Rise of the Oracle: Night of the Red Sky

By L.B. Mayman

The genesis of myth is truth...

A nation will fall, the secrets of the past will be unveiled and there is one person that will see it all...

Harvey Amsterdam is a journalist on a mission to unearth a government conspiracy that has been in the making for decades. When what he feared becomes reality he is thrust into an unimaginable situation where the world will be changed forever. Meanwhile, Tim Marshall is in pursuit of the key to a riddle that may have dire consequences while George Underwood is consumed by the knowledge that the red sky is fast approaching and there is little that he can do to stop it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: L.B. Mayman
• Release date: Sep 10, 2012
• ISBN: 9780987393043

L.B. Mayman

L.B. Mayman lives in the Mount Dandenong Ranges in Melbourne, Australia with his partner, Meghan. He loves to talk about all things books so if you're in the area feel free to drop him a line. L.B. Mayman has been involved with many artistic and professional pursuits from working in film and theater to the corporate world. He hopes his writing takes the reader on an adventure of discovery through the world of fiction where anything is possible and people the world over have the opportunity to explore and dream.

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By L.B. Mayman

First published by Lamp House International, Australia, 2012.

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 L.B. Mayman

The right of ‘L.B. Mayman’ to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted.

This is a work of fiction.

All names, characters, places and incidents, other than those which are public domain, are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations) in any form or by any means, stored in a retrieval system, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated or transmitted without the author’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. For permission requests, write to the publisher, available at www.lamphouseinternational.com

Ordering Information: Quantity sales. Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at www.lamphouseinternational.com

National Library of Australia

Cataloguing-in-Publication entry

Mayman, L.B.

Rise of the oracle [electronic resource]: night of the red sky / L.B. Mayman.

ISBN 9780987393329 (ebook)

A823.4

Cover image by © iStockphoto.com/AlexRodavlas

Cover design by © Lamp House International

Table of Contents

Title and Copyright

Dedication

PART I

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

PART II

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

PART III

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

PART IV

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

PART V

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

About the Author

Dedication

For Megs,

The greatest thing that I ever did

was to find the wonderful person behind that smile.

Always and forever

PART I

Chapter 1

The old man scampered around in the kitchen fretting over the leaks in the roof of his ageing house. He had rounded up every pot or jug he owned and put them down to catch the rain drops that were falling from the ceiling; even though, the pursuit was ultimately hopeless. The old man had known that heavy rain was coming for quite some time even if the news or officials did not have any idea it was coming; however, he had not the inclination to get the roof fixed in time. The main room that led to the kitchen at the back was littered with a collector’s feast of small tin toy robots that the old man had made himself. Thousands of them lined shelves on every available wall space. Every now and again he would take them to the street market that was held on the forth Sunday of every month and told their stories to the children on how they came to be. Every child in the area had heard the old man’s stories. He had told the same stories to George Underwood who now sat crossed-legged on the floor and who was attempting to get the old man’s attention but failing miserably in competition with the rain drops from the roof.

Underwood said to himself as he took down one of the tin toy robots, The robot army will rise up when The Oracle is no more.

As the old man went from pot-to-pot and emptied its contents out on the street through the window he sang a familiar song that Underwood had heard before.

The Chief is strong and wise. The Farmer is careful but loyal. The Librarian is smart and skilful. The Mother is desire and playful. The Warrior does not know its enemy. The Chronicler does not know its story. The Archaeologist does not know its history. The Diplomat will bathe in glory-

And The Oracle, interjected Underwood, Will save them all.

With this the old man finally looked up at Underwood and pointed to him with a shaking finger, You know the song but not the words, my friend. I knew you would come back. What did you find?

If you are talking about Tibet then what I found was nothing short of an abomination.

Underwood had in fact just come straight from there and what he had found had begged even more questions than he knew he could find answers.

Oh, come on, come on, my friend. You find what you seek, said the old man with a gleeful look on his face.

I found mountains, replied Underwood.

And what was inside these mountains?

I found people. Hundreds of thousands of people.

Ha-ha! What did I tell you! What did I tell you?

Seemingly satisfied with this answer the old man went about his managing of the water flow into his pots ignoring the agitation on Underwood’s face. Underwood though needed more than just vindication of a tale that the old man had told which led him to mountains.

What are the people for? asked Underwood but the old man continued with his pots mumbling to himself as he went, ‘The Chief is strong and wise. The Farmer is careful and loyal…’ and yet Underwood would not be denied, Where are those people from? Why would anyone keep thousands and thousands of people in suspended animation inside a mountain? Are they for an army? What is the UFA?

