INOPINATUM
The COMPOSER
The Composer thrust a hand into the captive's chest, found her heart, and ripped it out with a squelching sound. Blood splashed everywhere as her ribs were bent violently back, and showering the area in gristle and bone.
It made the Composer feel better, but it didn't solve the underlying problem.
“What do you mean this was planned? No one told me!”
“No need? You threw an escape pod at my city, of course there was need!”
“Who the hell cares about that?” the Composer cried, ripping another organ from the technically-still-alive prisoner. It might have been the liver. “I wanted to see the corpses!”
“The crash killed a bunch of people in that building it hit,” the Composer said. “Giants, too. They're fun to watch die, 'cuz they never see it coming. They think they're invincible.”
The Composer smashed the captive's skull in, and immediately regretted it. They were always more fun when they were still moving. “I'm doing my job, you're doing yours. But when they intersect, I should know!”
“What?” The Composer tossed the corpse away and grabbed another girl, a tall, thin thing with a gold eyes cosmo. “Why not? I thought you wanted to keep this under wraps.”
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The Composer broke one of the girl's hands. She screamed and begged. The Composer ignored her. “Wait, you said something earlier about... something.”
“Shut it. No, that's right... you said Domina needed to remain separate, independent. Isn't this going to bring heat down on the city? The USP will be able to trace the leak back here.”
“I don't see why,” the Composer said. The girl's other hand was shattered as well. She had already broken down, crying for her mother. Seriously. It was like she had never been tortured before. “If they send armies, I won't be able to play around any more.”
“You didn't answer the question.”
The Composer grinned and started peeling the skin off the girl's fingers. Blood welled up quickly, and she sobbed. “So I get to keep my playground?”
The voice sighed.
“I'm restraining myself,” the Composer said. “I'm only killing orphans.”
The Composer paused the torture. “Not including chorus and related casualties, right?”
The voice sighed again.
“Well,” the Composer said slowly. “I think I can work with that.” The link was cut.
The gold-eyed girl was weeping, her lips silently mouthing the word no over and over again.
The Composer liked the ones with weird eye colors. They were like a spice sprinkled over a meal. Just a little bit, here and there, made the entire experience so much more enjoyable.
The Composer reached forward to tear the skin off the girl's chest, but stopped, frowning, as a thought occurred.
Had they meant a triple-digit body count per day or total? Because one of those might be a problem.