A Captive Audience, Case 001. - Ryan Harris

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The man gives a tutting noise, much like one you'd hear from a displeased crowd of British people or a elder looking down on a younger or subordinate's mistake he heads over to the chair, looking down at Ryan as he says "You know, I worked really hard on that, I really did." He waits for a moment, before pulling his foot back and kicking Ryan in the side, right below the ribcage as he says "Now, why, did, you, have, to, go, and, do, that?" He punctuates each word with a kick, repeatedly to the same area.

He then exhales, going down to pick up the chair, righting him with a "Up you go." He waddles the chair a little bit, lining up the back legs again with the rail before slamming the chair down hard, it snapping into place a little bit jarringly. He pats Ryan on the head afterwards, going around to the front of him and crouching on his feet still, looking up at Ryan as he says "Now are you ready to keep playing? There's plenty more to do after all."
 
Ryan's world shook as if with an earthquake as the foot connected with his abdomen. He gasped for breath as the blows continued, each feeling harder than the previous. Finally the attack ceased, leaving Ryan on the cold floor, coughing profusely, bloody spittle spraying the floor. He laid there for a bit, the floor growing warmer from his own heat. Suddenly he felt the ground flee from him. He was in mid-air and then, with a jolt, the chair was upright once more.

Ryan had to admit, the man didn't was strong. A strength that belied his frame, though if Ryan had passed him on the street, he wouldn't have expected the man to be stark raving mad. Ryan sat, sagging forward in his chair as the man patted his head and then crouched in front of him, looking up at him.

"What's the point?" Ryan said in a low voice, the kicks having made speech painful. "All my choices are wrong anyway. Why not just kill everyone and be done with it?"
 
The man smiles, shaking his head and hanging it slightly as he says "You poor poor fool. You haven't necessarily chose 'wrong' per say. You have learned something new in ending a few lives, can you think of what? I'm trying to help you to learn here. You loved your classes after all, even the one you took on psychology, I remember you took a special interest to that from what I can gather, or were you just getting a few good notes and 'extra credit' from banging the teacher after class?"

He smiles, starting to slide the chair back and forth on the rails from his crouched position, before getting up, walking around to the back of Ryan, and starting to slide the chair into the next room slowly, not quite reaching the door all that quickly, giving Ryan plenty of time to think about what he had just said, and maybe even reply before he got all the way through.
 
"The only thing I've learned is that you're insane!" Ryan retorted, trying to kick at the crouched form with his bound feet. "And I never banged any teacher! I worked hard for everything I achieved in my life! Not something a bastard like you can say!" He twisted his head as the man moved behind him and started tugging him to what could only be another room where he'd have to choose.

Another room in which he had to play executioner. If he didn't choose for someone to die, all would, and if he picked he'd most likely be tormented over it. There was no winning in this. He resigned himself to being tugged along. Hoping he might dislodge the chair again or at least be given another way to get at the captor.
 
The man hums as he moves Ryan into the next room, this one looking more like a subway waiting platform, someone sitting across from him now, nothing else in the room it would seem. The man starts to say "Alright, looks like we're here... Wait." He checks his watch, then looking to the man over across from Ryan as he says "Whoops, wrong room." He starts wheeling Ryan along again, no explanation given as to where they were, or why that other person was there as they burst through another set of doors.

He stops Ryan in front of a curtain with a table resting, half of it hidden by a curtain, a box sitting in the center of it. He unlocks one of the cuffs, allowing Ryan a single arm before heading into the next room, saying "Wait right here." After a moment, he appears through some thick glass to Ryan's left, and raises the curtain. Sitting across from Ryan is someone else in the same position, one hand uncuffed, wondering what's in the box. They'd both be able to reach for it as the man says "Are you familiar with the concept of Russian Roulette?"
 
Ryan was still wondering about the man in the other room when he was wheeled into the other and his one hand uncuffed. The first thought that flashed through his mind was to lash out at the man. To sink his fist into the man's stomach, or to connect it with the man's jaw. He wished he could hear the clack of the jaw bone and to see the spatter of blood and saliva. He shaked his head, to banish the thoughts and viewed another person in front of him, looking back.

He saw the man glance at the box on a table near them, so he mimicked. The captor had momentarily disappeared and reappeared behind some glass. 'Russian roulette...?' he thought and looked back at the man across from him.

"You want us to shoot ourselves?!"
 
The man sitting across from Ryan reaches out, throwing off the top of the box, and reaching to the revolver inside. He pulls the hammer back quickly, and the revolver clicks, facing Ryan's face before the man drops it onto the table, and shoves it over to Ryan. The man behind the glass gives a chuckle, before saying "Starting off as usual Brandon? What, this'll be the fiftieth?" The man sitting across from Ryan has a poker face, before saying "He'll be the forty-ninth."

The revolver looks quite polished, and well maintained, and it's a heavy caliber too, .357. A messy weapon, and the splatters and holes in the walls would be a testament to that. The barrel appears smooth, the hammer's action plenty oiled, not a spot on the gun is left to wear and tear. It's all kept perfectly in great condition, quite the opposite of the walls, in fact, one of the splats on Ryan's side seems a little wet still.

"Ryan, pick up the gun. There's no not playing. You die, or he does. Pick it up."
 
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