PERILLUS INCORPORATED

Part1: The Bellowing Bull

Ever so often one is allowed a glimpse into the inner workings—to witness the black blood that lubricates the world engine. For most who are granted the privilege, it is like a brief nightmare that merely gives hints of foul foundations, but for some who gaze into the abyss, it will mean lifelong days of terror that satiate unknowable wills.

Mr. James Smith was mediocrity personified. He had average looks, was of average height, and was an average intellect, so it should come as no surprise that until recently he’s had a rather unremarkable life. A divorcee of five years and father of one, he worked two jobs to pay child support and keep a roof over his head. During the week he earned a living as an advisor at a local community college, and on the weekends he recently obtained a part-time job as a security guard at the illustrious Perillus Incorporated. He wasn’t exactly excited about the new gig, but they offered him nearly full-time pay for easy part-time work—an offer he couldn’t refuse. Besides, he only needed to work the job a year, for a promotion, and a significant pay raise was due at the college. Just one year of enduring giving up his weekends, and he could leave the world of security behind forever.

Perillus was new to town. Only a few years ago, James witnessed an empty lot transformed into a thirty-eight-story high-rise that now stood a black monolith at the center of Manhattan. Black and red were the company’s colors, and this palette permeated the entire building as well as the security guard's uniforms. Even the ornate columns that supported the exquisitely designed lobby were not left untouched by this palette. There were nineteen columns in all. A set of nine on each side made an aisle down the lobby, and spiraling grooves wrapped around their bulbous forms. Veiny black marble tiles, each about five feet square, formed the lobby's floor. The walls were also covered in black marble and elaborate chandeliers, made from the same tenebrous glass as the windows, hung along the aisle. Each of the eighteen columns was painted a bright crimson, but the nineteenth column at the center was painted black. It was four times wider than the crimson columns and stood at the center of the aisle at the far end. Carved out of its spiraling form were large letters that read,

ALDEBARAN

Beneath the word sat a larger-than-life sculpture of a raging bull. It was the only object in the entire building that was not devoured by the company’s colors. It instead was a shiny bronze, and its muscular and imposing form, James thought, was a bit unnerving, especially for something that was intended to greet visitors. It sat upon a truncated step-pyramid also made of black marble. The bronze bull’s lips were snarled, its teeth gritted, its head lowered, and its brow was scrunched in anger as if it were about to impale you with its horns and trample you under hoof. James made his way past this grisly display like he had been doing for the past several weekends. The main security office was carved out of the back of the large Aldebaran pillar, so after greeting his angry bronze friend, he made his way around and checked in.

“So tonight is the big night, huh, Das.” James said.

“Yes indeed, sir James. He should be arriving at nine sharp. The rest of the boys are doing their last walk-through before he gets here.”

Das was an Indian fellow who was head of the security team and often worked nights with James. They got along well, and he seemed to be a competent and easygoing manager, which James did not mind at all because it made such boring work more palatable. For weeks Das had been preparing everyone for what they all referred to as “the visit." Perillus’s CEO and billionaire founder, one Xanthos Than Drakos, was making his way from his native Greece to the new offices while on his American tour, for Perillus was spreading like wildfire. They swiftly erected their black monolith high-rises in almost every major American city over the last ten years. James had never even heard of the company before they came to New York, and he could never get a clear answer on what exactly the company did. He asked Das once, who told him,

“I honestly don’t know. One of the keyboard punchers upstairs said they were in the business of acquisitions... whatever that means.”

James got a similar response from others on the security team, but he wasn’t quite sure he believed any of them. They were all friendly, but they also seemed to be quite cliquish—not in an assholish or overt way, but he noticed that every member of the security team wore these dark amaranthine-colored jewels around their wrists that almost glowed with a slight iridescence.

"What are they?" James inquired.

“It's a gift. They were given to all the employees who were here during the grand opening of the building.”

“Will I get one of your shiny doodads when this Xanthos guy returns?”

“Don’t know, but I assume it was sort of a grand opening thing.”

James knew this wasn’t true because he had also seen the same bracelets on all the regular staff, even on people he knew just recently came to work in the building. Even if they worked at other Perillus sites around the country, there is no way all of them could have been employed while those respective buildings had their grand openings. It was no big deal to him, though. He didn’t actually care if he had a bracelet or not; he just thought it curious that so many would wear cheap corporate paraphernalia so religiously.

While Das was leaned back in his chair in front of the monitors, he tapped away on his cell. He was playing some type of game. James took his red and black midway cap off and placed it on his desk.

