Dr. Snip Ch. 02

'Let's find out shall we,' the man said coldly.

'You know the drill open the door and this time go inside and see who's there.'

Strangely enough Ho complied without a murmur, he needed to know if this was a ghost; or just a twin brother of the man that he knew was in the safe. Again the big steel door swung open, and Ho took a deep breath and looked inside, apart from the piles of films the safe was empty. There was no money, no gold and astonishingly no man.

He felt a prick to his back as the man instructed him to enter the safe, his spirit finally broken Ho stumbled forward into the safe. He thought he had seen everything, and that nothing now would surprise him concerning this infuriating man, until he heard the sound of the safe door closing behind them.

The idiot had deliberately pulled the door shut, and Ho could hear the self-locking mechanism operating, and finally the muted sound of the picture sliding into place.

'Whoops,' said the man cheerily, 'this could be a problem for you, it appears that I've inadvertently locked you in.'

'You stupid fucking bastard,' Ho screamed in fury, 'you've killed us both, no one knows this safe exists.

I used Cambodians to install it, and sent them back home when the job was done. Then to make sure that no one could find out about it, I had them taken into the jungle and killed.

'Which means?' prompted the man.

'Which means idiot that we are both going to die in here, when we breathe all the air up.'

'How long do you estimate you have left to live?' the man asked curiously.

'If it was just me here, I would have exactly ten hours, but as there are two of us in here we have five hours.' Ho screamed at him in frustration and pain.

'How do you know that so exactly?' the man asked as he flicked through the reels of film.

'I know because I tested it out on an idiot just like you who annoyed me a few weeks ago, he lasted ten hours', Ho replied wearily.

'So lets get this straight, if you were here alone you would live ten hours, but me being here means you will only live five hours. What would you rather do, live ten hours or five hours?'

'It doesn't make any difference we are going to die anyway.'

'Hey, we are all going to die at sometime, so don't make such a melodrama of it OK.' Steve said slapping Ho on the shoulder. The impact sent bolts of agony shooting through Ho's body, and he nearly fainted with the pain.

'Sorry old chap,' said Steve, 'it seems like I've outstayed my welcome. I'll pop off now and leave you to die surrounded by your films. It's a shame that you don't have a projector. If you're interested I'll wait about twenty-four hours, before I inform the police of your whereabouts and the combination of your safe.

They will find your dead body surrounded by these films, and will probably work out what you had been up to.' Ho watched dully as the man walked to the safe door and with a cheery

'Toodle pip' disappeared into thin air. Mr. Ho sat with his back to a pile of films and waited to die, his arm was agonising.

He considered ripping off the restraint and bleeding to death quickly. Evil though he was he still had his animal strength and hope was eternal, he decided to stick it out and see what happened. Steve only jumped back into Ho's office; he was looking for more information regarding the Organisation that Ho bankrolled.

The desk drawers yielded to leverage from Excalibur, and he was soon sifting through various papers looking for leads. Ho's certainty that he was secure in this office, proved the Organisations undoing. Amongst the papers were lists of bank account numbers, to which Ho regularly sent sums of money.

Follow the money, was an old adage in the police force and it looked like it would bear fruit again. Taking the papers, he called it a day and jumped back home. He put the kettle on and made himself a cup of tea, he liked to sit at the breakfast table and mull over recent events to get them straight in his mind.

Before he did anything else he contacted Merlin, and thanked it for showing him the bullet-dodging trick. He knew that Angel was planning on getting herself armoured, against knives and bullets. He reasoned that if they couldn't hit him he wouldn't need to be armoured.

Consequently he quizzed Merlin about various ways to use the QT, to jump away from the path of projectiles. The problem with dodging a bullet was its speed. Most guns imparted supersonic speeds to their bullets, and no human could activate their QT fast enough to avoid these projectiles.

