All or Nothing

by Stuart Keane

  “This is Phase Three and Four,” he answered her. “But it shouldn’t have been this fast – which can only mean one thing: there is no control. No one is orchestrating this. If anyone had charge of those goons they wouldn’t have fired at us. Guns are a last resort in The Game. It’s okay if they use them to menace the Choice, but, as a rule, firing is frowned upon. I know Sputnik missed you on purpose earlier on, but that was for dramatic effect. This time, it was in close quarters. Missing you would have taken real skill. And he didn’t miss – you nearly got torn to shreds. Which is against the M.O. They prefer the deaths to be slow, accompanied by extreme torture. . They like to take their time, and this brash attack on us is anything but slow and considered. It doesn’t make a lot of sense, until you take away one key factor.”

  “Iain? What are you on about?”

  “The control! The control is the factor. It has been taken out of play.”

  Kathryn looked at him. “What control?”

  “The Chronicle – whoever it is – is no longer in control. He is no longer involved. We are on our own.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Rupert Shaw felt foggy and nauseated.

  His mind was spiralling in all directions and his eyes were trying to roll into the back of his head. Were it not for the chair, he believed he would have lost his balance already and fallen to the floor. Gripping the back of the chair was his only hold on dignity now, and he held on as if his life depended on it. He had already vomited, mere moments ago, and was now in the process of dry heaving: he knew his stomach was empty, since he hadn’t eaten in hours. The contractions racked his body relentlessly. Mustering all his strength, he locked eyes with Gunnar. He felt the veins on his neck bulging under the skin.

  Gunnar was standing back, arms crossed. He was smiling, wallowing in Rupert’s discomfort. “So you’re with us? That’s good. I have my orders because it’s time, Mr. Shaw. Prepare yourself for this – it’s going to last a long fucking time.”

  Gunnar stepped to the side and grabbed a machete from the table. The light glinted menacingly along the blade. He twisted the handle in his fist, he stepped away from the table and walked over to the head of Mrs. Shaw, which sat on the ground. Rupert refused to look at it. He felt uncontrollable rage building within him. It felt as if his veins and muscles were filled with hot steam, like liquid lava was now the driving force of his life. Rupert tried to swallow, but the spittle felt like lead in his mouth. He coughed. He resisted the urge to shout. “You’re a cunt, you know that?” he called out.

  Gunnar stood and turned. A smirk crossed his lips. “Excuse me?”

  Rupert coughed again. “You heard me: you’re a cunt. What sort of an arsehole kills a defenceless woman, cuts her fucking head off and then parades it around in front of her son? That’s sick. No, it’s beyond sick, it’s twisted – psychotic. There’s a place in hell reserved for people like you – even Satan would close his eyes in disgust at shit like this. You’re a fucking pathetic excuse for a human being. Do what you will with me, but you will be burning in the fires of hell for eternity and that’s good enough for me.”

  Gunnar laughed out loud. “Are you serious? I cut off your mother’s head and you leave it to the bowels of hell - which is an imaginary concept for all anyone knows - to punish me? And you call me a pathetic excuse for a human being? Take a look in the mirror, Mr. Shaw. You can’t, sorry, won’t take revenge on me for killing your mother and presenting you with her head, you’re leaving that little job for the power of Satan – which coming from a man of the cloth is a bit rich. I have heard it all now. Bravo, you’ve stooped to a new low, my friend—”

  “—I am not your friend, I will never be your friend.”

  “Good, because I would never want to associate with a man so feeble, so pathetic, so deplorable and so weak. I may have a place reserved in hell for me, but you won’t even matter after the next few hours. No one will miss you. The only person who might have missed you? Well, her head’s rolling on the ground at your feet. Any man in his right mind would have killed me by now. Or at least tried. But you just sit there. I bet you’ve pissed your pants too. Not even defending your mother’s honour. Fucking pathetic!”

  Rupert spat. He realised there was blood in his spittle, caused by the dry throat and the passage of too much vomit. “Tell me, Gunnar, at least give me some kind of satisfaction. Why are you doing this? What’s in it for you? You used to be a military man, you had a code of honour and rules to live by. Sure, you saw your friend die when he was blown up by a grenade. But was the shock of that really enough to drive you to…all this?”

