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BLOODY HELL
 

Dr. Anton Arcane crouched in the back of a filthy alley, afraid, his heart beating as fast as a rabbit's. The sound of slow, plodding, zombie-like footsteps made his entire body stiffen, his spine going ramrod straight like a titanium cable. Every sense that he could draw under his command was on alert, as he frantically tried to clear his thought stream, trying maniacally to empty it of the mantra that was zooming through his brain around and around at the speed of thought, *This isn't happening to me This isn't happening to me This isn't happening to me It isn't It isn't It isn't* His pulse quickened almost past the breaking point as the footsteps trudged determinedly past the alley where he was hiding, shrouded in darkness. He flattened himself against the wall like a shadow, praying to everything in the universe and no one in particular at all. Breath came out in short little sighs as the footsteps passed him, and his entire body shuddered with relief. He fought the urge to laugh out loud. Even now, in the pits of Hell (for that was what this place must be), he managed to one up them, outsmart them. Ha HA! That would teach them who they were dealing with! They wanted to pass judgement on his entire life and pronounce him guilty, well, fine then. They wanted to hunt him down and kill him, all very well and good. But they'd have to catch him first.
He picked at his sleeve disgustedly. Stripes. Who the bloody hell had thought to put him in stripes? Prison colour or not, they were just so... tacky. As soon as he found a way out of here, he was burning this outfit. Something poked the doctor on the shoulder. He turned around and met a grin, his Adam’s apple moving up and down in a choked attempt to swallow.
"Hey, look what I found!" crowed the grinning mutant, his entire attention focused solely on one Anton Arcane. Before Arcane could even attempt to try and lie his way out of this one, he was being dragged out of his hiding toward a taxi out on the street. Part of his tacky sleeve ripped as it was shoved in the door, effectively attaching him to the car without actually putting him inside of it. The driver stuck his head out the window and snarled at him. "You don't get in. The back seat’s for PEOPLE, Arcane." He made ready to hit the gas. Arcane suddenly had the distasteful image of his own corpse being dragged for five blocks alongside the car. His mind raced, as the car's engine revved up.
"You don't want to kill me!" he blurted out, overcoming his fear long enough to grasp a plan with clutching mental fingers. "If you do, you won't be able to make me suffer. That is what you want, isn't it?" The mutant thought about it for a minute.
"Oh. Yeh. Right."
And then someone knocked him out upside the head.

Something was locked around both his wrists, pinning them and effectively holding Arcane almost totally immobile. He realised it was hands holding his wrists; more eager volunteers from the sorry sob parade of the plaintiffs against him. He panned his vision up to the sight of the Judge that was passing herself off as a rather demented version of Tressa. However, she had traded her white justice robes for a more depressing, black, funeral-type dress. *Tacky,* thought Arcane. Tressa lifted her ebon veil and sniffled, wiping away genuine tears with a Kleenex.
"You know Arcane," she gasped out between sobs, "you're a man." The doctor would have folded his arms, but that was really impossible at the moment.
"Really?" he asked, feigning earnest shock. "Well, thank you for apprising me of this new turn of events, Mrs Kipp!"
"Yeah, well I never would have guessed it either," Tressa zinged bitterly. "But being a man, you will never know how it feels to carry life in your womb for nine months."
*I should hope not,* Arcane thought derisively. Her tears began to dry on her cheeks, and her tone hardened into anger. "And you'll never know how it feels to have that precious little child ripped away from you!!!" She wrung her hands. "I should kill you for all you've done to these poor people. But that would be too good for you. And they all deserve a chance to get back at you, not just me." Her voice lowered into a seething hiss, as she went nose to nose with him. "Your sentence is to suffer, Arcane."
The doctor was calm. "If you'd brush your teeth a bit more often, Mrs Kipp, my sentence would be over." She drew her foot back and kicked him in the balls. Arcane sucked in air, wheezing as clawing pain reached up from his groin to his gut, sending stars behind his eyes. He felt his knees go weak, but he couldn't drop, because the goons were holding his wrists too tight. For that at least, he was thankful. "Thank you for that beautiful display of barbarism," he managed, trying to think of a way out of this. Tressa was even angrier.
"You want to see barbarism, you little thug?!" She kicked him again and again. Arcane shrieked. "How do you like that?! How do you like it when people pick on you when you're helpless and hurt you?! How do you like it when it's happening to you?!!"
The captive man moaned and whimpered. "Tressa, stop it, I beg of you." Tressa did stop.
"Well. Dr. Anton Arcane begs of someone. I never thought I'd live to see that." She kicked him again, more disgusted than angry this time, then turned around, motioning silently for one of the victims. Arcane coughed and managed some words out weakly.
"What are you doing now?"
Tressa giggled. "Letting other people play with you. I can't have all the fun." No, of course she couldn't. Arcane managed to swallow a noise of uncontrollable fear as the seemingly endless parade of his enemies and glorious failures decided to pay him some sweet retribution. Some of them concentrated on his face. Others liked to see how much wind they could knock out of him. Still others just liked to watch his blood flow, liked to watch him scream the way he made them scream. It hurt so much. Mercifully, the goons gave him some slack and let him sink to his knees when his legs couldn't bear his weight anymore. He was covered with bruises and cuts and wounds. Something hot and sticky tasted coppery in his mouth as someone, something, hit him again, kicked him in his face. A tooth jangled.
"Apologise," hissed the voice that sounded mangled and choked. Arcane flinched, trying desperately to wriggle away, but the grips on his wrists were too strong. He felt himself get kicked again, slapped again, and he thrashed his body this way and that, trying to find some escape, some end to it all, some surcease. But they would not let him go. Blood ran out his nose and he choked on it.
"Tressa, please," he whispered. "Enough is enough." Tressa leaned over him, blurry in front of his swollen, purple eyes.
"Enough, Arcane?" She kicked him again, right in the forbidden territory, and he moaned and cried out like a beaten dog. "I have someone else who wants to talk to you," she said sweetly, her voice low and gentle. Arcane shook his head frantically, struggling weakly against his captors.
"No more beatings, please!"
Tressa tilted her head like a curious child. "I'm sure you remember what you did to Dr. Alec Holland?" As dawning realisation began to make itself clear on Arcane's bruised facial features, pure terror began to grip him, sending cold sweat dripping down his scarred back. "He wants to talk with you," Tressa said quietly.
Arcane screamed. "NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!" He struggled madly, like some sort of rabid, raving beast, thrashing and biting and kicking. "NO NO NO!" he howled. "You don't know what he'll do to me, I killed his wife, I turned him into a monster, he's bloody omnipotent, it's his moment for revenge, he'll torture me so, you can't let him near me, you can't no NO NO!" The goons tried clumsily to subdue him as he wrestled wildly like an animal for long minutes of scuffling. Slowly, his fervent protests finally came to an end as he was restrained on his knees, his arms pinned behind his back tightly, his eyes gazing up in fear as Tressa tilted his face up towards her gently, cupping his chin in the palm of her hand.
"I'll leave you two alone," she murmured.
The mossy, botanic mutant that had once been Dr. Alec Holland plodded up to the captive and stared at him for a few silent moments. Arcane's eyes filled with frightened tears. He began to shake uncontrollably, his face turning a ghostly shade of white.
"You killed the love of my life," Alec said quietly. The doctor's trembling was even more violent. His hands shook. "You ripped me from other human beings forever." He watched as the tears rolled silently down Arcane's face, watched as the doctor visibly shrank from him, flinching as if prepared for some sort of terrible agony to descend on him any minute.
"What should I do with you?"
Arcane threw up.
The answer, of course, the only one that could reach Alec Holland's mind was "nothing". He couldn't do anything. Not even to his nemesis -- not when he was like this, terrified out of his mind, kneeling in his own blood and vomit and tears. He turned and slowly walked away. Tressa watched him go.
"Well, that was certainly interesting." She hunkered down to be at eye level with him. "How does it feel, Arcane? Being terrified out of your mind like a frightened animal? How does it feel to be hurt?"
Arcane's voice was very quiet. "...cruel and unusual punishment..."
"What?"
"I have rights... this is cruel and unusual, you can't torture me..."
Tressa smiled smugly, folding her arms. "The United States doesn't run the universe, Arcane. And I promise, this is *very* usual down here." She smiled. "There are others that want to talk to you, you know." They dragged him with his arms behind his back down a dark hallway, and then stopped abruptly. He heard a voice, a ghastly familiar voice.
"Well, it didn't take long at all for you to join me, did it, Arcane?" Arcane choked.
"Sunderland?"
General Sunderland grinned menacingly, grabbing his hand as if to shake it, and then gripped it hard.
"You remember how you maimed me, don't you, Arcane?" Arcane looked over his shoulder back at Tressa, his eyes widening by the minute.
"You can't be serious. He deserves the treatment I'm getting, if not more. How in hell --pardon the phrase --can this be justice?!" Tressa looked bored.
"Stop ranting, Arcane. He *is* getting punished... in his own hell. We're all just echoes, emanations of those you know, here for a purpose -- and that purpose is to punish you. Stop worrying about poor General Sunderland and focus on yourself -- not that that's a problem for you, or anything." She sauntered away, leaving them alone. She had a thing about that. Sunderland gripped Arcane's hand harder.
"Would you like to apologise?"
Arcane looked disgusted. "No, I would not! You kidnapped my wife! You--" Something in his hand started to crack as Sunderland increased the pressure in his grip. Arcane gasped, crying out silently.
"Would you like to apologise?"
"No, I don't, you don't deserve--" CRACK. Arcane screamed, trying to wrest his hand away, but he could not.
"Would you like to apologise *now*?"
Arcane moaned, feeling more fingers cracking, the other bones in his hand cracking.
"...no... no..." Sunderland let go in disgust, and Arcane snatched his hand away quickly, nursing it and whimpering.
"Apologise to me," Sunderland said as the other victims closed in behind him. Dammit, how many people had he victimised?! It couldn't have been this many, could it? Impossible! Without warning, someone grabbed his left arm and snapped it like a twig. Fire seared up his arm inside and he shrieked out loud, trying to turn away from those that had surrounded him. "You can apologise now, Arcane, or we can systematically break every bone in your body. And I do mean every bone." Arcane backed away, scared.
"Stay away from me..." Something grabbed him and threw him to the floor.
"Don't make this hard on yourself." He crawled, scrambling to get away, but suddenly there was a wall in front of him and there was nowhere to go and he was being hurt again, hurt mercilessly, and bones were snapping and he was crying and they wouldn't stop, they just wouldn't stop until hours later when they finally stopped and he cried, weeping silently, his chest exploding with pain at each sucked-in, wheezing breath.
"Tressa," he gasped, even though she wasn't there. "Tressa, please, tell them to stop, please, my chest is exploding, I can't breathe..." He heard footsteps and scrabbled away, limping frantically into the dark, shaking like an animal and hiding. The voice was so gentle at first that he couldn't recognise it.
"Arcane?" Arcane sobbed, cradling his broken arm and rocking himself. "Arcane, can you hear me?" It was Tressa. Arcane screamed and backed away on all fours. He kept screaming. "Stop that." He couldn't 'stop that', he was frightened out of his mind, pathologically terrified. Ragged sobs shook his entire body as he swallowed and closed his eyes and begged her to please not hurt him, at least let him rest, the pain was excruciating and he couldn't breathe, it really really hurt and why was she doing this? Hadn't he suffered enough? Please leave him alone and let him go home, and would she please be merciful to him? Good Tressa, kind Tressa, beautiful Tressa, please be gentle, please be kind.
"That's it." She sounded very angry and exasperated. "This is lower than low."
He hunched his shoulders up immediately. "No, please have pity, no!" More tears streamed out his eyes and he rocked even faster, choking on his own abject terror.
"I won't bargain with you, Arcane. Now, we're going to--"
"I'M SORRY!!!"
Tressa blinked. "What?"
Arcane was gone. Far, far gone. "I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry..." He repeated it over and over brokenly like a mantra, hugging himself tightly like a small child.
Tressa seemed very disgusted. "I'm washing my hands of you." Another shadow fell upon Arcane but the doctor didn't notice -- he only saw Tressa, only cared about Tressa, because, at least in his mind, she was the nucleus, the leader, the centre, and nothing anyone else thought or said or did mattered because she could stop it all with a word. He ignored the new shadow and continued his broken mantra. Tressa turned to the tall man behind her. "You can deal with him now; I don't want to. I don't think he'll give you any trouble." She gestured to the cowering doctor with an outstretched hand. "He's all yours." She sashayed off.
"Arcane."
The scientist in question looked up at the tall figure that had stepped in front of him, blocking the light.
"The new me was too weak -- too compassionate to give you what you really deserve." And then the very human-looking Alec Holland grinned. "But I'm not." He massaged his fist.