Merlin had an answer, but it meant that Steve would have to trust it with his life. To a supercomputer like Merlin human time was a snail, it thought in nanoseconds. Which was why it could do a million different tasks, even whilst it was conversing with Steve. The time interval between his words no matter how fast he spoke, seemed the equivalent of months to a computer.

The same criteria applied to a speeding bullet, to Merlin's perception your standard supersonic bullet moved at a slow walking pace. It assured Steve that it could wait until the bullet in question was one inch from impacting his body, and still jump him out of danger. Although Steve did trust Merlin he managed a compromise so that he jumped just as the bullet left the gun. This made Steve feel a lot happier, although he thought he heard an almost silent 'wuss' from his electronic ally. His implant was programmed to constantly broadcast a type of proximity field, that would detect incoming ordnance ranging from an arrow to a nuclear shell.

Feeling a lot safer than before, he decided to take a break from purvey bashing, and spread some of Ho's ill-gotten gains around where they would be best appreciated. There was a problem with giving people money, you would think that you could just walk into a hospital with a suitcase full of money and hand it to the nearest doctor.

The Government hates people that do that, the system likes to know where the money came from, and more importantly has the tax been paid on it. Steve had foreseen this situation and with the aid of his electronic friend, had created a Swiss Bank account in the name of a fictitious reclusive millionaire who paid his taxes and was to all intents above board. He needed this identity, to enable him to help the various organisations that he considered were fighting the same war as he was.

This particular Bank was very discreet and counted Casinos amongst their clients, so were used to large consignments of cash. Steve arranged for a security firm to provide an armoured security van. There was to be just the driver with the van, as the customer would be providing their own guard who would travel with the valuables.

The armoured car arrived at the pick up point, which was a rented office in Geneva. The driver was instructed by the Customers guard to stay in his cab, as the guard loaded lots of cardboard boxes into the back of the vehicle. The driver couldn't have cared less, the less he was involved in the loading and unloading the better as far as his back was concerned.

The guard climbed into the back, and told the driver to proceed to the Bank. This was all window dressing for the benefit of the security company, as Steve had only loaded empty boxes into the van. Not until it had reversed into the Banks secure loading bay, did Steve transport himself and the empty boxes to his outbuilding in the garden of his home.

He then transported himself, and the boxes of cash and gold back into the van. The strengthened suspension of the armoured car flexed slightly, as the weight of the gold bars made it self felt. However the driver was reading a golf magazine and didn't notice. All Steve had to do then was open the van's doors, and supervise the unloading of the contents.

He had to wait until the consignment was processed through the Banks system, which took over an hour. The cash was counted and the gold checked and weighed, finally he was presented with a receipt for just over fifty-four million pounds. Steve was amused to notice that to the bank representative such an amount wasn't worthy of comment, and that was the way he wanted it.

Now the money legally existed he could write cheques to his chosen allies, and be sure that they would receive the money with no hindrance from the establishment. All the major Children's Charities plus the Hospitals specialising in children, received a cheque for five million pounds each from Steve's fictitious Millionaire.

Steve would have liked to have credited Dr. Snip for the gift but he was sure that the law would have muddied the waters, if they knew who the real philanthropist was. However as a special treat for his own conscience, he had Merlin find out the identity of the baby girl he had rescued. With this information he was able to set up a fund that she would be able to access when she was eighteen. It would be a nice surprise for her on her eighteenth birthday, when she received a letter from his bank informing her that she was a millionairess.

He was becoming less starry eyed, about his self-appointed task of stopping the torture of children. He realised that he couldn't be everywhere, and stop all evil acts. Still that particular film crew wouldn't be a problem anymore.

This thought brought him back to reality, and the list of names that Merlin had tracked from the account numbers he had retrieved from Mr. Ho. Compared to twentieth century computer systems, the AI that he referred to as Merlin was generations ahead of his time.

Its tracking sub-programs brushed aside bank security protocols, like an armoured Knight walking through cobwebs. Not only did it discover the names of the account holders, but their addresses. Also any other information on these people, that existed in the electronic computer systems that made up the World Web.