  Gunnar’s mouth stretched into a cold hard smile. “Sure, I’ll play along if you like. Yes, my friend dying was a catalyst in the decision I took to change my life. There were other reasons though. When I returned home I began to notice things in society. Things that had never bothered me before. The way people behaved. How people snide and bitch and pick and bully one another, usually behind each other’s backs. Friends who claim to be BFF’s but then go and fuck their friend’s husband behind their pal’s back. Couples who stay together ostensibly for the sake of their kids, when in reality they just don’t have the balls to separate and be honest with their children about the reasons.”

  Gunnar ran a finger along the machete blade. Blood started to ooze from a slit in his finger. He licked the blood with his split tongue and continued.

  “Then there are the scum that steal from their own parents. You have bankers who steal money from the poor. You have people in poverty being offered credit cards so they run up a debt that they have no hope of ever paying back. The world’s governments too. They fund charitable excursions to third-world countries that aren’t their fucking concern, but can’t supply enough funds to their armed forces to fight wars their politics and agendas have started.”

  Gunnar stopped to drink some water from his bottle. Rupert stared on. Anguish and hatred burned bright in his adversary’s eyes. Gunnar wiped his lips and smirked.

  “You have men and woman who are willing to fight for a country who, in return, won’t give them the wherewithal to fight in the first fucking place. You have unlimited charity adverts on TV: give two pounds a month for this, three pounds a month for that and ninety percent of the cash goes straight into the politicians’ pockets. You have footballers earning five million a year for prancing around on a fucking football field, yet the soldiers of the world come home with minimum wage in their wallet. You want to know why I do what I do? I’m putting the world to rights, punishing the people who make existence unbearable. People like you, Rupert, a religious figure who blindly guides people to follow an entity who, to all intents and purposes, may or may not even exist.”

  Gunnar took a breath, rage etched on his face. He continued.

  “The fat cats who say that taking a mortgage over thirty-five years is better than twenty-five because it’s cheaper when, in fact, the interest is higher so it’s actually more expensive. The taco guy on the corner who was sworn at by a customer, so he spits in the food he’s selling, thus infecting his clientele with any number of diseases. Stupid fucks who go to work every day existing on minimal sleep, so that they’re unable to do their job correctly and thus provide the most atrocious service known to man. Parents who tell their kids that a fat bastard in a red suit drops off presents every Christmas: lies, untruths, deception. The world is fucking full of it and I, frankly, have had enough. If no one will stand up and admit they are leading the world astray, I will fucking do it for them. I went abroad, served several tours of duty and saw horrible things. But in some ways, coming home to this shit was worse: seeing my home destroyed by corruption and the decay of society, when we have everything handed to us to make life easy. It shouldn’t be happening. There you are. Happy?”

  Rupert took a breath before he answered. “But you had a code of conduct.”

  “Mr. Shaw, when you have seen what I have, you can preach any code you want. Until then, you can shove your code up
your arse.” Gunnar wiped his machete with a rag.

  “I had a code too and it was taken from me,” Rupert replied. “I realise that, without the code, there is no meaning to life. You need a code, everyone does. Otherwise life is a multitude of random occurrences, luck and events. Everything you’ve just talked about came from lack of discipline, or greed, or lack or priorities. Hell, I even agree with you on the religion thing. But without these things, society could not exist. Of course a man may abuse a friend behind his back, it’s better than doing it to their face and ruining their life. Society is full of wimps nowadays, no one has to work for anything and taking the easy life is people’s way of coping with things. You can’t deny them that because—”

  “—Mr. Shaw, I don’t care for your opinion. You think because you lost your faith that you can preach to me about the perverted? Fuck no, I was doing this for years before I came across you. Society isn’t society anymore, it’s a bunch of horrible, nasty human beings living in limbo until the next fad, reality show or social tool comes along. People who have full blown conversations on their laptops or phones or whatnot, but when they’re put in a room with other people can’t string two sentences together. It’s pathetic, much like your life. Both you and they need to be eradicated.”