Arcane moaned softly as consciousness forced itself upon him. He tried to resist it; part of his mind desperately reaching for just a little more beloved oblivion and respite from the agonies that had been heaped upon him. He didn't know how long he'd been unconscious. To be honest, he didn't really care. They couldn't torture him when he was unconscious; couldn't kick him and beat him, and... He stopped his train of though. He was conscious; end of story; and longing for what wasn't to be was only another torture in it's own right. And damn it, if Anton Arcane was going to be tortured, he'd bloody well make sure he didn't help them!
He vaguely remembered the beating he'd received from Holland. He'd lost count of the number of times that those fists and feet had kicked and pummelled him. He felt weak, drained; but in surprisingly little pain considering what he'd been through. Warily, he opened his eyes. Pitch blackness. Nothing. He became aware that he was standing, not lying. Odd? He mused. He reached up to feel the bruises that must be decorating his face; or rather he tried to reach up. He couldn't move an inch. He tried again. Nothing. No muscles would respond. He tried to feel some sort of binding holding him, but nothing was evident. He simply couldn't move. He felt a surge of panic start to well up in him, but swiftly brought it under control again. There was definitely less pain than there ought to have been. Using his tongue, he ran it along his teeth, examining them. Well, at least he still had movement there! Strange; but there should have been at least three missing and one other jarred loose. But there they were, all pristine and fine. Not even hurting him. All there was was this damnable weakness!
"Well, well, well; look who's awake! How's it going, Anton?" A familiar voice made his blood run cold.
"Holland!" He whispered softly to himself, swallowing nervously.
Suddenly, everything began to grow light around him....an eerie, soft blue light. There was no sign of Holland though. He tried to move his head to look round. It was hard. Every little movement was a monumental effort. A few inches in either direction was all he could manage. His eyes swivelled in their sockets, trying desperately to take in his surroundings. My, but this place looked familiar!
"Like it?" A voice called out, echoing his thoughts. "It's a perfect replica, you know." It was indeed. Here he was, bound by some invisible force in an alcove in his old cave. He became aware of his clothing as well. Gone were those horrid, tacky, soiled and torn prison stripes *thank the gods for small mercies* he mused. He seemed to be wearing one of his suits, a vivid blue one. It wasn't entirely easy to recognise all the details with the limited movement he had. *What the Hell was going on!?*
He became aware of the human Alec Holland stepping out from an alcove to his left, and standing before him, smiling enigmatically. He walked forward. Arcane flinched reflexively....or rather he tried to.
"Remember this place?" Holland asked rhetorically. "Of course you do. And do you remember that time you held me... or rather my other self here?" Arcane's mind raced. He shut his eyes tightly as memories came flooding back.
"Duchamp!" He whispered. Oh yes, he remembered only too well. If he were able to look down to his chest, he just knew that there'd be some replica Voodoo talisman holding him in place like this, sapping what little strength he had.
"How d'you like my cave, LOA!?" Holland grasped Arcane's face roughly, spitting the words at him venomously in a remarkably good impersonation of Arcane's own voice. "You know, Anton, I've wanted to do that for the last 2 years!" he grinned broadly, back to his usual voice. His face became hard again. "I called you a Loa, Arcane. You do know what they are, don't you?" Arcane nodded slowly.
"Spirits." He said in a muted whisper, remembering.
"That's right. Spirits. And I can call you that, because that's all you are...a spirit. You're dead, Arcane. Totally and utterly dead. Roadkill. And that makes you mine...ours, for as long as we want," He stared Arcane straight in the eyes. "How do you think you recovered from all those wounds? Think they all got better in the short time you were out of it?" He drew closer to Arcane and the scientist seemed to shrink back from that gaze. "Do you remember what happened?" He asked Arcane, who said nothing, expecting it to be a rhetorical question. A swift, sharp punch to his gut made him gasp weakly. "No, no, no, Arcane. I wanted an answer to that one. Let's try again. Do you remember what happened?"
"I... I remember you hitting me," Arcane ventured warily.
"And after that?"
Arcane shut his eyes. Damn it! He couldn't remember anything. He must have lost consciousness because of the beating.
"I must... must have lost consciousness during the beating," He said quickly, all too fearful that a delay in answering would precipitate more punishment.
"Not bad. Close, but no cigar! But it'll do. Actually, you died. I killed you. You had a massive cerebral haemorrhage just after the 47th time I kicked you in the head."
"I... don't understand. I'm... I'm alive!" Arcane gasped.
"Oh no, Arcane. You're dead. Believe me, you're very dead. This is just a form wrapped round your spirit that we allow you to wear while you're here. Actually, that's what all forms are, and it's pretty much the same as your old one, but here, we get more control of it than you do. Oh, and the rules are a lot different here. And speaking of rules, I suppose you want to know something about those, don't you?"
"Yes." Arcane nodded, lying. He did NOT want to know what these rules were. Any rules in this place were hardly likely to be to his benefit. A swift and sudden kick to his groin sent a searing agony shooting through his body. He screwed his eyes shut with the pain.
"Naughty, naughty. No lying. We don't like lying down here."
"You don't like any sodding thing down here, do you!?" Arcane said, mustering some degree of defiance. Holland smiled.
"Not entirely true, Anton. We like... No, LOVE hurting you? It's what we live for, after all. Our raison d’être, as you'd put it," Arcane shuddered. "Still, I'm digressing. Now what were we talking about?... Ah yes, the rules. I'll make it simple... before we get down to business..." Arcane did not like the sound of that one little bit. "Well, quite simply, down here, there are little deaths... and big deaths. What happened to you recently was a little death. You get better from little deaths. We put you down, we bring you back up again and patch you up for the next time; we put you down, we bring you back... Starting to get the picture, Anton?" He said condescendingly. "We do this as many times as we want. Each and every one of us who wants to get back at you for something gets a go... gets as many goes as they want actually. When we get tired of it all, someone else gets a look in. Those of us who want to try again, come back. This goes on for quite a while. Eventually, everyone gets bored. Yes. Unlikely I know, but even torturing YOU is bound to lose it's appeal... eventually. Well, when that happens, then you get a big death. That means you die, and you don't get better. Nobody brings you back. Nobody gives a damn any more. You're gone for good. Oblivion. Bye bye. No more Anton Arcane!" Holland smiled broadly. Arcane felt numb. "Still, I wouldn't worry about that for quite some time, Arcane. I mean lets face it, with the number of people you've made enemies of, or hurt, or killed; or simply annoyed; and the degree of contempt they hold you in, I reckon there's enough hatred to keep you going in little deaths for at least 70 or 80 thousand years or so... maybe more! Let's see, that'll make it about the 800th Century when we might let you really die... if you're lucky, that is," Arcane's eyes widened in terror. He was lying! He had to be lying! Yes, it was some trick to torture him mentally!
Holland shook his head with a smile. "No trick, Anton. This is what Hell is... well, for you, anyway. Look on the bright side, I don't think you'll be here for quite as long as say Hitler or Torquemada... but it'll be close!"
"Please, Holland! Please, just... just let me go back home. I... I can make amends... I swear..."
"Like the new clothes, Anton?" Holland gloated, completely changing the subject. "We just knew you'd appreciated the gift," Somehow, Arcane didn't believe the magnanimity for one single second. Holland surveyed him appraisingly, and a look of dismay crossed his face. "Damn! There's something missing!" He said with very rehearsed concern. "Now what could it be?" Holland said, being seen to look around the cave. His eyes fell on an object lying on a nearby rock, which he went to retrieve. "Ah, yes. Here we are!" He held it up for Arcane to see. It was one of his brooches: A round silver and black one. Holland approached him. "Can't have you improperly dressed now, can we?" He said in a mocking tone of voice. He unclasped the brooch and put it to Arcane's shirt front. With a calm smile, he threaded it's pin through one layer of the material, through a second....through the skin, out the other side, and fastened it. The piercing made Arcane jolt and scream...at least it would have if he hadn't been held. How he wanted to retreat from it, but a slight shudder was the most he could manage; and the scream came out as the merest of gasps. Damn it! Why could he speak, but not scream?
"Because we want you to speak. Screaming's only going to be a distraction at the moment. Maybe later... if you're good!" Holland taunted him, plucking the words from his mind. "Oh dear! You've got some blood on that nice new suit of yours. Blue and red just don't match, Anton. Clashing primary colours just aren't you! It looks like we're going to have to make it all red now."
Arcane stared at him in muted terror.
"Do you remember what you said you'd do to me, Arcane?" Holland asked, his voice becoming deadly serious; "When Duchamp asked you?" Arcane's Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he felt sick with dawning horror, remembering his very words. He closed his eyes and nodded slightly, a single tear rolling down his cheek.
"You were going to dissect me, weren't you? 'Fun', you described it: 'Torture. Long, slow....and painful beyond belief'. I believe those were your very words... or am I wrong, Arcane? Please feel free to correct me if I am," Holland savoured each and every word.
"Please, Holland... you can't... I... I was different then. I'd NEVER do that now. I have changed, I swear. Please... please, don't!" He sobbed uncontrollably in a broken voice. "Please, Holland, don't... I'm begging you, PLEASE!" As fear took hold of certain bodily functions, Arcane became aware of a warm, wet sensation down his legs. Holland glanced down at the stain darkening the front of Arcane’s clothing with a look halfway between contempt and smug satisfaction.
"Don't what, Arcane? All I've done is ask you what you said," He said innocently. "Anton, did you really believe I'd DISSECT you!?"
By now, tears were rolling freely down Arcane's face; more in relief than fear. Dripping with perspiration, he closed his eyes. Holland had him going there for a moment. He really believed he would do it! He should have known even his nemesis wasn't that cruel. Not Alec Holland. A beating was one thing, but THAT!? No, Holland was incapable of that. He gave the slightest smile of relief and opened his eyes.
Holland was standing before him with a table of surgical instruments: Scalpels, forceps, bone saws, pliers..."
"I lied, Anton!" He grinned, a glint of pure hatred in his eye. "Now where shall we begin?"