The last question must have struck a chord as the old man dropped a pot that splashed all over the floor and he came rushing toward Underwood waving his finger.

What you know of this? said the old man his tone of voice and mannerism changed somewhat from happy to annoyed.

Nothing, only what you have told me, replied Underwood.

I tell you nothing. Got that!

If you have told me nothing then why did you send me there? You must have a reason?

I need no reason.

Or, do you mean that you do not know the reason, Oracle?

At hearing his name the old man lit up and came closer to Underwood than he had ever come before. He had made it a point in their previous meetings to stand on the other side of the room to where Underwood was standing and forbid him to come any closer.

You listen here and you listen good. You know nothing. Have never known nothing. You find too much and give reason for all enemy to know what you know. Is not a good thing.

It was then that an uncontrollable urge succumbed Underwood to grab hold of the old man’s hands. His movements were so quick that the memory of the movement happening was simply a blur. He could only recall that he had taken The Oracle’s hands in his which caused a look of absolute shock and terror on the face of the old man even though the touch would have only been for the briefest of moments. But, to Underwood, the touch was a whole new reckoning; a surge went through him that he could only describe as an electrical current flowing through him. He was acutely aware of the surrounding room and all the toy robot figurines on the walls that seemed to be warning him of something. A little army of tin scouts that told him to run for danger was at hand. And then he could see them. The mercenaries surrounding The Oracle’s house and their intent to kill. The sensation was something that Underwood was used to and had grown to be able to control; but, this time he saw it with a clarity that he had never experienced.

It was then that everything around him seemed to slow down.

Almost on cue, the door at the other end of the room was kicked in and bullets were littered throughout the room; but, Underwood already knew their trajectory. Underwood dragged down the old man to the floor and when the shooting stopped briefly his only thought was that he had to run. He kept low heading for the kitchen where he dived through the window where the old man had been emptying his rain water pots smashing the glass as he fell through to the other side and landing on some kind of small shrub. The twigs and leaves dug into his back as he turned and lifted himself onto the fence all in one motion and vaulted over into a back alley. More bullets followed him but missed their target as he ran down the alley and came out into a busy street.

Underwood’s only thought was that they had found him. They had found him and he did not know what they would do with The Oracle. And yet, a small part of him realised that the old man would be safe; that the pursuers were only after Underwood. But why they wanted him dead, Underwood did not know.

Chapter 2

Tim Marshall was lamenting the fact that this would be the last time that he would be making this journey. He sat in the Miami International Airport waiting for his flight to Caracas, Venezuela amid a flurry of late passengers trying to stretch the patience of the check-in and ground crew alike. Marshall himself was early. He was always early for airports. It took a great number of good intentioned people to make a long distance trip as less stressful as possible and the majority of the time the staff really did do a good job. It was the least he could do to be punctual and organised to ensure that he was less of a burden as possible.

Marshall also travelled light. He had learnt this from his previous journeys from North to South America. He never took anything with him that couldn’t be taken onto the plane as carry-on luggage which included a change of clothing for the journey. He didn’t like the idea of being unable to control his personal belongings. Knowing exactly what was in them, who would look in them and what they could put in or take out of them. Marshall thought that it was best to buy things when you got there or have them flown in by professionals. At least courier companies took some responsibility for your luggage; a damn site more than the good intentions of baggage staff on minimum wage.

The stresses of the travelling people around Marshall were amplifying his own tensions of that day. Usually, travel didn’t bother him. Marshall loved the journey, especially knowing where he was going and that it was somewhere different from the everyday. He didn’t care for people who had an unrelenting urge to worry about everything on the journey. Will the plane be late? Will I like the food? Will they lose my luggage? Will this, will that! The reason for Marshall’s own stress stretched to the meeting he had not four hours earlier. Marshall hadn’t intended to depart that day; however, it was a burden of circumstance. The meeting was called because there were many unanswered questions which needed to be settled; even though Marshall feared they were questions that no-one could answer. Still, he had come for one thing and that was to secure the continued support of his financiers, Globe Corp.

At the meeting, all Marshall could do was remind them of the facts as they were. Marshall led a team of scientists whose pursuits were to find that which did not want to be found. He couldn’t answer their questions on how long this and that would take to complete. As Marshall saw it he was either going to find what he set out to achieve or he wasn’t. It was simply a fifty-fifty bet either way.