Merlin presented this information to Steve in the form of neatly bound dossiers. These were produced from his Twenty-sixth century information-processing unit. This equipment had been borrowed by Steve from Angel's century, and was essential to his plans. Accurate information was vital to his plans, if he was to execute people he had to know without doubt that they deserved it.

He couldn't always catch them in the act; he would often have to punish them based on information only. Unfortunately for these people, Mr. Ho had recorded which film crews had filmed which films and had created his own dossiers on these crews. He seemed to use the same crews for the really nasty films, as if they were an elite.

Steve preferred to think of them as a pack of evil goblins, that revelled in the pain and debasement of the innocent. Rather than hunting them down one crew at a time, he decided to set them up for the kill. Steve used a voice mimicking sub-routine, that was part of his arsenal of futuristic equipment. He issued orders in Ho's voice, for them all to gather in the main ballroom of Ho's mansion.

They were to make a special film for a very special customer. He warned them that this was to be a snuff film, involving ten children under the age of eight. If they weren't up to it he would understand, and not think any the less of them. Steve's innate sense of fairness, prompted him to give them one last chance to avoid the fate he planned for them.

To his disappointment only one crew turned the job down as they drew the line at murder. However they said that they knew other crews; that would jump at the chance to work for Mr. Ho. They were told to send them along, but to ensure that they knew what they were getting into.

Steve made a note of the crew that refused the job, that would save their lives but he would still amputate their hands when he got round to them. He had intended to personally execute all those who turned up to shoot this fictitious film. However the final number came to forty, and he had to revise his plan to suit.

He decided that rather than use his Broadsword, he would use a Claymore instead. It was still less than twenty-four hours since he had locked Ho in the safe, and no alarm had been raised about Ho's disappearance. Steve's bogus phone calls, had fostered the illusion that Ho was still about somewhere and issuing instructions.

Steve had the ballroom prepared, by the time that the film crews arrived. He had Ho's security men gather them in the middle of the large room, before leaving them and locking the heavy carved mahogany doors. Using Ho's voice via the intercom Steve welcomed them. He asked them to set up their equipment around the collection of torture devices, that dominated the center of the room.

There were ten crews and it was a scene of chaos, as they all set up their equipment in a circle around the fiendish contraptions. When they were ready and a semblance of order regained, Steve went over the Films plot. He explained that it was to be a film about the Spanish Inquisition, and how they often tortured young innocent children to death.

Ho intended to use these devices to torture to death, ten children under the age of eight. He needed ten crews to ensure that every cut, burn and scream was captured perfectly on film. This was a snuff film, he didn't need to tell them that 'snuff', meant that the people tortured and killed were really being tortured and killed on film.

Using Ho's voice Steve gave them a last chance to leave, as no one moved he asked if they had any questions. To his surprise a woman member of a team, asked if they could have a child scream before the filming started so as to get the sound levels correct. Steve assured them that they would hear plenty of screams, before the filming started.

He asked them all to look up at the musician's gallery; that was located at the northern end of the large room. As all eyes focused on the gallery, he stepped forward into their view. He was wearing his trademark executioners hood and long black coat, and was instantly recognised by everyone in the room.

'Good evening ladies and gentlemen, I use those terms loosely of course. I see that you know of me.

Some call me Dr. Snip; they are the lucky ones. You may think of me as Death, none of you will leave this room alive so I suggest if you dare to pray to a god you do it now.' Steve leaned on the balustrade that enclosed the gallery and continued.

'Some of you may have wondered if Mr. Ho was going soft, when he offered you a chance to back out of this film.

That of course was me giving you more of a chance, than you have ever given those you have filmed in the past.' He was interrupted by a furious shout from one of the group,

'Where is Ho? What have you done with him you murderous bastard?'

'Ho is dead, as for how you can ask him yourself in a minute' Steve replied calmly.

