Kaos Jolt (Unedited)

Red Room

It was the first time I had ever known a place like this even existed under the bar. I had known that High Voltage was built from an old, run down and renovated power plant, but what I saw in front of me looked more like a decrepit sanitorium, with the wallpaper peeling off the walls and the lights barely holding onto the ceiling any longer. (No doubt from how insane everyone partied almost every night at happy hour when the bands played.) I walked slowly out of caution, paranoid that at any moment a psycho straight out of video game hell would jump out, full of bloodlust and the word "KILL" on their mind. Turning my head slightly, I was able to catch a glimpse of an empty padded room, where all the padding had all but deteriorated from the mold and water damage gotten prior to the bar being established.

About five doorways in, I heard the screaming again, this time more clearly. Clearly terrified, that is. "DAMNIT!" I shouted as I broke into a sprint to where the shouts were coming from. Running as fast as I could, I bound like a stampeding bull around the corner at the end of the hallway, and then screeched around the last corner in the hallway, slowing down near the double doors at the end. The horrified, tortured yelps of help unheard by anyone above came from behind these doors. I slowly reached out, slightly spooked myself as to what I'd find behind them. What if it was a situation where I wouldn't be able to help, just be another victim of a tragic death. No time to think like that now, I reassured myself. There's someone possibly being hurt in there, and you are the only one who is down here who can. I knew it was an idiot move, but I opened the doors in favor of my conscience, despite what my better judgement was telling me.

Through the doors was one man I didn't think I knew, but seemed familiar, who was standing over what looked like an electric chair and carrying what looked like a chainsaw redesigned to look like a scythe. Sitting in the electric chair (more like strapped down to it) was a man I only heard rumors of on the streets. His name was Donovan "The Spike" Driver. The reason why he got the nickname "The Spike" is because the talk of the town was that he used to kill people by driving a rusty railroad spike through their heart. The stories used to go that he even killed his own wife, who supposedly tried to leave him for a younger guy, by sewing both eyes shut and slamming an iron tent spike through her heart so it shot through an open window, quickly followed by the rest of her body. The police said she had disappeared completely, but someone in the neighborhood said they found the heart lying under an oak tree in the park to show everyone what Don would do to anyone who would have the stones to betray him.

Looking at him in this helpless state, though, and you couldn't even believe such a horrible guy had done such terrible things. His greying hair had turned almost a salt-and-pepper color from all the dirt that had fallen and settled into his hair. The blood and filth that covered his body was caked on, almost as if he'd been in here for weeks. What's worse, I had noticed one of his hands was laying on the floor, probably severed by this scythe-wielding lunatic. Speaking of the crazy dude who loomed over the serial killer, I had remembered by now why I thought he looked familiar. The man had a long, black, hooded trench coat which was made of an almost khaki material. From what I could see of his face, I could make out a mask. It was almost as if it were the same man from the previous night's freakishly livid dream. The only difference was that this masked man had no scars or markings at all on his mask.

"It's about time you found this place, Xander," the masked man said. I felt a sudden chill of fear. My body covered in goosebumps, I thought to myself, Is all of this an elaborate trap to lure me in? Am I next??? The man's next words spooked me even more. "I've been expecting you for a while now."

I thought hard about running away, but I was too curious at this point to lift a foot. "What is this place? Who are you? What are you doing with that scythe?"

The man seemed to ponder the questions hard, because the words that came forth were almost like a symphony of delirium and precise thought all jumbled into a genius statement. "To your first question, I'm your boss, Z. I apologize for making you wait so long to meet face to face, but, as you can see, circumstances have otherwise proven it to be difficult." He motioned to his victim with his open hand as he turned to face me. "As for the second and third questions," he continued, in a slightly darker tone, "this is a sanctuary for the damned, where souls not brought to justice are made to repent prior to being returned to their creators, whomever they wish them to be. This man is simply a lost soul who is marked to face penance for taking that which did not belong to him, the lives of countless numbers of people whose time had not come yet."