“Run Moan!”

The sound of small bare feet slapping the pavement broke the silent spell cast over the still night. A child’s huffing and puffing accompanied the frantic slapping. The tall streetlight cast his shadow in front of him, long and twisted and scary. His legs began to cramp as he ran, little arms pumping furiously.

An ache grew in his stomach as the tiny muscles began to curl in on themselves. His shoulders and knees began to hurt. Each swing, back and forth, of his arms sent a jolt of pain coursing through him. The shock of his bare feet pounding against the pavement reverberated up and down his short legs, joints screaming in pain.

Searing heat spread up his back as he felt himself fall forward involuntarily. His aching legs locked up underneath him, refusing to move further. The cold, hard pavement rushed up and met him as flares of pain shot through his small body. Sticky fluid rolled down his side as he cried out, high child's voice carrying through the still air.

Scrambling, he tried to pull himself forward with his spindly arms. His legs dragged behind him, dead weight as they throbbed painfully and refused to budge. The intense heat in his back subsided as his vision swam.

Stars dotted his eyes with each agonizing movement. Everything began pulsating as the street light grew brighter, gaining intensity as it began to hurt his eyes. His vision grew misty, wavy.

His head drooped and slammed against the pavement as he turned over, all strength drained from his little body. In the darkness of the long alley he saw a slithering, snake-like darkness. It moved through the darkness, formless, somehow defined. As it neared the boy it opened its eyelids parted. A pair of purple tinged eyes glowed amidst the shadow, locking his gaze as it sent shivers down his tiny spine. With his head swimming, he found it difficult to hold on longer. As his consciousness slipped away the formless darkness slithered closer, incandescent eyes blazing against the hazy, dreamy night sky.

---

Pain flared in Moan's forehead as he smashed his head against the dashboard of the sedan. Snickering, howling laughter filled his ears as he reacted, flinging his hand out in a backhanded slap. The car swerved as a loud, fleshy smack landed, the blow reverberating in the confined, quiet interior of the borrowed car.

“Damn bro!” Dough yelled as he swerved the car back into its lane, narrowly missing another vehicle that was merging behind them.

“Das whatchu get, dumbass.” Moan replied hoarsely, sitting back and rubbing his sore forehead. As the ache subsided he reached into the back of the car, grabbing a drink from under the tied up individual.

“Pass me one too!” Dough held his right hand over his shoulder, waiting for the drink.

“Nah,” Moan replied, turning back around and cracking his bottle of refreshment open. Taking long, languid gulps, he downed the bottle before reaching back to grab another.

“Gimme one bro, damn.” Dough'

s voice rose, shaking his hand at his companion. Moan chuckled as he grabbed two bottles. His eyes swept over their prone passenger, searching for any possible signs of having passed on before they needed him to.

The man in the backseat was middle aged, swaddled in a comfortably worn suit. He was hog tied and laid on his side with his face pressed into the seat, either out of shame or frustration. Moan wasn’t sure and didn’t really care. Once he was able to confirm the rising and falling of the man’s labored breaths, Moan turned back around and cracked the two bottles before handing one to his driver.

The borrowed vehicle chugged along as the two men quietly drank, neither one in much of a mood to talk. They had tried the radio when they’d first ‘acquired’ the car but it had already been attended to by another enterprising individual, leaving them to drive around in complete silence.

Moan wasn’t one for talking and he didn’t care enough for Dough to consider starting up a conversation. Plus, Dough talked too damn much for his liking. The man could talk the leaves off of a tree if he was given enough time. But there was very little love lost between the two and Moan knew that Dough only spoke too much when he was comfortable. Keeping things professional, especially with a motormouth, was easier.

As the ride continued, sun bleached desert flying by as the driver pushed the car past the 90’s, Moan’s pocket vibrated.

He slid his phone out of his worn but tightly fitting jeans, swiping it open.

“ETA”

“30-40”

“Pick it up.” Moan continued to fiddle with his phone, flipping through a few different apps as he searched for a way to kill the remaining time. As he swiped through his text messages an odd, unopened text popped up at the bottom. The date said it was delivered months ago but it remained unopened. Even weirder due to the phone being a fresh burner.

Opening it revealed even more oddity.

“MOAN”

“MoAN”

“moan”

“MOaN”

“MOAn”

“MOAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

His Kalapu name continued for pages and pages. Different fonts, different sizes, all one word. The back of his brain tickled the further he scrolled. Hundreds of texts, all one word. The feeling of something invisible crawling up his back made him shudder..

“Moan, we here.” Dough pushed his shoulder. “Damn bro, you been acting hella weird. Les get this foo out so we can go grab some tacos. Am fuckin’ starving.”

Moan shook his head as he stashed his phone, stepping out of the car and stretching. With a twist and a groan the thought of the odd text slipped away. Dough was already undoing the rope that was tied around their guests legs, shaking the man awake.

Lightly slapping his face, Moan forced the man up. “Come on lil bitch, we got shit to do.”

He pulled the man and let him tumble out of the car, hitting the dusty ground and unceremoniously flopping around with his arms still tied behind his back. Moan grabbed an elbow and yanked him up onto his feet.

Face slack and pallid, the man stood. He wobbled as he attempted to catch his breath.