“Don’t get too comfortable, Sir James; the others should be back in about ten minutes, and we’ll rehearse our greeting formation for Mr. Xanthos.”

“Jesus Das, it’s like the man is a goddamn king or something; I didn’t know practicing formations was in the job description.”

“Well, it is. It’s right there in the employee handbook,” Das said casually while still tapping away on his phone, “and what is a CEO other than a modern-day king anyway. Now that you mention it, I have heard that Mr. Xanthos is a descendant of Greek royalty. So make sure you also practice your curtsy while you’re at it, Sir James.” He jokingly suggested.

“Ha ha, yeah yeah, just let me get my fucking caffeine before all the formalities.” James retorted.

“One of the boys just made a fresh pot; so help yourself.”

After getting his cup of coffee, James sat down and sipped away on his morning addiction. He pulled out a clipboard that he’d carry around with him to make it look like he was doing something important, but all that was on it was some doodles he’d scribble throughout the nights and a tally he’d been keeping. He added one more dash to it, and Das curiously asked while still tapping away on his cell,

“What exactly have you been counting down over there, Sir James?” Das queried.

His manager always seemed casual, but he was far more observant than he let on. Maybe that's why he was made head of security, James thought. “I’m counting down the days until my daughter’s birthday.” He answered. It was a bold lie, for James was actually counting down the days until he could quit and suffer only one job, though he would never let Das know that.

“How sweet. How many days until her big day?” Das asked.

“Two hundred and sixty-five.”

“Ahhh, so it’s been one hundred days since her last birthday.”

“Yep, that's about right.”

“Hmm, the day of the Taurus, how serendipitous,” Das said while still tapping away on his cell.

James’s vision began to blur, and a grogginess pervaded as he struggled to maintain his composure.

"Seren-what… wha...” he sluggishly responded.

For the first time, Das stopped playing his game, turned, and faced James and said,

“Well... it is mid-October in the big apple," and those were the last words James heard before he slipped into unconsciousness.

When he awoke, the grogginess still lingered. His body was bound to something, but he could not tell what because of what seemed to be some sort of bag covering his head. Odd chanting echoed, and the odor of smoke and incense enveloped wherever he now found himself. Some type of cloth gagged him, so he could not demand to know what this was all about, and this angered him greatly. He began to squirm and groan in rebellion—that is, until someone socked him in the stomach. The blow was so stiff, it knocked the wind out of him, and a tear trickled down his cheek. After a few minutes, the bag was ripped off his head, and the first thing that greeted him was the bronze bull glaring at him. Beneath it was a smoldering fire that started to turn the base of the sculpture red hot. Four robed figures stood around the bull atop the truncated pyramid, holding incense and chanting in some mysterious tongue. Around them, he saw all his fellow security guards and many of the general staff with their arms down in front of them and crossed at the wrist with their amaranthine bracelets glinting in the firelight.

Suddenly another robed figure arose behind the bull, as if he were standing on some type of raised platform. This figure’s attire was more ornate than the others, and within the shade of his hood, James could see bright gray eyes shining. The figure stretched out his arms horizontally, and the others started chanting louder and more vigorously. He then witnessed two of the other security guards, one of whom was Das, wrestle another bound and veiled man up the pyramid. The man put up a good fight, but he was eventually subdued. Another guard then opened what looked like a door on the side of the iron hot bull, and to James’s dismay, they threw the man in and locked the door. James thought he would hear the screams of the man as he was roasted alive, but instead the most foreboding bellowing came from the bull’s mouth as if it were actually alive. Hot steam escaped its nostrils like it was actually huffing and puffing, and its eyes began to beam with a red radiance. This went on for several minutes until the bull went silent, as if it ran out of fuel, and a pale fright painted James’s face as the odor of cooked meat pervaded. Am I next, he thought. Then suddenly the shiny-eyed one, who seemed to be presiding over this sick ceremony, stretched out his arms again, and again everyone started chanting with elevated vigor like an abysmal choir. A robed figure walked up slowly with Das, and another guard accompanied him. This figure's robe was red instead of black, and the guards took it off him gently, revealing a naked man about in his late twenties. This man did not put up a fight; it was almost as if he was doing this willingly... or perhaps he's drugged, thought James. Das opened the door on the side of the bronze bull, and with the help of the other guard, they quickly threw the naked man in and shut the door. Again, the bronze bull raged with resounding bellows until, again, it ran out of its fuel. A red-robed woman came forth and suffered the same fate as the man that came before her, but what truly horrified James were the children. The chanting and fire crescendoed in a cacophony of terror when the babes were fed to the bellowing bull. Above this horrid display, James witnessed what he thought abysmal figures hovering over them, as if some unnatural gate had been opened. Incapacitated, all James could do was weep and rage to no avail... that is, until someone socked him in the face with such ferocity, it knocked him out cold.

