Othello Greene: The Story Begins

THE DAY DIDN'T START OUT LIKE THIS

"Shhh. It's not important," she said, with tears flowing, caressing the side of his swollen face. "Baby, I need you to help me."

"There's nothing I can do. It's over, Helena. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." "No, don't apologize. I knew the risks and I loved the ride. But I need you to listen to me. Please," she begged, turning his face back toward hers. "I need you to help me.

"It's over, Helena. Only God can help us now."

"No. That's not true," she cried, grabbing his hand and placing it on her throat.

"No . . . No, I can't," he sighed, attempting to pull his hand away. Even under these nightmare conditions, the touch of his hand against her skin brought back a flood of memories. How much he loved her. The thousand times they shared each other, holding nothing back. She grabbed it tightly, with both hands, kneeling her broken, battered, and violated body in the pool of blood around him. "Yes, you can. I'm already gone. Please don't let them hurt me again. Those bastards did so many terrible things to me. Please . . . Please . . .," she pleaded, pulling his hand harder against her throat.

He gazed deeply into her eyes. They were dead. A thousand words passed between them without a single sound. He allowed a tear to fall from his eye before he wrapped his massive hand around her neck, the same hand that used to caress her smooth bronze skin in moments of tenderness, and began to squeeze. She nodded in approval, as the tears continued to flow. He closed his eyes and with one great effort, he snapped the vertebrae like a twig, severing her spinal cord. He gently lowered her limp, lifeless body down to his chest and held her for the last time.

He was drifting in and out of consciousness, waiting for his captors to come and finish him off. He knew they must have been pumping him full of drugs to keep him alive, but the drugs also clouded his mind. He couldn't remember anything after setting up the kill shot of his intended target. "What went wrong? Were we set up? Who compromised the mission?" he asked himself, continuing to hold Helena's lifeless body. "It doesn't matter. I won't live long enough to make it right," he whispered in her ears.

Every second felt like minutes, and every minute felt like hours. Each time he faded out he wished he would never wake again. The drugs began to wear off and the intensity of the pain began to overwhelm him. Knowing that his end was staring him in his face, he naturally inclined to his belief in a higher power. "Dear God, I know I haven't had much need for you in my life. And I know my fate in the next life ain't looking too good. But I believe I was doing the right thing. Ridding the world of tyrants, oppressors, and downright assholes. So I'm asking you to take that into consideration as I move into the next life. I mean, nobody's perfect, but if you don't see it that way, please make sure those pieces of garbage who did this to Helena aren't too far behind me. They're going to think hell was paradise before I got there. Amen."

The door burst open and two huge Nigerians in military fatigues entered the room. Both men were built like tanks. The first through the threshold snatched Helena by her upper arm and dangled her limp body completely off the floor. Her head swung from her torso like fuzzy dice hanging from a car's rearview mirror. Realizing that Othello killed their recreation, he flung her body across the room and they began to kick him mercilessly. His ribs shattered under the abuse, his jaw broke in two places, and his teeth disappeared into the pool of blood on the floor.

A higher-ranking officer entered the room and pulled the men off Othello. "You fucking idiots! We have orders not to kill him yet. If he dies, we're dead."

"He killed the bitch," one of the enraged soldiers screamed. "Fuck her. We were supposed to have killed her anyway. Now pick him up and bring him back to the interrogation chamber."

"Yes, sir," they chimed, seizing Othello under his armpits and carrying him out of the room.

Othello had no control of his limbs. The sadistic abuse, beatings, and dismemberment left him utterly desensitized. His once masterfully chiseled frame was now unrecognizable, but more and more, as the drugs wore off, he became more cognizant. He could only imagine that the reason he was still breathing, especially after losing all reason to live, was the extraordinary training regimen he had subjected himself to for the last twenty-five years.

As they reached the entrance of the chamber, they placed a sack over his head. He heard the door open, but he became disoriented. He didn't know if he was still being carried or if they had put him down. He could hear what sounded like growling dogs and he could taste blood in his mouth.

A smooth, soothing voice began to speak over an intercom. "Mr. Greene, it has become apparent that you will not talk, nor will we get you to confess that you were sent by your government to assassinate President Okunun. They have already denounced you and your team as rogue agents and traitors. How merciful you were to your female accomplice; however, you will not be afforded the same generosity. Remove the bag from his head."

Othello was attached to a harness extended over an oval pit, about half the size of three handball courts. Multiple cameras were strategically positioned on the walls. Below were three unusually large hyenas, tugging on a piece of raw meat. Another was alone with a large piece all to itself. He could hear every bite, as they devoured the bones right along with the flesh. As he took a deeper look, he was horrified to see that they were eating his legs.

"Shortly, the entire world will witness a man eaten alive by these highly efficient scavengers," exclaimed the voice. "And you, Mr. Greene, have the unenviable honor of having the best seat in the house. It's a shame that I will miss it. I have a more pressing matter to attend. But I will catch the playback on YouTube."

The winch attached to the harness cable began lowering Othello into the pit. It came to an abrupt halt when what was left of his legs was six feet off the ground. The sudden movement attracted the ravenous animals and they began to circle below their prey. The scent of blood worked them into a frenzy. The world watched in horror as the sadistic drama played out on the Internet. International news agencies posted photos of the accused assassins and traitors during better days, in full military attire—a stark contrast to the broken shell of an individual dangling like a worm on a hook.

One of the bloodthirsty hyenas leapt into the air and took a firm hold of Othello's left kneecap and lower thigh. With its massive bone- crushing jaws, it shook him violently in an attempt to pull him from his roost. He could hear his thigh dislocate from his hip as he screamed out in pain. Millions of viewers watched in silence and disbelief. The flesh gave way and his thigh bone broke in half. The animal crashed to the ground, while being showered by blood from above.

The hyena began to quickly devour its prize as Othello hung help- lessly, writhing in pain. The webcast abruptly terminated and automatic gunfire rang out from all directions. The faint sound of silenced weapons could be heard directly outside the chamber. Screams and confusion echoed through the room. Another hyena was poised to jump at the hanging prey, its large, open mouth exposing massive white teeth as saliva flowed freely from its lips. Suddenly, its head exploded and its body collapsed, twitching as if it was still alive. One by one, the ravenous animals met the same fate as the first. Three armed men dressed head to toe in all-black, form-fitting body suits moved through the room with precision. "Clear!" one of them yelled in Arabic.

"He's still alive!" another said to a small Middle Eastern man who casually walked into the room.

"Ma sha Allah," he said, looking into Othello's eyes. "Cut him down. Immediately. "