Chapter 6

“You can puppeteer bodies all you please.” The girl said as she spat out the blood that had collected in her mouth, “But there’s no fucking way you’ll ever possess my mind!” She practically screamed as she struggled against the chains, an electric current pulsing through. It was enough of a current to cause her muscles to spasm uncontrollably, but not enough to cause lasting damage. She was still wild. Was it stupidity? Was she so stupid that she didn’t fully comprehend the position she was in? This was the one that had cannibalised the old man, the one who had outlasted the other two in the dripping machine experiment before breaking down through tears. She was still defying him, but starting to crack. A few times she switched from direct self identification statements (I, me, myself) to multiple entities, (us, we). “C’mon Maestro, don’t you have something with a little more kick?” She taunted, she refused to call him ‘Master’ instead referring to him as ‘Maestro’ mockingly. Perhaps it was part of the madness her mind was splintering into that caused her to respond in rage. ‘Survive ... I have to survive!’ ‘We’ll protect us.’ ‘I have to SURVIVE!’ ‘Let us be strong for us. We can take it. You can rest... ‘ ‘SURVIVE!’

“It’s refreshing to have such an aggressive female subject, but you’ll need to learn to respect your Master.” the digitized voice said, and the amperage went up on the chains. He didn’t stop the current until he saw her eyes lose focus. Her body collapsed once the current was shut off. A couple more experiments, and if she survived, she would then be pitted against the remaining subjects of this round of testing. It was going to be a battle to death, judged on technique and ability to cover one’s tracks. He had to fully break her though, break down this aggression and re-mould her into what he wanted. She was going to be broken of this stubborn streak, or she would end up like many before her as a twisted work of art, a mutilated body, set up in a public place.

The red-light districts in these small towns were always hit or miss. Always the drop-outs and runaways, or just those who had no other option but to make use of their bodies to make a dollar. Bitches had to eat too, right? More like whores needed their drug fix and pimps wanted easy money. This way of life disgusted the man like nothing else. They threw away what could have been a brilliant mind, threw it away for the fading pleasures of the physical body. Drunks, addicts, whores, he loathed them all. Once or twice he would get lucky though, find one that wasn’t so damaged and used, it made for an interesting subject but ultimately the subject would crumble into a blobbering mess of pleas for freedom, mercy, whatever. They made decent materials for his artistic pursuits though. Why was he walking this part of the town though? He just wanted a little fun on his way out perhaps. If he lingered too long though he would lose the trail of his current prey. He wasn’t in a hurry, no real urgency now that he knew what they looked like. As he was lost in thought one of the older prostitutes approached him, reeking of alcohol and desperation. His visage didn’t betray the absolute disgust which he beheld the whore, “Hey cutie, you’re new here. Perhaps I can help satiate your needs? What’s your pleasure?” Her voice was sultry only a prostitute of seniority could summon. He could tell this one was well versed in her chosen trade. She was young in the grand scheme of life, but old for this trade. Some liked that maturity though. This man didn’t feel a sexual attraction to anyone or thing. Anything to do with physical desires only weakened the mental prowess. These sexually driven creatures, though, did serve their purpose. He looked past the prostitute before him and into an alley way where someone was obviously dying of some overdose. Even more reason to despise this filthy culture. Nothing would come of the death until someone took out the trash the next day, or when the stench of a rotting corpse was too much to bear. These people didn’t like enforcement encroaching into the territory, and most slums like this had some sort of political or gang controlled immunity. His graze returned to the whore, he looked her over, she had rather nice legs under the ripped fishnet stockings she wore. Perhaps he could put together a quick sculpture featuring those lovely, untarnished porcelain legs. Yes, it was fixed in his mind, depending on the condition of her entrails he had the perfect piece in mind that would feature those lovely legs. “You have rather lovely legs.” The sound of his voice was rough, a striking contrast to the clean precision of his thinking. The prostitute’s smile only grew at that compliment. “You flatter me, perhaps you’d like to feel them wrapped around your hips?” She had sealed her fate. The two made their way to a motel nearby.

Dawn came with no fanfare, the man was long gone from this small town, however he didn’t leave the town without a ‘gift’. The school bell began to ring, but that was ignored in place of an alarmed screaming. Before the town center placard was a body, mutilated and set up to bring emphasis on a pair of porcelain legs. The ankles were tied together with the intestines, hands under the heels, arms encompassing the whole piece of work, and the torso behind, holding the legs up. The breasts had been cut off, and like the head, they were missing, later to be found in a trashcan outside the elementary school. This disgusting sculpture bore the tell-tale signs of being a work of Master, including the signature, a single sheaf of wheat.

“Where’s your mother?” the man was already in a foul mood, Jester was in the kitchen when his father asked the question, he looked over at his sister for direction. His father hooked his chin in his hand and yanked Jester’s head to face him, “Don’t you look at her boy I asked you a question. Where’s your damned mother!” His sister grabbed his shoulder and pulled him from their father’s grip, “Stop hurting him! That’s why she left!” She yelled. Everything in the room stopped. She had never had an outburst like that, Jester looked between the two. Their father’s face began to redden in rage. “Jester, run!” she said as she began to turn. Their father grabbed her arm and pulled her back with such force she was thrown behind him, Jester was still frozen on the spot. “You stupid brat! That bitch did what?! Why the fuck did she leave you two?! You’re not even my kids!” His rage was boiling over, and still Jester couldn’t move. His father turned his back on him and grabbed his sister, “Guess I’ll just take my frustration out on you little bitch. Are you a whore like her too?! How many punks have you beguiled you slut!” He slapped her, hard, he wasn’t a fool though. She was a minor, and he didn’t want to leave any marks on her. “You’re going to stay here from now on, keep this house in order.” he yelled as he held her by the collar. Jester was still frozen, his eyes locked with his sister’s, he watched her as their father threw her down to the floor in front of him. “Pick yourself up! There’d better be a dinner ready when I get back!” he roared and left for the bar. Life would be like this for a few more years, the two were trapped in this house. By the time she turned eighteen their false father began raping his sister. By her nineteenth birthday, just after Jester turned sixteen, she had taken her own life. Unable to deal with the torture from their old man, she left a note for Jester, apologising, letting him know how much she loved him. He found her, bloodless in the bathtub. That was the first time he had ever felt such loss. He had watched, helplessly as the man raped and abused his sister. Anytime he tried to fight back he was easily over powered, or his sister would rush in. With trembling hands he stroked her long, thick black hair one last time, ran his hand along the side of her now bloodlessly pale olive skin, he took her in one last time, committing to memory her well toned body, once tall and strong now anemic and starting to mottle. For the first time in years he began to cry. He ran to his room, packed a bag, and left. He’d never look back.