PART 2: The World Engine

Throbbing aches riddled the left side of his face as James awoke in a hazy room. Bound tightly to a chair, delirium pervaded, and all his senses, save his memory, slowly returned to form. How he came to be in such a predicament was a mystery, one whose solving would have to wait, for he thought his first order of business should be to find some avenue for escaping his bindings. Whoever tied him to the chair did not make this easy for him, for wriggling around did not seem to have any effect on the stiffly knotted ropes. Giving up is not an option, he thought. He would have his freedom, so he looked around the foggy room to see if he could find some other means of emancipation. At first, the place was unrecognizable. The haze was thick like gray soup, which made distant objects appear as pale ghosts. He looked to his left and saw a rectangular shape obscured by the murk. It was a desk, his desk, which could only mean that he was bound to the chair in which he often sat during his long nights working security.

A rash fit of coughing and gagging besieged him, for the haze had become thicker. Did someone set the place on fire with me in it? The idea of being burned alive had him furiously wobbling back and forth in yet another attempt to escape his bindings—that is, until a deep, commanding voice uttered,

“You are in no danger, sir James... Your futile efforts to loose yourself may cease.”

A broad silhouette of a man seated in Das’s chair became visible, and James couldn’t understand why he hadn’t noticed the figure before, especially since the man was close enough to reach out and grab. The haze around the veiled figure started to part as if it were obeying some telepathic will to uncloak him, and the man’s shiny gray eyes pierced through the murk. In an instant, what had transpired before James awoke came gushing back into the wells of his memory, and the face of the man who now sat before him was most infuriating, especially his annoying smirk.

“You’re scum!” James boldly uttered.

“Well, I’ve certainly been called worse.” The shiny-eyed man retorted while puffing on his cigar. He inhaled the smoke like it was oxygen, and when exhaling the viscous fumes, they undulated across the room, encompassing James and causing him, yet again, to choke and gag.

“Didn't you get the fucking memo? There's no smoking in the building!” He coughed.

“You take your job quite seriously; save the doodles on your clipboard. Such diligence is to be commended, but please Mr. Security Guard, at least permit me to smoke in my own building.” The shiny-eyed man smirkingly replied.

“Wait… so you-”

“-am one Xanthos Than Drakos, CEO of Perillus Incorporated, but my friends simply call me Xan.”

“Is that what we are, Xan… friends? Cause my friends don’t go around murdering people!”

“Well, you still breathe, do you not, Sir James; that should count for something?”

Xan's words pummeled the bound security officer, and a ruddy fear gushed across his face. A veiled threat? He wasn't sure, but it finally dawned on him how much of a disadvantage he was in. Being a proud Brooklynite would not have him cower for long before he regained his masculine frame, and so he puffed out his chest and said,

“Fuck you, asshole! Take these ropes off me, and we’ll see who’s left alive when my gat’s in your face!”

“Careful young man. Believe me, the bindings are for your protection, not my own. Besides, your weapon has been confiscated. You cannot think so low of us to believe we would not remove it from your person. No, it is in a safe place and will be returned to you when our business has concluded.”

“Concluded? Are you saying you’re gonna let me go, Xan? Is that what you’re saying?”

"Indeed, I am Sir James.”

“And you just gonna give me my gun back, huh?”

“That is the plan.”

“Okay, then how do you know I won’t use it on your PUNK PSYCHO BITCH BABY KILLING ASS!” James exclaimed as a ruddy rage consumed him.

Erupting in a deep laughter, Xan’s shiny eyes flared with excitement.

“I must say, it does amuse me how often the men of your era engage in such confident chest-pounding; perhaps it is the result of the development of your… gats. Admittedly, they are quite efficient, but I have always thought they lack a certain… artful grace.”

The amusement evaporated from Xan’s face, and an austere air enveloped the office as the haze around him darkened and receded from his presence. In a commanding tone, as if he were some general addressing his soldiers, the shiny-eyed man asked,

“Tell me, Sir James, have you ever cleaved a man with a sword? I can tell you it is a much more satisfying endeavor and exceedingly more difficult than simply pulling a trigger.”

“Of course I haven’t! What do you think this is, the Hyborian age? You got some blood oath with Crom, mother fucker! What are we some fuckin barbarians now?”

Xan perked up again with amusement, and the room became visibly lighter as he raised his hands and waved them dramatically through the haze. Exclaiming aloud like a fiery orator, he bellowed,

“Ahhhh… barbarism!