Unheard by either of them, soft, almost silent footsteps left the cave.


"And this one's, er... don't tell me...yeah! Cardinal Flower!... er... Lobelia... urm... Cardinalis?" Will exclaimed triumphantly. Beside him, Alec gave a slight nod, barely even looking. "Well, don't congratulate me or anything, Alec." Alec didn't seem to notice. Will looked at him curiously. "And this one... This is... Green Dragon... can't remember the fancy name... something Triconium?" Alec acknowledged with the merest of nods, still staring straight ahead into space. Will frowned. "And this one, this is Seqouiadendron Gigantium. Giant Californian Redwood. You can tell because of the blue trunk and the giant space squirrels nesting in the branches." Alec just nodded.
"ALEC! What the hell is wrong with you?" Will said in exasperated voice. "You've barely said a word in the last hour. It was YOUR idea to give me a lesson today. Look, if it's a bad time, I could always..."
Alec turned to him. "I...I'm sorry, Will. I just have something on my mind."
"No kidding!" Will's voice lost it's edge, and concern crept in. "Look, why don't we do this some other time. Swamp's not going anywhere, and neither am I."
"No." Alec mumbled "The Swamp's never been in so little danger." His voice was cryptic. Will regarded him curiously. Alec turned to him, straightening a little, and seeming to snap out of whatever was getting to him. "No, Will. We can continue now. This is not your problem."
"Like hell, Alec. If something's bugging you, I want to help. You're always there for me. We're friends, remember, or at least I thought we were," Alec just smiled. Will continued; "Let's sit down and talk about it. It's not often I get the chance to give you advice!" he grinned, being overly cheerful to try and coax some enthusiasm from Alec.
"I appreciate it, Will; and perhaps I will tell you... But for now, this is something I have to work out in my own mind."
Will shrugged. "I can take the hint," He said. "Look, I know what you said, but we'll call it a day shall we? Better get back to the house anyway. It's been harder keeping up with things since Tressa's been gone. Just come and get me, you know, when you feel like talking or anything." He turned to leave.
"Will?"
"Yeah, Alec?"
"Thank you."
Will smiled. "No problem."


The human Alec Holland surveyed his handiwork proudly. With blood soaked hands he took a piece of paper and vocally started checking a list, looking at a display of tissues arranged in jars on a trolley.
"Subcutaneous adipose tissues... Check. Left ventricular myocardial tissue... check. Hmmm, we had to be careful there, didn't we, Anton? Epidermal tissues... check. Left and right ocular vitreous humour... check. Lymphatic nodules... check. sympathetic and parasympathetic ganglia... check. Myelin... check. Hepatic and renal tissues... check. Gastrointestinal tract... check..." He continued to reel off a long list of checks. "Hmmm, there were a few discrepancies: Did you know you had a tiny Chondroma, Anton? Still, a benign enough tumour. Shouldn't give you any worries, well, WOULDN'T have given you any worries, that is; Oh, and a small ectopic beat to the heart. No, Arcane, I'm really disappointed in you. I expected the one and only Anton Arcane to be special. Something REALLY different, but you're just an average, normal person. Nothing extraordinary. Quite pathetic, really." Holland said casually. "Right... the 'To Do' list next! 'Torture'... check; 'Long'....yep; 'Slow'... oh yes; 'Painful beyond belief'... Well, I think that's a definite yes. Hmmm... 'Fun'... Are we having fun yet, Anton?"
There was the tiniest of moans.
"I'll take that as a yes, shall I? I know I'm having fun!" He paused. "You know, Arcane. I'm sure there's something I forgot to look at. Don't you ever get that feeling that something's slipped your mind, eh? Anton??"
There was barely an answer. Just that slightest of moans again.
"Now what could it possibly be? What could I have forgotten? Any ideas, Arcane?" There was just that moan again. "Oh yeah!" Holland exclaimed in glee; "I remember what I forgot to do!" He picked up a large, blood soaked curve edged scalpel. "... The reproductive system!"
The moan grew that little bit louder.



He wanted to be alone to think. The swamp was too accessible, so he'd made his way to that secret heart of his domain that nobody knew about. His sanctum. Sitting himself down on one of the carved rocks, Alec looked around. It was so still here. Just the sound of water lapping at the edges of the pit. Around him, stones that had seen over a thousand years of life and wisdom watched him silently. How he wished he could tap into that wisdom today.

This wasn't his problem, he reminded himself. He had nothing to feel guilt over. He may have caused his death, but it was an accident... not deliberate murder. Even if it had been murder... which it HADN'T; Some... no, most, would say that it was justified. If Arcane was suffering, he had no one to blame but himself. He was where he deserved to be. No more danger to the swamp. No more attacks to fear. No more suffering of innocents and his friends. This was justice. This was the way things were meant to be in the Universe. No. This should be a time of relief and satisfaction... perhaps even of celebration.
So why was he feeling so bad? And why wouldn't this feeling just go away?

He'd known about Arcane's death almost immediately after it happened. He'd felt it in the feedback; the life-force suddenly stopping. And The Swamp knew. She'd told him the rest. He'd felt satisfaction then, he had to admit. If only he hadn't been so curious... had that need to make sure! Communicating with other planes had never been a problem, but he'd never visited before in physical form. He didn't even know if it was possible... but it was. It was surprisingly easy. He was a conduit. He always had been since his merge into The Swamp. And all he had to do was project his mind down into that conduit. Once there, he formed a physical body like everything else in that place.

They welcomed him. Tressa... well, Tressa but not Tressa. It took a moment to realise that his Tressa didn't even know about him. Even he was there; his human self; and all those others... so many. They were thrilled he'd come to join in. They even wanted him at this trial, such as it was. He found himself savouring that. It was poetic. If only he'd left then, after that trial. But no, curiosity had kept him there that bit longer. Why?