'In case you can't count asshole there are forty of us, and one of you. How do you intend to kill us all?' Asked the self appointed spokesman for the crews,

'It's true that there are to many of you to kill with my Broadsword, so I will have to use my claymore.' Steve said, as he held up a heavy basket hilted cleaver, beloved by the Scottish warriors of the past.

'Well asshole I'll bet this against your toothpick any day,' replied the spokesman as he drew a pistol from under his jacket and pointed it at Steve. They saw Dr. Snip slowly raise his other hand in which was a small device. Such was the silence in the room that they all heard the click, as he thumbed a switch on it.

'I suggest that no one makes a loud noise, or moves a muscle' he said quietly,' this has activated the Claymores that surround you. They are sound and movement sensitive, any noise over a certain decibel level will cause them to detonate. For those of you who have no idea of what I'm talking about, the Claymore is an anti-personnel mine.

It comprises of a shaped charge of explosive and a lot of ball bearings. I purchased a crate of them from an armoury in America. When it explodes, the ball bearings are blasted in the direction in which the mine is pointed. There is a ring of mines around this room facing inward. There are also a cluster of mines hidden in that wooden crate in the very center of the room that face outward.

If your friend there fires his gun, you will die, if any of you try to run, you will die, do you understand your predicament?' he asked his captive audience. In reply the self-appointed leader lowered his gun and nodded. Steve continued 'Obviously a normal talking voice will not set off these mines, or my voice would have done so already.'

He thumbed another switch on his device and a film projector started to whir in a corner of the room.

'Although in this instance I am the one who arranged this scenario, I am not going to execute you. I want you to search your memories of all the films you have made in which children were abused in your presence.

There is one common denominator that joins them together, this is a typical film that I have selected from Ho's collection. I will let the anonymous little girl speak for herself.' The screen was positioned so that everyone could watch, as in full colour and stereo sound a little girl was tied to a whipping frame and stripped naked.

The captive audience watched silently as the woman dressed in rubber gear flexed her bullwhip, and explained to the terrified girl that she had been very naughty and had to be punished. The woman stood so that the camera got a clear shot of the little girl's back, and with ferocious speed slashed the whip across it. Blood splashed where the whip bit into her back, and the little girl screamed.

Drowning out that agonised scream; came a massive concussion as all the sound activated mines detonated simultaneously. The loose ring of people were obliterated, along with their film equipment, as steel balls travelling at supersonic speeds ripped though them from both sides. There was nowhere to hide to escape the carnage, and ten seconds after the girl's scream there was deathly silence in the room.

The Claymore was a vicious device, and tended to shred its victims into little pieces. All Steve could see was a pile of smoking meat in the center of the room. His ears still ringing from the enclosed blast, he jumped to Ho's office and opened the safe.

Ho was slumped where Steve had left him; he was dead. Steve used the office phone and called the police, he was so well known that they had given him a contact name to call and a code word to identify himself. His contact was a policewoman detective-sergeant named June. They chose a woman, in the hopes that a male caller would stay chatting on the line long enough to be traced.

Steve never cared about that because he called to tell them where he was, and what he'd done and invited them to join the party. June had been nervous about this assignment, she didn't know if she wanted to talk to a maniac who castrated men. She had found his voice to be totally different to what she had expected.

She thought he would be some fanatic, trying to justify his actions with passages from some religious book. Yelling down the phone at the police who had failed to bring these perverts to justice. Instead he had a quiet serious voice, and seemed slightly saddened that he had to call them with news of his latest attack on the perverted section of humanity.

As an ex-cop Steve had great sympathy for June, and tried to make her job as easy as possible.

'Hello June, it's The Gardener, how are you tonight? He said as he was connected.

'I'm fine thank you' she answered politely, switching on the tape recorder.

'I've got a job for you I'm afraid,' Steve briefed her on the events of the evening, and gave her the address.

She had to ask for the record, 'Did you kill all those people Doc?

'Technically no, a little girl did that.' He went on to explain in more detail, about how the film crews were killed by the scream of a child. June turned off the recorder,' Poetic justice?'