Whomsoever the world beckon

to its truth doth reckon,

shall find the black sun doth shine in heaven.

BARBARY! BARBARY! Singeth the crows of seven,

but man doth not hear for his want of leaven.”

"What?" James exclaimed as confusion molded his visage.

"Oh, it is nothing. Just the words of a poet I once knew. He was quite talented, though no one else in his era could see it. He died alone in insignificance, but I kept his work and find joy in citing it when opportunity presents itself.”

“Whatever man; you gonna let me outta here or not?”

“Indeed, I will Sir James, when our business has concluded.”

“What business? What the hell are you talking about?”

“Our business, Sir James. Very important business that deserves our utmost attention, but do not worry… I promise no harm will come to you, and soon you shall be on your way.

“Bullshit! You know I’m going straight to the cops as soon as I leave, which means you’re never going to let me go, so if you’re gonna kill me, then just get it over with motherfucker. But make it quick, cause I prefer not to be fed to your fucking bull.”

Xan smirked, took a puff on his cigar, and said, “Believe me, Sir James, no harm will come to you, and as for you going to the police... well, I’m counting on it.”

“Great, so I guess this is the part of the movie where you say you own and control the police now, huh?”

"Well, not quite. We do, of course, own some of them, but at large, they are independent of our organization.”

“Organization? Just who are you sick fucks anyway?”

“We are the black blood that lubricates the world engine.”

"Thanks; good to know. I’ll be sure to tell the police when they find the evidence.” James said mockingly, in a way he thought to be cryptic.

“Evidence? Ahhh, the bull. You do not have to worry about that, Sir James. The bull that you know is just an ornament. Its brother is the one used for ceremonies and rituals. Rest assured, it is no longer in a place where curious eyes may find it, and the one you greet every weekend has been returned to its proper place.”

A jangling cell intruded that seemed to emanate from Xan’s blazer. He gracefully placed his cigar in an ashtray, which James assumed he must have brought with him, and while reaching into his inner-pocket, Xan said,

“Excuse me, Sir James, I must take this...

Hello…

Oh… How are you, sweetheart? No, no, not yet... Now get back to bed... good girl.”

Yet again, Confusion molded James’s visage as Xan placed his cell back in his pocket. Was that his wife, he thought? No, it sounded like he was talking to a child. How can a sick fuck like this have children? James pondered.

“Sorry for the interruption, Sir James, but as I was saying, your evidence is now in safe keeping. You needn't worry about that.”

“Look, let’s cut the shit! Just what do you want from me man!”

“Indeed. I simply want you to know, Sir James.”

“Know? Know what?”

“Whatever it is you would like to know, all you need do is ask, for I am your arbiter of truth.”

A brief silence permeated the room, save Xan’s cigar puffing, and still a smug smirk molded his visage, one that was louder than everything else, one that James greatly despised.

“The truth eh? Like the truth of your sick murder party in the lobby? You know… the one you had me tied up in, before your goon slugged me in my fucking face… that truth Xan… the truth that’s gonna see your punk ass in prison!”

“I do apologize for some of our men’s exuberance with your handling, but yes, the ritual. It is called the ceremony of nine and ten. Once every thirty-eight years, on the night when Taurus is most visible in the sky, sacrifices must be made to whom we call the rulers in the umbra. One unwilling participant must give their life to the bellowing of the bull. One willing adult male must give his life to the bellowing of the bull. One willing adult female must give her life to the bellowing of the bull. Four children, two male and two female, must give their lives to the bellowing of the bull; eleven infants must give their lives to the bellowing of the bull; and of course, one unwilling witness must observe the bellowing of the bull.”

“YOU SICK FUCKING BASTARDS!”

James blurted while Xan chuckled and puffed on his cigar.

“I take it you find umbrage with the children in particular.”

“Yeah… Xan… I find umbrage with the children in particular; you piece of shit!”

“Would it soothe your conscience to know that these people have been bred for such an occasion, and for them it is a great honor to take part in the ritual?”

“Honor! What about the dude who didn’t want to be thrown in a fucking bull oven! How can kids, especially infants, even consent to this craziness, you psycho! I mean, what do you mean by bred; are these people just cattle to you!”

“Indeed, though this should come as no shock to you or your kind. Was not the wealth of the greatest nation on Earth not accrued through the exploitation of human cattle?”

“What? What are you talking about? That shit was a long time ago, and my people had nothing to do with it. My people came after all that shit was over with, so buddy, don’t try to lay a fucking guilt trip on me to justify your murder orgy.”