They'd wanted him to hurt Arcane, invited him. He'd passed on that. All he'd wanted to do was have a final confrontation with his enemy; to close the chapter, before getting on with his life; but they assured him that this was meant to be done; that it was all right. Arcane would suffer anyway. Why not treat himself? If not him, someone else would. It was supposed to be this way. This was Hell, after all. He'd agreed. But when he'd looked down at Arcane... It was a shock. Being told about brutality was one thing; being greeted by it was another. He simply wasn't prepared. All his own experiences, all that suffering; and he simply wasn't prepared. He'd rehearsed a speech, but it never got said. He just had to leave before he saw any more. And so he'd come back home, away from that place. Why didn't he just STAY away? He went back almost immediately; Oh, and what he'd seen in that cave... Alec shuddered slightly.
It was supposed to be him there! That wasn't himself. Not himself now; not himself as he was. Perhaps he was cowardly to leave, but he didn't want to watch THAT. Maybe it was a bluff? Maybe Arcane was right to think it an emotional torture? Surely they couldn't...? But Alec knew. Deep down he knew what had happened... What was happening, he corrected himself.

But what was the alternative? To bring his nemesis back? To see himself, his world, his friends attacked and suffer yet again? No. That was impossible. He couldn't... WOULDN'T allow that. There was no answer. This was not his problem. Arcane deserved this, he reminded himself firmly.
Did ANYONE deserve that? A nagging voice tugged quietly at his conscience.
It was moot point. Whatever he might have been tempted to do, he could not interfere and risk innocents for one evil egomaniac who had no regard for other life, and never would. He would just simply come to terms with it. He was not responsible. The killing was not deliberate. He had nothing to feel guilty over!

So why wasn't he feeling any better about things?


Arcane awoke with a groan of numbing pain. His body was whole again, but he still seemed to feel the pain. Ha! Just residual memory of it, he reminded himself, trying his damnedest to remember he was Anton Arcane! He still had his mind, didn't he? He closed his eyes, trying hard to stop the tears flowing. He still remembered it all; every last incision; every... He screwed his eyes shut, grimacing; forcing the tears back.
Where the hell was he? Well, that was an apt phrase! He mused. Hell was exactly where he was. He looked around. It was dark, and he was curled up in a tiny, confined space. He was naked. He knew that much. There was some light above him.
He tried to stretch out, but it was impossible. The cell he was confined in was just too small. Struggling, he got to his feet. He paused for a moment. What if he stayed down; pretended to be unconscious? He was safe then, wasn't he? If he stood...Well, they'd know, wouldn't they? He snorted derisively to himself. They'd bloody well know anyway! They always knew exactly what he was thinking. He wondered, with mounting fear, where Holland was... or Tressa. Which of them would be here this time? Steeling himself, he stood up.
The light was coming from a small barred opening above him. Facing it, he became aware he was standing in some sort of container; not a cell at all. A box, or crate. A figure approached. Holland? No. This was just some young teenager. Scrawny and emaciated, matted, straw coloured shoulder length hair, and with a face that looked like it had seen more horror than Arcane ever had. Arcane didn't know this boy. Who the hell was he? What did he want with him? He squinted, perplexed, as the figure approached him slowly. No! It couldn't be!... Could it?
"Jim?... Jim Kipp?" He gasped.
"Oh, hi, Dr. Arcane." Jim said casually. "Dr. Holland asked me to tell you he had to go for now; but he'd be back to see you later. He asked me to look in on you."
Arcane was determined to get in first, to plead his defence before ANYTHING happened.
"Jim... I... I can explain..." He beseeched, extending his arms through the bars; "I..."
"Dr. Arcane?"
"Yes?" Arcane said nervously.
"Why did you kidnap me and send me away? What did I ever do to you?"
"I... I... I was protecting you, Jim." Arcane was panicking slightly. "I could have killed you. Andrews wanted to, please believe me. I could have mutated you... but I.. I didn't. I sent you somewhere safe." He pleaded.
"You sent me to a place that worked me for twenty hours a day... that starved me... that beat me every day... Kinda like here, really." Jim put his head to one side slightly, appraising Arcane; before resuming a casual attitude again.
"I had to protect myself, Jim! That was the only reason."
"You killed someone to make it look like me. You made my mom cry a lot." Jim stated evenly.
"I made sure you weren't killed or harmed." Arcane reasoned; "I was protecting you both. If your mother found out, she would have been hurt too..."
"You mean YOU'D have hurt her?"
Arcane looked sick. "Yes." he whispered, hanging his head. He forced himself out of the emotional quagmire; "I wanted you safe. I've always liked you, Jim" He tried to force one of his smiles.
"I thought you said it was so you could use me to bargain with if you ever had to." Jim said calmly; "and you called me a brat." Right now, Arcane felt like calling him a brat again! He didn't!
"Dr. Arcane?" That innocent, yet not-so-innocent voice chirped up.
"Yes?"
Didn't you try to steal our house and land that time? You changed Grandma's will, remember? And you had that man try to shoot me and my mom, didn't you?"
Arcane said nothing.
"Why would you do that if you liked us and wanted to protect us?"
Arcane was fidgeting uncomfortably now, wringing his hands together.
"Wasn't it strange how Grandma died all of a sudden when she'd been quite healthy?" Arcane stared at him in shock. Jim just looked at him with wide, innocent eyes. "I mean, she seemed to kinda know she'd die, didn't she...but like, how could she know that when she was healthy?"
Sweat was pouring from Arcane's brow.
"Everyone said it was natural causes, but I mean, why would she know to hide a will the day before she died?"
"ALL RIGHT, DAMN IT! I KILLED HER!! IS THAT WHAT YOU WANTED TO HEAR!? MY CONFESSION!? YES, I KILLED HER! I THREATENED HER, AND WHEN SHE WOULDN'T GIVE ME WHAT I WANTED, I HAD HER POISONED!!!" He yelled, breaking into a sob; "...Is that what you wanted to hear? Happy?"
"Just wanted to make sure, Dr. Arcane." Jim shrugged, with no emotion whatsoever. He smiled at Arcane, approaching him. The Doctor flinched away from him.
"Wh...what are you going to do with me?" He said, trembling. "Please... Just don't hurt me."
"Nah." Jim said casually. "Gotta go now, anyway. I think they're sending you to some sort of workcamp for the next few years anyway. It's not so bad after a while, really." He smiled.
Arcane stared weakly at him.
"Don't worry, Dr. Arcane." Jim beamed. "I'll catch you later." And in just that second, Arcane thought he saw a glimmer of purest evil glinting in Jim's eye, piercing what little soul he had.


How long had he spent in that camp? 15 years? 20? They gave him just 4 hours of sleep a night....if he was very lucky. And the beatings, and the flayings. More tears rolled down his face. They starved him. Every two weeks or so he'd waste away and die of starvation. And the day after, he'd be back, fit and well and ready for the next bout. The guards made him crawl on his belly, watching them gorging themselves on the most delicious looking roasts and sweets... drinking the finest wines. Slaving 20 hours a day in temperatures he wouldn't have thought possible. Dying, and yet never really dying.
And then there were the other prisoners. They were worse than the guards. Mutants... each and every one of them. HIS mutants. When the guards weren't beating him, they were; or spitting on him, kicking him, pissing on him: Each one repaying him a thousand times the indignities he'd heaped upon them.

In the end he'd given up. Refused to work. He couldn't take it any more...any of it. What more could they do? He just curled himself up into a little ball, crying like a baby. Oh they'd tried to get him up... more kicking, more beating; but he just lay there crying. That's when it all changed. Everything had gone silent. The air became cold now... none of this searing tropical heat. For hours he didn't dare move; afraid that the tiniest sign of life would make everything begin again. But there was nothing. With each movement jarring his tender nerves, he uncurled himself and looked around. The camp was gone, and he was in a cold, empty grey metal room. Instinctively, he scuttled against the nearest wall, cowering against it... his eyes darting around like a terrified fox hiding from the hounds... waiting for them. But nothing. There was only silence.

Arcane lay sprawled against the wall and moaned in agony. His chest exploded with horrible, searing pain each time it rose with breathing; his ankle was broken; his spine ached. His entire body was icy cold and shivered ceaselessly, his eyes burning with fever. Somewhere, in some part of his mind where it didn't hurt so much, he wished for someone to help him -- but no. No. It was better this way. Here, by himself, no one could hurt him any more than they already had. He hunched himself over and tried to breathe, the exhaling air coming out in little whimpers. He couldn't move, couldn't run away if he tried. He was stuck here, naked and alone, dying and yet unable to die, and wishing fervently that he could.
"Hi."
Arcane looked up slowly, fear stealing over him. But no -- he recognised who this was! -- and breathed a deep sigh of relief, at least, as deep as he could, his body sinking back down a little into a pitiful semblance of relief.
"Graham," he murmured. "Oh, Graham. Thank God it's you." Graham said nothing. It took the doctor a moment to realise that as a sign. He was in so much pain, halfway delirious, and so sick... he couldn't have been expected to remember immediately. Graham would be much older than this by now. This was the Graham he remembered all those years ago. But by then it was too late. Graham advanced slowly. Arcane gulped. His eyeballs went impossibly wide. "No... not you, too..." He doubled over with a sudden cry, as more bleeding inside hurt him.