  Rupert stood up gingerly, holding onto the chairback. Gunnar laughed. He put the machete down and cracked his knuckles. “You want to try something? Go ahead. I have been waiting for hours for some kind of reaction.”

  “I want to know one more thing. If everything you’ve just said is true, why are you working for a paedophile? With all that is wrong in society, you become a whipping boy for a man who gets his jollies by attacking defenceless little kids? To me, that makes you a hypocrite. You preach about all of your shit and then go and work, hell, become a bitch to a man who hides behind his money and religion to abuse minors!”

  “I have had enough of this, Mr. Shaw. I work for him because he pays me the big bucks. Nothing less, nothing more.”

  “Still makes you his bitch. You can’t deny it. Tell me one thing, because despite all you’ve done to me, you seem to be a man who still follows some kind of principles. Why this man? Why him? Personally, I know this man is a monster, but if you know it too, why do it? There is more than money involved here, am I right?”

  Gunnar flexed his muscles and paused to think. “You are right. Money isn’t the only benefit here. Your friend, John, works for an organisation called The Company. They fund, organise and cover up all traces of an event known as The Game. Once every five years, people are pulled together and placed in The Game. The chosen ones then become the pawns. John is in charge here and you, I’m afraid, you are his pawn. I am simply a contractor, paid to serve, and I am immune to his wrath. I do his work, I live and get paid handsomely for it. Look over there.”

  Gunnar pointed to a painting on the wall. He then pointed to the light fixture above his head. Then to the pot plant in the corner. “All of those objects have concealed cameras. John has been watching this entire thing. It’s a good job I look handsome naked because other people are also watching this game, taking notes, observing, paying money to watch it. It’s like a proper pay-per-view for rich people. Imagine the income it generates for someone? No, I couldn’t imagine it either when I thought about it. However, it’s happening and you are the latest pawn in The Game. But you won’t get one over on me. The Company do not accept mistakes and I am certainly not going to let you be my first. You don’t say no to The Company.”

  Rupert swallowed. His throat felt hot and sore, and he was only too aware of the sweat trickling down his neck and face. He realised that his legs were becoming weak. The injuries he’d sustained were driving adrenaline through his body. He looked at Gunnar. They were at an impasse. “Well,” he said to the contract killer in front of him, “What are you waiting for?”

  Gunnar grinned. “I am going to fucking enjoy this. Just to let you know, my first target was a former secretary of state, and killing you will surpass even that job. This is still going to be the best moment of my life.”

  Gunnar picked up the machete and strode over to Rupert. The weaker man let go of the chair and balanced precariously on his own two feet. Gunnar was twirling the machete in his hand. “Mr. Shaw, I would like to say that this has been a pleasure but it would be a lie. See, honesty in this ever-sinking world of untruths—”

  Gunnar swung the machete down, aiming for Rupert’s shoulder. Rupert slid to the side, the blade brushed his right arm, but missed. Simultaneously, Rupert’s left hand swung upwards, plunging the point of the knitting needle he was clutching into Gunnar’s neck. There was a wet punching sound as the sharpened steel broke the skin and then drove further. Warm, pulsing blood flowed over Rupert’s closed fist. With his other hand, he hammered the heel of his closed fist hard, embedding the needle another inch into the other man’s neck. Rupert released his grip and noticed that only about a couple of inches of the ten-inch knitting needle remained outside the wound. The small metal block on its blunt end was completely smothered in the oozing redness. A stream of blood was spurting forcefully from Gunnar’s neck. Gunnar swung for Rupert blindly, and missed. He staggered towards the chair that had been Rupert’s throne for so long. He fell and landed on his back. Gunnar was choking, bloody breath escaping his lips. Blood was haemorrhaging from his body.

  Rupert stepped over to Gunnar and knelt down beside him. Blood was still spurting, forming a large pool below his head. The attacker now noticed that the needle had gone right through the man’s neck and out of the other side. The two holes were awash with an ever-growing sea of redness. Blood blocked the air to his windpipe and bubbled out from his lips. Gunnar looked into Rupert’s eyes. His face was white. “Where? What?”

