Okay, I posted this just a little while ago and had formatting
problems. As you can see, there are still some formatting
problems. I apologize for the inconvenience. Anyway, first-time
contributor, I hope you enjoy the story. And feedback is
greatly appreciated. Thank you for your time.

____________________________________

    Nothing is true and everything is permitted.

It was a fine motto, and one that many members of the 

Syndicate took advantage of as best they could. Jack was no
exception to this, and tried to thoroughly enjoy everything he
did.

It was a fun job, being the torturer for the Nightshade 

Syndicate, but it ate up a lot of time. Currently, he was
backlogged. He preferred to do people one at a time, but he’d
have to make an exception if anyone brought in a new subject in
the next few days.

Braids and Dylan wanted everything going swimmingly. 

They were the highest-ranked members of the region, and they
directed all Syndicate activity for the purpose of making money.
The duo was fiercely territorial, and anyone else caught doing
illicit deeds on their turf was punished.

These past few subjects, though, had been brought in not

by them (or rather, not just by them) but by nearly every pack
in the Syndicate. As far as Jack knew, there was some kind of
fundamentalist Christian rally nearby, and not just any
fundamentalist Christian rally but the worst kind of
fundamentalist Christian it was possible to get. From what he’d
heard, they ran a website called godhatesfags.com, and they were
scum.

Like most of the Syndicate, Jack had a strong disdain

for religious types, but fundamentalist Christians were, in his
humble opinion, the worst. The problem with torturing them was
that some of them were so damn stubborn. Most people wanted to
see them begging for mercy from him, ultimately rejecting their
God. Quite a few did so nicely. But some were too damn stubborn
and kept singing hymns. Until, of course, their tongues were
cut out.

Jack was part of the well-oiled machine that was the 

Nightshade Syndicate. You want someone to suffer? Find your
Syndicate guy, he’ll hook whoever it is up with old Jack. People
paid for others to die slowly and painfully. And not just in
money. The Syndicate had more than a few loyal informants,
honorary members, and simple slaves that had been gained simply
because they couldn’t pay the price right away.

There were cameras all around Jack’s “entertainment” 

rooms. The sale of the films was handled by a man named
Starkweather, whom Jack had never met. He just knew that if
people wanted to get footage of someone being butchered, they
went to Starkweather. If the people had specific wants in their
film, Starkweather would relay those wants to him via the
Internet, and Jack would be more than happy to oblige.

Those people were usually fetishists. Jack himself 

didn’t get any sexual thrill from killing, but sometimes he
pretended to. Sometimes it made the people more afraid. Oh, he’d
done some pretty deranged things. As per a request from a
client, he and some friends had defiled a dead woman once. Most
of the time, though, it was the friends that did the fucking,
and Jack that did the cutting.

Jack was not feeling his best tonight. He had a sore 

throat and a headache, and every time he moved, his skin
felt…unpleasant. He had the feeling that even if he went to take
one of the many sex slaves the Syndicate owned out for a spin,
he just wouldn’t have the drive to really do anything. He’d
considered just calling Braids and letting her know he was sick,
but those Christians weren’t going to just kill themselves,
unfortunately. They’d been stewing in their cells for a few days
now, and those cell blocks were full. It was time to go to
work. There had been no requests from Starkweather, so he could
dispose of his charges in any manner he pleased.

As he neared his primary “entertainment” room, he saw a 

friend of his, Liza, standing near the doorway. He waved
halfheartedly to her.

“You look pale,” she said instead of greeting him. “You

feeling okay?”

“I’ve been quite a bit better in the past. You feel like

helping me out tonight?”

“No problem,” she replied. “I brought in a couple of

these bastards, and I feel like seeing ‘em go. Fucking scumbags
think they own the world.”

“Crying shame,” he said absentmindedly as he entered the

room. Liza walked in behind him. “Got any preference as to
which one goes first?”

“There’s a bitch in a red dress that was going on and on

and on about how only the white believers are going to Heaven,
and everyone else deserves Hell. Saying that God should be
praised for giving people AIDS, and that all niggers are
sodomites and should be killed. You mind doing her?”

“It’d be my pleasure.”

Liza was one of the few black Syndicate members, and to 

Jack that was a testament to her drive and cunning. The majority
of black or Hispanic criminals were in pathetic street gangs,
the ones that the Syndicate manipulated from the shadows and
destroyed on a whim. As far as he knew, the Syndicate was
color-blind, but Caucasians were a definite majority. Braids had
once remarked that, oddly enough, the majority of the slaves
owned by the Syndicate were white too. Jack wasn’t too sure
about this, as he didn’t concern himself with the slaves too
much.

The woman that Liza had mentioned was in the second cell

Jack peered into, and looked like she was half-mad. The cell
was totally dark, sound-proof, and very cramped, both to save
space and electricity, and because it was almost, but not quite,
complete sensory deprivation. He opened the door and dragged
the starving woman back to the room.

Liza was sitting on one of Jack’s surgical tables and 

grinning. Jack strapped the woman down to the table and gave the
woman a bit of water to wet her throat and let her speak.

“Jesus…” was the only word that Jack could make out. 

Liza laughed.

“You can call him all you want, but he won’t hear you. 

This is the punishment you deserve, bitch. You think God loves
you and wants to save you? Then keep calling him. He won’t save
you. Nobody will.” Liza clenched her fists and struck the woman
in the mouth a couple of times. She wasn’t all that strong, but
the effects of malnutrition had made the woman’s body weak.