"Long time, no see!" A cheerful voice assailed Arcane's ears. Through tormented images, he desperately searched his memory. His eyes widened. Tressa!
He looked up. Yes, it was her. And Graham was standing beside her, staring at him and saying nothing. He'd blacked out before Graham could do anything to him. Hah! He corrected himself. He'd DIED before Graham could have his go. Thank the Fates for internal bleeding! Although something disturbing echoed in the recesses of his subconscious; something he couldn't quite put his finger on... something he didn't want to know. He was clothed again now, he couldn't help noticing. Some drab, grey, nondescript coverall; but after years of nothing, he was grateful even for that, despite it's coarseness chafing his skin.
"Well, Doctor. How do you like your home for the next few years?" Tressa looked around the bare room. Arcane said nothing. What could he say? "If you fancy a change of scenery, you're allowed into the next room. Of course, it's exactly like this one." She laughed. "Well, much as I'd LOVE to stop and chat, Arcane, Graham here wants a little word with you. Dr. Holland and I will try to look in on you in a few months. Graham can keep you company until then, can't you, Graham?"
"Yeah, I was always good company for Doctor Arcane, wasn't I, SIR?" Graham said derisively.
"Oh, and I'm sure you'll get other visitors as well..." Tressa said ominously, almost as an afterthought, before sauntering out of the room with a happy spring in her step.
When she was gone, Graham looked down at Arcane, a cruel smile developing on his face. Arcane shook his head in disbelief.
"Graham....Graham, what did I ever do to you? You were my friend. My loyal assistant... my protégé. You wouldn't hurt me... you couldn't."
Graham laughed, standing over Arcane menacingly.
"Friend? Protégé?" He laughed again. "Graham, you idiot!" he spat, imitating Arcane. Kick! Arcane gasped in pain and shock. "Graham, you little twerp!" Kick! "Yes, General, I have in my employ a first class twit with a second class education, who can't seem to walk in a straight line without falling over the furniture!" Kick! "Get this, Graham!" Kick! "Fetch that, Graham!" Kick! "Graham, stop acting like a mental pygmy!" Kick! "Get out of my way, Graham!" Kick! “Try not to act as stupid as you look, Graham!” Kick! "Graham, you have about as much perspicacity as a boiled potato!" Kick! Arcane resumed his cowering in a little ball, trying vainly to shield himself from the onslaught.
"Graham!... Please..." Arcane gasped.
"Call me Doctor, you little toad!"
"Doctor!" Arcane managed to cry out. "Please, Doctor... Stop!" The kicking stopped. Graham knelt down beside him.
"Yeah, that's better. I like that. Doctor! Finally... some respect. I'm going to leave you for now. There's some other people to see you. You haven't eaten in a long time now, but I guess even a piece of shit like you should have something. They'll see to it." He drawled, smiling smugly. "See you tomorrow, Arcane." He wandered out of the room. As he did so, a group of mutants came in. Arcane painfully scuttled back from them.
"Don't you want to eat?" One of them growled at him coarsely, holding up a bottle of something. It was a trick. It had to be! Arcane thought. The mutant approached, holding out the bottle. They'd beat him if he took it... he just knew it. He stayed perfectly still. Nothing happened. "Take it, before we change our minds." Another joined in. Still Arcane did nothing. "Huh! Suit yourself!" It said, leaving the bottle on the ground before him; then they just walked out of the room.
Arcane was alone. He couldn't believe it. It wasn't a trick. Of course! Some respite... Some small comfort before it all began again. Well, best make the most of it, he decided. He reached out and took the bottle. Despite the pain... despite the fact that he didn't need to eat, he was ravenous, and so very, very thirsty. His fingers were broken, but that didn't stop him wrenching the top of the bottle and gulping the stuff down his parched throat.
His eyes bulged, and he dropped the bottle to the floor with a loud crash, as liquid fire seared his throat. He tried to scream, but no sound came out. He clutched at his throat, clawing it and retching. Too late. Already nausea wracked his entire body and his vision blurred, as he collapsed into a heap on the broken glass and puddle of toxic chemicals at his feet.
From outside the room, several sets of eyes watched with grim satisfaction.


"Well, we didn't expect to see you here again, but you're always welcome, you know." Tressa said cheerfully as she regarded the huge mossy form of Alec Holland. Come to see how he's going on?"
"That was my intention." Alec said evenly.
"Well, he's being dealt with at the moment, but feel free to join in!" She beamed. "The more the merrier!"
"I don't think so." Alec said coldly. Tressa looked at him curiously.
"Well, can't say I didn't offer. It'll always be an open option, you know?" she shrugged
"And one that I will never take up." He stated in no uncertain terms. Her face took on a harder aspect.
"You're choice, although I can't figure out your objection under the circumstances."
"Where is he?"
"Don't you want to know how his rehabilitation's going on?" She said casually.
"Rehabilitation?" Alec enquired.
"Well, bit of a misnomer really. Let's call it treatment, if you'd prefer."
"What you mean is punishment!" Alec stated firmly.
"Whatever." She replied. "You didn't answer the question, Alec." She reminded him.
He hadn't forgotten. He knew he should get an idea of what had been going on, and the situation he was reluctantly making himself go into, but a big part of him didn't want to know... mainly because he had a damned good idea of what it would be like.
"I would imagine you've tortured him." He said, hoping to leave it at that. No such luck.
"Oh, Alec, Alec. You're a scientist... or you were. Don't you want details?" It was as though she were goading HIM. "No? Well let me show you then!" Before he could move, she'd put a hand to his forehead. Instantly, images and emotions flooded through his mind. 18 years worth of images. He stepped back, stunned. He just stared at her in amazement. She gave a casual shrug.
"Well, what d'ya expect? This IS Hell!" She laughed. He turned away from her, saying nothing. "Alec!" She said, this time her tone deadly serious. "I told you that you were always welcome... and you are. Watch... Stay... Go... Do nothing... Join in... it doesn't matter. But just one thing, DON'T get in our way. This isn't your world, and he's OURS." He turned back to her, and she pointed to a door. "You'll find him at the end of the corridor. He'll be in one of two rooms there. Have fun!"


The heat was discomfiting Alec and he instantly regretted his arrival in this place. He didn't know why he had even thought of coming here again. He just couldn't silence that tugging, nagging voice of conscience, no matter how hard he'd tried. Leaving would have been a good idea. He should go. He should go and forget about it. He turned a little as the door at the far end of the room opened. Arcane dragged himself across the room, limping. Alec saw that his breathing wasn't easy. He looked like he was on the verge of collapse.
"Arcane," Alec said, trying to keep his voice even, the end result coming out awkward. There were a few moments of awkward silence before Arcane spoke.
"Is it....you?" He said reticently. Alec nodded.
"You've come to gloat?"
"No," Alec said with forced conviction. *Haven't you?* a nagging little voice echoed in the darker recesses of his brain.
Arcane nodded and then sighed heavily, looking around. "Do you know what it's like here, Holland? No, of course you don't. Actually--"
"Don't, Arcane."
Arcane looked up, surprised. "What?"
Alec sounded tired. "Don't ask me. I'm not going to do it."
That thought hadn't seemed to have occurred to Arcane. "Oh. You thought..." He shook his head. "Well, you don't -- can't -- comprehend what it's like." He doubled over and gasped for a minute before attempting to straighten. His voice was very quiet. "You have that remarkable healing ability, don't you?"
Alec closed his eyes wearily. "Arcane..."
The doctor nodded. "No, no, no... I suppose not." He seemed to be deep in thought. "I've begged everyone else -- I'm not going to beg you."
"Good."
Arcane spun as two creatures entered the room and dragged him off into the far corner. Alec closed his eyes quietly, his emotions conflicting as they pinned Arcane up against the wall, fists socking into his chest until he screamed.
Scream. One Two Three. Scream. One Two Three Four Five. Scream. One Two Three Four. Scream. One. Scream. Scream. Scream. "NO no no, you must stop, you must, NO, *NO*, AUGH AUGH AUGH AUGH, NO..."
Footsteps exited the room quietly with passions sated.
Alec shambled up to his nemesis. "This is done at random times?"
Arcane nodded weakly, swallowing. A thin line of blood trickled down from the corner of his mouth. Alec started as he heard a chuckle.
"Random intervals." Arcane grinned. "D'you know what it's like, Holland? Random intervals... Do you know how it feels to know that at any given moment, you may be bombarded from all sides by... by..."
"Yes," Alec grumbled bitterly.
Arcane didn't hear. He chuckled again madly, pitifully. "Remember when you received influenza as a child, Holland? Did your mother ever give you chicken soup, or warm milk?"
The question took Alec off guard and he regarded the doctor strangely. "I don't remember..."
Arcane seemed like he was trying to shrug. "Well. Pity. My mother did -- that was before she grew to hate me. Do you remember that, Holland? Getting chicken soup when you were five years old because chicken soup made it all better, made it all go away?" He looked down. "They don't do that here, no..." Arcane's laughter now had a hoarse, bitter edge to it, with something else that Alec couldn't quite define. "No, here, when you're sick, they make you sicker!" He kept laughing quietly. "They feed you chemicals, so many chemicals and poisons and horrid things to make the chills get worse, the fever continues to burn until you can't see straight." He shuddered convulsively at the memory. His eyes moved up. "Can you count all the times I've polluted your filthy swamp?"
Alec didn't respond.
A gleam shone sickly in Arcane's eyes. "I've gagged on it all," he said in a whisper. "They've pumped it all through me, you see." His fingers ran through his hair, clutching tightly at his skull. "Sullying my body with my own poisons... 'Arcane, you're going to drink this, aren't you?'" His voice had gotten higher. "But he doesn't want to drink it, he doesn't want to drink poison, so they force-feed it to him, they force it down his throat, it burns, it burns him, but they don't care --why would they care?-- 'Stop whining, Arcane. It's not that bad. If you don't finish it, we might have to hit you.'" He buried his head in his hands and rocked, his shoulders shaking. "But it's all right to hit Arcane, it's always all right to hit Arcane. It's always all right... You never ever ever have to stop hitting him. It's always all right..."
Alec felt sick.