However, Marshall knew that the reason he was dragged into this meeting was not whether he would complete his task as agreed. The former contact of his financier had moved on and left a gaping hole unfilled which meant the bean counters were asking the questions now and not the dreamers. Marshall knew, for instance, that they did not read the long winded brief that he had prepared to secure the finance in the first place. Especially, Norman Rogers, who supposedly was leading up the investigation. Rogers had asked Marshall what it was he was trying to achieve flashing his smile and brandishing a gold tooth.

Exactly what I wrote in the brief. If you’d care to look, Marshall had responded.

Then you wouldn’t mind going through it with us. I mean, this was written some years ago–

And the goal is no different. The procedure stays the same.

You’re not offering me much in terms of return on investment here, Mr. Marshall?

A return? Marshall was perplexed. What return did he think there would be on something that either was or wasn’t?

This is not an exact science, said Marshall, I can’t give you a result sheet here with boxes ticked to appease the board that all was carried out as planned. Because there is no plan to this, it’s organic. We are only learning through trial and error here.

Rogers had chewed on his lip. Maybe that would shut him up, thought Marshall; however, Rogers was only bridging the silence to build up to deliver his address of the situation.

You do understand why it is a company like our own would be interested in your discovery, Mr. Marshall? We manage risk, that’s what we do. Now if your hypothesis has any credit you would be able to present to me some kind of fixed data on what it is you’ve been doing down there. But you can’t. All I needed to see was on the numbers sheet and the amount of expenditure this company has been footing while you are doing god only knows. Now, clearly, we have spent the money getting you this far so we are not going to be pulling out straight away; however, there will be some substantial changes to our agreement with you until we start seeing real results. The first thing will be that a documentary team will be sent to film the discovery. If it does happen, we want it to be big. If it gathers the press, we’ll sell the footage rights which will compensate us for the losses we have incurred. Second, you’ve been operating independently and away from any formal structure within the organisation that monitors the progress of our investments; we feel that this was a grouse oversight by the last administrator and will be sending auditors in regularly to provide us with a detailed account. And, as these requirements are necessary for our continued support, which I assume is something that you continue to desire, I call an adjournment to this meeting, Mr. Marshall.

With that Rogers stood and left, dropping a manila folder in front of Marshall. He flipped open the manila folder and read before him the new terms of the agreement if it could be called that. It was everything that he hated about such endeavours: clause this and clause that subject to this and subject to that. In the end, it meant nothing. The original agreement that Marshall had signed was only a single page which went along the lines of Globe Corp agrees to pay an agreed sum per month until complete to Marshall Discoveries for the endeavour entitled ‘Classified’. The new agreement sort to make Marshall’s business public, something he could ill afford and the very thing that the previous administrator understood could bring down everything they set out to achieve.

Marshall wasn’t proud of the fact that his next course of action involved the fire department, a cigarette lighter and a bin with the manila folder he received from Rogers burning as he left the Globe Corp building. However, he had come to the decision to be nonchalant as one could be with such demands a long time ago and he had no intention of starting now – not when he was so close to the end.

What was to follow was an hour of unprecedented negotiation on Marshall’s part that he had never endured. His first point was to book a flight on the next plane to Caracas, the second was to arrange for a storage company to move all his belongings on the next ship to Panama; third, was to transfer the two-million dollars US out of the accounts that had been established as emergency funds, which Marshall was the sole assignee, to be redirected to off-shore accounts under the name of the members of his team. The last act, and most important, was to contact his previous administrator at Globe Corp, Charles Harrison.

Marshall pulled out his PDA and sent Charles Harrison a message to alert him to the fact that he had been right. As it seemed, Harrison had correctly anticipated that the company was set for a buyout. Harrison had then guessed that Marshall’s exploits would come under close scrutiny and he set about discretely pointing Marshall in the right direction to keep the expedition afloat. As it turned out Harrison knew a lot of things and was trying to warn Marshall of the impending crisis; however, the remoteness of the operation in Venezuela meant that Marshall did not receive word of the impending storm for at least a week. It was all too late, the winds of change had swept through and Marshall’s party was a mere clean up in the aftermath by men like Rogers.

However, in his last communication with Harrison, Marshall had not at all been absolutely truthful and it played on his mind now with everything that Harrison had done. As it turned out, Marshall and his hapless team had happened upon a chance encounter that was making the seemingly fruitless exercise seem every chance a possibility. It had seemed like a long time since they first set out and most of his team had lost sight of the bigger picture. But, that all changed two weeks ago and it was an unfortunate set of circumstance that coincided with the upheaval at Globe Corp that Harrison was not sharing in their success at this moment.

