The Soundproof Barrier Room

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"Hey, hey?! What are you doing? What is the meaning of this madness?" Panic began to claw at the edges of Jansen's consciousness as he struggled to comprehend the bizarre and unsettling tableau unfolding before him.

Their movements appeared stilted, almost mechanical upon closer observation, their actions guided by an unseen force that defied logic and reason.

Yet, their appearances remained eerily lifelike, their eyes devoid of emotion as they stared blankly ahead.

CRACK!

The sharp sound of a slap echoed through the room, breaking the tense silence and marking the beginning of a descent into a nightmarish ordeal for Jansen, one filled with torment and suffering beyond his wildest imagination.

Despite the foolish expression on his face betraying a myriad of questions, the notion of facing the consequences of his actions and the atrocities he had committed was not one that crossed Jansen's mind as he found himself thrust into the clutches of death's dark angel that night.

"What is this? Why?! Hey! Let me go! I'll pay whatever you want! Name your price—" Jansen's desperate plea was cut short by the tightening grip of dread that wrapped around his throat, suffocating his words and extinguishing any hope of bargaining his way out of the impending doom that awaited him.

"Noisy! Do you not hold anything sacred in this world besides money?! Do you believe that everything can be bought, even the life of another human being? Are you not haunted by the guilt of snuffing out a life that had no part in this!?" The once seductive voices of the two girls now echoed with the furious indignation of a man—Jansen could almost place the familiarity of that voice at the edge of his consciousness.

"What?! What do you mean?!"

Yet, fear and desperation clouded his thoughts, blocking his ability to fully process the identity of the voice based on the memories stored in his mind.

The transformation in the two girls wasn't confined to just their voices. Their eyes underwent a terrifying metamorphosis, turning a deep, blood-red hue.

Sharp and malevolent, their gazes pierced through the darkness with a sinister intensity, while their pupils dilated to monstrous proportions, exuding an aura of malice and cruelty.

"You've created a soundproof barrier, haven't you?" one of the girls asked the other, her voice dripping with a newfound sense of authority.

"Yes, I have. Our voices have been suppressed since the door to this room was sealed shut, rendering them inaudible to anyone else except the wretch before us. His consciousness has also been restored, I'm certain," the other replied, her tone laced with a chilling certainty.

Their once alluring facades now twisted into grotesque visages of pure malevolence, the two girls exuded an aura of otherworldly menace that sent shivers down Jansen's spine.

It was as if they were no longer human, but rather manifestations of some dark and ancient force, bent on exacting retribution upon the hapless man trapped before them.

As consciousness slowly returned to Jansen—since the slap, he had been bewildered by the two girls speaking and looking alike—the confusion escalated into sheer panic when one of the girls reached for a fruit knife from the table, while the other sat calmly before him.

"You? Are you insane? What do you intend to do with that knife?" Jansen exclaimed, his voice tinged with fear. He struggled against his restraints with all his might, but it was futile as the girl wielding the knife deliberately cut through his bindings.

With a sudden thud, Jansen fell to the ground, completely vulnerable.

"There's nothing you can do with those crippled legs of yours! You deserve a gruesome death!" The words were spat out with venom, sending a chill down Jansen's spine as he realized the full extent of the peril he was in. The room seemed to close in around him, the air thick with malice and the promise of imminent doom.

With every escape route tightly sealed, Jansen found himself trapped within the confines of the room, with no way out. He could only run in circles around the chamber—his crippled legs a hindrance as he tried to evade the savage attacks, but to no avail.

Srrrrttttt!!!!

A single thrust, and the blade carved a long gash into Jansen's calf. Blood gushed forth, staining the girl's face in a macabre display of violence.

In agonizing pain, Jansen stumbled and collapsed to the ground, his wounded leg unable to support his weight. With a twisted smile of sadistic satisfaction, the girl loomed over him, the glint of madness dancing in her blood-red eyes.

"Pathetic," she hissed, her voice dripping with contempt as she raised the knife once more, ready to strike again.

"ARHKKKK! You bitch! Damn it, why are you doing this to me! Have I ever wronged a bitch like you?"

Bugh!!!

This time, a hard punch landed with perfect precision on the severely injured leg. The man screamed again, louder than before, his breaths coming in ragged gasps, sweat pouring down his face as his expression contorted with agony and rage.

"You can ask that in hell once I'm done sending you to the god of death."

"What? Hey, are you serious about killing me? How much? How much money do you need—"

The girl spat, hitting Jansen square in the left eye.

"I've already explained, haven't I? This has nothing to do with money. What I'm doing is making you pay for the life of someone you deemed insignificant."

The torment persisted unabated. Each slap against Jansen's cheeks landed with brutal force, the blows raining down in a relentless onslaught until his skin turned a sickly shade of blue and his cheeks swelled grotesquely. The room echoed with the sickening sound of flesh meeting flesh, punctuated by Jansen's anguished cries of pain.

But the physical assault was just the beginning. With sadistic precision, the assailant wielded the fruit knife, carving jagged lines of agony into Jansen's palms and the soles of his feet.

Each cut sent waves of searing pain coursing through his body, leaving him gasping for breath and unable to mount any form of resistance.

As blood pooled on the floor, mingling with the acrid scent of fear and desperation, a twisted sense of satisfaction began to stir within the perpetrator.

He reveled in the sight of his victim writhing in agony, the helpless prey slowly succumbing to the inevitability of his fate.

With each agonized cry, the assailant's heart swelled with a perverse sense of pleasure, his senses ablaze with the intoxicating rush of revenge fulfilled.

And as Jansen teetered on the brink of unconsciousness, the assailant watched on, savoring every moment of the gruesome spectacle with a chilling sense of satisfaction.

As Jansen writhed in pain, clutching his injured leg and blinking furiously to clear his vision, the gravity of the situation began to sink in.

His pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears, and the realization that his life hung in the balance sent a chill down his spine.

Desperation clawed at him as he tried to make sense of the girl's cryptic words.