Arcane removed his head from his hands. His expression hardened. The Doctor’s voice got a little louder, almost unnaturally, the tone a little more manic. "How's life been treating you, Holland? You look good. Your precious swamp nice and healthy without me around?"
Alec said nothing.
"The years have been good to you, Holland!" Arcane snarled through his tears, looking up at Alec. Alec just turned away. "And why shouldn't they be. You are immortal, aren't you? You don't ever have to fear coming here! How are the Kipps?... The real ones, that is!" Again, Alec didn't answer. "Older...Wiser?... Do they even remember me, Holland!?" Still no answer. "Do you have any idea of what it's like to suffer torture every single hour of every single day for all this time? DO YOU?" Alec remained quiet. "How long has it been?" Arcane growled. "How many years? How long since you killed me?" Alec turned back to Arcane, not meeting his gaze and still keeping silent. "TELL ME, DAMN YOU! HOW LONG SINCE I DIED!!?"
Alec looked Arcane straight in the eyes and spoke softly;
"Since yesterday."
The ensuing scream could be heard through two rooms and all the way down the corridor. It seemed to go on for an eternity.

Somewhere else, two figures heard the noise.
"Think he just found out?" Tressa smiled innocently. Beside her, Alec Holland gave a more than satisfied nod.
"Uh huh"
Tressa stretched her arms lazily, like a cat relaxing; "Doesn't time fly when you're having fun?"


"Arcane." Alec said calmly, trying to shut the scientist up. He wasn't even noticed. "Arcane!" He said, this time more forcefully. Still he was ignored. Alec's nerves were jangling. With an angry grimace he raised his huge mossy arm over Arcane, clenching his fist. He wanted to hit the man. Hit him until he was finally silent. That scream was grating on his nerves in just the same way as a persistent child's squawking would a parent who'd put up with it for far too long. He stopped himself short of actually hitting the man, and looked at himself in horror; at his fist, then back down at Arcane. What was he doing!? With Arcane in the condition he was in, and with his own strength, his blow would kill him for certain. And he was actually about to do it! Alec didn't like to feel guilt, and that scream reminded him that he was feeling just that. Silence the scream....Silence the guilt. It would be easy enough to do. "No!" He said aloud, putting his arm down, shocked at what he almost did. Besides, he reminded himself firmly; he had NOTHING to feel guilty over. This was NOT his fault. This was Arcane's fault. Every bit of this was down to Arcane himself. *Never forget that*, he admonished himself.
"Go on... treat yourself. You know you want to." Came a drawling voice from the doorway. Alec turned.
"Graham?" Alec said in mild surprise, as the man wandered into the room. "No... not Graham."
"Not entirely true, Holland. I come from part of the Graham you know. We all do. Inside all of us is a part that wants to do this... even you."
"No. I refuse to believe that."
"Suit yourself. Can't say I give a damn what you believe anyway, Holland." Graham wandered round, closing in on Arcane. He turned back to Alec; "I'm going to be a little busy right now. It's up to you whether you stay or go."
"What are you going to do to him? Beat him again?"
"If he's lucky." Graham sneered. Alec frowned deeply. "What I do is really up to him. Like I said, Holland. You can watch if you want. You were always pretty good at that, weren't you? Houma's favourite swamp voyeur!" He laughed. With a shake of his head, Alec made to leave. Graham laughed after him. "You're just like us, deep down. You would have killed him just now. How do you know that blow wouldn't have been his final death? Ah, just kidding, Holland. He's not going to be that lucky; not for a long, long, long time. But hey, when you decide to climb down from your ivory tower and stop bathing in your own self righteousness, come and join us!" He turned back to Arcane, who was now silent again save for the tiniest whimpering.
Alec opened the door and made to leave. He stopped himself. He'd come here for something. He didn't actually know what, but what good would leaving do? What would he have actually accomplished? If there was a lesson to be learned here for him... something unresolved; he wasn't going to learn it by running. He turned back, and stood in the doorway watching silently.
"Arcane!" Graham said roughly. Shaking with fear, Arcane looked up at him.
"G...Graham... I.. I... Unnngggh!!" He gasped in pain as a booted foot slammed into his chest with ferocity.
"Now, now, Arcane. What did I tell you!?"
"Uhh.. I... I'm sorry, Doctor. Please, I... I'm sorry!... Aaagghh!!" He yelled as the boot met the side of his head.
"You stammered. You know how I hate it when you stammer. Now, what did you say?"
"I'm.... Sorry.... Doctor." Arcane gasped out slowly, taking intense care with each word.
"I've got some potentially good news for you; but I think you need more manners first." Graham said tantalisingly. Arcane said nothing. "You're not showing QUITE enough respect for me, yet. From now on, I'm 'Doctor, Sir'... got that!" He said harshly.
Arcane closed his eyes, his whole demeanour broken; "Yes... Doctor, Sir." He said quietly, tears running down his face.
"Better! And another thing; I don't think you ought to look at me quite as much. I think you ought to avert your eyes in my presence...oh, and bowing a little more wouldn't go amiss... eh?"
"No... Doctor, Sir." Arcane grimaced, lowering his head and not meeting Graham's gaze.
"There, that's better, isn't it. Now I don't have to hit you. As long as I get total respect and obedience from you, I won't hurt you. Understood?"
"Yes, Doctor, Sir." Arcane said meekly.
"Right, then. Now we've got that straight. I've decided to elevate you to the position of my loyal assistant. Isn't that something to be proud of!? You're going to be the assistant to the one and only Dr. Graham!"
"Yes, Doctor, Sir."
"Wonderful. You're very lucky, Arcane. Most incompetents don't get the chance. Now, I'm going to allow you out of these rooms on occasions. DON'T try wandering too far! You wouldn't do that, would you, Arcane?"
"No, Doctor, Sir."
"Good. Now you can help me with my experiments, starting now. Course I couldn't have you doing any important work because of your limited intellect and clumsiness. I think I'll have you cleaning test tubes for the next couple of days. You should just be capable of that, don't you think, you useless piece of garbage?"
"Yes, Doctor, Sir." Arcane whimpered, more in shame now than pain.
"What are you, Arcane?" Graham purred. Arcane hesitated. The foot slammed into his groin, sending him flying back into the wall. "I'm sorry, Arcane, I couldn't hear an answer. What are you!?"
"A... ungh... useless piece of... garbage." Arcane whispered.
"I can't hear you." Graham said pleasantly, advancing, with a menacing look developing on his face.
"A USELESS PIECE OF GARBAGE!" Arcane shrieked in terror. Graham stopped advancing. He crouched down beside Arcane, putting his arm round the man fondly and stroking his hair.
"I'm sorry, Arcane. You'll just have to put up with these nasty little mood swings of mine. I can be so nice one minute, and Dr. Graham the ogre, the next. Bit of a bummer for you never knowing what way I'm going to turn. Guess you'll have to think several steps ahead. I'm sure even a cretin like you will figure it out eventually." Graham stood up again. "Get up, Arcane!" He ordered. The Doctor complied, painfully dragging himself to his feet.
"Now I want you to go an clean some test tubes in a room along the corridor. Third on the left. Clean the ones like this one." Graham said, removing a largish, thick glass tube from his coat pocket. He handed it to Arcane. Arcane put his hand out to take it, but his broken fingers couldn't quite grasp it firmly enough, and the tube fell to the floor and shattered. Arcane looked at it in horror, then at Graham in even more shock. Graham's face frowned disapprovingly, before giving way to a dark smile. Arcane took a little step back in fear.
"Please, Doctor, Sir... I... I'm sorry. I..I didn't mean..."
"Oh dear! You've broken it. And you looked at me directly... AND you stammered. You haven't listened to a word I've said, have you? I can see you need another lesson."
Arcane fell to his knees, tears rolling freely down his face, his hand outstretched imploringly, but not looking directly at Graham.
"Please, Doctor, Sir, Please. I'm sorry, I swear. It'll never happen again. Please, don't hurt me again, Doctor, Sir. Please!" He sobbed; "Please! Please!!"
Alec watched all this from the doorway with mounting horror and disgust. He made a move forwards. Graham heard him and turned.
"Stay out of this, Holland!" He snarled furiously. "If you even try to interfere he'll get what I'm going to do to him a hundredfold." Alec backed off. Satisfied, Graham turned back to Arcane. "Pick it up!" He ordered the cowering scientist. His hand shaking, Arcane reached for the shards of glass. As his hand was over them, Graham brought his foot down on it, pinning it to the floor over the broken glass. He then added pressure, grinding his victim's hand into the glass strewn pile. Arcane cried out in pain. When his assailant eventually removed his boot, Arcane withdrew his blood soaked hand and scampered backwards, finally sitting with his back to the wall where he clutched it to himself, trying to pick out the tiny shards of glass.
"I'll forgive you as soon as you clean it up." Graham said evenly. Arcane seemed to pause a little, looking frightened and confused; as though he wanted to say something, but was terrified that any form of speaking would instantly bring more pain down on him. He plucked up the courage.
"Where should I put the glass, Doctor, Sir?" He said hesitantly, trying not to make the pain show in his voice too much. Graham smiled broadly.
"Eat it!" He said casually. Arcane gave a shudder of terror. Alec made a move forward, but remembered Graham's threat and stopped himself.
"EAT IT. GET DOWN ON YOUR SCRAWNY LITTLE KNEES, THEN CRAWL ON YOUR BELLY AND EAT IT!" Graham snarled; "because if you don't, I'll have the mutants force-feed you with fifty of them."
Arcane slowly knelt, sobbing in fear, and edged his way towards the pile of glass.