  Rupert smiled for the first time in a long while, even though his face ached. “Shhhh. You don’t have much time left. Let me tell you what I know about society. Rage is the prime driving force. If you generate enough rage into anyone, trained or not trained, it will command them. They make mistakes and errors. It’s the main reason that society is like it is. You think I don’t listen when people come to confession? Men and women repenting their sins, making excuses for the weakness in their lives? No. You see, the difference between me and you is, well… You’ll be dead in ten minutes and I won’t.”

  Gunnar’s eyes widened. He was gasping for breath now, the bubbling blood spurting down his chin. His hand was clenched around his neck wounds. His hand, neck and shoulders were stained crimson from all the blood. His naked body was starting to pale. He looked like a collapsing balloon. Rupert removed Gunnar’s hand from the wound, allowing the blood to squirt once more, torrents of it. Gunnar’s eyes started to close. Rupert slapped him awake. “Stay awake, you fucker! Don’t think you are getting off that easy!”

  The dying man tried to murmur something. A bubble of blood popped from his lips. Rupert continued to speak: “Where was I? Oh yes, I’ve just realised, there’s another difference between us. I am a neutral in this world, you’re an aggressor. People are different and sometimes, just sometimes, despite the odds, the little man comes out on top. Society is flawed now, but in years to come, people will realise that things determine their existence and other things should take priority. Underdogs will rise, in due course. And, despite the odds, the underdog won this battle. You won’t be a scourge on society anymore. Sure, every system has its flaws, but flaws are part of human nature and without them, it wouldn’t be life, everything would be a pre-planned dictatorship. And as Hitler confirmed all those years ago, living in a dictatorship is not an ideal way to live.”

  Gunnar faded. His eyes closed and his hands fell to the floor. Then he stopped moving. The blood had stopped pumping, so that now only a trickle was leaking from the holes in his neck. Rupert stood up and nodded his head slowly. Turning around, he walked across to the table of weapons. He found the pistol that Gunnar had picked up earlier on. He walked back to Gunnar’s body and aimed the gun at his head. Rupert
gripped the pistol. “My mother sends her regards.”

  BANG!

  Gunnar’s head exploded across the floor. Fragments of brain and skull stuck to the woodwork. Blood splashed outwards and spread upwards across the wall. Gore also splattered across the chair beside Rupert, and some of it splashed him too. The body twitched and jerked violently for a few seconds before lying still. Rupert placed the gun on his chair. He observed the carnage before him. He tried to breathe calmly. He realised that his ordeal was far from over but, for now, he had respite.

  The stench of blood was overwhelming.

  The ex-cleric looked around and located the pot plant in the corner. He picked up the gun again, stepped across the room towards the plant, and bent down. Unsure of the camera’s location, the Reverend Rupert Shaw prepared for his first sermon in a year.

  ***

  Charlie threw his glass against the wall. His aim had been awry so it had smashed against his framed business degree certificate, knocking it to the floor. The glass had shattered and shards and fragments had spread out over the plush carpet. Charlie was cursing and kicking his furniture. A chair had already been launched to the other side of the room. A pot plant was now upended and its soil spilt.

  “NO! FUCKING NO!”

  He yelled at the top of his voice, not quite able to believe what he’d just seen. He’d watched the two men arguing, heard their long conversation. Then Gunnar had swung the machete at Rupert and it seemed, had taken his arm off. Charlie’s first instruction had been to take the man’s arm off at the forearm, cauterise the wound with a hot iron and inflict the maximum suffering possible. It was supposed to be step one in a torture routine that ought to set a trend. If he was honest with himself, Gunnar’s swing had looked too high, but Charlie trusted his man to do things properly, confident that he’d get the job done. After the abortive swing, Rupert had remained standing. Seen from Charlie’s onscreen viewpoint, it then simply looked as if Rupert had walked out of shot. When he then changed the camera angle the truth was revealed.