A subtle but repetitive metallic sound woke the victim from unconsciousness. The first thing it did, even with the eyes still adapting to the darkness of the room, was observe the place where they were being held: a small square room, weakly illuminated by a bulb hanging from the ceiling, with two chairs, to one of which was tied to, and a desk with a lit lamp on it, currently used by a tall and muscular man, reminiscing of a human wardrobe, whose back could only be seen. The first instinct was to struggle against the ropes, held so tightly that they couldn’t almost move, getting the attention of the captor.

- You’re finally awake. I was about to do it myself after finishing here. Give me a moment.

The man finished with his knife, switched on a boom box and turned his back, showing a black leather mask with lenses red as a puddle of blood, that hid the eyes, and bars in the mouth’s aperture, from which a captive smile saluted, like if he had just escaped from a BDSM orgy. Whatever remain of confusion disappeared from the captive and started to uselessly fight with renewed strength to free itself from the chair, while Stealers Wheel’s “Stuck In The Middle With You” began to play. In the kidnapper’s opinion, the sound of music during a lesson was like spicing up food, the final detail. Rojo grabbed the other chair, placed in front of his new student and sat.

- You’re asking yourself many questions right now: who am I, where are you, why you, etcetera. You see, I want to show the truth about the world, I want you and the rest to understand it, but you’re just incapable without help. Your minds are drunken with the thoughts of a better future, mundane worries, desires and the plain routine that you refuse to see. It really doesn’t matter who I am, but if you want to give me a name just think of me as Rojo. And as for where we are, it’s a private place of mine where no one will bother us.

He then moved his knife in front of the listener’s eyes, frozen with fear, before continuing.

- There are so many ways to hurt someone, but, in my opinion, a knife it’s the best. A simple thing, yet able to cut, tear and pierce. It’s a key to the truth.

After this last word, Rojo slashed the chest of the person in front of him, causing a wide, but not fatal, wound of which blood began to sprout. The shout of agony was muffled by the piece of cloth that acted as a gag.

- …And that truth is blood. You see, humans live in constant, senseless pain, we suffer over both, worthless and important stuff, but unlike a carnivore’s prey it serves no purpose. We’re here for no reason at all, just an infinitesimal probability amongst million, and we believe, need, like a drug; that there’s something more, be it a benevolent god, the whims of the universe or whatever the fuck sounds better, at least here, in our privileged seats. While I’m talking to you, there’s a kid with his mouth up a cow’s ass, desperate for food, families are suffering the cold of winter out in the streets and people are dying as collateral damage in wars, in which each side faces their view of evil or whatever excuse they’ve made up. And that’s just a portion.

Once again he grasped tightly the weapon and stabbed one leg with it. After another shout, the victim began to cry, desperate, and Rojo cleaned the tears with his black gloves.

- I know, learning the truth hurts, it’s comprehensible that you reject it, but you can’t choose how things are. Don’t worry, after this you’ll see how everything will be fine.

The masked man got up from his seat, replayed the already finished song and proceeded to demonstrate his philosophy through physical pain. The screams where muffled by the gag while the skin was perpetrated in many ways: fingers were broken and cut, slow kisses from the blade left their marks and flesh was stripped. All this was done at the rhythm of the songs that were playing, from classic to 80’s rock, including Bach and Rosendo, amongst others; accompanied by Rojo’s whistles. The poor creature lost consciousness many times over the course of it, but the masked man would patiently wait until he returned to the living nightmare.

As he said before, the torturer didn’t enjoy this, but neither despised it. While his mind was focused on bringing the greatest amount of pain he could without excessing, the predominant emotion was joy. He was happy to show again how things really where, even if the only method he could use to achieve it was so…invasive. The other participant couldn’t almost move due to the deep fear that grasped their heart, mixed with sadness, incredulity and the feeling of losing the property of one’s own body. Every second the tormentor stopped felt like a blessing, but as time passed the idea that help wouldn’t come established with more strength in the mind. Eventually they drowned into an almost total numbness, broken only by the agony.

Rojo looked at his victim’s eyes and determined he had finished after seeing the emptiness on them. He stood up, shut down the music, took off the mask and observed what remained. Dry blood surrounded the chair and covered some of it, alongside the clothes of both participants. Some removed human parts lied inside a bucket, and the assaulted body was covered with open wounds, inflammations and exposed live flesh. The man placed the mask on the other’s head, and gave him a few slight slaps to get its attention, taking the chin between his fingers and forcing eye contact without resistance.

- This is how I see the world. Every single inch is covered by someone’s blood.

Rojo took once again the knife and placed it into the neck.

- Don’t worry, it’s all finally over.

After his words he killed the other with a single move, fast and without pain, receiving the embrace of darkness and the gift of nonexistence. “There’s still much to do”, that was Rojo’s thought after watching the corpse for a whole long minute.