Alec had had enough. If he stayed any longer he'd be sick... which was no mean feat for a creature that couldn't vomit. Slamming the door behind him, he went into the corridor. Emotions were conflicting worse than before, not less. *It's not your responsibility; He brought it on himself; He deserves it; Countless beings have suffered and died because of him; You're not to blame* But for each time those thoughts came; so did others: *This is evil: Nobody deserves that: It cannot be left like this. Rights and wrongs aside, you did send him here!*
"You know, Alec. Sometimes I wonder if you actually enjoy all this anguish you always seem to put yourself through. I don't think I've ever seen anyone make so much of a meal about something so trivial. What's the matter, Alec... Allergic to fun!?" Tressa's voice goaded him cheerfully. Alec turned to her.
"Our definitions of the word 'fun' are clearly worlds apart." He replied disdainfully.
"Well that's an understatement if ever I heard one. You know, all that moss must be strangling your brain, Alec. You wouldn't know fun if it jumped up and bit you."
"I've never regarded torture as fun, as plant or man."
"See what I mean!?" She beamed cheerfully. She moved closer to him, her expression becoming just that little bit softer. "You know we shouldn't be arguing, Alec. We're supposed to be on the same side. You're the main plaintiff, remember? You should be savouring all this after everything he's done to you." She reasoned.
"I don't." Was Alec's simple reply.
Tressa shrugged. "Your choice, but do you really have any right to deny all of us our revenge? What would Linda say? Should we ask her?"
Alec's eyes widened for a second. Tressa smiled.
"My Linda, or a travesty like everyone here?"
"Either, both... take your pick. It doesn't matter."
"I know what my Linda would say. Save your goading for those who believe your lies."
"Always so sure of yourself, aren't you? Hmmm, or are you? What do you think we are, Alec? Do you think we're just created from nothing; just abstract images of what you'd call the 'real' people? You CAN'T create something from nothing, Alec. It's one of the fundamental principles of this Universe. Each and every one of us is created from that part of the 'original' that wants this...that's capable of this... even you. If there wasn't that part, we couldn't exist. Alec, do you want to meet that part of you?"
"I already have."
"No, Alec...YOU!" She pointed to him. "Part of you wants to grind him into gore and bones; wants to see him die over and over again. You can't deny you do want it. Take away that moral streak that you try so very hard to force on yourself so you can prove some abstract superiority, and you'd be his worse tormentor to date. There's nothing you'd like better than to see him burning like Linda burned; to see him mutated into a freak that nobody can look at; to see him suffer each and every death or sorrow he's ever caused. But here you don't need that morality. It's all right to let it go. It's expected. No guilt. You just do whatever you really want and everything's fine. Tempted? Sounds good, doesn't it? Sometime in aeons to come, He... You'll mete out the big death, whenever that is. It's only fair, after all. He wants this much more than we do, don't you? Well, Alec. He's waiting. He's letting us go first, of course. He's very patient, but that's to be expected: He's you; but he is around somewhere. Do you want to meet yourself?" She smiled, and Alec felt chilled. He shook his head vehemently.
"Oh dear... Afraid?" She taunted. "Afraid that you'll be shocked at what you really are... or afraid you'll like it!?"
Alec seemed to consider this for a moment, then rapidly blinked his eyes and met her gaze, his posture straightening dramatically.
"A good try. I almost believed your lies. Linda would NOT want this, *I* would not want it, and it can't go on like this."
She shrugged casually. "What a killjoy! Go see the legal department. I'm just a willing employee here." She laughed. "Ooops, sorry, we don't have one. No appeals here. Everyone's guilty! End of story." She saw the look developing on Alec's face. "You know, Alec, you really need to at least try to develop a better sense of humour. If fun's out of the question, try irony; that would be a good start. It might help your outlook on this situation." Alec's expression never changed. "Hey, if it makes you feel any better, he'd have been coming here without your help... just later, that's all. So there you have it. No guilt, eh? Come on, Alec, big smile!" She grinned, moving to pat him gently. In a sudden gesture, he grasped her hand firmly.
"I said it CAN'T go on like this." He reiterated forcefully.
"It can and it will." She said softly, her expression changed in an instant to one of pure vindictive determination. "Look around you. This is what we do. What gives you the arrogance to decide how we run our world? If you're not going to help yourself to what's your god given right, you're damn well not going to stop us! What are you going to do, Alec? Stop us physically? Are you prepared to spend eternity in Hell standing bodyguard for him? Or perhaps you think you can help him escape somewhere? There's no escape. This place is closed off... HIS Hell. Nowhere to run to. You can return to life, he can't. His body's dead. Would you really try to bring him back?... let him start all over again causing his suffering, because he will, you know. He'll never change." Alec was silent. "Besides, you couldn't bring him back now anyway. Too late. Human bodies don't regenerate like you. He'll be decaying by now... oh, maybe just a little bit, but too late for your tricks to work. No, Alec, he's here for the duration!"
"I never said I wanted to bring him back. I want the torture to stop."
"It's not going to happen. Live with it!" She said coldly; "And a word to the wise, if you do interfere, you're subject to the laws of this place. How would you like to suffer with him. Well, at least he'd have company." She laughed.
"Laws." Alec said contemptuously; "What laws does this place have?"
Tressa's eyes widened happily; "Why, the ones we make up as we go along... mostly! The only law you need concern yourself with is the one that says we do what we want, when we want, to who we want. Is that clear?"
Alec said nothing. What was clear to him was that talking to these 'people' was going to get nowhere. So what was he going to do? He couldn't interfere, he couldn't dissuade them; he couldn't take any external action. *Live with it* A voice said in his head. *It's not like there's anything else you CAN do*. Well, he'd tried, hadn't he? He'd given it his best, and failed. He couldn't conceivably feel any guilt when he'd done his best to stop this; and Arcane DID deserve to suffer, didn't he? He closed his eyes and concentrated.
Immediately, he felt a tugging, floating sensation as he become non-corporeal for a few moments; followed by the inevitable return to his body on the material plane. He surveyed his domain again in silence. He wouldn't return there, no matter what the curiosity, he vowed. There was nothing to be gained. He'd had his fill of Arcane's Hell. For the whole of eternity he never wanted to see that place again. *So, Alec, what do you think it would be like to spend eternity there, let alone visit once in a while?* A voice nagged him.* He shut it out.
He needed some air. What he needed was to go for a walk. *What you need is for all this to have some quick and easy solution* It wasn't going to happen. There was no guilt. He'd tried his best. *Did you? Didn't look to me like you'd tried very hard to do anything other than stand and watch, and be ordered about. Anyone might think you didn't WANT to really do anything.* He shook his head, descending into the waters leading out of the cave. He HAD tried his best!
*Yeah, right!*


When Arcane awoke, he was alone in the room again. He looked down. The blood was still there, but no sign of any glass. He looked at his hands, then felt his throat. No wounds. Whole again. He closed his eyes tightly. He hadn't survived it. It must have shredded his throat, and judging by the copious pool of blood he was lying in, he'd bled to death. How he longed for these deaths now. They were now the only respite he had. They were sweet peaceful oblivion... no pain; followed by a whole and healthy body. *For the pathetically tiny moment it would last* he thought bitterly to himself. His eyes swivelled round quickly, wondering who would come through the door this time; who it would be that would become his latest bearer of unimaginable torments. Tressa? Graham? Holland? *Oh God, please don't let it be Holland!* They'd come. Any minute now, they'd come; and they would... He crouched down, shivering, clutching his arms tightly round his body. He waited for the inevitable.

What seemed like an hour later, still no-one had come in. Arcane was beginning to get beside himself with waiting. *But isn't this what you want?* It was a rest. No pain, no humiliation. *Why aren't they here?* His mind cried out. *Why this damnable waiting* The never-ending pain: It was almost as if he could understand that; knew to expect the worse. This... this was new. In all the time he'd been here, he'd never been alone for so long. *All this time! What a travesty! Only a day!* It was a trick, it had to be. He knew how long he'd been here. It was all an evil trick. Yes, that was it....just a cruel trick. *Yes. Feel free to believe that if you really want*.

More long minutes passed, and still no-one came. Finally, Arcane got up, tentatively and shaking. Maybe this was a cue for them to arrive? But no, he was still alone. *Wait* he remembered. The Doctor... *Graham*, he reminded himself harshly, trying to muster some of his old self in these precious moments. Damn it! He was Anton Arcane! Whatever they tried to make him believe. He was still THE Anton Arcane, wasn't he!? Graham had told him to clean tubes. What if he was meant to be there? He edged nervously towards the door, reaching out for the handle. He paused, his hand pulling back at the last minute. *I am still Anton Arcane, THE Anton Arcane!* he began chanting in his head, over and over, like a mantra; trying to draw what strength he could from it. Taking a deep breath and steeling himself, he grasped it firmly and opened it.