While he didn’t like leaving the team at this critical stage, if he hadn’t appeared before Rogers face-to-face, Globe Corp would have sent someone after him which would have caused even greater concern. At least this way they knew what was coming. Marshall predicted that he had bought himself a day or two before they would send someone after him and close down the whole operation. It would take them some time to decide what to do and more time before they would try to find the right people to carry out the job. There would be delays while the Caracas office gave them the run around on Marshall’s orders and further delays finding where it is his team was located. While his operation was mobile and could move whenever they pleased; right now, they were closer to the goal than ever before and it was paramount that everything continued as it had been progressing.

Marshall’s flight was finally called for boarding. He wasn’t the type to run to the front though and he needed the spare five minutes anyway to send a final note to Harrison. But upon inspecting his PDA Harrison had beat him to it:

‘Marshall, old boy, you must accept my sincerest apologies for any inconvenience caused. I dislike it when I’m right as my predictions are often the cause of great anguish for the recipient. But knowing you, you’ve already taken the necessary course of action as advised in our previous discussions. As you could appreciate, I shan’t be able to offer you any further assistance in wisdom or kind as our contact will be heavily monitored and the wheels of change are turning more progressively as we speak. I understand that your confidence has waned of late but rest assured that your little undertaking is of vital importance in the larger scheme of things and never forget that we are relying on you to produce the goods. Thus, it is with deepest regret that I sign off until both our successes lead us together which, evidently, I know will be the case...it’s up to you now, Tim.’

The message was full of the same charm that Marshall had come to expect from Harrison. He would be astute to the last and Marshall often felt a sense of inferiority for some reason. His own abilities in lateral thinking were inadequate at best and Harrison had always been able to offer the alternative in a manner that didn’t condescend Marshall’s direct way of thinking. However, not having Harrison to fall back on was a daunting prospect to say the least; but, Marshall knew he would manage, he always did.

But there was something that was still bugging Marshall and he didn’t think it was possible to keep Harrison in the dark as he now stood in the queue to board the flight to Caracas. He needed to let Harrison know that he could see light near the end of the tunnel. As the attendant checked his ticket, Marshall decided that he would risk the final contact. At the most, they’d be able to track him to the airport which Marshall was sure they had figured anyway and as he made his way down the race, he hit reply to Harrison’s original note and typed:

‘Sorry, but this couldn’t wait...we’re closer than what you think.’

Or, perhaps Harrison already knew that, Marshall thought as he hit send dropping the PDA into the bin for used head phones.

Chapter 3

The last thing that Tenashi wanted to do was to kill a man.

Tenashi was a pacifist for the better part of his childhood where he had spent most of his days toiling in the waste dumps of rich western hotels finding half eaten steak sandwiches and discarded soft drink bottles. His adolescence was spoiled in waves of crime robbing tourists until finally this led to the kidnapping of the daughter of a wealthy export manufacturer that they had ransomed for one-million US dollars. It was a disaster of course. Under planned and overzealous the operation was doomed from the beginning.

His long time friend, Amatsu, a second rate drug dealer who owed a local drug baron more money than he could earn learned of the tycoon's presence in the hotel where he worked as a chef and there the plan was hatched. They were high of course, sitting as usual in Amatsu’s small shack that backed onto an open sewerage drain and smoking the cheapest thing men like Tenashi and Amatsu could afford to forget their woes and lack of opportunity in their world, gungy, which was the root of a common forest plant in tropical parts of Asia. Amatsu was pacing the room as his mood was beginning to turn into an angry rage. He described how they could easily sneak into the room and take her while she slept as the house maid had told him the tycoon was out most nights. He had stolen a colleague’s security pass and they could easily obtain maintenance clothes from the laundry where most of the laundry girls bought their gungy from Amatsu and had owed him a favour or two.

And this was exactly how it played out. Amatsu sweet talked a young laundry girl with half a stick of gungy. The security pass worked without a hitch and they entered the room of the tycoon without being noticed. The room, three times the size of Tenashi's own house with separate sleeping rooms from the main lounge area; however, was still occupied by the tycoon when they entered sitting on the couch with a young girl not much older that Tenashi having intercourse.

The tycoon didn't flinch at their presence and started yelling at them, Finally, I have been calling the front desk for hours! Fix that damn air conditioner! Can't you see I have busy work to complete here?

The girl tried to hide as she buried her head into the couch as the tycoon lit up a cigar and poured himself a drink.

