Welcome to Hell

Two men wearing expensively tailored suits, were walking down a brightly lit tunnel-like corridor with grim expressions on their faces. The older of the two, a grey-haired man in his late fifties, was fidgeting with his fingers, not fully knowing what his exact thoughts of the current situation were; equal parts excitement, equal parts dread and apprehension.

If anyone saw him, they would immediately recognise him as the political leader of the world's most powerful military state: the USA. And yet they would be surprised to see him without the air of grandeur and solemnity that he usually carried around himself. Instead, he carried himself cautiously, almost afraid of his next step, like a young child who has gotten away with breaking an expensive decanter cherished by his grandfather.

The younger one walking alongside him was his most trusted body-guard. A man in his thirties that had excelled in every test he'd been put through; such was his lethality with his hands and weapons alike that many had come to call him John 'The Blade' Jones. Usually, he was brimming with arrogance only found in the most elite of combatants. However, on this day, his demeanour was nowhere to be seen and his muscles were tensed to the extreme, but his eyes betrayed the nervous excitement rampaging within his heart.

"The prisoner has just arrived, Mr President." Said the body-guard as he received a notification straight into his wireless communication device hidden within his ear. "Security has been laid out in accordance with the agreed-upon parameters and the situation is as expected." He continued. "Everything is prepared for our arrival, everyone else is already on standby."

"Jesus Christ." Swore the President. He felt like he'd aged a decade since the night before. "I still can't believe this is actually happening."

"He lives up to his legend, Sir."

"It's no legend, John, the man is the Devil incarnate." Sternly commented the President as he felt the weight of the world on his shoulders.

After that, neither of the two felt like speaking any longer and they carried on their way in quasi-sacred silence; the breaking of which was tantamount to heresy. If one were to see them, they would think a close family member had recently passed away.

Eventually they came to a large, heavily armoured steel door bolted with dozens of titanium alloyed bolts as thick as a man's torso. The door was surrounded by at least twenty elite special forces soldiers armed to the teeth with automatic weapons and donning state of the art reinforced Kevlar bulletproof suits. Just this unit alone was capable enough of influencing any warzone. Yet, here they were, busy with guard duty.

"Please, Mr President." Spoke up one of the men as he walked up to the two new arrivals and handed them special vests designed to cover up their vitals, up to and including the neck.

After they put on the protective gear, the door's bolts moved away and the metal hinges groaned as the door itself slowly swung itself open. The hearts of everyone were heavy. The special forces soldiers moved into a defensive formation surrounding the President and, once certain that not a fly could come close to the President without being barraged with gunfire, they crossed the threshold.

They came into an open-air, large, colosseum-like structure with seven doors leading into its arena area. All of which were similarly designed to be impenetrable. In the higher places, where what should have been the seats where would-be spectators sat down, were strategically positioned hundreds of armed soldiers aiming their weapons at the middle of the open ground.

The President had come from one of these doors and from the others simultaneously emerged the leaders of the world's most powerful countries: Canada, China, Japan, Great Britain, and Russia. Each of whom was similarly accompanied by their nation's most elite armed forces; all of whom were proceeding with the highest degree of caution. All six leaders had similar countenances, that being a mix of absolute dread, apprehension, and a tinge of excitement.

From the seventh door emerged representatives of the Roffshield family; the world's most powerful economic faction, owning at least eighty percent of the global financial entities; protected by their own personal security. However, this didn't mean that any of the present looked down on them, as it was well-known within the higher stratas of power that the Roffshield family owned a military force no weaker than all their own, combined.

The presence of these individuals at the same place and at the same time was enough to send ripples worldwide due to the earth-shattering significance of the event. However, this clandestine meeting was taking place in the most absolute of secrets and all necessary counter-measures to avoid being found out had been implemented; even going so far as to communicate using only hand-written reports to avoid hacking.

Usually, social protocols dictated that these men and women greet each other and cordially inquire about the other's affairs before talking about the matters at hand. This day, however, was an extremely special occasion wherein they all had their eyes fixed at the man sitting right in the middle of the arena, almost as if unaware of each other's presence.

