The Men of Silence

The Men of Silence: Part 4

It could not be true, Harper could not accept the he was some form of these monsters.

"I am human!"

The old man smiled once more.

"So were they," he wheezed, "But you were the only one to keep sanity, you were the only one to survive."

"Survive what? I do not remember anything from this place."

"Yet you fear it all the same. Can you remember anything from the time before you killed?"

"No."

Harper returned to his seat, and looked his biggest daemon in his cold, dead eyes.

"You look disappointing." said the old man, "Were you expecting me to fight back, do you think I have the will power to take a life anymore?"

"If I kill you, your monsters will take their revenge."

Something growled behind him. The crisp chill in the air became ever colder.

 "That they will, but your contract will be complete. You will have done your service to your employers, the Peterson's. You have yet to disappoint them."

"I can refuse."

The old man laughed, a silent chuckle which twisted his lips in unnatural ways. "There it is, your greatest weakness."

"What?"

The lights turned on, Harper's breath caught in his throat. They were surrounded by monsters, deformed men and women clothed in black, their skin grey, but faces hidden. Every one of them wore a mask, made of steel, with nails that drove it into their skulls.

"Do you recognise any of them? They are your brother's and sisters after all."

"How could I?" he gasped at the air which froze his lungs.

"You were once among them, but a mistake in your treatment made you far more dangerous and yet far more weaker than everyone before you."

"What is that? Tell me!"

"You are not loyal, not in the slightest."

"I've served the Peterson's for decades!"

"And yet, in your confession, you claimed to only desire they gave to you, and you would even kill them if it meant achieving their power. So no, you are not loyal. You do not listen to anyone but the hundreds of voices in your head, all of them begging for their lives."

"I see everything,-" the chanting began again. "I hear hear everything,-"

"It is your only weakness Harper, it is why you crave so much purpose."

"I say nothing,-"

"It is why you bow down to those fools, and why you chose to come here to end my suffering."

"I breathe in -"

"Silence!" Harper screamed in the torment.

"You think you are here to kill me, Harper, you never even considered what truth hides behind your contract. It was never written by the Peterson's, it was written by me the day I sold you. Unlike every other monster I have sold, I had no control over you, which is why I've brought you home."

Harper had had enough, he stood and drew his Windsong Revolver. A sea of darkness and rusted faces grew around him, growling, hissing, spitting their hatred. He took his aim and prayed silently for forgiveness, though he knew none would come for him.

"You did not come here to kill me, you came here to die!" said the old man.

"You're wrong!"

He fired, the man fell back in his chair, and he disappeared through the rotten floorboards. It was less than a second until he felt claws on his neck, tearing through his flesh. He was pulled back as he fired wildly into the crowd of mindless savages. Where he killed, many more joined in on the rampage.

It took longer than most men for Harper to die. He was a monster, maybe even more bloodthirsty than any other. What made him more dangerous was that he still had enough humanity in him that allowed him to hide among his victims, a wolf with no guilt, among sheep who lived from other's wealth and suffering.

With no masters, the men of silence fell to their only other basic instinct. They clawed at the windows, hammering at the walls, the scent of their latest kill dripped from their masks. They were still hungry.