Breaking Point

Conrad was about ready to give up and die already.

“Wh-what the… this can’t be…”

Jack didn’t look the same as he did in the breif moments they had with him. His childish nonchalance thrown away, the darkness in his narrow pupils was greater than that of the shadowy room. Holding the pistol to his guest, he chose not to fire until he was sure nobody would run.

“Trickery isn’t just for extending life, you know. Stupid capitalist pigs. The same technology… can mimic death quite expertly.”

“What’s- what’s going on… Why?” As it always did, Frankie’s previous bravado and anger was snuffed out along with all the hope of the survivors in the room. Looking down the barrel of the Frank’s service pistol, she was terrified to see inside of it both the bloodied hands of a terrorist madwoman and the suffocating depths of a public pool. She was no longer able to welcome such a fate.

“What?” He offered a disturbing laugh to his crowd. “Don’t I look a little familiar to any of you? You all came here because my brother’s face was plastered all over the damn marketing, didn’t you?”

“I… didn’t.” Frankie mumbled, starting to cry again.

“Ah. No?”

“Wait.” Mary instigated, without fear or hesitation. “You’re the brother? Of the guy who died here?”

“Is that not obvious enough for you?”

“No, I didn’t understand.”

Even the murderer was at a loss at her uniquely earnest behaviour. She stole a second of silence from him, earning Frankie just a few more moments of life.

“They profited from his death like vultures. Didn’t even wait a week. How does that not sound messed up to you?”

“If… that’s bad, why are you killing people?”

“Excuse… excuse me?”

Jack laughed maniacally, lights flickering as he stomped his feet.

“Because they won’t have a ride anymore if five more goddamn people up and die on it! They want a haunted house? I’ll give it to ‘em! Then every greasy, dollar-shitting rube getting off on my brother’s death can take a good hard look at themselves and finally ask just what the hell is WRONG with them!”

Jack panted, hoping his guests were listening.

“But… what if it doesn’t work?” Mary asked simply.

“I’m sorry…?” He inadvertently mimicked the bizarre girl.

“What if the ride doesn’t close, and people just keep going on it anyway?”

He went ahead and let the lights turn back on.

Looking at the imbecile in front of him, he was seriously considering if anyone in this entire world was half as smart as he was.

He gave Frankie a break and put the gun straight up to Mary’s forehead instead.

“I utterly despise you brain-rotted consumers, you know that?”

“But how did you do it?” Mary continued to ask her nonsensical questions.

“Do you have any idea the things I had to do to get this trickery as a member of the 99%? I had to get my whole-ass body rigged up with black market trickery just so I could control this place. I’ve got nodes all throughout my system that I used to manipulate the building. Controlled ‘em with my toes so nobody could see me doing it after I faked my death. Didn’t bother getting a vocal trigger installed. And no, I wasn’t really dead, if you sorry sheeps were wondering.” He shoved a cackle between his hurried words. “I just ran off other means for awhile, breathing through holes under my clothes and letting the second artificial heart in my back pump the good juice up to my brain as everything else went limp. Not really that convincing of you ask me, but I guess it worked on a bunch of shit-for-brains tourists.” His bragging smirk was starting to piss Frankie off again, afraid as she was.

Mary’s bravely vacant eyes refused to blink.

“Are you going to kill me?”

“Yeah. I think I am.” He pressed the steel barrel down on her temple.

Click.