Where is the air conditioner? Tenashi asked.

The tycoon grunted and pointed down the corridor and Tenashi and Amatsu wheeled the waste trolley they had planned to smuggle the girl out of the hotel with in that direction. They found the girl awake sitting at the end of the bed watching cartoons and Amatsu in his drugged state snapped up the girl in the laundry bag and put her in the cart. Surprisingly the girl was silent, almost submissive in the whole affair and made it easy for the tycoon not to notice what was happening right under his nose. Tenashi made an excuse for not having the right tools for the job and they quickly exited the room without delay.

When they got back to Tenashi's house they put the young girl into his bedroom and Amatsu made the ransom call to the hotel. Unfortunately, the receptionist was unwilling to trouble such an important guest at that hour and suggested that he could only leave a message. However, it was not until later in the morning that they received a return phone call from the tycoon; the young girl was seemingly not at the forefront of his mind.

Thank you for picking her up, said the tycoon, Could you please bring her back to the hotel?

Are you joking! said Amatsu at the suggestion, We have your daughter! We want your money! One-million US dollars or she dies!

Amatsu hung up the phone and stormed into the kitchen. He grabbed a knife from a drawer and made his way to the bedroom. He took the young girl’s long black hair and sliced off one side very close to the scalp which left a patch of pale skin. Amatsu gave the hair to Tenashi and told him to mail the hair back to the tycoon so that they would know they were serious. Tenashi thought at this time that they would do nothing to hurt a little girl and that this would be a simple exchange. He first refused to do such a thing and said that they should return the girl and plead that it was all a misunderstanding. But Amatsu would have nothing of it and gave Tenashi the ultimatum to obey or be killed while Amatsu held the knife to his throat.

Tenashi had been friends with Amatsu for years and he had been an influential person in his life to a stage where he was dominated by him. He didn't necessarily want to smoke gungy or make a meagre living by stealing. However, Amatsu had led him down these unwitting paths and it was now Tenashi’s time to dominate.

I will take her hair to the hotel myself, said Tenashi, It could take days before we get a response if we send it in the mail. I will pass myself off as a delivery man.

And this is what Tenashi did using the security pass they had used previously he made his way up the stairs to the level of the tycoon’s room and he was confronted by two police on guard. Tenashi offered that he had information for the tycoon about his daughter; however, the police recognised him at once. You didn't walk around town selling gungy on the side and have the police not know about it. Besides, most of them were in on the take. The tycoon for his part identified him as the air conditioner repairman from the night before and the detectives handling the case put two and two together. Tenashi was there to give himself up and yet the police still beat him with their batons. The tycoon sitting in the lounge watching the display said nothing and only sucked on his cigar while the detectives took turns at whacking Tenashi with the backs of their hands. The punishment continued even after he gave up the whereabouts of the young girl and Amatsu and it was not long after this that she was returned to the tycoon. Tenashi watched this through puffed and bloodied eyes while the young girl was told to go to her room. Her emotional state was not even taken into consideration as she walked back down the corridor.

For Tenashi, however, there would be no trial. He was instantly transported from the place where he had spent all his life to a place he determined to be a detention facility. He was hooded through the entire journey punched and kicked every so often. He was only allowed to see light again when the journey was complete and he was locked away in isolation in what appeared to be a cell with no windows. For months on end men would come to his cell dressed in fatigues and beat him all but an inch from his life. The beatings became his only sense of time as there was no clock or sun light by which to pass the days and eventually he learned how to anticipate when his tormentor would come into his cell for what Tenashi gauged was his weekly round of violence.

However, eventually, the violence became more and more random which put Tenashi off balance until he could stand no more and he struck back at his tormentor. The tormentor at first was stunned and wiped his mouth revealing a gold toothed grin. The tormentor left without a word and for the first time since the kidnapping he had felt a sense of jubilation that he had not experienced since his last hit of gungy. However, this feeling was short lived. Suddenly the door was smashed open and a group of military looking men entered the room flanked by barking canines.

Time to move, shouted one of the men and forcefully removed Tenashi from his cell as one of the canines tried to take a bite of him. They pushed him down the corridor past other cells that Tenashi could see and opened the door at the far end pushing him into a smaller cell. One of the military men tore off the rags that had become his attire for the entire time and at the far end of the room there appeared a sealed door when there was suddenly a high pitched warning alarm and the door started to rise slowly up. Tenashi could see what appeared to be a vacant lot strewn with housing debris, burnt out cars, stacked worn tyres and burning oil drums. Was this to be his freedom, Tenashi thought? And yet, nothing could be further from the truth as he walked out into the open area. He looked left and right and saw that there were other doors opening up and equally beaten men standing naked slowly entering the area.

