Hitting Bottom

He couldn't believe this happened! He didn't even think he was capable of it, Paul Monogy thought to himself as he entered the room, taking off his windbreaker. Underneath his clothes were covered in blood. He didn't bother changing though, he just plopped down on the bed. Things just got so carried away back there. Those pictures of him and his daughter... being intimate, getting mailed to his ex-wife. She did have a reason to be mad. But she kept hitting him and hitting him! All he wanted to do was make her stop. Then before he knew it was had punched her! But she was the one who took it to the next level. She was the one who grabbed the scissors, she was the one who tried to use them against him. He just took them away from her so she didn't stab him. But she kept calling him names, cursing at him. She wouldn't stop. He just got so anger. The next thing he knew, there was blood everywhere, his ex-wife was on the ground, and he was over her, stabbing her over and over. He didn't know what to do, so he put on a jacket to cover his blood soaked clothes, and ran for it. So here he was, stuck in a crappy motel with no idea of what to do next. All of a sudden there was a knock on the door. His heart jumped out of his chest. He got up from the bed, walked over to the door, and looked through the peek hole. He didn't see anyone. He opened the door as much as the chain lock allowed him to, hoping that would give him more visibility. But the second the door was opened a crack, a bolt cutter slipped in, cutting the chain, as a man rammed himself into the door. The blow was so hard, it knocked Paul off his feet and caused the door to fling wide open. As he got back to his feet, four guys dressed all in black walked in, followed by a man dressed in a suit and tie. Before he could ask anything, two of the men in black grabbed him, pulling him over and sitting him in a chair. 

"Hey, what the hell?! Who are you?" But no one answered. The two that sat him down just grabbed his hands and tied them behind your back. The man in the suit just walked up calmly. The man in the suit was forty-six years of age. He was white, stood about five seven, a little pudgy, with a thinning hair line that had receded almost to the back of his head. "Calm down Mr. Monogy. My names Mr. Kantz. My associates and I are only here to claim what we're owed." He held out his hand, and a man behind him handed him a stick like devise. It had a six inch, plastic part in the bottom that served as a handle. On top of that, a thin, metal rod popped out six inches long itself. On the tip was a flat symbol, also made out of metal. The symbol had a small bears head with two spears crossed behind it. Kantz pushed a small button on the plastic handle. 

"I owe you? What?" One of the men in black pulled out a knife. "Wait, please. Don't!" The man took the knife and cut open his shirt, revealing Paul's flabby, pale chest underneath. Paul was relieved that didn't go the way he thought it would, until he saw Kantz bringing the hot, mechanical brand closer to him. "No, please!" 

"I'm sorry Mr. Monogy. Game over Mr. Monogy, we win." He said, pushing the brand into his chest. Paul let out a scream so loud, his agonizing wails could be heard a block away.

Part 1: The Descent 

Aaron Stern sat at his computer, leaned in close so he could see every detail, as he put the finishing touches on his work. The city of San Jose bid out a neighboring city to make the Oakland A's the San Jose A's. It was such a big deal in the city that the city counsel needed a big, beautiful, stylish, state of the art arena to house them in. And Aarons company got the job the create the design for that very stadium. And being that Aaron was the companies best architect, it was up to him to make this dream a reality. Which is what he was on his way to doing, or so Darrel, Aarons boss, said every time he came in to check up on him. About seven times a day. Which was seven more times a day then Aaron preferred. But he couldn't bring himself to say anything to Darrel. They had been friends for over ten years, they were close to each others families. Plus Darrel was just nervous. He always got nervous on big accounts. Aaron knew that if Darrel had it his way he'd be designing all of them. Aaron was a white man in his early thirties. Light brown hair that was starting to thin. He was five feet, nine inches tall, thin with nice muscles from years of working out. Darrel didn't require them to wear suits, but Aaron liked to look semi-nice. White polo shirt, khaki pants, dress shoes. When Aaron heard his office door swing open, he didn't even look up to see who it was.