“Ahh, but you have no qualms with benefiting from the slavery that built the foundations of this nation, do you not, Sir James?” Xan said while he smirkingly puffed on his cigar. Silence permeated the room again, and a defeated aura surrounded James. He had lost that round of their verbal bout, for he had no words, no witty come-back nor even an insult... just his contempt for the one sitting before him.

“You see, there are those of us who have no delusions about what fuels the world engine. We simply embrace it more honestly.”

“You call running around in secret, sacrificing innocent people with robes on, honest? Get the fuck outta here, man!”

“In the grand scheme of things, Sir James, a human lifetime is but a speck, a jot of insignificance, a tittling of a trifle. Even a million of your lifetimes would be a mere plaything to the unknowable wills. Understand, Mr. Smith, for the rulers, it was not so long ago that there was a sole true religion, one whose foundation was built on blood sacrifice. Early man willingly gave themselves and their children to appease the gods, and I suspect for a time the rulers were well sated. Then rose civilization and the beginning of morals. The magic of the unknown gave way to the desire to thrive, and sacrifice was relegated to animals or became personified through symbols and symbolic acts. For some cultures, the true religion lingered, but its extinction was nigh. To survive, it had to become clandestine, and because of this, in many ways, it became more powerful. The rulers, you see, do not feed as much, but when they do, their sustenance is much more potent. So, you see, sir James, we are simply the practitioners of the most sincere act of faith and devotion—the most honest and true of all religions, for it is the first and progenitor of all others. What you see practiced in churches, mosques, and temples around the world are pale imitations of that purest of pure.”

“Why are you telling me all this crap, man?”

“Because you, Sir James, are the unwilling witness.”

“I don’t want to be your witness; I just want to go fucking home.”

“And go home, you shall... when our business has concluded.” Xan retorts smirkingly.

James looked upon the man who continued to smugly smoke his cigar and realized that his only way home is to delve deeper down the rabbit hole. I'll have to play his game, at least long enough, until I can find a way to escape these bindings, and when I get the chance... I'm gonna stab this mutha fuka in the throat, James thought.

“Fine,” James said. “The bracelets… what about the bracelets? Why do all the employees have one? I can only assume I don’t have one because I was the only one in the whole damn building who wasn’t in on it; your unwilling witness.”

“Ahh yes, very perceptive of you Sir James.” Xan replied, as he raised his left arm and pulled his sleeve down, revealing a dozen amaranthine bracelets cradling his forearm one after the other. Each of them had about a dozen of the jewels that glistened at their centers. Xan waved his forearm back and forth while gazing upon the ominous stones.

“They are gifts. The residue from another world, leftover in the ash inside the bull after the rulers have been well sated. Only a few of these precious stones are rewarded after the ritual.”

“All that murder and suffering for some glitz seems like a shit exchange to me.”

“Fool!” Xan retorted. James noticed it was the first time the shiny-eyed man had grown visibly angry so he filed that tidbit as a mental note.

“What you see adorning my arm are called the tears of Nyx. They are incredibly rare and are worth more than ten of your lifetimes of labor. Many have sought their power, and many have perished trying to acquire them. They are no mere trifle.”

“Whatever man. They’re shiny objects that you murder people for. They’re no better than blood diamonds.”

“Oh Indeed. Like I said, we are simply more honest and embrace the horror that produces the wonder in the world, and unlike your diamonds, the tears of Nyx grant the wielder many gifts beyond one’s natural abilities."

"Yeah yeah, but at what cost?”

“That, sir James, depends entirely on what you are willing to pay.” Xan smirkingly retorted.

“And what have you paid, Xan?” James replied mockingly.

“Ohh, much have I sacrificed for my religion, but much have I also gained.” Xan unbuttoned his shirt with his right hand while his cigar remained in his left. Embedded in his chest was a tear of Nyx the size of a fist. Veins protruded from his pecks and throbbed as his black blood flowed through them and to the stone. As the ceiling light pushed through the haze and shone upon the tear, its center glistened and pulsated like it was his very own heart. His shiny eyes shifted to an amaranthine hue that matched the embedded tear, and a ghastly grin molded his visage.

“Do you see? Inlaid in my bosom is the prize bestowed upon me by the mistress of dread, the goddess who shall not be named. It was she who whispered to my people and told them to journey west across the white sea. It was she who moved us to attack the southerners, which brought an age of darkness. We slaughtered many, and I, her greatest champion, sent a myriad souls to her dreaded domain. She was sated for a time, but grew bored and withdrew her gifts. My people rebelled and assimilated with the southerners, bringing forth another age of light, but I, her champion, would never abandon her. Through my efforts, I made sure she was well sated. The heart of Nyx that you see here was my reward, and it has granted me many gifts that you could not possibly fathom, young man.”

