The Schwarzschild Radius
Read The Schwarzschild Radius Online
Authors: Gustavo Florentin
A Division of
Whampa, LLC
P.O. Box 2160
Reston, VA 20195
Tel/Fax: 800-998-2509
http://curiosityquills.com
© 2014 Gustavo Florentin
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information about Subsidiary Rights, Bulk Purchases, Live Events, or any other questions - please contact Curiosity Quills Press at
[email protected]
, or visit
http://curiosityquills.com
ISBN 978-1-62007-610-1 (ebook)
ISBN 978-1-62007-611-8 (paperback)
ISBN 978-1-62007-612-5 (hardcover)
ncient Greek philosophers used a face-slapping technique to engrain a point in the student’s mind; here, it conveyed the truth that the girl was going to die.
The Webmaster activated the camera, and Olivia Wallen’s image traveled across four continents. Her jet-black hair was cut in bangs across the forehead in the classic China-doll style. Her voluptuous American figure was incongruent with her Thai features and was accented by the red Brazilian bikini which offered a triangle of coverage in the crotch.
“Turn around,” said the voice. She did so, revealing the flawlessness of her back and legs.
“The skin is like pearl,” said the Webmaster, now addressing the others via web cam. “As you like it in the East. She is five-feet six inches tall. Her measurements are 32-24-33.”
The clients on the other side of the world were impressed. Men like Masutatsu Nakayama, Vladimir Zeitkin, and Mohammad Qasim.
Vladimir Zeitkin’s loyalty to Putin had won him his own oil company and now he spent his time competing with Paul Allen of Microsoft fame by building the biggest yacht in the world. He collected Greek and Roman statuary and Nazi art looted during World War II. But it took time to build mega-yachts, and while the static images of paintings were sublime, the living, breathing art of torture, suffering, and death redefined beauty.
And there was Mohammad Qasim. There was little entertainment in Saudi Arabia despite his oil billions. He had taken pleasure for a while in abusing the Filipina housemaids he brought in for his entertainment and that of his friends, but that grew dull. He sponsored a small jihad organization and followed their exploits as he followed Manchester United, but blowing up anonymous infidels got repetitive.
Now, without leaving his office, he could witness what surpassed even the public beheadings and honor killings he’d seen.
Masutatsu Nakayama was a man for whom all things had become tiresome. Now retired from industry with an estimated fortune of two billion dollars, he was on a quest for the few experiences he had left unvisited. And this site gave it to him.
While other sex sites featured photos and videos, the Webmaster’s had live captives. He performed whatever the clients requested. And in the end, they always requested death. This left no doubt that the girls weren’t actors. The manner of death came from the depths of the subconscious. He had performed hangings, beheadings, electrocutions, tooth extractions, dismemberments. Occasionally they requested a boy, but usually it was a young girl. The clients voted on the type of victim, the race, age, even social standing. For some of these men, it was their first experience in democracy. Payment consisted of a wire transfer to a Cayman Islands bank account. Half due on winning the auction; half after delivery of the product. The clients paid an initial membership fee, then bid on what they wanted done to the victim. The abuse lasted until the clients agreed it was time for execution. This, too, was put up for auction and only the winner received the final product. The winning bidder received the exclusive live stream and download of his request. It was the eBay of agony.
Each girl could produce bids in excess of two-hundred thousand dollars. The longer the pain was drawn out, the more profit was made. The key was to keep replenishing the supply of victims. And the Webmaster had an endless supply.
“Take off your clothes and turn around. Again. Stand against the wall,” he instructed. The terrified girl complied and the contrast of her body against the gray of the concrete produced gasps of pleasure from the audience.
“What is your name?”
“Olivia. Olivia Wallen.”
“Age?”
“Sixteen.”
“Nationality.”
“Please let me go.”
“Nationality?”
“American.”
She was hyperventilating, and this made her lovely chest heave up and down.
“Where are you from originally?”
“Thailand.”
“How did you come here?”
Olivia went into her past as far as she could remember.
“Your grades are exceptional. What university did you plan to attend? I said what university?”
“Harvard.”
“A Harvard girl, gentlemen. This should appeal to you. What were you going to study at Harvard?”
The tears streamed down her cheeks as the interrogation had its intended effect.
“Medicine.”
“You planned to help humanity?”
“Please let―”
“You must answer the questions. I explained that to you. You planned to help humanity?”
“Yes.”
“And what do you do in your spare time? Answer the question. Answer the question.”
“Reading.”
“Reading. What do you read? Who are you favorite authors?”
“Herman Hesse.”
“Who else?”
“Hemingway.”
“Good, good. So you’re well-read. But let’s be honest with these gentlemen, there’s also another side to you isn’t there?”
She said nothing.
“Answer.”
“Yes,” she said, finally.
“We’ll explore that in due course. Well, there you have it, gentlemen. This concludes the introduction. A mysterious and beautiful girl. And we’ll find out more about her in each encounter. Bidding for the first torment starts at fifty thousand dollars with increments of five thousand. Gentlemen, what is your pleasure?”
achel Wallen wasn’t the first Ivy League kid to enter the homeless shelter. The other was her sister who had disappeared four days earlier. Yet even as she stepped through the door she sensed that this was only a portal into the world that had swallowed Olivia.
