victim uncomfortable. He spoke softly. ‘She had plans you know… she wanted to go to Hollywood, be a movie star… she had big dreams. And you…’ the man turned slowly on one foot, facing the man in the chair. ‘You took that all away in one single second, you… you bastard!’
‘Who… who are you?!’ Eriza cried. ‘Please… please don’t hurt me! I didn’t mean to kill anyone! I’M SORRY’.
The captive glared at Eriza through his dark, opaque glasses and spat at the man’s face. ‘Don’t lie to me you bastard’ he snarled. ‘You had no mercy that night!’ His voice sounded more mature than the hostage's, telling Eriza that this man was at least ten years his senior. Eriza whimpered.
‘Oh… are you scared?’ Eriza did not reply. ‘ANSWER ME!’ the man snarled.
‘Yes… yes I’m scared… I’m scared! I’m a baby!’
The father laughed, his laugh a cackle that would make even the Joker blush. Turning he walked to the table, and took of his sunglasses putting them on the table.
‘I don’t want to hurt you Mr Eriza… but as they say treat others as you wish to be treated…’ he picked up a katana, its steel blade gleaming in the moonlight from the window. ‘And now… you will give me one good reason, why I should not kill you right here… right now!’
Eriza choked back tears of fear, was he about to die?
‘Who… who are you?’
The father lowered the blade to rest at his side, and he lifted his left hand taking off the black fedora he wore on his head.
‘Who am I?’ he spoke coldy. ‘My name is Mark, Mark Poole and my daughter was Nadine Poole. Maybe you have heard of me? I’m the famour crime writer, and this is the perfect inspiration for my new book…’ he turned facing the man in the chair. ‘And you… are the prime character of the story’.
Chuckling Mark placed his hat on the desk, and walked over to the young man and ripped the sack of his face. The face he came to see shocked him to the very core. Eriza had short spiked up auburn hair, deep jade eyes, stubbled facial hair and a scar on his lower lip.
‘I know you…’ Mark’s lips curled into an angry, twisted snarl and he pressed the blade to Eriza’s cheek.
‘Yes… I’m Phil Eriza… Nadine’s ex-fiancé’. Phil’s heart was beating faster than motor engine, sweat ran down his brow. Phil licked his lips tasting sweat, his eyes looking at the blade in his attacker’s hand. Suddenly he winced, the blade slicing the skin of his cheek, as Mark pressed the blade down into his face anger building up inside him.
‘There’s no reason for you to live you bastard, you’ve taken something I can never get back! Now you will pay!’
He spoke with anger so strong, saliva flung on Phil's face as Mark hissed his words.
'You accused your bloody brother Colin for Nadine's death, claiming HE had raped her and then slit her throat when she would not stop screaming. You monster!'
Swishing the blade through the air Mark aimed to end Phil’s life once and for all, but Phil was clever. He threw himself to the side with all this strength and fell to the floor, the chair landing on Mark’s foot. He screamed grasping his foot, and Phil broke free of his cuffs by stretching out his arms hard enough. He jumped up of the floor and ran to the table grabbing a gun, of which he pointed at Mark. Mark screamed a battle cry as he ran towards his daugther’s killer with the blade ready to kill. Phil pulled the trigger, and shot Mark straight into the chest. Time stood still as Mark’s face changed from one of a lust to kill, to one of a child who had just had his favourite toy taken. Stumbling back he dropped the Katana, Phil breathing hard his hands shaking still holding the gun in a position to fire. Blood slowly began to drip out of Mark’s lips, and his choked on his words.
‘Please… have… have mercy?!’
‘A man once told me… treat others as you wish to be treated…’ he glared at Mark, whose facial expression changed from an expression of shock and pain to a face a child would show when scared.
‘And you deserve a taste of your own medicine…’ he pulled the trigger five more times shooting Mark up towards his forehead, the final bullet hitting him right between the eyes. Mark fell down to the floor, his body stone dead when it slammed against the tiles. Phil calmly lowered the gun, which was now empty of bullets. He dropped it letting it hit the floor, dust rising as it landed with a ‘slam’ like noise. Walking towards the now dead man he looked down at his victim’s face, it showed sadness and anxiety. Phil spat on Mark’s face like he had done to him when he was alive, and he ran towards the metal door. He flung it open and ran out sprinting down the corridor to freedom.