“Okay, you’ve only proved with your little story that you’re just as bat-shit crazy as all the other religious nuts as far as I’m concerned, but at least most of them don’t go around ritualistically murdering people. Also, you should probably get that thing in your chest looked at, that shit is gonna get infected, or better yet, don’t. I hope you fukin die.”

“Hmmmm.” Xan hums as he puffs on his cigar and buttons his shirt. “Tell me, Sir James, what would it take to make you a believer?”

“More than your bullshit story, that’s for sure. Why are you so concerned about me believing this crap anyway? Your murder cult has nothing to do with me.”

“Because you are the unwilling witness. Don’t you see, Sir James? It is paramount that of all people, you must believe!” Xan exuberantly uttered.

“Listen here… Xan,” James said sarcastically. “I believe you’re crazy. I believe you’re a murderer. I believe that you and your whole entourage of serial killers are all going to go to fucking jail. That’s what I believe… Xan.”

“Come now, Sir James; you are entirely missing the point. Beyond your obvious disdain for the sacrificing of the innocent,“ Xan said, and he vigorously pointed his cigar towards James, “surely you witnessed something during the ritual— something otherworldly.”

Ephemeral images of abysmal figures hovering in the lobby invaded James’s memory, and a short silence pervaded the office yet again.

“I was drugged. Of course I saw some weird shit given the circumstances-”

“-Ahhh, so you did witness it!” Xan blurts, and he cheerfully puffs on his cigar while deeply chuckling. “I knew it. To be honest, Sir James, I envy you. The rulers, though granting me many gifts, have not revealed themselves to me in many many years, not since the days since I slew my first village and made their children watch. You see, they were the first unwilling witnesses, and it was then that the mistress of dread granted me the heart of Nyx. Ahhh, those were great times. Days of old, days of glory, and it seems the mistress took a particular interest in those children. It is like she fed on them—what they had seen and the misery that plagued them afterwards. It was like, uh, a drug, I suppose. The children were of course enslaved after the sacking of the village, as was the custom at the time, but she forbade us to keep them in bondage, so we set them free. Many of them became philosophers and wise men burdened, even tormented, with the truth of the world. I suspect they would have had short lives as slaves, but as free-men, she could feast upon their misery for years to come."

“I see, so that’s your sick plan for me, huh? Well… Xan. It’s not gonna work because you’re a delusional psycho. When I’m free, you’re gonna go to jail, and I’m gonna forget all this happened.”

“Now now, Sir James, we both know that is not true-”

Xan’s jangling cell intruded yet again.

“Please forgive me, Sir James. I must take this.

Hello…

Ahh yes... right on time, my dear.”

Leaving his chair, Xan reached over and placed the phone next to James’s ear. “It is for you.” The shiny-eyed man said with a mischievous grin. James hesitated, but with a perplexing expression he muttered, “He- Hello” into the cell, and a naive-pitched voice responded,

“Hello daddy.”

James’s face grew red with fury, but it was tempered with fear. He kept his cool long enough to not frighten his daughter. Xan, with his mischievous grin, looked on, taking great pleasure in this latest development.

“Hello baby. Where’s mommy?”

“She’s asleep, silly.”

“Gilly… listen to me very carefully. I need you to go get your mother.”

“But, Mr. Xan said he wanted me to call you to cheer you up.”

“I know, baby, I’m fine. I need you to go get mom and give her the phone.”

“But Daddy. Mr. Xan told me to keep the phone a secret. He gave it to me so that I could call him when I have questions about stuffs. It’s supposed to be our secret. He said we could let you in on the secret too, so long as we don’t tell mommy.”

“I know baby, but you have to understand. Xan is a-”

Frowning, Xan snatched away the phone.

“Hello dear. Your father and I must get back to work now… yes yes he’s doing just fine, now go back to bed, sweetie… that’s it… goodnight.”

He looked over at James, whose face nearly turned purple as he shook and wobbled, trying to loosen his bounds. His fury had him growling and hollering in distorted tones of rage and livid ire.

“Yooou mother fucker… I’m gonna kill you!”

His erratic, rage-filled wobbling caused his chair to tip, and his right cheek was the first to ripple with pain as it collided with linoleum. Finding it hard to breathe, he began to panic as his heart rate boiled. Xan laid down beside him with a smug grin, steadily puffing his cigar.

“Breathe, Sir James… yes… breathe. That’s it. You’re having a panic attack. Breathe it away.” He said as he blew cigar smoke into James’s face.