Covered in chains and with his arms and legs tightly secured with specially designed cuffs, was an old man that could very well have been either fifty or six-hundred years old. He had a lean body that told a story of thousands upon thousands of hours of training. Just one look at him and you could tell that he'd had an imposing figure when younger. His hair was long, white, and messy, and there were a few teeth missing from his sickly grin.

The most striking feature of the old man, however, were his eyes. A piercing blue colour, the old man's figure may have been weak and frail but his eyes showed a vigour which defied the gods themselves. Not one person present could hold meeting his gaze for long and these leaders, who controlled the literal fate of the world and were used to high-stress situations, all avoided those eyes.

These de facto owners of the world had all agreed before-hand that the president of the US would be the one speaking on their behalf. On another occasion, the President would have been greatly honoured by this, but at that moment he wanted to curse the other representatives to oblivion.

Taking a deep breath to calm his unsteady heart, he moved a few steps forward until he stood at the very limits of the established safe zone. From inside his jacket, he pulled out a report and read it aloud for all those present.

"To the man commonly known as 'Blue-Eyed Devil'." He started reading. Why he needed to read something they had all written together was something he felt to be absurd to the extreme; but formalities had to be met, even in this bizarrest of bizarre situations. "Real name, unknown. Age, unknown. Nationality, unknown. In fact, so little is known of you that the world's intelligence agencies refuse to acknowledge your existence, even if a non-neglectable portion of their resources are all aimed towards you and bringing your secrets to light.

"Pooling all of our efforts together, the following report was written. Fluent in at least sixteen different languages, it is suspected you may be fluent in at least ten more. Proficient in all weapons, your preference is a small curved blade of eight inches of length. In terms of knowledge, the breadth and depth of it is unknown but you have carried out a number of jobs in the past requiring you to have doctorate-level insight in the subjects of chemistry, mechanical and marine engineering, physics, economics, and medicine. Furthermore, you also possess an in-depth familiarity with security forces of all around the world.

"You first made yourself known during the Second World War when, even as a child, you assassinated high profile targets. In subsequent decades, you worked as a freelance assassin and have committed an uncountable number of murders for both governments and clandestine organisations alike. From locating Olama Bim-Ladem when all others had failed to do so, to single-handedly toppling entire regimes in Ethiopia, Guatemala, and Chile, to name a few. Traces of your labour can be found all over the globe. Any attempt to apprehend you had previously always ended in disastrous failure. Your magnificent skills warranted the drafting of an international agreement in 1998 barring any State from hiring your services to terminate the leader of an opposing one; effectively turning you into a living, breathing, weapon of mass destruction. Employing you outside of the agreement's parameters is tantamount to an international war crime. Do you agree with these statements?"

Having finished reading without lifting his eyes from the report, the President finally mustered the courage to look up and meet the old man's gaze. However, he was surprised to see that the man in question was merely staring nonchalantly towards the sky, seemingly enchanted by the setting Sun.

"Do you agree with these statements?" The President repeated the question.

"Did you know…" Suddenly spoke the chained man. His voice was like two coarse metals rasping against each other, and it was extremely unpleasant to hear. "That Nietzsche once wrote that if you stare too long into the abyss you must be careful because the abyss is looking right back at you."

"Yes, this is a well-known quote." Nodded the President. "Any first-year philosophy school student knows it."

"But do you know what it means?"

"Mr. 'Blue Eyes', this is hardly the time to engage in a pointless debate about moral philosophy." Angrily interrupted the spokesman for the Roffshield family. "You are on trial today to see whether your crimes warrant your immediate execution."

At this statement, the man known as the 'Blue-Eyed Devil' guffawed loudly to the point he started coughing.

"My dear Michael, of course it's pertinent." Said the old man as he turned to face Michael Roffshield, causing the spokesman to tremble in fear from the weight he felt coming from those blue eyes. "An international agreement barring from hiring my services? Please, don't make me laugh. At least half of you here today have contracted me to do things in defiance of that agreement, and have even paid me double just so that I would do so in a way no one could ever find out about my involvement. So don't make me laugh, Michael, we all know why I'm here."

"And why is that, you think?" Asked the President of the US, a bad feeling being birthed in his gut.

