“Hello?” he grumbled.
“Why the hostility, friend?” came Marduch’s familiar voice.
“I was trying out our Brazilian friend’s newest nano-drug,” the Prince explained. “It’s called Houri, and gives the impression that you’re screwing the Houri.”
“You mean the virgins you get in heaven, right?” Marduch asked.
“Yup,” the Prince replied. “Now, I was just in the middle of the experience when you called. This better be important!”
“You are aware of the attack on the reenactment, right?” Marduch asked.
“Yes,” the Prince answered. “Quite a piece of work, if I do say so myself. It’s brought too much attention to our contact, though.”
“Exactly. Seeing as I control a good portion of the media, sweeping this issue to the side shouldn’t be too hard,” Marduch explained. “However, the people will need a significant distraction. This is where I need your help.”
“So, you want me to launch another attack? I have reason to believe your main business competitor shot down my last one,” the Prince explained. “Quite literally.”
“I need something so big, it will silence Williams Multimedia for a while,” Marduch continued. “However, it has nothing to do with terrorism.”
“Then why call me up?” the Prince grumbled.
“Because you are a master of pencak silat, and some obscure martial arts I can’t pronounce,” Marduch explained.
“So you want me to appear on that corny deathmatch show of yours?” the Prince asked.
“Exactly! You will be allowed to bring any helpers you want. I need someone to defeat the Running Men,” Marduch answered. “I never liked Asians too much, and it’s humiliating to have them in a contest! If you need, I’ll also have Jerry Robertson out there with you.”
“Speaking of him, what’s he been up to?”
“So, masturbating into children’s skulls, skinning people alive, holding lynching with other Confederates, and the like?”
“Yup,” Marduch answered. “I do find something funny, though.”
“Remember our ENC contact?”
“What about him?” the Prince asked. “Always thought he was dead weight. Never liked listening to us unless we threatened to harm his kidnapped family.”
“Robertson killed his family several months ago, and Yin’s still not aware of it!” amusement could he heard in Marduch’s voice.
“How did you fool him, though?” the Prince asked. “I saw some of the video recordings of the family alive. You mean those were faked?”
“Of course. Things like digital media are easy to fabricate when you control a worldwide media corporation,” Marduch explained. “Even the secure line we’re on now was no problem setting up.”
“True, true. I am interested in helping eliminate some troublesome scum,” the Prince explained. “When do you want me on your show?”
“It will be a while,” Marduch explained. “But sometime in the not to distant future.”
“Fine. I’ve got to go. Got something to finish up,” the Prince said as he slammed the phone down.
His real name was Yusef, and he had grown up the spoiled son of a wealthy Arabic businessman in Europe. The Prince was originally nickname his classmates gave him to describe his spoiled, arrogant personality. He turned to terrorism for curiosity at first, and then amusement when he found he enjoyed planning attacks. He took up martial arts on the side, but enjoyed drugs since his time as a teenager. It was only due to money siphoned from his terror group that he was able to afford his habit, and the nano-stimulants that kept him in shape.
Yusef figured it was time to ask for a customized form of Houri. Perhaps something that would allow him to be aroused as he killed people. That would be very fitting for the contest. The Prince snickered as he thought of murder fantasies for the Running Men. Perhaps he would stab them with a human rib?
Talk about a boner, he snickered.
He also thought about decapitating someone, and the mental association of “getting head” make him snicker.
I can hardly wait, the Prince thought as he went back to his drugs.