“Let’s go,” Moan pulled him roughly toward the derelict house they’d parked in front of. It was barely a house but slightly bigger than the shack they’d used for Known’s initiation. Sitting on the outskirts of Vegas, it stood secluded, far from any prospective neighbors. Perfect for what they’d be getting up to.

As the blood rushed back to the man’s face he let out a choked scream as he swung his head at Moan's chin.

Moan ducked away. With a quick motion his free right hand connected, thudding against the soft, fatty area just under the man’s chin. His knees buckled but Moan kept him up as Dough slid an arm under the man’s opposite elbow.

“Stupid bitch.” Moan sneered as they dragged the semi-conscious man. Shuffling in through the doorway, a dimly lit ‘living room’, if it could be called that, greeted them. A small, thin mattress lay in a dark corner. It reeked of feces and rotten, molded mildew. The two men threw their guest onto the grimy mattress.

“Grab the shit,” Moan said over his shoulder. “I’ll get him ready.”

---

The man hung suspended in the middle of the decrepit building's living room, stark naked with his arms and legs tied to ropes holding him perpendicular to the dusty floor. A spotlight, bright and hot, stared down at him as it illuminated every inch of his exposed body.

“You kinda look like the Vitruvian man, you know?” Moan mused as he stepped around the man and crouched over a rolled up cloth. It had three buckles tightly clasped around it to keep the contents from spilling. With practiced hands, he released the clasps and rolled the cloth out.

Various glinting tools revealed themselves as the cloth unfurled. They all bounced the light of the glaring spotlight dangerously, each one sharper than the last.

The man’s head was firmly secured by a head strap, ensuring he couldn’t turn his head.

The sound of metal scraping against metal filled the air. Fidgeting, the man groaned and fought against the horse bit Moan had placed in his mouth.

“Shhh, calm down dude,” Moan called out from his crouched position. “I’ll be ready in a bit. Just be patient.”

The man’s struggle increased in response to Moan’s calm voice. His soft, flabby arms strained against the tight ropes until his shoulders ached. Kicking, punching, anything to get himself loose. Useless. The more he struggled the tighter the bonds got, pulling his arms and legs further and further apart as the ropes creaked.

“If you struggle enough, it’ll rip your arms and legs out.” Moan stood and leaned over the man, taking in how bloodshot and wild his eyes were.

Without further comment Moan plunged a scalpel into the soft skin on the underside of the man’s upper arm.

Screams erupted as the surgical tool easily split the untouched, unstressed skin. Blood leaked as the man yelled around the bit.

“Scream all you want,” Moan chuckled as he stepped around the man. “But ain’t nobody gonna come to help you.”

With another quick motion another incision was opened on the same spot in the man’s opposite arm.

Choked screams filled the still, stifling air. Sniffling sobs followed.

“Now, we set the baseline,” Moan’s voice bounced jovially as he watched the blood leak. “All I need are some simple answers. Cooperate and you might leave. I might look like your average banger but I actually went to school, medical school and all that shit. Crazy right? The fuck I look like going to med school wit’ all them lil’ white and asian kids?”

He tapped the bloody scalpel against the man’s forehead, smearing fresh blood.

“So, just ‘cause am black and look hella rough don’t mean I don’t know what am doing. I can keep you alive for a while and you’ll be hurtin’ the whole time. Wit’ that bein’ said, you have three chances.” Moan held three fingers in front of the man’s face. The floodlight cast a large shadow, granting the man a momentary reprieve from the heat that bore down on his face.

“Ima ask some questions. If the answers sound like lies, Ima cut something important. Feel me?”

Still crying from the pain, the man feebly nodded.

“Good, good. I’m taking the bit out now. You will stay quiet. Say anything and Ima have to open up a new spot.”

With a quick pinch and turn the bit fell out of the man’s mouth, loudly clanging against the uncarpeted floor.

“First, what do you know about The Kalapu?”

Fear flashed in the man’s eyes as he began to shake his head, but Moan stopped him.

“Remember, three questions. Three chances.”

After a moment of hesitation the man opened his mouth and spoke. Everything he said checked out.

Moan nodded as he stepped over, cleaning the scalpel off and replacing it. The man sighed.

“Second, who approached you about the leak?”

The man’s face scrunched up as fresh tears sprung from his eyes. His neck muscles bulged as he fought his bonds.

“You’ll choke yourself out if you keep doing that.”

The man stopped as the harness that immobilized his head tightened. Spreading spittle, the man exhaled forcefully.

“H-he,” he swallowed loudly. “He said he represents One Inc.”

Moan laughed as the man corroborated the information he already had. Those weak asses really thought they could do something. Playfully, he wiped the cold blade against the man’s jiggly underbelly.

The man inhaled sharply as the chilly tool brushed against the soft area.

“Last question, you ever considered how painful it would be to get operated on without being put under?”

Confusion gave way to terror as understanding dawned.

“Y-y-yo--”

Moan plunged the wicked blade into the man’s flabby thigh and pulled it upwards. A jagged wound opened in the wake of the sharp tool as the man filled the room with his choked, wild screams once more.

Blood sprayed as Moan passed a major artery. A manic, demented smile painted his face as his eyes widened.

In a corner of the dank, decrepit room the purple tinged eyes blinked.