“Yes yes, that’s it. The fumes will help you relax. We don’t want your untimely demise. No no… the mistress expects much out of you.”

“As his heart rate stabilized, James responded with long, breathy tones, “I… am gonna… kill… you… you… sack… of shit!”

“Come now, Sir James; we are beyond that, don’t you think?” Xan retorts while steadily puffing.

“You… better not... touch her!”

"Oh, come now, Sir James. We are friends. I am loyal to my friends and would never do anything to harm them or their loved ones. You might think of me as a murderous bastard, but even I am bound by honor. Your family is safe, and do not worry; the phone will be retrieved from your daughter before her mother can find it, and it will be as though this never happened.”

“Wh… Wh… Why?” James queried.

“Well, I suppose I wanted to get to know you more, and what better way to get to know a man than by befriending his family. I must say, your ex-wife is indeed a pretentious bitch, but I’m sure you’re quite aware of that. Having spent some time with her, I can see why it did not work out between you two. Let me guess, she filed for divorce, took half of everything you own and your only child with her?

James silently looked away.

“I see. Despair not, Sir James. You are not the first to suffer the cruel indifferences of the opposite sex. Women; they are truly an enigma. I have noticed, that when given enough freedom, they can fell entire nations without lifting a single sword. That, my friend, is real power.”

With a dexterity that defied his advanced age, Xan gracefully spun around on the floor, and used the bound security guard as a make-shift pillow. Resting his head on James’s side, Xan comfortably crossed his right foot over his left knee while diligently puffing on his cigar. He could hear James’s wheezing and long breaths subside as his anger blended into hopelessness, his resolve into utter defeat.

“Now that you have calmed, Sir James; if you would permit me to make a bit of a prediction. You and I both know that your ex-wife, above all else, cares about her public image, which is why she recently took a job with a charity that I own. How could she pass it up? A consultancy in which she works directly with the CFO of one of the largest philanthropic organizations in New York; she could, hypothetically, parlay such a career into a position on the school board. Who knows… perhaps she’ll even be District Attorney some day. Your daughter will want for nothing, and she will receive the best education money can buy.

But you, on the other hand, I predict a far more noble journey. You will, of course, be fired from your security position here at Perillus. Let’s see… how about your termination will be the result of unproductiveness… those doodles on your clip-board will be sufficient cause.” Xan heavily chuckled at the thought.

“Despite her treacherous ways, you will try to confide in your wife… tell her all the things you’ve witnessed this night. She will not believe you… none of your family will. So, like you threatened, you’ll go to the police, and they will not believe you either. In fact… everyone will think you’ve gone mad. This, of course, will drive you to substance abuse, alcohol to be exact, and you will try to drown yourself in intoxicating waves so that you may forget. This, undoubtedly, will kill any meaningful relationship with your family and will be the perfect avenue for your ex to gain full custody of your precious Gilly, but do not be desponded my friend. I know how strong you are and what you’re capable of, for being the proud Brooklynite you are, you will rise from the depths of inebriation with a singular focus… to bring the dreaded Perillus Incorporated to ruin.

Since no friend, family, or authority will believe you, you will go where anyone can accrue an audience. You will go where nearly all opinions, no matter how spectacular or unbelievable, can find acceptance. You, Sir James, will go to social media. Yes, with great gusto and dramatic flare you shall educate your audience about the evils of that corporate empire that has the image of a brazen bull. They will flock to your rantings and ravings; many for the spectacle, but some will truly believe in you. Unfortunately, Sir James, years from now and long after I have sold the company, Perillus will fall. Perhaps bankruptcy will be its downfall, and some will tout it as the second Enron. Despite your insistence that the collapse will be according to plan, those with leveler heads and skeptical dispositions will call you a mad man. Your detractors will demonstrate that many corporations fail, and the conveniency of your prediction will fall in line with the life cycle of such businesses, especially ones steeped in fraud and accounting maleficence. Perillus will cease to exist, and without that totem to focus your drive, you will adopt all manner of conspiracy theories to fill the void. Most will, of course, be utter nonsense and will attract all manner of crackpots and tin-hatted boobies. As you jump from one theory to the other, no respectable organization will take you seriously, and you will be surrounded by dimwitted fanatics who hang on your every whim and word.

