Page 47 of The Player
I heard Will growl beside me.
“Or we’ll just stay here and you can do your own fucking dirty work,” Will spat.
We watched as the Taskmaster leaned back, throwing his head back to laugh, and there, on the screen, as he tilted his head to mock us, we noticed a tattoo on his neck. A very distinctive tattoo of a spider’s web with the word ‘death’ written across it. It was the first time we’d seen anything that might help us work out who this was, and I glanced at Will, knowing he’d seen what I had. He was doing what I was right now, going through every memory he had of every person he’d ever met, trying to see if that tattoo rang any bells.
“It’s funny you think you have a choice.” Taskmaster’s voice boomed loud, bringing our attention back to the screen. “But you don’t. If you don’t leave this room to complete the task, you won’t leave this room ever.” He was silent for a second. “Go on… try me. I dare you.”
We didn’t want to test his theory, so we stayed quiet.
“Task three is one you’re going to enjoy. It plays to your expertise, Mr Stokes. You do like using weapons, don’t you?”
Will didn’t answer, only gritted his teeth, his jaw tensing as he stayed silent, biting down on the response he wanted to give.
“I think you’ll enjoy it too, Miss Masters. After all, who doesn’t love a power tool?”
The screen went black, and I turned to Will.
“Did you see that?”
“The tattoo? Yeah, I did.”
“And? Do you know anyone with one like that?”
“Not that I can remember. What about you? You work with tattoos. Did you recognise it?”
I’d been a tattoo artist for a few years now, but I’d never seen one like that in our shop. It was the kind of ink you’d definitely remember.
“No. But there can’t be that many people who have that art on them and live in our town.”
“It definitely makes it easier to track him down when we finally get out of here.”
Just then, the door opened, the lights in the hallway leading the way to the task room.
“I’m not taking his bullshit today,” Will stated firmly as he took long, purposeful strides out of the room. “I’m done with this shit.”
I agreed but I stayed quiet, walking beside Will and holding his hand as we made our way to the task room. I could feel the anger rolling off Will as we stepped into the room, ready to witness whatever atrocity he’d set up for us today, and he didn’t disappoint. In the middle of the room, suspended upside down from his ankles and hanging naked in front of us was a man, the usual tape stuck over his mouth as he struggled and filled the room with muffled cries for help.
In the corner of the room was a table loaded up with various power tools, weapons, everything Will was used to using in his vigilante work. The kind of table that’d make other people shudder, but not him.
The man strung up had his wrists taped together, and they hung helplessly over his head, scraping against the grate of a huge drain in the middle of the floor. A drain that was made to collect his blood, that much was obvious. This guy had no way out, but he still struggled against his binds, his body twitching, making the chain he was suspended from rattle as he feebly tried to do something to save himself.
The room already stank of blood and that iron tinge in the air made me feel nauseous. But when the mechanical voice echoed off the walls, my nausea doubled.
“Welcome to your next task, players,” he announced. “Meet Mario, or as I like to call him, The Whip. Mario’s extensive whip collection is something he’s exceptionally proud of, but it isn’t just whips you like using, is it, Mario? Knives are also on the cards whenever you’re in the mood to play.”
Hearing that this Mario guy was a sick fuck with twisted kinks washed over us, the Taskmaster’s words held no weight anymore, not in our current state of mind. Just add it to the list of other fucked-up shit that’d happened to us over the last few weeks. It really didn’t matter. He was evil and we were put in here to kill him. End of. Only, it wasn’t going to be that easy. I knew that. The Taskmaster would have something up his sleeve. Something to fuck with us too.
“Today’s game is called Lingchi, a method of torture they used to practise in China, also known as slow slicing, or as we call it, death by a thousand cuts.”
I saw Will take a deep breath, his chest expanding as his face contorted in anger.
“Your task is to…”
Will charged over to the table, picked up a hunting knife and stalked over to where Mario was swinging from the ceiling. Without listening to what the Taskmaster was saying, Will stabbed the knife into the guy’s chest, pushing in with force and dragging it down his torso. Then he took the knife out and stabbed again, repeating the same track from stomach to chest, gouging at the man’s flesh as he tore through him. Blood spurted, pooling down the drain. The guy’s guts dropped out, splattering from his body and over his chest to fall in a mess on the floor, but Will didn’t give up. He did one more stab and slice right down his body, and then he stood back, throwing the knife to the floor and wiping the sweat from his brow on his sleeve, his fingers dripping with blood.
“There,” Will snarled. “No need for a thousand cuts, I did it in three.”
“YOU DIDN’T FOLLOW MY RULES!” The Taskmaster shouted over the speakers, his voice bellowing like a demonic madman.