“How do you want her done?” asked Jack. “Sharp or 

blunt?”

Jack knew torture. And there were two types of weapons 

in the world, edged ones, that would could cleanly slice through
a person’s flesh, and the hard, heavy ones, that crushed a
person’s bones. It was hard to tell which was more painful, but
both looked good.

“Blunt,” was Liza’s reply. “Make it good, Jack.”

“Jesus will come!” the woman sputtered as Jack 

approached her with a hammer held tightly in his hand. “The
faggots and the unrepentant sinners will burn in Hell!”

She was silenced as Jack brought the hammer down hard on

her kneecap. She howled in agony as the bone shattered, and her
leg bent in an unnatural angle. The area around where her knee
was now had no definite lump, but rather a series of fragments
floating around the bone.

“You like that?” Liza asked as she smirked a few feet 

away. “Because old Jack here has plenty more where that came
from.”

“You a virgin?” Jack asked of the woman. Finding that an

answer was not forthcoming, Jack shrugged. “Pass me those
scissors, Liza.” She did so, and Jack began cutting up the
woman’s pant legs, occasionally accidentally-on-purpose jabbing
her with the scissors. Eventually, he’d cut her pants off, and
cut off her underwear as well.

Jack hated older women. They were revolting, in his 

opinion, and this woman was no exception. Just looking at her
privates instilled him with the need to puke, but he held it
back. “You a virgin?” he asked again.

“I am not a sinner like you are!” the woman shrieked. “I

am pure, filled with the Lord’s love!”

“Then this will hurt even more than it would otherwise,”

Jack said as he tossed the hammer behind him. He turned and
picked out a crowbar from among his many tools. “Say ‘ah.’”

He jammed the crowbar deep into the woman’s pussy, and 

the cold titanium tore her sensitive flesh as it went. Blood
seeped out of her, and most certainly not due to her hymen
breaking. The crowbar was about a foot long, and about eight
inches had gone into the woman. Jack shoved the tool in and out
of her, listening to her scream as he did so. There was no
pleasure in this, just pain. After all, the tool had ripped her
open the first time, and as he forced it in again, it only made
those lacerations deeper and wider.

As he plunged the crowbar deeper and deeper into the 

woman’s crotch, he took the scissors with his other hand and
pierced the woman’s right breast with them. The screaming became
deafening to someone who wasn’t used to it, and Jack was pretty
sure that Liza would be covering her ears.

As he shoved the crowbar in faster, he noticed that her 

left breast was bouncing quite nicely, while her right, held in
place by the scissors, stayed stationary, pinned to her torso.
This lack of symmetry annoyed Jack. He took the crowbar out of
the woman and examined it. Aside from blood, it was covered in
gobbets of meat, including what might have been a piece of the
woman’s cervix. With a bemused expression, he shoved it in the
woman’s face. “This came out of you. What d’ya make of it?”

The woman opened her mouth to scream, so Jack shoved the

gory end of the crowbar into her mouth, taking out a couple of
teeth as he did so. He left the woman to splutter the meat out
of her mouth as he picked up his discarded hammer and got a nail
few long nails from another table.

“This was bugging me,” he explained as he held a nail 

over the woman’s left breast, lined it up with her nipple as
best her could, and pounded it in until her breast was stuck
fast to her torso. Looking up, he saw Liza holding up the
crowbar just in time to cover his eyes for the coming impact.
The woman’s head caved in at the force of the blow, and she
twitched for a while as Jack lowered his arm, now splattered
with more blood than before.

Liza was breathing very hard and gazing at the bloody 

mess she had made. Jack approached her and gently took the
crowbar from her hand. “Is that…”

“The first time I killed someone, yeah,” Liza said, 

still not lifting her gaze from the corpse. “I mean, I’ve seen
people die, but that…I got a real charge out of it when I swung,
you know?”

Jack put a comforting arm around her shoulders. “I don’t

know how you’ll take this, but that was a hell of a shot. You
might be good at this if you wanted to learn.”

She locked gazes with him and took his arm off her. “Did

you start like this? Just that charge you feel when you do it
fast?”

“How I started this,” he replied, “is not a story I feel

like telling. But that’s how it starts for most people. You
know, Starkweather pays well.”

“I’ll bet he does,” Liza said, biting her lip in 

thought. She started for the door. “I’m gonna need some time to
think about this, Jack. But if you ever need or want
an…intern…call me up.”

“My door’s always open,” he said, a pleasant little joke

about the wrought iron door and its heavy handle. Liza didn’t
laugh as she walked out, deep in thought. Jack smiled pleasantly
to himself and made for the opposite end of the room, towards
the cell blocks. Back to work.

Oh man.

This, I loved.

I would've enjoyed the sharper option, though. =<

I'm eagerly awaiting more of this nature. =)

I really like that.

Very interestng.

Where can I sign up for a job like that?

But seriously, well written, but what's with the the weird text changes throught the story? It doesn't make much sencse.

All in all, good tale, and a good time reading it too. Keep up the good work.

>>4 formatting problems. shrug

Thanks for your feedback. The formatting confuses me too, and I hope to resolve it with the next installment. I got a bunch of stories revolving around the Nightshade Syndicate, and I'm hoping I'll get a bit of a cult following here on my beloved gurochan. Anyway, thanks a lot guys!

>>6
This happens when you have spaces in front of your paragraphs. Either disable WakabaMark ("More options...") or stop adding them.