Because your popularity will belie your validity, your rantings and ravings will become monstrous fits of rage as you holler about the elite, the illuminati, and the dark underworld of sycophants and serial killers in a futile attempt to be taken seriously. You shall know the truth of the world, but the world shall know you as a raving charlatan. Madness will consume you, and your mental and physical health will decline as you become overweight and dangerously unhinged. Then it will happen. Perhaps it will be a heart attack or a stroke, but you will find yourself bed ridden in a hospital abandoned by all but the truth of the world engine. Right before you take your last breaths as you linger between life and death is when shall make herself known. From the abysmal wells will she rise like a quickening shadow. Hanging over you, with a faint smile, she shall vigorously feast upon your succulent misery as you descend into her stygian depths.“

In his mind's eye, James could see all that Xan had foretold, and waves of despair rushed over him. Xan stood, and the haze dissipated, revealing four other security guards who had been standing outside the office. One could view them through the windows at the front of the room, and soon they came scurrying in. Das was among them, and he gave a cellphone to Xan. James presumed this was the phone that was given to his precious Gilly. Smirking, Xan placed it in another one of his suit pockets as the other security guards cut James’s bindings. Grabbing him by the arms, they escorted him out of the office, and followed Xan out to the lobby. The entire staff of the building was there to greet them with applause and an uncanny joy, as if James had achieved some great honor. The clapping crowd parted and made a human aisle as James was escorted down it and to the exit of the building. He noticed that they had already returned the fake bull, the one that had not tasted human flesh. They also seemed to have somehow gotten rid of the smell of roasted meat in the lobby. They’ve got it all planned out, James thought.

Once they reached the front doors, James now understood why all the windows were so darkly tented, and suddenly the clapping ceased. Letting loose of James, the four security guards stood around Xan, like they were his personal bodyguards. Smirking, Xan stepped towards James, and with the silent crowd all gazing upon him, Xan handed over James’s gun, and said,

“As promised. Here is your weapon Sir James. Please take it and leave the premises, for you are no longer employed at Perillus Incorporated.”

James looked towards the crowd who blankly gazed at him. The only expressions that filled the hall was Xan’s annoying smirk and James’s utter bewilderment which soon again morphed into visages of malcontent. Snatching the gun from Xan, James turned towards the exit. “Fuck this place and fuck these psychos”, he fiercely verbalized, and as he was about to exit the building, Xan’s infuriating smirk invaded his mind. For a few seconds, every care James held sacrosanct was burned away by his ire. He’d die happy knowing he’d shot that insufferable smirk off Xan’s face. Swiftly swiveling, James turned to face the shiny-eyed man, took aim, and all around him became a blur save Xan’s annoying face.

Blam!

The shot echoed throughout the pillared hall, and the recoil caused James to blink. When his lids opened, it was not Xan who lay dead. In his place, sprawled across the floor, in a pool of blood, lay Das. There was no mystery about what transpired. Clearly the building’s head of security, jumped in front of the bullet and gave his life for the shiny-eyed man. But why? James wearily thought, as he fell to his knees. His head slumped into his palms, and his breaths were distraught as the stress of the night took its toll on his spirit. A few from the crowd of Perillus employees calmly picked up Das’s body and carried it into the bowels of the black building. Others, in a most orderly fashion, cleaned up the blood, and the rest still silently gazed upon James’s pitiful heaped body. Two strong hands clasped around his shoulders and helped him to his feet. James did not look to see who consoled him. He knew it was Xan. He could smell the cigar smoke that permeated his suit. He could sense those shiny eyes beaming down, and with a voice that felt almost sincere, Xan said,

“Come now, my friend. Do not fret, for this is not the end. Far from it, and this … incident. It shall be taken cared of.”

Taking the gun from James’s hand, Xan emptied the bullets , and put them in his pocket. He then placed it securely into James’s holster and said,

“Das was a loyal and dutiful initiate. He served his purpose, as we all must. Yours now lie beyond these doors. Now go, my friend, our Mistress awaits."

Opening the opaque doors, Xan guided James out of the building. Sluggishly, James made his way down the steep entrance stairs. He stopped and glanced back at the skyscraper, as if all that had transpired was but a blurred nightmare. What faced him was the aching reality, for eighteen silhouettes of Perrilus employees painted the opaque glass. Xan’s shadowy contour stood at the center, and It was as though he and his initiates were all presiding over the finality of a grand ritual. It’s like they could see James through the jet windows, watching him step into the bosom of the miry goddess. In orderly fashion, James witnessed their silhouettes dissipate. One by one, their shadows receded into the bowels of the black building until all that was left was Xan. The last time James would ever see the shiny-eyed man, was as a stygian shadow fading into the distance. Beleaguered, James proceeded down the stairs and into the night’s murky streets. Never again would his city, or the world, look the same to him, for as he embarked upon his noble journey, every step would be as an awakened cog—a silent wailer in the world engine.