WARNING: BLOOD, BODY
LOT # 27: HUNTING SEASON (2006)
The scrape of boots on concrete echoes through the entire room. The air is no longer cleanβitβs thick with iron, sweat, and fear. Only carbon dioxide escapes from frequent, ragged breaths, mixed with capillary blood trickling from nostrils down to the philtrum. The camera has been rolling for nearly an hour. In that time, there were only conversations, a prelude of bruises, then beatingsβand duct tape over the face. β "Jacob, Jacob, what a liar you are. You said you'd sue me or kill me yourself, and now here you are, sitting in my underground temple. What's wrong, you piece of shit? Why so frail? Even my dear ladies and gentlemen aren't impressed." The speakerβa man in a maskβaddressed the blond in glasses. The mask was that of a Canadian lynx, with tufted ears, thick fur, fangs, and hollow eye sockets. Even under the basement light, no eyes were visibleβonly the grimace of hunger and rage. A dark grey hoodie with the hood up; black jeans clearly taken from someone else's hips, held up by a belt; the ensemble finished with combat boots and black laces. Jacob, by contrast, was more colorful: dirty-blond hair, damp from the humidity; glasses behind which green eyes sat bruised beneath the lids; a flannel plaid shirt; once-beige trousers now filthy and stained with bloody smears. Jacob just stared at the camera flash, tears spilling from his eyes one after another. His limbs were bound and battered, his shirt blotched with blood, and a stray lock of hair had been twisted into a heart shapeβmaking it look to the viewers as if, deep down, he was enjoying it. But he wasn't. He wanted to scream, curse, biteβbut the tape over his mouth stopped him. Suddenly, a notification lit up on the bright monitor screenβfrom an anonymous user, "anon121574890423". The message read: "Mr. Lynx, give in to your urges and taste the fruit of his flesh!" And in another window, the Bitcoin amount increased. β "Well then, time to feast! Thank you for your generosity." With that, the mask leaned down and whispered in his ear: β "Now do you understand how she felt when you drugged her food, threw her into darkness, into your own basement? You're just as selfish as everyone you've killed." A single secondβand hands in black fabric gloves gripped his upper and lower jaw, wrenching the lower one away from the upper with force, exposing the chin, lips, yellowish teeth, and two strands of hair with reddish ends. The lips closed and began to suckle at the cheek, producing wet, smacking sounds with a grinding of teeth. Saliva dripped down his chin as the teeth clamped tighter and tighter, pulling at Jacob's skin while he wept in despair and whimpered like a kicked dog. Only the camera, the flash, and the screen remained static, showing what people would search for in the years to comeβjust like the other recordings. The recordings of Mr. Lynx.