"Firstly, because I'm the abyss. For so long have your corrupt governments hired my services and committed atrocities that if just an inkling of my story were to be made public, the world would fall into chaos. Your perverted regimes would topple. The streets would be dyed red by the blood of your children and the masses would fall into anarchy." He said with a strange grin. However, none of the present dared to argue against him, because they knew all too well that what he said was the truth; particularly those of the Roffshield family. "Secondly, and perhaps more importantly, greed. Greed towards my strength. You all want to make it your own. For what reason or, should I say, justification, I don't know; but I don't care about it in the slightest. You can all just shove up your intentions where the Sun doesn't shine and fuck yourselves senseless; maybe then you'll realise the futility of your actions on this day."

"Insolent bastard!" Shouted John 'The Blade'. This show of outrage was not in any way his typical behaviour, but his nerves had long since been pushed to the extreme. "Do you not realise your current situation?"

"Who's this stupid child?" The old prisoner was visibly annoyed and he sent the bodyguard a look filled with boundless killing intent, such that the experienced fighter felt his heart skip two beats. "Six hundred and sixty-six soldiers are surrounding me from all directions in a flawless formation, not leaving me with a path of survival should I even twitch." He laughed as he shrugged. "Of course I know my situation. But you're forgetting a tiny, little, puny, fact: Three seconds."

"Excuse me?" Confusion blossomed on the people's faces. Some of the more powerful leaders wanted to protest the banality of the statement, criticising the old prisoner for wasting their times; but none dared to voice their thoughts.

"The average person takes three seconds to react to an extreme situation when it happens suddenly. The brain simply cannot process the information any quicker. Even if a person expects it, their brains will require a bit over a second and a half to react. Through training one can aim to reduce this reaction time to a little over half a second. It takes years, but it's possible. However…"

Everyone was listening to the prisoner's explanation intently, even the guards aiming at him with their guns. Even so, he still disappeared from where he sat and appeared in front of John 'The Blade' before anyone could register what had happened. The old man struck the bodyguard with his hand and ripped a whole through the bodyguard's chest. As soon as that happened, the cuffs which, less than an instant earlier, had been around the old man's hands, fell on the floor with a loud clang.

Screams followed.

"It took your special forces 3.7 seconds to capture me from the moment they started their operation. Even an idiot should be able to tell that it wasn't their prowess which defeated me. The sad truth is, I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be. And that's what Nietzsche meant; the abyss goes where it wants to go, you can't stop it. Maybe you can try to fight it but, by the time you're done, you're already a part of it. Tactics, strategies, schemes, they all serve to bring us into the abyss. Both you and I couldn't help but become a part of it. First me, thirsting and searching for revenge; then you, trying to capture me."

At some point during his explanation, someone shouted out the order to open fire and a barrage of bullets rained upon the old man. He could clearly see their trajectories and it wouldn't be particularly hard for him to dodge them. Yet, what would be the point of that?

Old man 'Blue-Eyed Devil' closed his eyes as soon as the first bullet was about to pierce his skull and smiled in desolation. As he did, he saw his pitiful life flash before his eyes.

Born with the name Jacob in the midst of a Jewish family, he spent his first few years like an ordinary boy. He played in his dad's shop and read story books far too advanced for his age. Then, when he was five, German soldiers tore him from his mother, shot his family in front of him and dragged him to a facility where the Germans performed agonising experiments on him. They used secret medicines and techniques found in an ancient Chinese ruin with the purpose of creating a new breed of super soldiers. With him, there were a few hundred other Jewish children also going through the experimentation programme. Out of them all, only he survived the torture which lasted close to five years. And then, with the miraculous strength he obtained, he slaughtered his way out of the facility and changed his name to Jack. After the war, he spent years learning and applying himself to killing; transforming the act of murder into a macabre art feared by all the upper echelons of society. However, despite all the people he'd met, and all the acquaintances of his life, Jack spent his days by himself, always looking over his shoulder. Lonely as lonely could ever be.

'How long has it been since I could rest? Eighty years? Ninety?' He asked himself as he felt his consciousness drifting into the blackness after the bullets pierced his heart. His last thought before he died was: 'what a pointless existence'.

--

After a while, Jack opened his eyes only to find himself suspended in the midst of pitch-black blackness. Confused as to his situation, he tried to move his body to detect his surroundings but found that his body wasn't responding to him. Unexpectedly, a sinister voice echoed and spoke a single sentence.

"Welcome to Hell"