Still nobody there. Just an empty corridor. Third on the left, he reminded himself; or was it second on the left....or third on the right? *Oh bugger!* He thought, knowing that in this place, whatever he chose was bound to be wrong. He walked on ahead, and with a slight pause stood before the second door on the left. A thought occurred to him. *Nobody's here. What if I can escape* His eyes glinted with a glee born of desperation. *No* He considered again, certain that all this had to be planned. They wouldn't just have forgotten him. It was strange, but despite everything, and the fact that he should want them to forget... to leave him alone; but part of him seemed to reject that as undesirable. If he was forgotten, he was less than worthy of their contempt, and he WAS THE Anton Arcane. Damn it, he was worth more than just being forgotten! *What the bloody hell are you thinking, Anton!?* he derided himself. *Do you WANT more of what you've been getting?* He shook his head firmly. *Right, then. In that case, what to do now?* Perhaps he should try the door and play the good little victim? Perhaps he should try to escape, or see if that was even a possibility? But then what if he was captured again, he'd be... *Anton, stop being such a bloody idiot!* he reprimanded himself. *They're going to torture you anyway!* What extra could an attempted escape bring? He began to wonder why he'd even hesitated. Where was his usual certainty, his self confidence, his supreme powers of logic? *Buggered, that's what!* a little voice said in his muddled brain. *They're wearing you down, Anton. DON'T let them. Remember who you are. Never forget.* Even after everything, this break had allowed time for some of himself to return. He'd made his mind up. Escape, or at least the attempt was decided upon. He did NOT want more of this without putting up some sort of defence.
"Really? Don't you, Anton?" A voice echoed from down the corridor. He froze in shock, before turning slowly, his face turning drip white with horror. In a misty light, a figure was silhouetted. With slow steady pacing, it approached him, hands clasped behind it's back in supreme self confidence.
"No... No, this isn't possible!" He gasped.
"Why ever not, Anton? Why isn't it possible?"
Arcane backed off, shaking his head in mute denial. The figure got closer. As it did so, the features became illuminated and distinct; but he knew who it was even before he could see.
"This is impossible! This isn't happening it isn't happening isn't happening. YOU can't be here!" He screamed, forcing himself to look directly into the arrogant and steely gaze of himself. Arcane smiled back at him. He'd never realised just how terrifying his own smile could be. It approached him, close enough to touch.
"Hello, Anton. No introductions necessary, I take it? Jolly good!" It surveyed him with calm disdain. "Oh dear, Anton, you have let yourself go. And just look at those clothes. Tsk tsk. You wouldn't catch me dead in a suit like that. It's so... tacky. Arcane looked across at IT; the pristine Armani suit; shoes by Gucci; not one single hair out of place; the tangible malevolence; the self confidence oozing from every pore; Ha! If he could see the hands, he just knew there'd be a decent manicure!
And then he looked at himself in the limited reflection from the metal walls: Stooped posture; bloodshot eyes; torn, faded coverall soiled with blood, sweat and urine; hair limp and matted; fear and uncertainty oozing from every pore... He looked back at this creature purporting to be him.
"Purporting?" It laughed. "Anton, really! Now which of us do you think is more you? Come on, be honest." Arcane didn't answer. He regarded the creature with hatred.
"You... you actually hate me?" It laughed. "How can you hate yourself? I think what you really hate is what you've become, and you're blaming me for that. Don't I remind you of what you should be? Hmmm, all this guilt doesn't become us at all, Anton! Hell, you're making me look bad!"
"This... this is bloody obscene!" Arcane finally gasped. "How the hell can you exist!? I don't want to torture myself! How can you be working with Tressa... with Holland?..."
"Now, now, one question at a time, although multiples aren't really a problem. After all, I am Anton Arcane; and incredible is my middle name!" It gloated with a broad, oily smile. Arcane wanted to put his fist through it, before remembering that he really was looking at himself. Funny how he'd always thought himself to have had a more pleasant smile than that.
"In answer to your last question, I'm not working with Holland and the Kipp clan. We don't get on. I'm sure you can appreciate why. I'm what you might call a...solo practitioner here. Still, I do have my place and a job to do, so here I am."
"Your place!? How can you be here... How can *I* be here!? I DON'T want to hurt myself."
"True enough on the face of things; but part of you knows that here is where you OUGHT to be. You deserve all this, Anton... and you know it. That's why I'm here. Anton, if you were going to be evil you should have done it far more efficiently. Actually being totally convinced you were in the right might have helped... Absolute confidence that what you were doing wasn't wrong! But you couldn't be trusted to do that properly, could you?” He rolled his eyes and sighed. “D’you want to know something, Anton?” It was a statement more than a question really; “there are some souls around that have actually done worse things than you. Not as many things, admittedly; not by a long way... and, well, maybe worse is a tad exaggerated; but at least as bad. Want to know how some of them are spending their afterlives?”
“Variations on this, I would imagine!” Arcane snorted derisively.
“Quite the contrary!” The echo seemed frustrated by the answer rather than smug. “For your information, they’re living the afterlife of luxury. Some are basking in the rewards that were coming to them for their achievements: 24 hours of pleasure a day... get the picture? Oh, and then there’s the ones that liked what they did in life so much that they get to do it all over again. They get their echoes too, only they’re the ones to torture THEM! Each and every afterlife catering to their every whim!”
“WHAT!?” Arcane gave a whispered gasp, barely believing what he was hearing. “Then... then why am I here. Why am I suffering this. I’m in HELL damn it!”
“Hell... Heaven... they don’t exist... well, actually they do, but not like you were led to believe at any rate. We all get exactly what we deserve, Anton... which is exactly what we BELIEVE we deserve. You ARE in Hell, but only because that part of you with the guilt realised exactly what you were doing, and that you *were* hurting people. This Universe doesn’t mind bastards, Anton. It’s fine to be one. Expected even. There has to be a certain number of us to balance all the other types. The only crime is in knowing it!”
“Then... then surely all I have to do is know I don’t deserve to be here?” Arcane’s eyes lit up momentarily, but the echo shook it’s head slowly.
“Too late for that, my old son. It’s what you thought in life that counts. I doubt you could change your subconscious nature, even if you wanted to.” The echo paused for a moment in contemplation; “Hmmm... maybe it would be possible? Unlikely though, and far too late now. You see, you’ve already created us, although ‘summoned’ might be a more appropriate word. As a scientist, you know you can’t create something from nothing. Do you really think the hundreds of thousands of irate beings you’ve summoned here are suddenly going to disappear just because you change your mind... or that they’ll just let you go? I rather think not. Pity you weren't as insane as they all thought you were. That would have stilled the guilt, wouldn't it? Ah, if you’d have only known what you now know while you were still alive?” He gave a contemplative musing, before his aspect hardened noticeably into a vindictive scowl. “Now; because of that one tiny bit of you that knew what a vicious little louse you were, I'VE got to spend eternity down here with YOU!"
"My heart's bleeding for you." Arcane snapped a barbed comment; for probably the first time, frustration and anger overcoming any fear he had.
"It will, Anton... trust me." The other Arcane grinned back. "If I'm here for eternity because of you, you little maggot, I intend to make sure I don't get bored. You’re the part of us that’s here to suffer, not ME! And you know how we hate to get bored, don't you? Oh, I've got plans for you, Anton. Magnificent plans! The knowledge and sensations we can explore together. It'll make what Holland did to you seem like a walk in the park, trust me. I'll..."
"If you're going to torture me, then just bloody well get on with it! At least I won't have to listen to your endless prattling!" Arcane snapped. Despite his undeniable fear, something more primal and overpowering was beginning to grate on his nerves just that little bit too much; something far worse than the horror of whatever tortures were planned. He paused and considered what he'd just said, looking at his mirror image in dawning realisation. Was he really like this? He'd certainly never seen himself in this light before. He shook his head. *No.* his mind lied to him soothingly. This was just a mockery of his true self. When HE threatened, people listened! Not like this pathetic echo of himself! People took HIM seriously. He spoke with style and clarity. This echo just babbled on irritatingly! He was NOTHING like this thing! He looked at himself with abject contempt. How he hated this travesty more than Tressa, or Graham, or Holland; or the whole bloody lot of them!
His double laughed. "Of course you do, Anton. You hate me most of all because I'm the only reason you're here in the first place. You should have had more faith in your methods, or not bothered at all... trust me."
"Oh shut up!" He snapped at himself with intense irritation, folding his arms indignantly. The other Arcane laughed softly, as though indulging in some small private joke.
In that instant, Arcane made his mind up. He was buggered if he'd allow himself to be tortured by himself!! Before his double could do anything else, the Doctor suddenly made a bolt for it, running fast as he could down the corridor. *Anything to get away from that monstrosity* his mind shouted. He could have sworn he heard laughter behind him, in the distance. He didn't dare look back. *Where to go?* his mind raced ahead. *Keep on running? Pick a door?*
He was certain he couldn't hear footsteps following. In his chest his heart was pounding. The corridor seemed bloody endless! He passed a door on his right, and stopped, quickly glancing backwards. He was alone. Relief almost overwhelmed him. His irritation had well and truly disappeared, and fear was now firmly back in it's rightful place. Logic told him to carry on... to see where the corridor eventually went. An almost intangible force was compelling him to try the door on the right. It was a trap, he knew it. *Maybe it isn't? Maybe the endless corridor is a diversion... that may be the trap? Perhaps this innocuous door that shouldn't be a way out really is? Is anything what it seems down here?* He was confused and torn. Door or corridor? Corridor or door? He found his hand grasping the door handle. Slowly, he turned it and entered.

 

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