The first bullet whizzed past him like a silent train. He moved into a state of flight trying to crouch behind whatever kind of cover he could find along with the other hundred or so people. It became preverbal musical chairs of sorts as those who did not find cover were indiscriminately shot dead. Once they were tagged by a bullet and knocked to the ground whatever that was firing upon them finished them with a targeted volley of quick fire shots. One man who dared to peak over the hood of the car they were hiding behind was shot straight through the head. His remains spilled uncontrollably onto Tenashi who was completely horrified and without thinking stood up. It was lucky that the next bullet was off target and Tenashi managed to crawl behind a burning oil drum before another barrage came toward him.

When the gun fire stopped Tenashi peaked around the oil drum. From his position he was in the middle of the area and could see large tubes being thrown over the high cement walls from the other end that bounced along until one exploded. Tenashi recognised that they must have been grenades and noticed that many more were being hurled into the area exploding in a wave toward their position. The other men were pinned down behind their cover and Tenashi decided that he would make a run for where the grenades had already exploded. He moved fast with his eyes closed; however, he tripped landing face first sliding underneath a small cavity in the ground covered by broken bricks. When the first shockwave came through he felt all the air in his lungs being ripped out from inside him and he struggled to fill them again. When he opened his eyes, he saw the spot where the other men were taking cover and the vehicle exploded scattering the men around it like nine pins. None survived.

Tenashi then had crawled with his face to the ground finally making it to the far wall where he found another door. Tenashi tried the door handle and found that it opened to a small room filled with razor wire scattered on the floor which Tenashi assumed was more appealing than the area behind him. Slowly and painfully he moved through the razor wire. At one point he misplaced his footing and landed heavily on the wire which sliced the bottom of his feet like butter. A warm pool of blood on his foot made it difficult to manoeuvre; however, he eventually made it to the other end of the room where another alarm sounded and the door opened into an adjoining corridor.

The corridor was dark and its walls were covered in mould. A single light at the end drew Tenashi toward it and as he got closer he saw that lying on the floor was a hand gun. Tenashi himself had never handled a firearm before and it felt cold. He could not tell if it was heavy from weight or the burden of what could be done which such a device. He briefly contemplated taking his own life with the weapon before anyone else could. If what had transpired previously was any indication on what would be behind the next door then surely it would be a decision that he would not regret.

His train of thought was again broken as an alarm sounded and the door slowly slid across revealing a room with a glass panel in front of it. There was a small hole as large as a man’s fist that was drilled in the centre and behind the glass was his friend, Amatsu, hanging in chains sporting a placard reading, 'Kill me and it ends!'.

Tenashi was quick to understand what needed to be done. He did not want to kill a man, he didn't know how; even though, he held the means to write his own destiny. If he could only conjure enough courage to kill another human being what seemed to be a nightmare would be over. But, Amatsu was his friend. They had only had each other their entire lives. Without Amatsu, Tenashi did not know what would become of him and after all it was wrong to kill another man regardless of the circumstances.

As he was standing contemplating his next move a door opened behind him and out stepped his tormentor with the gold tooth. He smiled confidently walking toward him and the sudden urge fell over Tenashi to raise the gun toward the man.

You will kill me but you will not kill someone that has used you your entire life! said the tormentor.

You know nothing about me! replied Tenashi.

Oh, I disagree. We know what we need to know. Your friend here told us how it was your idea to take the girl. He begged for his own life and gave up yours to save his own neck. What kind of friend is that?

I don't believe you!

It is sad the lengths a man will go to when his own mortality is in question. These are things I know.

How can you know? You just beat people and don't tell them why.

Well, there is always a reason. I beat you not to punish you but to release you.

Release me. Release me from what?

From the safety of your life, from the confines of drugs and into a position where you can control your own destiny.

My destiny! There is no destiny when you ask me to kill an unarmed man. There is only murder.

At this point you are the only one that is armed, my friend. You have a choice. Kill me and you can leave this place through the next door and go off into the jungle; however, you will be hunted and always running in fear. Or, kill your so called friend and we will teach you to become a warrior never to be controlled by anyone ever again.

The weapon in Tenashi's hand was now scalding hot; however, he gripped it tighter. Tenashi never wanted to kill a man. He only ever wanted to live without poverty, without the fear of not knowing when his next meal would be coming, whether he would have shelter over his head.